#then i reached a whole NEW stage of laughter

[fisheito]

How did i only Just notice that eiden actually has the two full grown men (sprites) on him

[meazalykov]

welcome home

barcelona femeni x alexia putellas x youngadult!reader

summary: you find healing after switching clubs

warnings: swearing, bodyshaming, one mention of bodily fluids, I made up names of imaginary players who don't play for the nwsl club mentioned in this fic!!!, bullying, angst, yes there is a happy ending.

you grew up with your eyes on the stars, and your feet on the ball. 

at 15, you felt like the world belonged to you—a place where dreams became your reality. you’d trained hard your whole life to make it to the world stage, and by 16, you were living your dream as one of the youngest members of the 2019 world cup roster for the united states. 

the national anthem playing, crowds screaming your name as you made the assist to rose lavelle’s goal—it was everything you’d ever wanted.

all of the happiness and thrill faded away when you joined the kansas city current. when you first stepped into the locker room, you were excited. new teammates, new opportunities—it was everything you’d hoped for. 

you wanted to make friends, to be part of a family when it came to being with your first professional club outside of your childhood one. 

the moment you walked through those doors, you could feel something off. the eyes on you were sharp, intense, cold.

“what’s up, big foot?” macy had said, the team captain, with a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes. 

"don't trip over those feet, yeah?" she had laughed, and a few others joined in, but the laughter felt harsh, mocking.

“yeah, we don’t need a kid coming in thinking she’s hot shit,” added jessica, one of the veteran players, her words dripping with sarcasm. 

“try not to embarrass us out there.”

you laughed nervously, trying to brush it off as rookie hazing, but the tone was sharper than you expected. you told yourself that it was normal, that it was just their way of breaking the ice.

 

you couldn't have been more wrong.

practices started to become a war zone. it wasn’t just intense training; it was like they were out to get you. elbows to your back when the coach wasn’t looking, hair pulling, shoes clipped behind your heels to send you stumbling. 

once, in a scrimmage, you remember trying to dribble past jessica. the curly-red headed girl came in late with a slide tackle, her studs connecting straight with your shin. you hit the ground hard, gasping for breath, and she stood over you, smirking.

“whoops,” she said, her voice flat and unapologetic. “you should be quicker, portland has fast forwards and you can’t defend them with those legs.”

the coaches didn’t do anything. you’d get up, limp back into position, and hear them say, “come on y/n, toughen up. you’ve got to be ready for contact against portland on thursday.” 

they acted like it was all normal, like you were the problem.

in the locker room, it wasn’t any better. they whispered behind your back, cruel comments about your skills, your looks, even your voice. 

once, after a tough practice where arianna had practically shoved you into the goalpost, you were struggling to keep your emotions in check as you unlaced your cleats. you heard them in the back of the room, their voices loud and taunting.

“seriously, what does the national team see in her? she’s not even that great,” jessica said, snickering.

“guess they needed a token teenager to fill the roster,” another voice added, followed by laughter. 

“she needs to go back to playing with the u18s, kylie you’d do much better than her in the left-back position!”

you bit your lip so hard it bled, staring down at the floor, pretending you didn’t hear them. you never knew what to say. it felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

everything you did felt wrong, like you were walking on eggshells every day.

and then came the night that broke you.

it was after that world cup loss to sweden, a moment that already weighed on you like a thousand bricks. 

you returned to kansas hoping to throw yourself into training, to prove you could bounce back. but when you entered the locker room, your world came crashing down. your locker was trashed—like a hurricane had blown through. 

your training kit was shredded, your cleats filled with some kind of foul-smelling gunk– obviously period blood due to a used tampon found inside of the locker. and scrawled in black marker across the inside door of your locker were the words, 

spoiled, selfish, fat bitch!

you stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, hands shaking so violently you couldn’t steady them. 

“what... what the fuck is this?” your voice came out a choked whisper.

kamryn, another girl on the team, walked by, a smug grin on her face. 

“looks like someone had a bad month,” she said, fake sympathy dripping from her words. 

