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brunchable · 1 month ago

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Meet Me On a Midsummer's Night.

Pairings: beefy!Bucky x F!Reader [ pre-established rs ] Warning: MUTUAL PINING. FLUFF. BUCKY SMUG AND A TEASING MF. PDA. Summary: On a hot night, you can’t fall asleep thinking about this and that— you finally call Bucky. You didn’t know he'd come out to meet you but he did. A/N: I've been digging my playlist and I stumbled upon my old korean hip-hop playlist. It's summer here in Aus and the song is about meeting someone they like in the middle of the night and this is the product. I'll leave the song here, and if you know this song, you're awesome.

The ceiling fan creaked overhead, pushing the thick, summer air around your room without mercy. You kicked off your sheet for what felt like the hundredth time, staring at the faint glow of your phone on the nightstand. Midnight, it whispered, daring you to do something impulsive.

Your thumb hovered over Bucky’s name in your contacts, nerves coiling in your stomach. The sensible part of you begged you to stop. But the other part—the part that lingered on his laugh too long, memorized the exact shade of his smile—urged you forward.

Your thumb hovered over his name in your contacts for an embarrassing amount of time. You bit your lip, debating, until finally—finally—you pressed Call before you could change your mind.

It only rang once before his voice poured through the speaker, low and warm like honey.

“Hey.”

His voice was warm and a little raspy, like he hadn’t quite shaken off sleep. The sound wrapped around you, and your lips curled into a smile you were too glad he couldn’t see.

“Hey,” you whispered back, trying not to sound too breathless. “What’re you doing?”

“Not much. Just… chilling.” A faint rustle came through the line, like he’d sat up. “You?”

You pressed your palm to your forehead, silently berating yourself. What were you doing? What was this? And why did your heart feel like it was trying to climb out of your chest?

“I, um—can’t sleep,” you blurted before logic could catch up to your words. “It’s the heat. Thought maybe… you’d want to meet up?”

There was a pause on the other end, long enough that you bit your lip and cursed yourself for saying something so ridiculous. Then Bucky chuckled, low and warm, like he couldn’t quite believe you.

“It’s midnight,” he said, his tone teasing. But then, softer: “Sure.”

You blinked, your stomach flipping in a way that felt entirely too much for someone agreeing to meet you.

“Cool,” you said, trying for nonchalant.

“Cool,” he echoed. There was a pause, and you could almost picture the amused quirk of his lips. “Uh… so… we actually need a meeting place, if we’re doing this.”

“Oh, gosh, yeah,” you stammered, flustered. Your fingers curled into the sheets as you scrambled for an idea. “Um… your favorite bar? Death and Taxes? That’s still your favorite, right?”

He laughed, soft and deep, like he couldn’t help himself. “Still my favorite. Death and Taxes it is.”

You could almost picture him leaning back against the headboard, his lips quirking up at the corners.

“Okay. See you in a bit.”

“Yeah… see you.”

The call ended, and you pressed your phone against your chest like it could stop your heart from breaking free of your ribcage. For a moment, you just sat there, letting the giddy, reckless feeling take over. You stared at the ceiling, cheeks warm, a wild smile tugging at your lips.

Then you bolted out of bed.

Your closet door creaked open as you rifled through it, tossing rejected options onto the floor. Something light, something comfortable—it wasn’t like this was a date. But still, you didn’t want to look like you’d just rolled out of bed, even though you absolutely had. You finally settled on a loose, flowy top and shorts, tying your hair back with a lazy knot and slipping on your sandals.

The walk to the bar felt longer than it should have, every step only adding to the fluttery mess in your stomach. It wasn’t nerves, exactly—okay, maybe it was nerves. It had been so long since you’d seen him. Long enough that you weren’t entirely sure if you’d even recognize him.

He wasn’t big on social media, wasn’t one for selfies or tagged pictures. Sure, you had the version of him burned into your memory—the sharp jawline, piercing eyes, the way he always looked like he belonged in a leather jacket, even if he wasn’t wearing one. But people changed. What if he’d changed? What if he walked up, and you had to pretend to place him? The thought made your cheeks flush with secondhand embarrassment.

You arrived first, of course. The bar was quiet at this hour, the neon sign glowing faintly against the brick wall, casting soft red and blue hues onto the sidewalk. You stood just outside, rocking slightly on your heels, the night’s heat sticking to your skin. The air buzzed with crickets and the faint hum of cars in the distance, but all you could focus on was the wild beat of your heart.

Would he even look the same? Would it be weird? Would he—

“Y/N.”

The sound of your name cut through your thoughts, and you turned on instinct.

The world slowed.

It wasn’t just a turn. It was a pivot, a gasp caught in your throat as your eyes found him. And oh. Oh, Bucky.

He stood a few feet away, hands shoved into the pockets of dark jeans that fit him almost criminally well. The kind of fit that made your brain short-circuit. His shirt was simple, black, stretched over broad shoulders that practically dared you to look away. His long hair, slightly tousled, caught the faint glow of the neon light, framing his face like he’d just stepped out of a movie poster. And that face. God, that face. The sharp lines of his jaw softened only by the faint stubble that made him look rugged in the most devastating way.

Tall, solid, impossibly handsome—this wasn’t the boy you’d known. This was… something else entirely.

“Hey,” he said, his voice lower, richer than you remembered, like he’d spent the years perfecting it. His lips curled into a small, almost shy smile, but his eyes—blue and bright—were locked on you, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

You stood frozen, blinking up at him, every coherent thought scattering like confetti. It felt like the kind of moment people wrote songs about, the kind where the summer air turned into something magical just because he was in it.

“Bucky,” you managed, your voice embarrassingly breathy. “You… you’re here.”

“I am,” he said, his smile widening slightly. He stepped closer, and you swore you could feel the heat radiating off him even from a foot away. “You… okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Sorry,” you blurted, gripping the strap of your bag tighter. “It’s just… it’s been a while. And you—” You gestured vaguely at him, your face hot. “You’re… you look…”

His brows lifted, his grin turning into something teasing. “I look…?”

Like a Greek god. Like a walking, talking fever dream. Like you’ve ruined every other man for me.

“Good,” you finished lamely, your voice pitching up slightly at the end. “You look good.”

His chuckle was soft, but it wrapped around you like a warm blanket, and you caught the way his gaze swept over you. Not hurried, not lazy—just deliberate enough to make your skin tingle.

“So do you,” he said, his tone casual, but the way he said it—low, like it was just for you—sent your heart tumbling into your stomach. “Better than good, actually.”

Your laugh came out nervous and breathy as you tried to deflect. “What, like you expected me to show up in pajamas?”

He shrugged, that teasing smile still playing on his lips. “Wouldn’t have minded. You could probably pull them off.”

It was impossible to tell if he was joking. It was even more impossible to figure out why your brain was suddenly turning into melted butter.

“Anyway,” he said, glancing toward the bar before looking back at you. “Shall we?”

“Y-Yes, let’s go.” you replied, your voice steadier now, though your pulse was still racing.

He smiled again, the kind of smile that felt like a secret, like you were the only one who got to see it. Then he stepped aside, motioning toward the door.

“After you.”

You hesitated, glancing at him, then the bar. The thought hit you suddenly, startling and unshakable.

You hadn’t seen him in years, but in this moment—on this hot summer night—it felt like no time had passed at all.

× × × ×

The corner booth of Death and Taxes was quieter, tucked away from the hum of late-night laughter and clinking glasses. It wasn’t completely silent—the bar was alive in that effortless, summery way, the air buzzing with heat and conversation—but it was as close as you’d get. You slid into the seat first, leaving him no choice but to take the one directly across from you, where the glow of the dim light caught your face just right.

Not that he was looking too hard or anything.

Except he absolutely was.

“Two cold ones,” you told the waitress, already glancing at him for confirmation. Bucky raised a brow, smirking. “You remembered.”

“Of course,” you said simply, shrugging like it was nothing.

It wasn’t nothing. It was a beer at midnight in a corner booth with you. And he was about two seconds away from grinning like an idiot over it.

When the beers came, you both dove into the fries first—crispy, golden, hot—and he realized he’d missed this. You weren’t in a rush, just talking, the way you always had. The kind of easy, back-and-forth rhythm that made him feel like no time had passed.

“It’s been a long time,” he said, taking a sip of his drink before leaning back in his seat. “How’ve you been?”

You tilted your head thoughtfully, your lips curving into a small smile. “Oh, you know. I haven’t really changed much. Still working hard.”

Your voice was light, but it made his chest ache anyway. He knew that look, the way you brushed off the weight of your own life like it wasn’t worth mentioning.

“I’m the same. Still working hard,” he replied. His eyes lingered on you for a beat too long before he asked, “You still dating that same guy?”

He shouldn’t have asked. He knew it the second the words left his mouth. But curiosity—or something else entirely—had gotten the better of him.

“Oh. Um, no.” You busied yourself with your beer, the glass cool against your hand. “We broke up.”

His heart gave a little kick, though he tried not to show it. “You guys broke up? Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” He reached for a fry, half-smiling. “It’s good to see you anyway.”

“It’s okay,” you said softly, looking up at him again. There was something unreadable in your gaze, something he wanted to spend the rest of the night deciphering. “It was a while back. But it’s good to see you too.”

God, stop looking at me like that.

He leaned forward, his elbow on the table, watching the way your fingers idly traced the condensation on your glass. “Time goes by so fast, huh?” he mused. “We’ve already come all this way, but how come you haven’t changed at all?”

You raised a brow at him, playful but curious.

You tilted your head at him, your brow arching slightly, the corners of your mouth quirking.

“You’re still pretty,” he added, and though he chuckled, his words landed softer than he expected. Half-joking, yeah, but the truth was so clear it hurt.

Your reaction wasn’t what he expected. You looked down, your fingers brushing the rim of your glass as a quiet laugh escaped you.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said lightly, waving him off before quickly changing the subject. “So, what about you? Been up to anything exciting?”

Why are you changing the subject? The thought rolled through his mind, unbidden but persistent. His eyes lingered on your face, the way you avoided his gaze with that bashful smile. Is it because of the alcohol or because you’re shy?

He shifted in his seat, resting his chin on his hand as he leaned forward. “What, you don’t want me getting sentimental on you?”

Your laugh bubbled up again, the sound warm and easy, but you didn’t answer.

Yeah, he thought, watching the way you brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, your cheeks just a shade warmer than before. It’s because you’re shy.

And god help him, it only made him want to say more.

Bucky took another long sip of his beer, the cool bitterness doing little to distract him from the way your smile lingered in his mind, soft and teasing. The overhead lights cast a warm glow on your skin, and he could see the faint sheen of summer heat clinging to your collarbones. You were leaning forward slightly, your chin propped on your hand, completely at ease—or so it seemed.

His thumb traced the rim of his glass absently, the thought bubbling up in his chest before he could push it down.

“I want to tell you something,” he said, his voice low but steady.

You tilted your head slightly, the curious quirk of your brow pulling his attention to the way your lips curved.

“Hm? And what’s that?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. He swirled the beer in his glass once, then set it down deliberately, as if that might make this easier.

“I used to like you before.”

For a moment, he thought he’d miscalculated. That he’d said too much too soon. But then your reaction broke through his nerves like sunlight on water—a faint laugh, soft and disarming.

“I know,” you said, your tone light, but your gaze flicked to your drink, your fingers tracing the condensation on the glass like it might give you something to hold onto.

The simple words knocked the air clean out of his lungs.

You know? His mind stumbled over the implications. Had he been that obvious? Had you noticed the way he looked at you back then, the way he’d hovered just a little too long when you stood close, his fingers itching to brush yours?

He shifted in his seat, clearing his throat.

“Guess I’m a little drunk. Don’t mind my ramblings,” he muttered, leaning back like that would somehow lessen the weight of what he’d just said.

You gave him a look, one brow arched, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “You don’t get drunk.”

Shit.

“I—uh—” His hand rubbed at the back of his neck, heat creeping up to his ears as he tried for a laugh. “Right. Forgot who I was talking to.”

Your smirk grew, but you didn’t press him further. Instead, you took another fry, dipping it in the ketchup and nibbling on the end. His gaze followed the movement like he had no choice in the matter, his thoughts spinning helplessly.

You knew? He wanted to ask, wanted to make you spell it out, wanted to hear it in your voice. Did you really know? Or was this some casual observation, something you didn’t think twice about while it had consumed him for years?

But then you glanced up, your eyes meeting his, and the warmth there—gentle, a little shy—unraveled something in him.

He leaned forward again, resting his arms on the table, his beer forgotten. “If you knew,” he said, his voice quiet now, almost teasing, “why didn’t you say anything?”

You blinked, caught off guard, but the smile that followed was soft. “Why didn’t you?”

His laugh was quiet, rueful. “Touché.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The noise of the bar faded into the background, the space between you charged with something unspoken, something almost tangible. Bucky watched as you took another sip of your drink, your lashes casting shadows on your cheeks, your lips brushing the edge of the glass.

“Do you still?” you asked suddenly, your voice tentative, like the words had escaped without permission.