“i hope you can still play tomorrow, stargirl.”

the nickname fans around the world called you, now being used to belittle you. 

you couldn’t hold it in anymore. you yelled at them, your voice cracking with rage and desperation, “the fuck? what did i do to any of you? this is fucking insane and you think i am the problem?”

“you walked in here thinking you were better than us. you got handed everything, y/n. you don’t deserve to be here. you’re a little girl playing a big girl’s game.” jessica walked in, scoffing while smirking at the sight of your locker in the dressing room.

you left that night and didn’t stop crying until your eyes were red and swollen. but even then, the coaches did nothing. 

they told you to toughen up, to show “mental strength,” as if their approval could patch over what you were going through. and that’s when you realized you had to get out—before this place destroyed you and any love you had for football.

barcelona was the escape you desperately needed. a chance to rebuild, to breathe. 

when you landed in spain, everything felt fragile. it didn’t matter that you were now with one of the best clubs in the world. 

the trauma from kansas stuck to you like a shadow. you walked into your new locker room, keeping your head down, afraid to say the wrong thing, terrified of the laughter you thought you’d hear.

but it never came. 

instead, alexia, the captain, was the first to welcome you. “y/n! niña!!! so nice to finally meet you,” she beamed, pulling you into a hug that felt warm and real. 

“i can’t wait to see you play. you’re from the states? we need to introduce you to keira and lucy– they’ve been wanting to meet you but don’t take their banter seriously.”

every day, they chipped away at your fear. little by little. 

when you struggled on penalty kicks one time during training, patri stayed back with you after practice. 

“okay you got this!!! by the end of this evening, you will never miss a penalty kick again. trust me! yeah? it’ll be fun.” she speaks with a thick catalan accent. 

you were hesitant, scared to mess up, but patri never pushed. she was patient, kind. she’d pass the ball back to you and made you do penalty kicks over and over again until you felt comfortable, until your footwork was smooth, and every small achievement she celebrated like it was a goal in the final. 

“see? you’ve got this,” she’d say, and you’d feel the corners of your mouth tug into a smile for the first time in what felt like forever.

it was a few weeks into your time with barcelona, but you still felt like an outsider. 

even with the kind gestures, the smiles, the support from the team, you were carrying the weight of kansas like a ghost. 

you stayed quiet during team meetings, laughed politely but never loudly, and when the others shared jokes or talked about life outside of soccer, you sat on the edges, half-invisible. 

alexia had been watching you. she noticed how you shrunk into yourself, how you seemed to fade into the background during conversations. 

during drills, your focus was laser-sharp—too sharp, like you were overthinking every touch, every pass. when you were off the ball, your eyes darted around, like you were searching for threats. 

you reminded alexia of esmee when she first arrived last season—new, uncertain. but this was different. 

there was fear and sadness in your eyes.

one afternoon after training, alexia pulled you aside. the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the pitch, and most of the team had already started heading back to the locker room. 

you felt her hand on your shoulder, and you turned, trying to hide the nervousness in your eyes.

“niña,” she said gently, a small smile on her lips. “can we talk?”

you nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. “sure, alexia. what’s up?”

“it’s about you,” she said, her voice steady but soft. “you’ve been… quiet. more quiet than normal. and i get it, you know, being the new girl and all. esmee and kika were shy when they first came, but…” alexia paused, searching your face. 

“this feels different. it feels like you’re afraid of us.”

you could feel your chest tighten, the words getting stuck in your throat. you didn’t want to seem weak, didn’t want to burden anyone. 

“i’m not... i mean, it’s just—" you stumbled over your words, trying to find the right thing to say, something that wouldn’t make you sound like a mess. “it’s nothing. really.”

alexia didn’t buy it. she shook her head slightly, taking a step closer to you. “i don’t think it’s nothing, y/n. you barely look anyone in the eye, and when someone even brushes by you during training, you flinch like you’re waiting to get hurt. it’s not normal.” 

she kept her voice calm, steady, like she was trying to reassure a frightened animal. “listen... if something happened before you got here, you can talk to me. it’s just me right now. no one else.”

you wanted to brush it off, to laugh and say she was overthinking, but the truth clawed its way up, burning your throat. you clenched your fists, staring down at your cleats, trying to focus on anything but alexia's eyes, which felt like they could see right through you. 