His heart stuttered, the question catching him off guard. He could lie, brush it off like he had before, but the thought of hiding how he felt—after all this time, after you—felt impossible.

Instead, he leaned forward, close enough that he could see the way your breath caught.

“What do you think?” he murmured, his voice low, his gaze fixed on yours.

And the way your cheeks flushed, the way your lips parted ever so slightly, was enough to make him think that maybe, just maybe, you already knew the answer.

You let out a nervous huff, the sound breaking through the air between you, as fragile as it was charged. His words hung there, lingering like they had weight, like they could change everything if you gave them room. But you didn’t trust yourself to stay in that moment—not when his gaze was locked on yours like that, steady and warm and impossibly deep.

“It’s getting hot in here,” you said quickly, your voice pitched higher than usual as you slid out of the booth. “We should, um… we should take a walk. Go someplace else.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, and you dared a glance at him. He was leaning back in his chair now, his head tilted slightly, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. But then he nodded, standing with that same effortless grace that had always made him seem larger than life.

“Sure,” he said simply, his voice easy, as if he hadn’t just made your heart feel like it was trying to claw its way out of your chest. He nodded, standing with that quiet ease of his, reaching for his wallet before you could protest.

You jumped up quickly, your excitement spilling over as you moved toward the door without waiting for him. The cool night air hit your skin as soon as you stepped outside, a welcome relief from the stuffy warmth of the bar. You breathed it in deeply, the summer heat still clinging to the pavement, but at least the air felt freer out here.

“We’re walking, huh?” Bucky said from behind you, his voice teasing but warm. “Got a specific destination in mind, or are we just wandering?”

“Wandering,” you said brightly, not slowing your pace. “Who needs a plan, anyway?”

You felt light, like your feet barely touched the ground as you walked ahead of him, your sandals clicking softly against the pavement. The streetlights cast golden pools along the sidewalk, your shadow dancing playfully as you moved. You threw a glance over your shoulder to see if he was keeping up, and the way he was watching you—his hands stuffed in his pockets, his lips curved into a soft, crooked smile—made something inside you flutter wildly.

“You’re gonna leave me behind,” he called, his tone mock-scolding.

“Then hurry up!” you called back, laughing as you skipped a few steps ahead, your movements careless and free.

For a moment, it felt perfect. Like something out of a summer dream, the hum of crickets filling the quiet spaces between your laughter and his easy steps.

And then—oh god.

A shadow darted near your face, too fast and too sudden, and you froze in the middle of the sidewalk. It took you half a second to process it—a beetle, its shiny wings catching the light as it buzzed straight toward you.

“AH! GO AWAY.” The words tumbled out as you flailed, stumbling backward and nearly losing a shoe in the process.

Bucky stopped in his tracks, his brows shooting up. “What the—?”

“BUG!” you yelped, pointing wildly at the air around you. “It’s flying! Do something!”

The beetle buzzed again, its wings making a high-pitched hum as it veered closer. You squeaked, ducking dramatically and running behind Bucky like he was a human shield.

He turned, his expression somewhere between concern and disbelief. “Are you serious right now? It’s just a beetle.”

“It’s not just a beetle!” you hissed, gripping his arm like your life depended on it. “It’s a flying. Look at it!”

He glanced at the beetle, then back at you, the corners of his mouth twitching. “You’re freaking out over that? It’s like… half an inch.”

“It’s not the size that matters!” you shot back, still cowering behind him. “It’s the intent! Look at it—it’s coming for me!”

That did it. He broke, his laughter spilling out in soft, rich waves that vibrated through his chest.

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, but he stepped forward anyway, waving a hand to shoo the beetle away.

When it finally buzzed off into the night, you peeked over his shoulder cautiously, still clutching his arm.

“Is it gone?”

“Yes, it’s gone,” he said, still chuckling. “You can come out of hiding now.”

You straightened, brushing imaginary dirt off your top as if that might restore some of your dignity.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Don’t mention it, bug magnet.” His voice was full of barely concealed laughter, and you turned to glare at him, but he only grinned wider, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Not funny,” you muttered, though you couldn’t quite keep the smile from tugging at your lips.

“Oh, it’s very funny,” he countered, and the warmth in his gaze made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with the beetle.

And when his hand brushed against yours as you both started walking again, your heart skipped so hard you thought it might give out entirely.

× × × ×

The hill wasn’t far—just a short walk past quiet streets and through a small park. The city stretched out below like a sea of twinkling lights, the soft hum of distant traffic blending with the chirping of crickets. The air was still warm, but up here, a slight breeze brushed against your skin, carrying the scent of grass and something faintly sweet.

You spotted the bench first, nestled beneath a tall tree, its silhouette just visible against the glow of the city below. Without waiting for him, you made your way over, plopping down with a contented sigh and stretching your legs out in front of you. The wood was cool against your skin, grounding you after the walk.

Bucky followed, his steps slower, more deliberate. When he reached the bench, he hesitated for a moment before sitting beside you, close enough that your knees almost touched. Almost.

“Nice spot,” he said, leaning back and resting an arm along the back of the bench, his fingers just brushing your shoulder. His voice was low, casual, but there was a softness to it, like he wasn’t just talking about the view.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your gaze fixed on the skyline. The city lights flickered like a million little stars, stretching endlessly, but you couldn’t help feeling like the real magic was sitting next to you. “I used to come up here a lot.”

“Alone?” His voice tilted just enough to make the word feel heavier than it should.

“Sometimes,” you said, glancing at him. His profile was sharp against the faint glow of the streetlights, his hair falling in soft waves that caught the breeze. You looked back at the city quickly, your heart tripping over itself. “It’s peaceful. Helps me think.”

“Think about what?” His voice was closer now, like he’d leaned in just a little. You felt the weight of his gaze on you, like he could see through every answer you wanted to give and straight to the truth.

“Stuff,” you said vaguely, feeling the heat crawl up your neck. “Life. Work.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” he said, and when you glanced at him, his lips were curved into that crooked, teasing smile that made your chest ache.

“I’m not lying!” you protested, though your voice betrayed you, the words coming out more flustered than you intended.

“You’re thinking about me,” he said, so casually it took you a second to realize what he’d said.

Your head snapped toward him, your mouth falling open in protest, but the look on his face stopped you cold. His smile was soft now, his blue eyes steady and full of something you couldn’t quite name.

“Admit it,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower. “I take up way too much space in that head of yours.”

You scoffed, trying to sound indignant, but the laugh that followed betrayed you. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m right,” he countered, leaning just a little closer, his arm still stretched along the back of the bench. His fingers brushed your shoulder again, light and deliberate, like a dare. “And you know it.”

You rolled your eyes, looking away, but your lips twitched into a smile. “You’ve got a big ego, you know that?”

“Maybe,” he said, and when you glanced back, the grin he gave you was pure trouble. “But I’m not wrong.”

The moment stretched, the silence between you filled only by the faint breeze and the hum of the city below. His gaze never wavered, steady and unrelenting, and you felt yourself drawn in despite every effort to look away.

“You still haven’t denied it,” he pointed out, his voice quieter now, softer.

Your heart pounded, your hands fidgeting in your lap. “What’s the point? You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

He laughed softly, the sound rich and warm.

“You’re right,” he admitted, his smile tilting into something almost sheepish. “I wouldn’t.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back your own laugh, but it slipped out anyway, light and breathless.

“Ugh.”

“I mean who did you call to meet you out here? At midnight?” he shot back, his tone lighter now, teasing but full of warmth.

You looked at him then, really looked at him, the way the light caught in his eyes, the faint crinkle at the corners of his smile.

“Maybe I should’ve called someone else.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up, his lips twitching into an incredulous grin. “Someone else?” he repeated, leaning in slightly, the faintest spark of amusement dancing in his eyes. “You wound me, doll.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “I’m serious. Maybe Sam—”

“Sam?” he cut in, a laugh slipping out before he could stop it. He leaned back, spreading his arms along the bench like he was getting comfortable for the show. “You think Sam would leave his comfy bed and perfectly air-conditioned apartment to meet you at midnight? Please.”

“Well—”

“And don’t even say Steve,” he continued, cutting off whatever rebuttal you had. “You know he’s asleep by nine. The man’s practically a grandpa.”

You laughed, unable to help yourself, and the sound only seemed to spur him on.

“Face it,” he said, leaning forward now, his voice dropping just enough to make your breath catch. “I’m the only one you could call. You wanted me here.”

Your mouth opened, a half-formed protest on the tip of your tongue, but his expression stopped you cold. The teasing curve of his lips was still there, but his eyes—they were steady, intent, like he was daring you to deny it.

“I…” you started, faltering when you realized he wasn’t going to look away.

“Go on,” he murmured, his voice soft but full of challenge. “Say it.”

“Say what?” you managed, your fingers twisting in your lap.

“That you wanted me here.” His smile turned into something softer, warmer, but no less devastating. “That when you couldn’t sleep, I was the first person you thought of.”

Your breath hitched, and you could feel your face heating under his gaze. You tried to look away, to laugh it off, but he leaned in closer, his elbow resting on his knee, his face just inches from yours.

“C’mon,” he coaxed, his voice dropping even lower. “Admit it. It’s only fair.”

“Fair?” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Yeah. I already told you I used to like you.” He tilted his head slightly, his gaze dropping to your lips for the briefest second before finding your eyes again. “Your turn.”

Your heart pounded, your hands freezing in your lap, and you swore the city had gone completely silent around you. His eyes searched yours, his expression soft but unyielding, like he was ready to wait forever if he had to.

And god help you, you couldn’t decide if you wanted to run—or pull him closer.

“Pft—it’s not like it’s going to change anything,” you reasoned, though your voice betrayed you, soft and unsteady. You looked away, focusing on the skyline instead of the man sitting far too close, his presence making it impossible to think straight.

Bucky didn’t move for a moment, letting your words hang in the air between you. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, quiet—dangerously deliberate. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

Your breath caught, and you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing back at him. He was leaning forward now, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped loosely together. But his eyes—they were locked on you, piercing, like they were unraveling every carefully constructed excuse you’d ever made.

“How is that wrong?” you challenged, though your voice wavered, giving you away.

He let out a soft laugh, the kind that felt like it had been pulled from deep in his chest. “Because,” he said, leaning back again, his arm stretching across the bench behind you, his fingers just brushing your shoulder. “It changes everything.”

Your stomach flipped, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” he shot back, and there was that teasing edge again, soft and warm but dangerous because it was him. “Tell me, doll, what happens if I kiss you right now?”

Your heart slammed against your ribs, and you froze, your hands gripping the edge of the bench like it might keep you grounded.

“You wouldn’t.”

Bucky tilted his head, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes—those impossibly blue eyes—didn’t waver. He was studying you like you were some sort of puzzle, his gaze tracing every line of your face, every small movement you made.

“Wouldn’t I?” His voice was low, rough, like gravel smoothed over by honey. And god, it wasn’t fair, the way it made your skin prickle, the way it sent your heart into a dizzying spiral.

You turned your head sharply, staring out at the city like it might save you from whatever this was. But it wasn’t saving you. Not with the way he leaned just a little closer, his arm still draped casually over the back of the bench, his fingers now brushing against your shoulder. The heat of him was impossible to ignore.

“No,” you said, your voice firmer this time, but it still wavered at the end. “You wouldn’t.”

He let out a soft laugh, the sound so low and intimate it curled around you like smoke. “Why’s that?”

“Because—” You faltered, your brain scrambling for a reason, for any reason. “Because you’re all talk.”

Bucky’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened, his lips curving in that maddening way that made your stomach twist and your chest tighten.

“All talk?” he repeated, his voice a low murmur that slipped over your skin like silk. “That’s what you think of me?”

You swallowed hard, refusing to look at him, even though you could feel his gaze on you—hot, heavy, and completely unrelenting. Your pulse thundered in your ears, a wild, uneven rhythm that made it impossible to think.

“I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat because suddenly, he moved.

He shifted closer, the bench creaking softly under his weight. His arm stretched further along the backrest, and when you finally glanced at him, he was right there. His face hovered just inches from yours, his blue eyes impossibly intense, locked onto yours like he was daring you to look away.

“How about,” he whispered, his voice low and rough enough to send a shiver racing down your spine, “you kiss me, and I’ll show you.”

You inhaled sharply, awareness flaring through every nerve in your body. Kiss him? God, he wanted you to kiss him? He was so close, his lips so close to yours, his warm breath whispering across your mouth. His warm breath ghosted over your skin, and the faint scent of beer and something unmistakably him made your head spin.

“Kiss me,” he said again, his voice low and almost hoarse. He was hovering near you, so tantalizingly close, but decidedly not kissing you. He was waiting for you to press your lips to his, but coming as close to you as he could. Tempting you, encouraging you, pulling you in.

Do it. The thought whispered through your mind, reckless and insistent. He was so close. So impossibly close. One small shift forward, and—

Instead, you faltered, glancing down at his lips. “You’re bluffing.”

His lips twitched into a small, infuriating smirk. “Try me.”

You felt drawn forward as if by a magnet. Lightly, delicately, you pressed your lips to his, feeling how much you trembled, how insubstantial and frail your kiss felt but unable to do anything more. You lingered for just a moment, and then pulled back, uncertainly.

Bucky remained still, not moving, so close, his chest now against yours. He didn't kiss you, he didn't smile, or say anything, and you felt an unfamiliar tremor of panic rise in you.

“I thought you said you'd show me,” you said ruefully, your cheeks beginning to burn. Had you done it wrong? Could a kiss be wrong? You could barely remember your name right now, let alone how to kiss someone.

Especially this someone.

“Oh I will,” Bucky whispered. “I'm just waiting for you to really kiss me.”

Something in the timbre of his voice, something in the drowsy desire of his words emboldened you. You leaned forward and kissed him more sensuously, taking his lips with yours, opening your mouth and savouring the fullness of his. And with only the slightest of pauses, Bucky took over.

He leaned against your heavily, almost surging into you, his mouth roaming over yours with a heady, sensual slowness that ignited you. His lips moved over yours possessively, with a slow, languid rhythm as his tongue dipped into your mouth to taste you. When his tongue met yours, you let out a little cry of pleasure, feeling an arrow of desire shoot right down to your core.

He groaned at the sound and dipped his tongue into your mouth and out again rhythmically, as if making love to you. One hand slipped around your back and held you while the other slid up to your breast and felt you, owned you, roamed over you like you were a longed-for prize. He groaned against you, and his kiss deepened into a hot, sensual exploration.

You felt weightless, boneless, all but liquefied by the heat of his mouth on yours and the strength of his hands caressing every part of you. His sounds of pleasure, his soft groans and heavy breathing, every male expression of pleasure made you even more desperate for him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down into you, kissing him with abandon.

There was no time for words, no breath to be stolen for the little flirtations of new lovers, there was simply this kiss. You fell into each other, seeking, needing, as if making up for all the years you had denied yourselves this pleasure. It was never enough, there was never a moment when it seemed right to part, never the need to break and bring lips to skin, or to fumble with clothing. It was all consuming, and erotic enough, this deep, soulful kiss, this meeting of mouths and breath and sounds.

You weren't friends...not now, and not ever, you suddenly knew. You had always been this to each other, always one breath away from this, always one kiss away. . one breathless, soulful, beautiful kiss.

Finally—finally—when the need for air had peaked, when the thundering of your hearts needed calming, he reluctantly pulled away, his chest rising and falling with each laboured breath. He smiled at you, a soft laugh escaping through his breathing.

“Now that,” he said, bumping his nose against you as his breath finally began to slow. “Is kissing back.”

Your fingers brushing against your own lips as if to confirm what just happened. Heat crept up your neck and into your cheeks, and you suddenly couldn’t quite meet his gaze.

“I—I should probably get home,” you stammered, your voice higher than you intended. “It’s late.”

Bucky’s brow lifted, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he straightened slightly, his hand lingering at your elbow for just a moment before dropping away. “Alright,” he said softly, his voice warm and steady. “I’ll walk you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“You think I’d let you walk home alone?” His eyes narrowed slightly, his tone shifting to something more serious, though the teasing lilt never fully disappeared. “Not a chance, doll.”

Before you could protest again, he was already on his feet, reaching out a hand to help you up. His grip was firm but gentle, his fingers warm around yours, and when you stood, the faintest squeeze sent another ripple of heat through you.

The walk started quietly. The soft noise of crickets filled the summer night, the distant glow of the city lights casting a faint halo on the horizon. The air was thick with unspoken words, every glance and sidelong look charged with the memory of the kiss you’d just shared.

Bucky fell into step beside you, his pace unhurried but purposeful. You noticed it immediately—how he positioned himself closer to the road, his body a silent barrier between you and the passing cars. It was such a small thing, something most people might not even notice, but it made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with the lingering taste of his kiss.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy, the kind that made you acutely aware of everything—of the way his shoulder brushed yours every now and then, of the soft scuff of his boots against the pavement, of the way your heart hadn’t quite settled back into its normal rhythm.

And then, without warning, his hand brushed against yours. It was fleeting, accidental, but the spark it sent through you was impossible to ignore. You glanced up at him, your pulse quickening as you caught the way his lips quirked into the faintest smile.

He didn’t say anything—just slipped his fingers through yours, his grip warm and steady, his thumb brushing softly against your knuckles. The gesture was so simple, so natural, but it felt monumental, like crossing some invisible line you could never return from.

You couldn’t help but glance at him again, your lips parting to say something—anything—but the words died on your tongue when you saw the way he was looking at you. His expression was soft, almost shy.

He didn’t look away, and neither did you. The streetlights flickered as you walked beneath them, their glow casting golden pools on the sidewalk, but all you could see was him.

“Are you always this quiet after a kiss?” he asked suddenly, his voice low and teasing, though there was a softness to it that made your heart flutter.

Your face heated, and you looked down at your joined hands, your laugh shaky. “Are you always this smug after one?”

He laughs.

“Depends,” he said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles again,“Was it good enough to be smug about?”

You shot him a look, biting your lip to keep from smiling too wide. “Wow, you’re already smug anyway. . .”

“And yet,” he said, his voice dropping just enough to make your breath catch, “you’re still holding my hand.”

You didn’t have an answer for that. Or maybe you did, but it was lost somewhere between the heat of his gaze and the warmth of his palm against yours. And somehow, you didn’t mind one bit.

The walk to your door felt like it ended too soon. One moment, the quiet streets were stretching ahead of you, your hand warm in his, and now, here you were—standing on your front step with no excuse to linger.

Your fingers twitched reluctantly as you let go of his hand, the cool night air rushing in where his warmth had been. You caught the faintest flicker of something on his face—hesitation, maybe?—but it was gone just as quickly, replaced by a soft, crooked smile.

The faint glow of your porch light cast soft shadows across his face, making the lines of his jaw and the curve of his lips seem even sharper, even softer all at once.

“I had so much fun today,” Bucky said, his voice quiet but steady, the kind of low timbre that seemed to settle somewhere deep in your chest. “It was so good seeing you.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, your lips curving into a smile even as your heart ached. “Me too.”

He shifted slightly, the smallest movement that still felt impossibly significant. “Good night,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, almost hesitant.

You nodded, your own voice barely above a whisper. “Good night.”

But he didn’t turn to leave. Instead, he lingered, his gaze holding yours like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

“You have a sweet dream,” he added, his words softer now, gentler, and they hit you like a warm breeze. His lips tilted into a small, almost bashful smile, and the tenderness in his expression stole whatever breath you had left.

You barely managed to nod, your throat too tight to speak. But before you could even think about what to say, he stepped forward, closing the space between you in one unhurried movement.

His arms wrapped around you, solid and warm, pulling you into him without hesitation. It wasn’t hurried or awkward—it was grounding, steadying, like he’d been waiting all night for this. The scent of him—faintly woodsy, clean, and musky—washed over you as his hands settled lightly on your back, and your face pressed against his chest. You could feel the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing, the strength in the way he held you as though he didn’t want the moment to slip away.

“Good night,” he murmured again, his voice rumbling softly against your hair. His arms tightened slightly before he finally, finally let you go, his hands lingering just a moment longer than necessary before dropping to his sides.

You stepped back, your heart thundering as you looked up at him.

You swallowed hard, your lips curving into a smile as you opened your door. “Good night, Bucky.”

As the door clicked shut behind you, you leaned against it, your chest rising and falling as you tried to calm your racing heart. On the other side, you imagined him standing there for just a moment longer, smiling to himself the way he always did when he thought no one was looking.

And somehow, that made everything feel perfect.

tags: @lomlbuckybarnes @winterslove1917 @hzdhrtss @mostlymarvelgirl

@missvelvetsstuff @unaxv @carnal-vogue @bmyva1entine @wheredidiputmyfish

@thereoncewasagirlnamedjane @wanda-widow @filmologetica @awaywithtime @Thealyrs

@greatenthusiasttidalwave @winchestert101 @strawberrybisou @unaxv @asgards-princess-of-mischief

@fynnwolff @veronicapaula

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koyagifs · 3 months ago

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𝓱𝓲𝓭𝓭𝓮𝓷 𝓶𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓪𝓰𝓮

pairing: san x reader au: idol | friends to lovers genre: fluff word count: 825 words summary: san had tried confessing through subtle messages but he finally had enough. warning(s): -

You laid on San couch, wearing his t-shirt as well as some shorts as Byeol laid on your chest. San had invited you over, saying he'll meet you there after he had finish up a few verses with Hongjoong. As you laid comfortably, San was standing by a flower shop, wondering which one to get for you.

The amount of times San had tried to confess, he had lost count.

As you relaxed on the couch, Byeol curled up on your chest, her soft purring creating a soothing rhythm. The afternoon light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow around the room. You smiled, feeling content in this little moment of peace.

San’s playful banter echoed in your mind—how he always teased about bringing you flowers. It was sweet how much thought he put into it, even if he struggled to actually confess his feelings. You could imagine him standing there, deliberating over the vibrant blooms, his brow furrowed in concentration.

What would he pick? Maybe daisies, bright and cheerful, or perhaps roses, classic yet romantic. You chuckled softly, imagining him overthinking the choice as he always did. He’d probably think about what you might like, what would make you smile.

Your thoughts drifted, imagining what it would be like if he finally found the courage to tell you. The way he’d smile shyly, those deep brown eyes sparkling with hope. The anticipation of that moment felt thrilling and terrifying all at once.

Just then, you heard the door click open. San stepped in, a goofy grin on his face, a bouquet of sunflowers in hand. “I figured you could use a little sunshine,” he said, his voice bright and teasing.

You couldn’t help but smile back, your heart racing a bit. “You know me so well,” you replied, glancing down at Byeol, who was now wide awake and curious.

As he approached, you could see the way his cheeks flushed slightly, a hint of nervousness creeping into his demeanor. “I… uh, I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he started, his voice wavering just a bit.

Your heart skipped a beat. Here it was—the moment you both had danced around for so long. You met his gaze, feeling the weight of the unspoken words lingering in the air, and waited for him to continue.

San took a deep breath, his fingers nervously twisting the stem of the sunflowers. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us,” he said, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “About how much I value our friendship and… how much I wish it could be more.”

The words hung in the air, a mix of hope and vulnerability. Your heart raced as you searched his expression, wanting to convey your own feelings without breaking the moment.

He stepped a little closer, his eyes locked on yours. “I just… I really like you. Like, a lot. And I’ve been too scared to say anything because I didn’t want to ruin what we have.” His cheeks were flushed, the honesty of his confession making him even more endearing.

You felt a wave of warmth rush through you, and a smile broke across your face. “San,” you started, your voice steady despite the excitement bubbling inside. You sat up, moving an upset Byeol as you left the couch. San looked at you nervously, but was soon at ease when you took the flowers from him.

“i knew the whole time," you said, smiling up at him.

San’s jaw dropped in surprise, his cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of red. “Wait, really? You knew?”

You nodded, a playful grin spreading across your face. “Yeah! All those little hints? I might be slow sometimes, but I wasn’t completely oblivious.”

He let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I thought I was being so subtle!”

“You were cute about it, but not as subtle as you think,” you teased. “Like the time you kept bringing up that café with the cute flower arrangements. I saw right through you.”

San huffed, " does this mean you like me?"

As you wrapped your arms around San’s neck and pressed your lips to his, the world around you faded away. His surprise melted into warmth, and you felt him lean into the kiss, his hands gently finding your waist.

The moment was electric—sweet and tender, yet filled with the weight of all the unspoken feelings that had been building between you. When you finally pulled away, breathless, you looked into his eyes, which sparkled with a mixture of shock and joy.

“Wow,” he breathed, a grin spreading across his face. “So that’s what you meant by ‘liking’ me.”

You chuckled softly, feeling giddy. “Yeah, I think that qualifies.”

San let out a breathe he didn't realized that he held in, making you giggle. He placed another kiss on your lips, his heart racing as he finally got the girl of his dream.

#ateez san x reader #san x reader fluff #choi san x reader #san x reader #ateez fluff #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez oneshot #ateez x y/n #choi san fluff #choi san

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sixosix · 1 year ago

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summary you take it upon yourself to make it up to lyney when he couldn’t perform on the night he looked forward to the most—and lyney falls a little harder.

or, sickfic, basically, but it’s more than that

warnings wc 3k, mentions of injuries and blood, fluff!!! and a bit of angst oops

A/N @hiraethsdesires wanted to get tagged so here u goo!!! hope u like reading it <3

“For the last time, Lyney,” you sigh, shoving one more macaron in the small, red box with the same shade as the accents of his hat, “I can’t attend your show.”

It’s a stroke of luck for him that you don’t have a line right now, or else you would’ve kicked him out the moment you saw him enter, fully expecting he doesn’t intend on leaving right away.

Lyney droops dramatically, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “Seriously? Not this week either?”

“Not this week either. Not ever, I’m pretty sure I told you.” You push the box against his chest, to which he responds eagerly by situating his free hand firmly over yours.