“it’s… it’s hard to talk about,” you finally admitted, voice cracking on the last word. 

“back in kansas, things were... bad. really bad.”

“what do you mean?” alexia’s voice was a whisper, gentle but urging you to continue. she stepped closer, her hand on your shoulder now, warm and steady.

you bit your lip, feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill. 

“my teammates—they hated me. from the minute i got there, they acted like i was the opponent that happened to sneak into their dressing room. i thought maybe it was just... i don't know, maybe i did something wrong. but no matter what i did, they just got worse. they... they bullied me. on the field, off the field... they’d make comments, call me fat, trash my stuff, physically go after me during practice.” you took a shaky breath, your shoulders trembling. 

“they hated me for being good– for being called up to the world cup before some of their veterans did. they said i didn’t deserve the call ups at all, that i was useless. every single day felt like... like a war that i was going to lose.”

alexia’s face hardened, and for a second, you thought you saw anger glistening in her eyes.

“and your coaches?” she asked, voice tight with anger. “they did nothing?”

“they... didn’t care,” you said, shaking your head. 

“if anything, they made it worse. told me to toughen up, to get used to it, that it was part of being a pro. so i did. i tried to act like it didn’t bother me. but it did. every day, it did.”

there was a heavy silence. alexia didn’t speak for a moment, letting your words hang in the air. and then, she pulled you into a hug—tight, secure, like she was trying to shield you from all the pain you had gone through. 

you stiffened for a second, unaccustomed to the softness, the genuine care, but then melted into it, burying your face in her shoulder.

“you don’t have to go through that alone anymore,” she whispered. 

“this is your home now, y/n. we’re your family. i promise you—no one will ever treat you like that again. not while i’m here, and i am going to be here for a very long time.”

you felt the tears slide down your face, but they weren’t tears of pain anymore. 

they were relief, a feeling you hadn’t let yourself feel for a long time. when she finally let go, alexia cupped your face, making sure you were looking right into her eyes.

“you are so much more than what they made you feel,” she said firmly, her voice laced with emotion. “and if anyone even tries to make you feel like that again, they’ll have to go through me. through all of us. okay?”

you nodded, a small, shaky smile breaking through. “okay.”

“did you go to anyone on your national team about this?” alexia asked, hoping you did. 

“i did. alex was the one who encourage me to move clubs. trinity even promised to smash kansas when they go to washington dc to play against spirit.” you laughed, wiping a stray tear from your face.

she laughed back, squeezing your hands. “we’ve got your back, y/n. always.”

and she meant it. over the coming weeks, you felt the shift.

after that talk, alexia made it a point to check in on you. 

the small gestures from the team slowly healed the wounds you didn't think would ever close. 

when ingrid left you notes in your locker before every match with scribbled encouragements, kika making it a routine to kiss you on the head when you scored a goal past aitana in training, or when mapi pulled you into a bear hug after a tough game reminding you that she is proud of you– you felt at home. 

masterlist

[reidmoony-toast]

could you maybe do like a one shot of Spencer x Supermodel!fem reader? Like she does runways for super popular brands like Versace and Victoria’s Secret?

Radiant. ౨ৎ

Spencer reid x fem supermodel!reader

content: established relationship, no use of y/n, spencer being down bad tbh, fluff

cw: Victoria's Secret show, so underwear yk (but no sexualising or anything)

wc: 2.3k

an: This is so exciting, hi first anon req!! I love you so much! Anyways this idea is amazing and I hope this is what you envisioned <3 This isn't my best work, but I tried 😭 Also I based the outfit off Karolina Kurkova's in a 2003 show, but its set in early season 7 soo forget that!

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“Is that her?” Penelope whispers for the hundredth time.

“No.” He huffs, tired of answering the same question for the past ten minutes.

“Patience, babygirl.” Derek chuckles from Spencer's other side. “He'll tell us when she's here. Maybe not with his words, but definitely with his eyes.” Derek flutters his lashes in Spencer's direction, clearly making fun of him.

“Both of you leave me alone, please?” He pleads, sick of their antics. They haven't stopped talking, and it's putting him on edge. He wants to appreciate today. Appreciate you. 