He keeps his grip firm when you try tugging your hands away. He bores his eyes into yours, too sincere and open for a performer such as himself—you feel a bit of your will chip away. “That night is special to me. Won’t you consider again?”

“Why is it special?”

Lyney’s lips curl into a smirk, striking right when you’ve faltered. “Because you will be coming to watch, of course.”

You jerk your hands out of his grip as he laughs. “Bold assumption,” you say, smiling a little when Lyney cries a ‘come onnnn’. “Lyney, I already said—”

“—That you have no one else to take care of the shop if you leave, I know, I know,” Lyney interrupts with clear disdain. “But don’t you think I deserve a bit of compensation? Surely you recognize my efforts in being this bakery’s most loyal customer. Most purchases and most compliments to the prettiest owner.”

You roll your eyes, but you do give it a bit of thought. Lyney has been the reason why your humble little shop tucked in some hidden corner of Fontaine’s city has been gaining attention. You’ve definitely increased in customers ever since Lyney took it upon himself to come over every day with a Rainbow Rose and a dream (and Mora).

“If I attend to one, will you promise it’ll be the last?”

Lyney’s expression shifts instantly. He beams, leaning close enough until your noses are touching. You swear you can see the sparkles in his eyes. “I can’t promise anything if you enjoy it so much you keep coming back for more.”

“Don’t push it,” you say.

“I won’t, I won’t,” Lyney murmurs, his smile turning softer. “You’re not joking around, right? That’s a yes?”

“It’s a yes, I guess.”

He kisses your hand three times, saying, “I’ll make it the best night of your life, I promise,” between them.

You look forward to it. You wouldn’t tell it to his face, but if he were to look closer and see the tremble of your hands to the smile on your face, he’d know anyway.

Lyney doesn’t come over the next day.

You will yourself not to feel too disappointed. You have no right to be. Every time he does visit, he’d just invite you to one of his shows under the guise of ordering whatever you tell him is the best seller of the day, and every time, you’d reject his offer. Yesterday was an exception—on a whim.

Maybe he got a revelation, thinking that he'll find it boring when he finally got you in his grasp.

It certainly doesn’t help that Lyney still hasn't come to visit the day after that, which happened to be the same day of the performance.

They canceled the show, you hear them say, from outside on the streets and even in the walls of your bakery. What a shame; I was looking forward to it.

So was I, you want to say through gritted teeth.

You knew their fame knew no bounds, but it was only then that embarrassment crept in when you realized that the show star, Lyney himself, frequented your small shop with a bouquet in hand to invite you personally. And you had the gall to reject him.

You also learn that the bakery feels much more empty without his blazing presence.

The moment you finish watching the customer exit the shop with two paper bags in their arms, you rush to fling your apron off and flip the sign to ‘CLOSED’.

You don’t often leave the bakery in fear of missing out on what could be busy days, but this is more important than that. You can’t handle working idly for another hour with guilt in your stomach urging you to do something.

You must look like a sight: speeding through the pathway with a bit of flour on your clothes and a determined glint in your eyes. Only when you spot a familiar house overhead do you pause to take a deep breath.

You can do this. You need to find out what happened.

“He got sick?”

Lynette nods, sighing in defeat. “Would you like to come in? I’ll explain as I make tea.”

You glance around unsurely, feeling a little out of place. You occasionally break the heart of the brother of this woman currently inviting you inside their home. You can only hope that Lyney hasn’t been lamenting his bakery troubles to his sister.

Lynette directs you to the loveseat of their small living room before padding over to the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable,” she says in her endearing ever-monotone voice.

“I’m okay, thank… you…” Your gaze catches on a picture frame on the desk beside the seat of Lyney, Lynette, and what you can only assume from stories he’s shared is Freminet. Lynette is far from the camera, staring into the distance and sipping tea. Freminet is smiling awkwardly with no teeth, and the one eye he has visible isn’t even staring at the camera. Then Lyney sits in the middle, holding the camera with two arms and a wide grin, eyes screwed shut and his face so open.

You feel as if you’ve just caught a glimpse of something so personal, and the thought of that twists your heart and pushes it to beat twice as fast as normal. You’ve never seen him smile like that before. (You briefly wonder what it would be like to see it happen personally.)

“I’ve never seen him get this high of a fever before,” Lynette says, rousing you from your trance. She hands you a cup of tea, steam emanating from the cup.

“How did he even get sick?”

“I’m not sure… It could be because of the thunderstorm yesterday—he was out at that time and came home like that. He seemed really excited for tonight, too. Lyney kept telling me that this one would be special.”

“Because you will be coming to watch, of course.”

You nearly choke in your first sip because of your own thoughts.

Lynette looks back up at you over the rim of her cup. “With the stress of not being able to perform tormenting him, I assume he wouldn’t be getting better in time for the show. Or at least, not tonight at all.”

“Ah,” you voice lamely. You can’t even imagine the look of pure distress on Lyney’s sweet face—it hurts to even think about it. He’s done so much for you and even promised a whole show, only to fall sick before he could make it come true.

Will he think he’s at fault for this?

With your fingernails digging crescents on your palms, you quietly ask, “…Can I come visit him? Or would that be too much?”

Lynette’s gaze sharpens a little. “Has my brother told you the truth of our identities?”

“Most of everyone found out after the trial,” you answer without missing a beat.

“And still, you choose to care for Lyney?”

Is this a shovel talk? Are you experiencing a shovel talk right now?

“He makes it hard not to,” you say weakly; it’s the truth. You’re here because Lyney, throughout his little visits, has made you care so deeply for him that you started to look forward to each visit. “…Is that a no? Was that too much of a request?”

Lynette has a ghost of a smile on her face. “It’s perfect.”

The room is silent as you enter. You feel shame for visiting someone’s room without them knowing, even though you’ve been given complete permission by his own sister. Still, your face burns the closer you reach Lyney’s bed.

“Hey, Lyney,” you murmur as you kneel beside the bed. “I brought some of your favorites.”

He doesn’t respond, much to no one’s surprise. You wonder why you feel so disappointed that those lilac eyes aren’t looking at you, begging you, wooing you. Defeated, you place the bag of macarons on his bedside table, mostly an excuse to inspect his face closer.

His brows are furrowed, and a thin layer of sweat is on his forehead, even in his sleep. He looks nicer in casual clothes and his hair free from products.

A bowl of water is near his head, with a towel sitting in the bottom.

“You get really sick when you get it, huh?” you muse to no one in particular, gently wiping the sweat off his forehead. Then to his neck, where the warmth of his fever nearly burns you just by hovering close.

Lyney shifts a little. You pause with bated breath. Still, he doesn’t wake up.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper, taking the bowl in your hands.

His nose is really red. You shouldn’t be finding it cute—really, what’s wrong with you recently?

But your movement brushed against the blanket over his torso and, with it, came revealing the side of his waist. His stomach is wrapped with bandages, and a spot of dried blood is seeping in on the bandage on his side.

Your eyes widen in horror, nearly making a loud, indecipherable noise before you catch yourself.

You rush to the door, finding Lynette in the same spot of the loveseat where you left her. Her eyes flick up to you, brows arched in surprise.

“Lynette, he—”

She catches on quickly. “He’s alright,” Lynette says, though her ears are curled back in distress. “He’s been given help. We knew of someone affiliated with Hydro and its healing properties. He’s alright.”

Well. Of course, she knew; she’s his sister. You can’t bear the thought of Lyney in the middle of a thunderstorm, finding himself in front of Lynette, bleeding. You feel sick just thinking about it. You can’t possibly imagine what Lynette has been going through, having to take care of her brother by herself.

You hesitate. “Can I come back here tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Wait—really?”

Lynette pauses. “Should I have not said yes?”

“I just thought you’d be a little more stern with me because of… you know…”

“I respect those who put my brother in his place,” Lynette says, then: “And those who don’t run from us when they find out what our identities are,” and that’s that.

“You brought a flower,” is the first thing Lynette says as soon as she opens the door the following morning.

“He gives me one every visit,” you explain, and you’re not quite sure why it’s humiliating to do so. “So, I want to pay him back at least this once.”

“Rainbow Rose,” Lynette notes as she shuts the door softly. You follow her into Lyney’s room, but she halts before you two can reach the door at arm’s length. “Do you know what this one means?”

You look at the Rainbow Rose nestled in your palm. It's been well taken care of since he gave it to you—all of them had been. “No, I can’t say that I do…?”

“He’s given everyone else Lumidouce Bells because this flower is a little more special.”

Lynette reaches for your hand, gently pushing the Rainbow Rose until you’re holding it against your chest.

She looks into your eyes. “That flower is like him giving his heart to you. Please, take care of it some more. Don’t give it back, okay?”

And as you mull over her words, she leaves. And left you standing in front of Lyney’s room alone, with your entire face feeling as if it’s been burnt by the sun.

But this is no time for distractions, no matter the implications. Lyney still hasn’t woken up yet, and it’s time to pay him back. He deserves that much.

“You finally feel better?”

Lyney blinks. Or, at least, he tries to, but his eyes weigh heavier than usual. He lays back down and chooses to close them back again. “Ugh…” he rasps out, “Lynette. My side is still hurting a little, but it’s much more bearable than yesterday. I thought I was about to die!”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Lynette says, handing him a glass of water. “You already caused quite a scene.”

“Hmmm?” Lyney answers absentmindedly, finding himself ready to fall asleep again.

“You didn’t get injured yesterday. That was five days ago. And the bakery shop owner kept coming over every day.”

Lyney’s eyes definitely open at that. “What did you say?”

Lynette’s tail flicks. “The bakery has been closed for about four days now, and no one else but I know that it’s because the person responsible for it has been here in this room instead, taking care of you. It was even on The Steambird.”

Lyney’s finding it difficult to catch up. “Wait… wait. Are you saying…”

“You made Y/N, Freminet, and I worry so much, you know,” she chides.

Lyney’s heart shatters. “Does that mean—my wound—”

“I wasn’t the one changing your bandages,” Lynette says with a tiny smile as she watches her brother’s face explode in red. “Do you still feel tired?”

“Not at all!” Lyney springs up from his bed, his grin wild and insane. His side will most definitely punish him for this, but that’s far in the back of his mind. “Ah, so Y/N does care. All my efforts weren’t in vain!”

Lynette sighs, but still stays to listen.

“And—bandaging my wounds? While I was out cold? How intimate… My heart is racing at the thought of it.” He clutches his chest, because it’s true despite his dramatics.

“I’ve never seen Y/N before; I’ve only heard of what you told me every time you came back from the bakery,” Lynette starts, urging him to lie back down. She presses a towel on his forehead, and he yelps because it feels ice-cold. “But you seem wrong about every assumption, Lyney. I know the face of someone who cares.”

Lyney falters, his expression softening impossibly. “Y/N’s not mad I missed out on the show I promised…?”

“Y/N was worried about the same thing, but in your shoes.”

Lyney hides his face with his hands, but that’s a fruitless attempt. Lynette has a clear view of his red ears. “I can’t tell if I’m elated or mortified,” he groans. “Both, perhaps?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Lynette says, getting up at the same time the door swings open.

“I’m sorry I’m late!” you exclaim, though hushedly. “Lynette, I brought food to eat. Here, help yourself. Has Lyney woken up yet?”

“Oh, he…” Lynette takes your handmade lunch and glances down at her brother, briefly surprised to see him with his eyes shut and his breathing as steady as it had been when he was sleeping. “Excuse me, I want to eat.”

“Wait, Lynette—” you start, but Lynette is already walking away and eventually shuts the door. She must be very excited to eat her food.

You turn to Lyney, and the world falls silent. Lyney doesn’t know why he’s terrified of you finding out he’s awake. Was it guilt? Shame for a promised night in ruin, or humiliation for seeing him at his lowest point? He grips the sheet under the blanket tighter. His heart racing seems like it’s neither of those.

“Hello again, Lyney,” you say in a low whisper, and all of a sudden, his grip loosens, and his shoulders lose tension. “You should wake up soon. I promised Lynette I’d bake your favorite dessert if you do.”

You're not expecting any reply, ceremoniously reaching for the towel on his bedside table, like you’ve lived here as much as he has been.

The steady beat of your heart calms him, and he wonders how you aren’t hearing how fast his is beating yet.

Lyney finds himself enjoying being under your tender care, until the warmth on his side disappears and he panics instantly. His eyes fly open just in time for him to see you leaning in to press a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Lyney slips, instinctively reaching out to hold your head in place.

You both freeze, staring at each other wide-eyed.

His thoughts race. Four days. You’ve closed the bakery shop you swore to him you wouldn’t ever abandon just for anyone—yet you did for him. You’ve been taking care of him. And kissing his cheek, for god’s sake. Four days you’ve been caring for him so sweetly, and he wasn’t awake enough to experience all of it himself.

“You’re—you’re awake!” you exclaim, your hands on both of his cheeks. “Lyney, oh, you’re— Wait, how long have you been—”

Lyney silences you with a kiss on the side of your mouth. He smiles at your dumbfounded expression. “You shouldn’t promise my dessert,” he says, and he winces when his voice doesn’t come out as smoothly as intended. “I don’t want any more promises to break.”

“You didn’t break any promise, Lyney,” you say softly, and he blinks when your eyes glisten. “You’re awake right now, aren’t you?”

“Then,” he straightens to sit up, grinning, “let me make it up to you. I promised you a night you would never forget, didn’t I?”

A/N not another lyney fic...

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney x y/n #lyney x gender neutral reader #genshin x you

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jolalibrary · 8 months ago

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midnight bedsheets

joel miller x f!reader | joel masterlist

summary: you and joel find some bedsheets.

wordcount: 1.2k warnings: fluff/little smutty - allusions to smut. mostly fluff those guys. i needed this. post outbreak. joel is smitten. soft!joel because he's my fave. AN: written on my phone so, mind the errors.

When the two of you had split up, Joel had a feeling that you wouldn’t look for one goddamn thing he’d asked you to.

He’d seen it.

That glimmer of fucking mischief shimmering in your eyes, tracing your lips with the tip of your tongue, hand on your hip, I’ll be sure to keep my pretty eyes open, Miller.

He doubted you would. But he wouldn’t, and couldn’t, doubt your eyes were pretty.

They had burned themselves into him by now. To the point he knows the exact shades that make them up; all well known to him, able to pick them out from a lineup, if he so needed to.

Having seen them in all manner of ways—looking up at him, next to him, underneath him. Seen them when the sun shined, when the snow fell; when the rain fell and the thunder clapped.

Kicking his foot against something picked over, he listens for your boots, for you turning over your side of the store. Clicking his tongue, shaking his head, heading your way, knowing, before he finds you, that you’ve located something they weren’t looking for.

Sometimes, he doesn’t like knowing you so well. Finding you on your hands and knees, ass in the air—hips wiggling as you stretch yourself, reaching and reaching, shirt having risen and exposing more of your skin to him. Tempting him, like the fucking temptress you are—

“Y’need any help there?”

He shouldn’t think what a sight it is, but he does.

Flicking his thumb against his finger, fighting himself about getting down onto his knees behind you and reminding you of how good he can make you feel.

Memories of you like this, his knees on the outside of yours, the feel of you enveloping him as he slid his cock into your—

“No, I’m good.”

“You sure—”

Whatever you’d been grasping for, must have come loose. Because you shoot up, resting back on your knees—head looking over your shoulder, a smirk on your face.

And not just any smirk. That smirk. The one that makes him hot under the collar of his jacket and makes blood rush to his cock.

It’s the one you sent him when out in the river washing two days ago, when you flung your soaked shirt at him—the slap sounding out in the quiet of the world. Should come warm me up, Miller. A thing he repeated in a grumble under his breath when he removed his boots, layers and trudged out to pull your wet, clean skin against him.

Now, though, he watches in real-time as the smirk shifts into something softer when you stand—when the thing in your hand comes into view. Wrapped in crinkling plastic packaging, the fabric inside folded intricately as he catches the words: Deluxe and Bedsheets.

He watches as you smear your fingers over the front, removing the thick dust, it clagging and clinging to your skin as you try to peer through the muck at what you’d found.

“What y’found?”

“Bedsheets,” you reply, not looking up—voice distant, soft, almost too soft for you.

His weight shifts as he swallows. Already imagining what you’re thinking. Remembering summer breezes in backyards, big sheets billowing, drying off as laughter plays. Hell, he can hear it himself—practically could lose himself to the memory if he tries hard enough.

“We’ve not got room for it.”

Looking up, your eyes narrow—a little bit of fury in your eyes as you roll your jaw. “But, we’ll make room. Right?”

Right. He thinks.

“Joel?”

“Fine.”

He’s not sure when he’s stopped being able to say no to you.

It’s days until the two of you are back in the familiar peeling walls.

The scent is both dire and familiar all at once as he helps you remove the bag from your shoulder, it thudding on loose floorboards as he begins to remove his.

He waits. Waiting for the moment you ask for it, the thing he’s somehow folded and squeezed into his pack. The thing which sat at the base, stared at him when he dug in for his bottle or foil-wrapped food.

You last thirty seconds.

He’d been counting. Grumbling for water as he tells you he’ll grab it, hands finding the plastic with ease—briefly, allowing himself to grasp at it, feel that familiar texture that reminds him of normalcy and shopping.

“You gonna help me?”

Shaking his head, Joel grabs the glass you’ve poured for him. Taking a sip. Letting you stew.

“Think of it like this, the quicker you help me make the bed, the quicker you can make these sheets yours.”

Chewing his tongue, he swirls the murky water in his glass, giving you a minute, not quite biting immediately. “How am I gonna do that?”

Shrugging, your fingers slide down the buttons of your shirt, popping not one, but two open. “Use your imagination, Miller.”

“Filthy, woman,” he snorts, glass slamming down as he moves around the table as you laugh.

A sound that’s beautiful, and warm. A thing he won’t admit, even as he helps, as he takes a side of the bed before your hand brushes his, handing him the packet. Reading you. Tilting his head as he rips it open, being sure to focus on your eyes, knowing they'll widen, biting the inside of his cheek when they do.

And he knows that look. The one that, if you weren't so stubborn, would be matched with your mouth falling open, all in awe.

It makes him half tempted to move around to your side of the bed and see if he’s right. Undo the button on your jeans, slide his thick fingers against the fabric covering your mound, and see if there's a patch, a damp slither as he spots you pushing your thighs together.

But, your face is blank. Unreadable. A thing you're good at, so easily able to bury the effect he has on you as you begin to hum.

A thing he tries not to shake his head at, because it’s nice. Normal. For a moment able to close his eyes and pretend they’re in a bedroom, in a house, something they’ve chosen rather than been given.

It running through his mind. As it does sometimes.

What you’d be like if the world hadn’t pushed you to adapt, whether you’d be as charmed by him as you are now. His eyes catching yours as the two of you shake your pillows in the new sheet—a smile there, kissing your eyes and gracing your lips.

And he hopes you would have been.

Thinks maybe you might have been.

It’s only when it’s done, the bed dressed, does he see the beauty of what you’d seen. The sheets a deep blue, almost midnight, decorated with intricately stitched swirls and stars that break up the expanse.

“It’s like that time we hunkered under that tree,” you say, eyes gazing down at it. “When we saw all those stars.”

He hums. Taking the corner between his finger and thumb, feeling the rich cotton—how it’s not over worn, likely has its thread count.

“Remember what we did under them?”

Biting the inside of his cheek, he flicks his gaze up at you—chin still tucked to his chin. Seeing how another button is undone, exposing the valley between your breasts.

“Get on the bed.”

This time, he didn’t have to ask you twice. Thank fuck.

an: I’m a bit rusty with Joel, so forgive me 🩷

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koenigami · 17 days ago

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soft kissing hour. tags : fluff, fem!reader, touchy togame, mentions of reader wearing make up wc : 950 - Less is more. Togame likes to live by that simple rule in more than only one way. Whether that be his clothing, his minimalistically decorated home, or his decision to exchange his long messy mullet with a plain short undercut a few years ago. As cheesy as it sounds, he just thinks that it is important to appreciate the mundane things in life.

His conviction is even further undermined once your silhouette appears in the doorway of his bedroom.

It is the first time that you’re actually spending the night at his, and to say that he’s more than elated is an understatement.

Being able to watch you pad around his room in his own clothes, hold you in the comfort of his bed, and having the honor to have you being the last thing he sees before falling asleep as well as the first thing when he wakes up the following morning. The simple thought of it makes him only now aware of the fact that his home has been missing something significant all this time. You.

That's why you're met with the most gentle smile once you walk over to the unoccupied side of the bed, clad in an old shirt of his and sweat shorts.

A light shiver runs through your body accompanied with goosebumps rising along your skin once you slip under cold sheets. Yet when Togame's arm reaches out and pulls you in by your waist, you can't hold back the little hum of contentment once you feel his warmth.

You always tell him that he's a walking furnace. Especially on days when he calls you a living icicle. When your freezing fingers meet his warm palms, or when you bury your cold nose in the crevice of his neck, soaking in his warmth and the woody scent of his that you've gotten so very addicted to.

"I don't think I've seen you like this before." He speaks lowly once you're nestled against him, your head resting on his upper arm.

"Like what?" You breathe out and wonder whether he can feel your heartbeat like this, chest to chest. His lips are so close, all you would have to do is lean in the slightest bit only to taste him, slot your mouth against his and forget the entire world around you.

His soft gaze travels across your face. Your eyes, your lips, your jaw, your nose, again your lips-

Your eyebrows perk up when he opens his mouth, obviously unsure about how to word his thoughts. There's a stuttering beat against your chest, and you have no clue whether it is yours or his. A second passes, then another, and when the suspense is getting almost unbearable, Togame only sighs. You both giggle in unison when he just curses while a rosey blush suddenly dusts over his cheeks.

"Jo! Come on, just say it already." The corners of your mouth are starting to hurt from the bright grin plastered on your face. Though it falls slowly when his palm cups your jaw, and he just silently looks at you.

Your heart swells at how tenderly his thumb swipes over the skin of your cheek. Togame Jo, a man so strong yet a man who knows that the blessing of such a strength comes with certain responsibilities.

His broad shoulders and back have always been an advantage when facing adversaries, allowing him to intimidate them easily. Now, he knows that those same shoulders are meant to carry any burdens that seem to weigh you down.

Big strong hands that have punched and broken so much, been covered in blood for way too many times. Now, he can use those same hands to gently hold your softer ones in his, glide them over the plush skin of your curves and feel your warmth.

"What are you doing?" You giggle quietly when his thumb slides higher up to the corner of your eyes, tracing the dark shades which are usually covered by a light sheen of concealer. He can easily move the pad of his finger over your eyebrows and down your nose bridge without you whining about how he's messing up your make up.

"You're just-" You follow his eyes which somehow seem to drift all over your face, as if he wants to take in all of you and burn every single detail into his memory. There's just something so satisfying about being able to see every single mark and blemish on your skin, and it's crazy how he has thought that you could not be any prettier. Yet here you are, taking his breath away and leaving his mind empty, and unable to come up with words to properly describe you. "Pretty. Very."

A beat of silence passes, while you blink at him.

"My boyfriend has such a way with words." Your voice is a pitch higher as you fan your face, containing your smile with a bite on your lip until you shriek when his teeth suddenly graze your jaw.

"Maybe my girlfriend should have dated a poet instead then." There's something darker in his voice as he looks at you through hooded eyes. As if even the single thought of you with someone else is able to kindle a fire inside him that could only ever be extinguished by you yourself.

No, Togame may not be your classical poet. However the way his body language speaks to you, reacts to you, how his fingers trace all kinds of shapes into your skin, how his eyes roam all over your body, pupils dilating and throwing shadows into the green forest in his eyes- It's probably more worth than simple words on a piece paper.

"Nah." You quip and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling yourself impossibly closer to him. The tip of your nose touches his. "I think I'm more than fine like this."

#togame jo #togame #wind breaker togame #togame x reader #wbk togame #togame jou #togame fluff #togame jo x reader #togame drabble #wind breaker x reader

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doki-doki-imagines · 7 months ago

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Hybrid!Cow Nagi x Reader

tw: Smut, afab reader, use of she/her, hybrid x human sex, Nagi is a bit mean, but he is also very very in love.

a/n: a small piece of a much bigger fic inspired by this official art. This is just the smut part, but I wanted to get this idea out of my system. It was set in a world where most people are hybrids, and just a few (like reader) are born human. Nagi is one of the local mailmen and the first person to meet you. It was going to be a long, fluffy fic ending with filthy smut. So take just the cherry on top, lol. Maybe one day I'll complete this.

Seishiro isn’t used to rough nights like he isn’t used to scratched knuckles and sore muscles, but it seemed the only right thing to do when that shit poor example of a cat hybrid treated you like that.

He lays on your bed, white hair sprawled on your soft sky-blue pillow, his large-fitting hoodie and blue pants miraculously clean. “Smell nice” Seishiro thinks, cow ears fluttering when your smell on the pillow hits his nostrils. It’s relaxing after such an intense fight. For that dude, not for him.

“It’s an honor to be my partner-“ “Nobody wants a simple human as a partner, I’m doing it just because my parents asked, and anyway they should thank me since I could get much better-“ “I don’t want a loser nerd as a partner, they should start to dress and eat better-“

Seishiro doesn’t remember what came first, but the clear image of you crouched on yourself, lips trembling and fat tears hanging on your lower lashes keeps playing in his head. His tail beat nervously on your mattress, remembering the entitlement in that loser voice. Nagi bites the inside of his cheek, hard enough to draw blood, your pillow now pressed to his face, trying to calm himself down with your smell. His leg twitches, remembering how hard he kicked that douchebag, straight on his chest, making him hit a table behind and surprising all his friends.

It was already a pain to go out with everyone, but seeing you on a date with a guy that wasn’t him, and treated that badly was the cherry on top of his already poor patience.

“Is everything okay Nagi?” A shiver runs down Seishiro’s body, making every muscle twitch for the surprise. He moves away the pillow, side-eyeing you, before plopping it on his back to look better at you.