You had been desperately hoping to get this job with Victoria's Secret for months, and you were ecstatic when news of your hire reached you through your manager. You'd been raving excitedly about it ever since, and had begged him to finally come to a show.

He obliged, of course. Partly, because he can't say no to you, and mostly because he has been eager to see you in your element ever since you two had started dating.

Now, he is buzzing in anticipation, which is definitely not helped by Morgan and Garcia's constant remarks.

It wouldn't have been his personal preference to invite them, but you'd insisted, saying it was about time you met Spencer's friends, anyways. 

The show continues, scantily clad girls strutting down the catwalk, angel wings attached to their backs and sequins blinding, but still, you were nowhere to be seen. Spencer fidgets, waiting with baited breath. 

A figure emerges from the side of the stage, turning to strut down the walkway. He freezes, shooting up in his chair from where he was previously slumped. It was you. Undeniably. He could pick you in a sea of people from a mile off, if it came to it. 

His breath hitches. He takes you in. 

There you stand, in all of your glory. He can't quite believe what he’s seeing. Sure, you're self-assured in your everyday life, but this is on a whole new level.

You radiate confidence, striding down the catwalk like you own it. Spencer is utterly captivated by this different side of you that he has never seen in person before.

Sure, he's seen endless pictures—and even some videos—of your modelling, as well as the shows that take place in the comfort of your home; when you put on outfits and strut down the long hallway of your apartment, to loud enthusiasm from Spencer.

These particular one-on-one shows usually end in you dressing in progressively more atrocious outfits, until you’re both prone from uncontrollable laughter.

But this. This was real. It all hits him then—that you are a supermodel, that you do this for a living. That this is your life. 

His chest swells with immense pride at all you have accomplished. You've worked so hard, built your career from the ground up, and it has paid off. Your dreams have finally come true, and now, you're modelling in a Victoria's Secret show, which he is told (by you, of course) is world-renowned. 

“That's her.” Derek concludes smugly, no uncertainty in his tone. Spencer shushes him loudly, eyes fixed solely on you.

You don't falter for a single step as you glide down the stage. You're clad in a sparkly silver bra that glints off the bright lights, sequined mesh sitting below the bra's edge. 

A small pair of matching silver underwear sit below your hips, a glittering garter to match. And, of course, the wings. They protrude from your back, spanning above your head, magnificent and ethereal. Spencer thinks you ought to have a halo to match. 

The feathered angel wings trail down your back, sweeping across the floor behind you as you make your way to the end of the catwalk. 

Garcia and Morgan are saying something across him—most likely about you—but he pays them no mind, not caring for anything else but you, in front of him.

As you near the end of the perilously long stage, Spencer's smile only grows, until he is beaming uncontrollably when you slow to strike your pose. 

Spencer and his company have VIP tickets, courtesy of you, so he has an unobstructed view of you, directly in front of where he is sitting. 

Your hands rest on your hips as you lock eyes with the sea of cameras frantically snapping pictures. 

You look fierce, fiery, and Spencer somehow grins harder. 

As your eyes scan the room, they easily lock on Spencer's, not even ten feet away. His eyes are wide, smile larger than life. 

His lips move, mouthing words to you that you instantly understand, and you light up, a warm glow from within. 

‘I love you’

The luminous smile remains, even when you remember your surroundings. You pose again, grinning all the while and the crowd claps while shutters click incessantly. You pivot, sashaying off, but not before looking back over your shoulder to blow a cheeky kiss in Spencer's direction, winking.

It might just be Spencer's perception, but you seem to shimmer with incandescent light, like your very soul was set aflame with a soft fire. You are radiantly gorgeous—utterly perfect in the eyes of Spencer Reid.

The wink you sent over your shoulder makes him duck his head, face and ears bright red. He is the luckiest man in the world. To have you, all to himself. 

He is still grinning, even as you disappear around the corner. Maybe he is biassed (most certainly), but you were by far the most captivating model up there. Your every move seemed effortless—practised and perfected. 

You drew the attention of everyone, and you kept it. It felt as if the whole room had held its breath as you passed, too busy watching to remember how to breathe. 