“I have to ask two things-“ You nod, prompting him to ask whatever he wants, while sitting on your bed, eyes locked with his ones.

“Call me Seishiro-“ You nod “and-“ He gulps, throat dry from the moment your figure met his sight. “Are you trying to seduce me?” His voice is calm as always, but the intensity of his eyes makes you jump on the spot.

“Seduce? I mean, I usually dress like this to-“ You turn around, not wanting to look at him, embarrassed by his comment. Your sheer nightgown, with cute sunflowers embroidered on it and matching panties, left very little to the imagination after all. Not to talk about you being braless, a sight that sent in short circuit his brain.

“Usually, so not always-” He whispers, almost into your ear. He can see a shiver running down your spine making you arch. The desire to run a finger from your neck to your lower back is tempting.

He lay his chin on your shoulder, letting out a sigh, annoyed by the whirlwind that is happening in his stomach. “Can I kiss you?” His greyish eyes lock with yours, trying to read your emotions. Seishiro doesn’t move, waiting to understand your intentions.

You nod, and to Seishiro's surprise, you make the first move. Your soft lips touch his ones, it’s a butterfly touch that lasts way too little for the white-haired guy's tastes. “Is it good?” Your voice breaks a little and Nagi has to keep himself from pinching your cheek. “Yeah, but let’s improve.” He mutters back, full lips locking with yours, tasting a different shade of love from the previous one. Seishiro’s eyes are closed but he can feel your softer hands cupping his cheeks, before sliding lower to his chin and neck. He worries that you may have pyrokinetic powers since every time you touch his naked skin he seems to get hotter.

You moan into his mouth when his big hands start to wander, one groping your mound, protected by his rough touch thanks to your thin nightgown. The other pushed you towards the mattress, making you both slide lower into your bed.

“Sei-“ You break the kiss, breath heavy and barely open eyes, just to notice your lover laying at your side, the end of his tail tickling your right thigh.

“Can I go further?” He is surprised by himself. Seishiro, Mr. Hassle man suddenly asks for more and more, knowing exactly that he’ll have to do most of the work. You nod, neck turned in an uncomfortable position. Nagi notices and decides to leave little pecks down your throat, trying to make you relax.

Such a gentle gesture as opposed to his deft fingers lifting the end of your nightgown, exposing the soft skin of your leg to his rough handling. Hand groping and slapping your thigh with no finesse and for his own enjoyment.

“Ngh, Nagi-“ You get interrupted by another slap to your leg, making your ass grind into his lap, a gesture that generates a choked moan in Seishiro’s throat. “I told you to call me Seishiro-“ He spits out, leaving a small bite on your shoulder, not too hard to bruise, but still leaving a sign.

Nagi’s lips find yours again, his tongue prodding at your entrance, asking, wanting, to lap into your mouth, to drink your moans, and to taste your spit. You surrender immediately, your tongue weakly fighting against his, lost to the pleasure this entire situation is bringing you. The hand that was massaging your leg is sliding closer to your core, bunching your nightgown to your waist. A deft finger slides into your panties, playing first with one curl of your hairs, before pulling it, making you groan.

“She kept herself untouched for me, maybe she hoped to scare that loser off-“Seishiro thinks, pushing his hips, and therefore his boner against your ass, that idea clouding his brain even more. “I like them, keep them for me, mh?” He pants in your mouth, your lips still slightly open from the previous kiss. A high-pitched moan leaves your lips and Nagi takes it as consent to his order instead of a response to his forefinger assaulting your clit.

Seishiro has never been a patient guy, and it shows even now when his fingers caress your outer folds before digging a bit deeper, but never enough for your taste, edging you constantly while playing with the bundle of nerves with no grace. He wants to see fat tears roll down your cheeks, he wants to hear you beg for him, he wants to feel desired, and he wants it now.

“Sei-Seishiro!” You half scream, closing your eyes and finally, making tears escape. Nagi keeps himself from smirking, but his heart roars in pleasure at the sight. “Good-“

“You-you are a bully.” You interrupt him, your own phrase is broken by sighs of pleasure. Breath gets caught in his throat, not expecting to hear that from you, dick twitching when hearing your voice in strain.

“So, you don’t like me anymore? You want me to get out?” Seishiro teases you, speeding up the movement of his fingers. Your head moving left and right tells him all he needs to know, together with the hand that keeps pulling at the collar of his hoodie to keep him close. He finally pushes his middle finger inside your wet core “So wet, for me.” He mumbles biting his lower lip, thrusting faster, and soon adding the ring finger, curling them so deliciously that your eyes cross in pleasure. You are a mess, but Seishiro is no better, grinding his clothed boner into your ass desperately searching for relief, while his tail keeps trashing on his side of the bed, trying not to hurt your softer, human skin.

“Ah-ah” You moan, almost into his mouth, tears still rolling down your cheeks.

“Why do you keep your mouth open? C’mon if you need to say something, say it-“ The malice in his voice is clear, teasing you so meanly, but he can’t really stop himself from trying to push your buttons.

“Ngh-bully!” You groan back, your hand sliding to his hard-on groping it through his gym pants, noticing the big wet patch.

And how big he is.

“Ah-“ He moans too, the touch of your smaller hand driving him almost immediately to completion. It soon becomes a competition on whom would crumble first, both your bodies hot and sweaty trying to pull away but at the same time searching desperately for each other touch.

You reach your end first, throwing your head back into his shoulder, and letting out a high-pitched moan that Seishiro is sure to remember till he breathes. He pulls away as soon as possible, laying on his back and immediately pushing down, just the needed amount, his pants and boxers, freeing his erection, which hit his still-covered abdomen.

“Angh-“ He groans half in pain and half in pleasure for being finally able to free his cock, all flushed and angry for being edged for so long.

“Sei-“ You turn around. The mixture of your sweet, wet eyes and soft voice almost makes Nagi cum on the spot. “G-give me a moment. Then I-I can try to ride you.” You say in between heavy breaths, still swimming in the pleasure of the previous orgasm.

But as much as Seishiro would like to accept “N-No, turn around like before.” He orders, but to your ears, it seems more like he is begging you. Nagi notices and damn himself for sounding so pathetic, but the image of you on top of him, wet eyes, pouty mouth, and trembling legs, still wearing that damn sheer nightgown, wouldn’t make him last.

To say the truth just that image is sending him over the edge.

You nod at his request, turning around just like he asked; you must have thrown your panties somewhere since your back is completely exposed to him. Some droplet of your essence stains the apex of your legs, making Seishiro damn himself for not going down on you, having now to settle for his fingers to taste you.

Seishiro doesn’t indulge too much in your taste, even if it matches your smell, intoxicating, therefore he rolls on your side, grabbing your waist to pull you closer, his erection grinding against your back, slick with all the pre that copiously rolled down during your intercourse.

“Is-Is it gonna fit?” You look at him, and Nagi doesn’t have in him to lie to such sweet eyes “Maybe. I’ll go slow. If you were a cow hybrid it would have been easier-“ He brushes away some hair sticking to your forehead to land a sweet long kiss there “But I want you. More than any hybrid, ever. If it hurts I’m gonna stop.” He kisses your cheek, now dry after all those tears, before pushing just the tip inside your core.

Seishiro sees you wince, but you don’t tell him to stop. His left hand that was holding your waist is now entwined with yours, the other massaging your bosom, but not resisting the desire to pinch your pert nipple. Nagi pecks down your neck, to your chest, while sliding his throbbing member inside you, trying to ease your pain.

“Ngh-“ He groans, irises become liquid bliss. You are so warm and welcoming, sucking him in like you were made to fit together. All those hybrid theories could go fuck themselves because the white-haired guy is sure nobody could make him feel so ecstatic. “You are so good- so good for me.” He moans in between kisses, pushing your nightgown up to touch your trembling tummy, mouth now kissing and sucking your covered chest, pulling sweet moans out of your throat, while his tail tries to encircle your lifted leg to keep you impossibly close.

“You-You feel so nice Sei-“ You breathe out, scratching the little hair on his nape pulling a guttural groan from his mouth. He looks back at you, and you twitch feeling his hot mouth leaving your bosom, missing it already “Can I fuck you?” You tighten around his length and nod, biting your lower lip eyes looking at him so deeply he thinks he may drown in them.

He starts slowly, never really pushing out, not wanting to be separated long from your warmth. But things start to go downhill when your sweet, almost mellifluous moans meet his ears, calling his name so deliciously that he soon gives up on rationality like a sailor enchanted by a mermaid’s voice. His thrusts are deep and fast, making you both mewl out each other names.

“I’m-close-“ You slur out, one hand gripping one of the small horns on Nagi’s head to find purchase to reality in this frenzy. Seishiro just nods at your words, having noticed way before you told him, his length almost slipping out for how wet you are. His deft fingers return to your clit, rubbing furious circles on it to bring you to your apex “Ngh-no, together.” You grumble, trashing a bit and trying to pull away the hand that was bringing you so soon to delirious pleasure.

He looks at you from the nook of your head, not sure you are serious about this. But the look in your eyes, so determined and confident makes him crumble. “Ngh, ah-“ A pathetic mewl escaped his throat making him wince for how cringe he sounded, his thrusts now sloppy and with no finesse, just trying to grind the both of you to the apex. Seishiro kisses your already swollen lips when you reach your peak, too worried about the pitiful sound he’d make, but damning himself for losing the occasion to hear your voice one more time. Your walls spasm around his length trying to suck everything from his cock, desperate to have all of him inside you. He thrusts a bit more into your core, not wanting to leave your warmth so soon, but the overstimulation feels soon overbearing.

You break the kiss, both your breaths are heavy, lashes hanging low like you are waking up from a dream. You cup his cheek, your thumb tracing little hearts making his heart thump harder than before. It seems like you want to say something, you have a cute little smile on your face but Seishiro doesn’t give you the time, his plump lips against yours, tongue already begging for one more dance. The overstimulation subdues to desire, and from the twinkle in your eyes, Seishiro knows you are on the same page.

The night ahead is still long.

#bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk smut #blue lock smut #nagi seishiro #nagi x reader #nagi x you #nagi x y/n #nagi smut

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sailorluna15 · 1 month ago

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Pitfighter vi x reader. vi is really cold at first and the whole thing is strictly physical but one time, reader tends to her wounds and she starts getting softer with her after that. Smut + angst if you don't mind.

-🍃

Thank you for being my very first request!

Let's get into it!

Pat, Pat, Pat.

Your face falls in defeat as your hands meet an empty mattress.

Why does she always do this to me? It's my fault, she always does this. I don't know why I expected different.

Vi always did this to you. Fucking you, using you for comfort, leaving you alone in the morning, and then acting like nothing ever happened. You thought you would get used to it, but you never do. Everyone tells you to leave her alone, but you just can't. You just can't.

With a bouquet of whatever flowers could find in Zaun, you stood waiting for Vi to come out of the pit. She had won her match, and you were so proud of her.

As soon as you see her beautiful figure, you stand up and straight and attempt to talk.

"Vi, you did so good..."

Your head turns as she walks right past you. You run to catch up to her, stopping right in front of her with your bouquet to her chest.

"I got these for you." You say nervously.

"Why are you here." Vi spits out.

Blinking two times in confusion, a little laugh comes out of your mouth.

"What do you mean? I came to support you. I always want to support you."

"Look, I don't need any fangirls. Please, go on somewhere." Vi says with an eye roll.

You stand there in shock as Vi pushes the flowers back to you and walks away.

As your shock fades away, you quickly decide that you won't let Vi slip from you this easily.

She's just hurt is all. She just needs somebody who won't give up on her, somebody to care.

The next time you saw Vi at one of her matches, she got her ass beat. Her lip was busted, her nose was bleeding from her piercing, and her left one had a shiner on it.

Goddamn

You wait, like always, for her to come out of the pit. When she does, she looks pissed.

"Vi-"

"I don't have time for your fucking fangirly bullshit! Haven't I fucking told you that before! When will you finally get it through your fucking skull that I just like to fuck you?" Vi yells as blood spills from her lip.

With a second thought, you dig in your pocket and pull out a handkerchief for her to wipe her lip with. You hold it out to her, and she looks at you in disbelief.

"I have ointment and gauze for your nose, too if you need it." You speak calmy.

Vi continues to stare at you with her jaw dropped.

"I know you don't care about anything but sex when it comes to me, but I am not the same. I want you to be good. I want you to be more than good. You don't have to feel the same but at least let me heal you a bit. We can have sex after that, and then you can leave."

A beat passes before Vi gives in.

"Fine, but you better make me dinner, too, and I definitely want sex."

With a light laugh, you agree, and you both make the journey to your house.

After entering your house, Vi plops herself on her couch.

"Are you thirsty?" You ask.

"You got beer?" Vi responds.

"Yes. Here you go."

You give the beer to her and then go to the back to get your healing kit.

You sit next to Vi and ask her to turn your way.

"I'll try to be as careful as possible. It might sting a little."

As you heal Vi's face, her body relaxes, and she starts to ask you questions about your life.

How did you get into healing? How do you know how to cook. Where did you find those flowers?

You politely answer every question until you finally finish.

"All done! You did so well." You say cheerfully.

A rosy shade paints Vi's face as she hears your praise. With a cough, she asks roughly, "What for dinner?"

"Oh, I forgot! I was thinking we could have fried fish and rice. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, that sounds alright." Vi says nonchalantly despite doing jumping jacks in her head as the thought of a home cooked meal.

As you cook the meal, Vi gets up and stalks towards you.

"What are you doing?"

You nearly jump 10 feet in the air as her voice suprises you.

"Oh, my fucking God Vi, you scared me! I'm breading the fish."

"What's "breading the fish"." Vi says, making quotations in the air.

"It's when you put the chicken in eggs and flour before frying it. It's what makes the fish crispy."

"Mmm." Vi hums as she puts her arms around your waist.

Vi's lips trail down you neck as her hands crawl up the inside of your top.

You moan softly as you fail to push her away. "Vi, I'm trying to cook."

"Cook later, I'm horny."

"I thought you wanted dinner." You puff out.

"I want pussy more." She muffles out into your neck. Continuing, she says, "Plus, I gotta make it up to you for being such as asshole earlier."

"It's okay, Vi. I understand that you're just frustrated sometimes. You don't have to make it up to me." You sigh out in ecstasy as Vi rubs circular motions on your breasts.

"Lemme make it up to you, cupcake."

"Let me turn off the stove." Quickly, you turn off the stove and allow Vi to pick you up to take you to the bedroom.

As soon as Vi lays you on the bed, you immediately start taking each other's clothes off.

The first thing Vi does as she sees your breast is suck on them. She swirls her tongue around your nipple while she palms your other breast. You moan and arch into her touch as she works your body.

"Fuck, Vi, don't stop." You say as you begin to rub quick motions on her clit. She groans into your mouth, her cum coating your fingers. Vi moves away from your breast, trailing kisses down your stomach, happy trail, to the top of your pussy. She plants a kiss there before attempting to dive into you.

"Wait," you say with a heavy breath.

"What?" Vi says with a confused look.

"Let's do 69, I wanna eat your pussy."

A grin splits across Vi's face at lightning speed as quickly moves into position. As soon as her pussy is in front of you, you dive into each other like a five-course Michelin meal.

Both of your moans resound throughout the entire room as you tongue fuck and clit suck each other's pussies into oblivion.

"Fuck, suck my clit harder." Vi demands as she rocks against your face. Quickly obeying her command, you attach your lips to her and suck like a vacuum.

She does the same to you and in a matter of second you both come hard, shaking against each other. Vi rolls off of you and stares at the ceiling in a daze.

"Shit, that felt so good, Vi. You ready for dinner now?" You ask innocently.

Vi nods her head weakly. With a chuckle, you get up out of bed, clean both of you up, and start on dinner.

"Damn, I think fucking love her," Vi whispers to herself.

#Vi x reader #vi smut #vi x you #arcane smut #arcane fanfic #arcane spoilers #arcane s2 #arcane season 2 #asks

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anothermansjeans · 8 months ago

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oooo i would LOVE if you could do a blurb where we see youtuber reader getting ready with spencer’s voiceover spliced in between your descriptions!

hehehe YES! i was wondering if anyone would have wanted to see it SO THANKS FOR GIVING ME A REASON TO WRITE IT!!

cw: fluff, spencer is a menace at times

wc: 599

youtuber!reader masterlist

The engagement of your most recent TikTok was off the charts. It wasn't something that you normally thought about. Yes, making content was your job and what helped keep the bills paid, but you always did well enough to not have to worry (you're very aware and never take this for granted). There was just something about Spencer in your videos that made the views and comments skyrocket.

The video went as follows: it was a simple set up, you were at your vanity with your makeup setup, and you sent a smile and wave to your phone. A voiceover of yourself talking. “Hey lovelies, I’ll be doing my makeup but Spencer will be doing the voiceover! Okay, bye!”

The video continued on with you massaging spf onto your face, followed by some primer. “This is Y/N doing her makeup routine, even though I tell her every day she already looks perfect.” Your awe was heard after his statement. “It looks like Y/N is putting sunblock all over her face. She’s not putting on the recommended amount which is about ¼ teaspoon. Many dermatologists recommend the ‘three finger rule’ when applying so that you know you’ve used enough.” Your scoff could be heard in the background, but Spencer continued. “She’s now using another product with the name ‘elf’ on it. I believe this is a skin primer, which I learned blurs pores and smooths your skin so makeup can glide on.”

The video continued on as you went through putting on concealer, foundation, and contour. “She’s now putting concealer under her eyes and on red spots. I believe this is for color correction, but she should be using a shade of green to neutralize the red and then put concealer or foundation on. She’s now blending in the concealer very vigorously.” His next words were a bit softer, most likely looking directly at you when he spoke “you should have a lighter hand so bruising doesn't occur or worse, when you're blending on your eyelid the possibility of popping a blood vessel.”

Your giggles could be heard as well as your words, “okay babe, you're missing some of the video though.”

“Right! Okay, now she's using foundation. This shade looks to be a shade too dark though. Y/N, did you run out of your winter shade?”

“Spencer!”

“Sorry, sorry, now she’s blending again, still very harshly, but now she's using a darker shade to contour under her zygoma and on her mandible.”

The video went on with Spencer’s commentary sprinkled in. He knew exactly what each process was (you think he watches more of your videos than you originally assumed), and he would only roast you every other step. It was the end of the video when you were putting setting spray on and Spencer let out a sigh. “And the last step. I think. She’s spraying something on her face. She told me this helps her makeup stay on all day, but her skin produces oils throughout the day so it's likely this really only works for a couple of hours at most.”

Your grumbled voice could be heard after his. “Outro, Spence!”

“Thanks… for watching? Was that good? I don't know how to stop the recording, Y/N–”

And the video was over. People were obsessed with Spencer just from his voice alone. The quips were funny, his voice was a bit raspy, TikTok declared they loved him (and you– they were obsessed with this relationship). You had a feeling Spencer would be a lot more involved in your content from here on out.

BONUS: some comments

@ user: HE KNEW SO MUCH??? 😭

@ user1: he's so sassy PLEASE...sassy man epidemic is REAL

@ user2: his...voice... girl i would die a happy death fr

@ user3: SHE'S GETTING COMFORTABLE WITH SHARING HIM WE'RE WINNING

@ user4: why is he DRAGGING you ever so slightly LMAOSHSJDJD

@ user5: yall are so cute i want what you have 🫶

youtuber!reader taglist: @im-a-ghost666

let me know if you would like to be added or removed!

#I LOVE THEM #SPENCER WOULD KNOW EVERY STEP OF R'S ROUTINE #dr spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #youtuber!reader

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hecallsmegirlieee · 3 months ago

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sleepy boi

m.list ◦ askbox

synopsis: dad timothée with newborn baby

« Is he sleeping ? », you asked, softly, almost in a whisper.

Timothée shook his head, utterly consumed by the small creature lying on the bed beside him. You had been waiting for him in agony for way too long, and now that he was finally here, it was impossible to tear your eyes away.

« He’s just staring at me, » Tim mumbled and turned to you. « He’s so suspicious. » You chuckled and at the sound of your laugh, Marc motioned his head in your direction. Timothée grinned behind his palm, looking down at him lovingly, with eyes softer than ever.

Fresh out of the shower, hair still wet, you tilted on the doorframe. Your gaze lingered on them as you melted on the wooden surface. You had never seen him like this. He had never seen you like this. No amount of future glances could have prepared you for this moment.

Paradoxically, it didn’t feel strange or even life-changing, as everyone said. A new age had begun for you when you decided to fill your entire existence with a person. But nothing had changed. It was still you.

« You’re looking at mummy, Marcy ? », Tim asked and Marc averted his gaze to him as if he understood perfectly. You exchanged a furtive glance.

You were both so tired; eyes maroon and hooded, bones heavy, doliprane after doliprane, and coffee after coffee. But there was something about him that managed to break through that fogged-up mist of fatigue and weakness, and give you an almost plasmatic sense of courage and vigour.

It was six in the morning, dawn. You couldn’t remember the time you last closed your eyes. The sky was a paradisiacal shade of pink, as if out of an adolescent dream. The final neon-lighted stands and street lights swang out of sight, along the city.

« I’d kill to be on his mind, » Tim murmured. He touched his open palm, tiny and soft, and Marc curled his fingers around it, eager to touch, to test the warmth of his father’s skin.

A smile grew on your lips and you disconnected yourself from the door. You caught a sweater as your feet brushed against the wooden floor, leading you closer to them. Marc turned to you, letting out a muffling sound.

« I really want to know what he’s thinking. » Tim turned to you. You sank into the mattress and balanced on your elbow so you could look at him.

« Do you think he understands ? »

« Of course he does. »

« Of course he does... You understand us, Marcy ? », Timothée bowed and pressed a kiss on his cheek, his neck, his belly. He lightly leaned his head to the side and Tim chuckled.

« It tickles ? », you asked, tilting your face on your palm. You caressed his cheek gently, slowly moving to his forehead. Hair slipped between the slits of your fingers.

He was perfect, from rounded cheeks to tiny toes, everything about him. You looked at him and recognized bits of every family member you had ever met, and you knew that there were bits of thousands of past family members you had never known and would never know. You could see kaleidoscopic visions of yourself in him and you could see Timothée.

« I want to show him everything, » you said.

Marc fussed a bit, but Tim scooped him and let him lay on top of his chest with his tummy.

« Yeah... I can’t wait for him to grow up. We’re going to play with cars. »

« You miss playing with cars ? »

« So much, » he nodded and you laughed. Tim laughed as well. He motioned his head for you to snuggle and wrapped one arm around you, bringing you close. Your head rested on the crook of his neck, tiredly.

« You sure I didn’t wake him up ? », you glanced up at him.

« Only those who sleep wake up. » You smiled, your gaze not leaving his. « He hasn’t closed an eye all night. How is this even possible ? »

Marc looked at you lethargically. Peaceful, he blinked his eyes at the feeling of Tim’s heartbeat. He stared at you with that electrifying glint of his blurry eyes and you wondered what was hiding deep inside those abyssal irises.

« He needs to sleep, » you mumbled.

« So do you, » Tim said and pressed a kiss on your temple.

« I’m fine. »

« You’re fine ? You haven’t slept since I don’t know when, » he murmured.

« Neither have you, » you pressed your lips and looked at him. He mimicked your expression and lightly raised his eyes.

« I’m nocturnal. »

« You’re not, » a smile grew on your lips and Tim let out a small grown as he threw his head back. You averted your gaze and softly brushed your fingers through your son’s hair. He kept staring at you, his lips pouted, and eyes half sealed. You slightly scrunched your face trying to imitate him.

« Paternity made me, » Timothée said, rubbing his hand through Marc’s small back. « Anyway, you have to sleep, » he turned to you.

« I’m fine, Tim, cut it. »

« No, sleep. We’ll go to the living room. » You looked at him momentarily, silently assuring him that everything was alright. « We’ll go to the living room. Right Marcy ? », he whispered and held him closer. He fushed lightly but Tim was quick to soothe him. « We’ll walk around the house, and we’ll talk, and eat, and wear clean diapers... » You laughed a little. « Mum is laughing... »

« You’ll wear clean diapers too ? »

« She thinks she’s so funny, Marcus, but… We love her, » he pressed a kiss on your lips as he got up, your son in his arms. « We do love her very much. »

« I love you too. So much, » you smiled.

« Sleep, » he pointed a finger in your direction.

#hecallsmegirlieee #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee fanfic #timothee chalamet x you #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothee x y/n #dad timothee #fanfic #dad fic

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ayselluna · 10 months ago

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Ascendant Astarion Recommendations!

I'm a fan of both Spawn and Ascendant Astarion so I do enjoy reading both. But if you want to explore and read some good shit~ Ascendant fics well here you go~

I've read a lot so bear with me, These are my TOPS~

I LOVE ALL OF THESE:

A Gift, A Curse by @elemit - This updates daily most of the time, the author is getting busy IRL but it should be back on a daily update again soon I think. This is one of the darker theme of Ascendant Astarion "50 shades of 'FCKNG LITTLE TWAT' Ancunin" as one of the comment says haha some scenes are "traumatic" but the rollercoaster ride of emotions you'll get on this story is one for the books! ONGOING!

Fangs and Fractured Hearts - by @fangsandfracturedhearts - This one's one of the softer sides of the Ascendant, the dynamic of Tav and Astarion here is exquisite! The cliffhanger on this one just uggghhhhh. i love it!! ONGOING!

Hellish Rebuke by @bludazey this one's a classic! the details on this story is so genius I swear. Also I think a lot of Astarion fanfic writers got inspired with the Devil's dealing here. Also Tav here is effing smart and just chef's kiss! such a great heroine! ONGOING!

His Star - His Queen [Originally titled Across Stars and Time] by ARandomIntrovert - Now this a bit different, What if multiverse exists? Now there's two Astarions fighting over you, Spawn VS Ascendant, where do you think this would go? :)) Story's definitely amazing and unique! I easily got invested. haha ONGOING!

In Another Life by @locallegume - Definitely a softer side of the Ascendant but Tav and Astarion's dynamic here is one of my fave! <3 Tav here is not the overly good role model we usually read, she's troubled too and definitely has effed up issues. but sometimes you just need to find your own freak and be together forever. ONGOING!

Pieces Still Stuck In Your Teeth - by @howlsmovinglibrary / @wetcatspellcaster - The amount of Banter and D&D Lore on this one is superb! you have to watch out for the writer's notes! I love how I get to learn more D&D stuff and godssss how many times I almost got so swayed by the Ascendant here! good thing Tav's so good at bantering haha ONGOING!

Remember ye not the former things by @brabblesblog - THE SEQUEL!! It focuses more on the aftermath and them working out their relationship, a lot more TAV bg story but gods, Astarion here , I just want to smother him with cuddles and kisses, TAKE MEEEEE ONGOING!

Whither is thy beloved gone? by @brabblesblog -

It has a sequel!!! - that's how good it is! <3 also The Ascendant here is my favorite! The confrontations are just so real and so true I caaaaan't. He wrote the Ascendant so good I actually sided with him more than Tav! A lot of smut ngl but I got into the characters more that I should have. you're missing out if you haven't read this. COMPLETED!

Most of these are still ongoing but I am updated w/ each, along with other Spawn Astarion fics :)) They are all good! some more soft than the others, some darker and evil :))

Let me know if you guys want to get some Spawn Astarion fics recommendations!

#my day starts and ends with me just reading Astarion fanfics tbh #my life is just him now #I live for these now tbh coz larian isn't going to add more!!!#astarion #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion fic #just me rambling #ascended astarion x tav #ascended astarion

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twstedstoryshop · 1 year ago

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Prize for @windalchemist001 from my fan event in August. I apologize deeply to the prize winners for how long these are taking as my life is taken up a lot by my new job and that drains me of working on these. But these are slowly but surely coming along, I assure you. Until then, please bear with me. -Shopkeep

Finding Out You Have A Crush On Him

Trey I believe would come to figure out your crush through overheard conversations or someone having to spell it out for him. Either due to Ace and Deuce unknowingly gossiping over your crush or Cater just straight up telling him in his own Cay-Cay way.

Now Trey wasn’t a romanticist at heart, especially considering how he blundered with the Ghost Bride way back when. So with this newfound knowledge, Trey would do the best thing he can think of… Sit on this knowledge and never let it surface.

What else is he supposed to do? Go charging up to you, declaring he likes you too and should totally start dating? That wouldn’t be fair to you, putting you on the spot.

Instead, he allows you to let you sort out your feelings, whether you pursue them or not. There’s no pressure in whatever choice you do.

Though it wouldn’t be too hard to notice on your end that Trey would start acting a bit awkward and stiff. He doesn’t mean to come off like that, but when in the face of someone he knows who likes him, he can’t help but maybe straighten his posture more. Maybe act a bit more softer.

Trey is always marked as the reliable older brother type. So with a highschool crush on him, it wouldn’t hurt to maybe act a little like his age. An awkward boy unsure of how to navigate this newfound affection. Who knows, maybe act a bit selfish and roll a little in your attention just for him alone.

Malleus could either or having someone tell him about your crush. Most likely Lilia in his teasing ways. Or perhaps with his keener senses, noticed your affections for him.

With the knowledge of your crush, Malleus would feely content in the way a satisfied cat would smirk after finishing its creme. It would be hard not to catch Malleus’ very good mood for the following days.

The weather would be pleasant, not a single cloud in the sky, and the wind is gentle. Something that may or may not catch some of NRC’s attention, especially if it’s expected to be cold or rainy weather for the season.

Malleus, while eager, would wait with baited breath to see what his dear child of man would do to convey their love. It gives him a great satisfaction to be wanted and chased after, so he would want to hear it from you first.

Even if you have stutters or slip-ups, Malleus finds it all so endearing and locks your attempts of confession under lock and key in his memory. What he wouldn’t allow is if someone dares to interrupt you when you’re working up the courage to tell your feelings.

A quick thunderclap and a venomous glare gets his point across before he immediately looks back to you with a softened expression. “You were saying, my dear child of man?”

It would be a relatively peaceful courtship until the confession is made thanks to some sway from the dragon prince himself.

Silver would definitely have to be told outright of your feelings. For comedy’s sake, it would be hilarious if the one who had to spell things out for him was Sebek of all people.

The loud-mouthed proud guard would be aghast of how oblivious Silver was. The fact that he could pinpoint something beyond Silver’s recognition has him smug one moment but also a little annoyed for your sake. Not that he would ever admit that.

Once Silver truly digested Sebek’s words, Silver’s handsome features would burst into a magnificent shade of pink. Flushed either from embarrassment over his crude unawareness and a part deeply flattered by your affection.

Silver wouldn’t make any moves though as you mulled over your feelings. He wouldn’t dare try to put you on the spot, but you do notice how lately he feels a bit more caring and gentleman-ly personally for you.

If Malleus or Lilia didn’t need him, Silver would often escort you wherever you needed to go despite you knowing your way around. He even tries to lend a hand in helping you study. Despite his own grades suffering a bit with his sleeping habits.

Silver would be uncertain about all this though, truth be spoken. He’s never really had romantic feelings before or felt much need for a romance in the first place. But the idea that someone liked him so innocently and sincerely does charm him profoundly.

Like a shy forest creature, daring to come near him and be in his presence, he only wished to offer his hand towards you. Who knows, maybe falling a lil bit in love wouldn’t be so bad during his high school days…

#lovelygrimoire #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #trey clover x reader #malleus draconia x reader #twst silver x reader #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland hcs #twst headcanons #twst hcs #twst scenario #twisted wonderland scenario

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brunchable · 1 month ago

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Santa Baby | S. R.

Pairings: Steve Rogers x F!Reader Themes: Christmas FLUFF, a bit of jealousy from Steve. Summary: At the annual Christmas gala, your flirty performance of Santa Baby leaves Steve Rogers captivated and a little jealous of the attention you're drawing. Later, under the falling snow on the balcony, Steve finally proposes, turning the festive night into a moment you'll cherish forever. A/N: Can be connected to "Secret Santa" if you want to connect it to each other haha. This oneshot is a part of my 4K follower Christmas Celebration. Also this one will be connected to Santa Baby that will be released next week. dividers by @saradika-graphics

The annual Christmas gala was in full swing—twinkling fairy lights, glittering ornaments, and the comforting hum of laughter set the perfect holiday mood. You had been assigned to entertain the crowd, your role as the night’s singer solidified when Tony loudly declared, “Y/N’s got the voice of an angel! She’s doing it, no arguments!”

You stood at the microphone in your long, sultry red gown, the epitome of old-Hollywood glamour. The satin hugged your figure, the thigh-high slit adding an edge of daring sophistication. The room quieted as the band started playing, the familiar playful melody of Santa Baby filling the air.

And that’s when you saw him.

Steve Rogers, sitting at a corner table, a glass of eggnog in his hand and a faint pink flush already warming his cheeks. Perfect target.

With a coy smile, you launched into the song, every word dripping with playful flirtation.

“Santa baby, just slip a sable under the tree... for me...” you sang, letting your voice take on a velvety quality as you held Steve’s gaze. His eyes widened slightly, and you swore his grip on the eggnog tightened.

You strolled closer to the crowd, letting your hips sway naturally to the beat. The teasing smile never left your lips as you zeroed in on Steve, directing every lyric his way.

“Been an awful good girl... Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.”

Steve’s blush deepened as you approached. He squirmed a little in his chair, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck. But as your performance continued, you noticed the looks from the other men in the room. Some were outright gawking, and a few whispered to each other, their eyes locked on your gown.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Steve’s expression darken, his jaw tightening as he followed their gazes. Sam, seated beside him, smirked and leaned over. You couldn’t hear their conversation, but Steve’s curt shake of his head and the glare he shot Sam made you giggle internally.

Still, you couldn’t resist turning the heat up a notch.

“Think of all the fun I’ve missed...” You winked directly at Steve. “Think of all the fellas that I haven’t kissed.”

Sam burst into laughter, giving Steve an exaggerated nudge. Poor Steve looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor, his ears bright red now, but his sharp glare shifted back to anyone in the room staring too long at you. His possessiveness was adorable—and obvious.

By the time you hit the final note, Steve was practically a Christmas decoration himself—his cheeks a matching shade to your dress. The crowd erupted into applause, but you were only looking at him, grinning mischievously as you gave a little bow.

× × × ×

Not long after, you were walking through the festive crowd when a strong, familiar hand gently grabbed your elbow. You turned, meeting Steve’s sheepish yet determined expression.

“Mind stepping outside with me for a second?”

You nodded, letting him guide you to the balcony. As you approached the doors, Steve paused and slid his coat off, wrapping it snugly around your shoulders. The warmth of the fabric and the subtle hint of his cologne made your cheeks heat.

“It’s cold out,” he said simply, his voice softer now.

Your heart fluttered as you adjusted the coat and followed him onto the balcony. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine. Twinkling lights illuminated his face, and you noticed how serious he seemed, his usual shy demeanor replaced by something more intense.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” he finally asked, his tone caught somewhere between teasing and genuinely flustered.

“What?” you replied innocently, feigning surprise. “It’s a Christmas classic! Everyone loves Santa Baby.”

“Yeah, well, everyone wasn’t being serenaded like that,” he muttered, his jaw tightening again. “And… not everyone was staring at you like that, either.”

You blinked in surprise, your lips curving into a slow grin. “Steve Rogers, are you jealous?”

His blush returned full force, but he held your gaze.

“Maybe I am. Can you blame me? You look…” He gestured helplessly at you, searching for words. “You look like a dream tonight, Y/N. And I don’t want to share that dream with anyone else.”

Your heart melted on the spot, but you decided to push him just a little further. “Well, good thing it was just a performance. You know, for everyone.”

“Y/N,” he said softly, taking a step closer. “I need to say something. And… I can’t wait anymore.”

You tilted your head, your playful expression faltering as you noticed the sincerity in his eyes. Before you could speak, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

“Steve…” you whispered, your breath catching.

“I’ve had this for months,” Steve admitted, his voice low but steady, the faintest tremor betraying his nerves. “I kept telling myself I’d wait for the perfect moment. Then you walked out tonight, looking like that, singing to me like that, and I realized… every moment with you is perfect. What am I waiting for?”

Your breath caught as he knelt down on one knee, his strong hand still holding yours as if grounding himself in you. The soft glow of the lights around you reflected in his blue eyes, filled with a mixture of nervousness and unwavering love.

“You, Y/N,” he began, his voice growing quieter, more tender. “You’re the brightest part of my life. You make me laugh, keep me on my toes, and remind me every day what it means to live fully. I don’t want to go another second without knowing you’ll always be by my side.”

His lips curved into a small, vulnerable smile as he revealed the vintage-style diamond ring nestled in the box. “Will you marry me?”

Tears blurred your vision as his words sank in, wrapping around your heart like the warmest embrace. “Steve…” you whispered, your voice catching, but the joy in your chest pushed through. “Yes. Yes, Steve. Of course!”

He stood slowly, slipping the ring onto your finger with such care it felt ceremonial, almost sacred. For a moment, you both just stared at the ring, the weight of the moment filling your heart with a radiant warmth.

And then his arms were around you, pulling you into a deep embrace. His lips found yours in a kiss so soft, so filled with emotion, it made the world around you disappear.

But Steve wasn’t done. As if overcome with the pure joy of your “yes,” he suddenly lifted you off your feet, your gasp turning into laughter against his mouth. He spun you around effortlessly, his hold on you as steady as his love, while snowflakes fell softly around you, dusting his shoulders and catching in your hair. The kiss grew deeper, his lips pressing against yours with a certainty that made your heart soar.

When he finally set you back down, the world felt quieter, the snow falling like a gentle curtain between you and everything else. You stayed close, his forehead resting against yours as your breaths mingled in the chilly night air.

“I love you,” he murmured softly, his voice steady and sure, his gaze locking onto yours.

A smile tugged at your lips as you cupped his face, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “I love you too, Steve,” you whispered, your voice trembling with joy.

His hands trailed down to your waist, holding you firmly but tenderly, as if grounding himself in the reality of the moment. His gaze softened further, filled with a quiet awe that mirrored your own.

For a long while, you simply stayed there, wrapped in his arms as the snow fell around you, the soft hum of music and laughter from the party barely audible in the background. This wasn’t just a memory—it was the start of something extraordinary.

Tags: @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @strawberrybisou @alyana-luvs-u @rogersbarber @veronicapaula

@fynnwolff @bmyva1entine @thereoncewasagirlnamedjane @awaywithtime

#steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x female reader #captain america x reader #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #captain america x you #captain america imagines #captain america x y/n #captain america x female reader #steve rogers #captain america #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x you #steve rogers fanfic #captain america fanfic

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