Maybe that was just his singular experience. He wouldn't know, and he doesn't particularly care. 

As the show wraps up, Garcia and Morgan are raving—about you. 

“Spencer, I can't believe she is your girlfriend! She is absolutely stunning!” Penny gushes.

The first statement hurts him a little, like everyone thinks he can't possibly be dating a pretty model—but it's definitely true. The second statement, however, is the truest thing he's ever heard in his 29 years of life. 

Spencer chooses not to respond to Penelope, instead heading for the exit. They follow, and Morgan claps him on the back. “You're one lucky man, pretty boy.” He whistles suggestively, and Spencer brushes off his hand, mumbling something under his breath as he is suddenly interested in the craftsmanship of the venue floor. 

He found this hard. Blending his work and home life, introducing you to his family. It's not that he's worried they won't like you—that’s impossible, when it comes to you—it's more that he has trouble combining the two sides of his life in his head, given the fact that he is almost two different people in each. 

He doesn't bring his work home, and he doesn't bring his home to work—mostly. He does, sometimes (too often), ramble on about you and how downright amazing you are. He's only human, after all. 

Mostly, he's scared that it will be a mistake, that the two sides will end up being better off separate, that mixing the two now will have irreparable consequences. 

But, you wanted to, so he’s taking the plunge. For you. Always for you. 

~☆~

Spencer feels like he shouldn't be here. They're in the very depths of the building; models, designers and beauticians alike flit past them, paying them no mind as they go about their business.

He glances over his shoulder at the ajar door that leads to the dressing rooms every couple of seconds, in case you come through and save him from this place—which is the polar opposite to everything that makes him comfortable.

He's here for you, though, and he would endure this for you. Only for you. 

Morgan and Penelope stand a few feet away, at ease and chatting like this is the most normal situation in the world, like they've been backstage at thousands of Victoria's Secret shows.

Just as he's about to go into a nervous breakdown, he sees a flash of movement appear from behind the door. 

“Spence!” A shriek sounds as he turns to see you, bounding towards him. You throw your arms around his neck, nuzzling his cheek.

His hands come up to steady you, curling under the hem of your sweater. He feels instantly less overwhelmed, breathing you in like you're the oxygen he needs to live—like he can’t breathe properly when you’re not near.

You're draped in an oversized knit and comfortable track pants that engulf your frame. The irony wasn't lost on him—you were wearing nothing but showy undergarments not even half an hour ago. 

He loves that about you. That you aren't entirely defined by your job, that you have a part of your life and sense of self cordoned off; a part that isn't affected by the insane world of modelling. He loves that you can be yourself in so many different ways, that you have all these different facets. Just like a diamond, whose sides are all different, but every single one shines just as brightly all the same.

It inspires him to do the same for himself, to have a true self outside of his chaotic job that takes over most of his life. You’ve helped him see that life can be varied, diverse; that there are so many different things—other than one's job—that can make you feel fulfilled. Content. Happy. 

He's happy; truely and vibrantly happy with you. And that is the way he wishes it to stay. 

He chuckles amusedly at your strong display of affection. “Hello to you too, lovely.” 

You pull back to grin at him, albeit a little sheepishly. “Sorry. I'm just so happy you're actually here.” 

His gaze softens impossibly more. “It was long overdue.” He cups your cheeks and leans down to press a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “You were phenomenal.” 

You beam, and draw him closer.

The clearing of a throat brings you out of your reverie, out of the world where there is only the two of you. 

You pull away, detaching yourself from Spencer, eyes flashing with delight. “Hi!” You wave at a shocked-yet-amused Derek Morgan, and an exuberant Penelope Garcia. 

Derek raises his eyebrow at Spencer, probably surprised by how little he cared about your public display of affection. He usually doesn’t even let Garcia hug him unless it’s important. But, like with everything else, you’re different—special. He simply shrugs back. 

“You must be the friends Spence has told me so much about.” She reaches out a hand to shake Morgan's hand. “Derek, right?” 

Derek smirks, “In the flesh.” He grasps your hand, grip firm. “The show was amazing, by the way.” 

“Thank you!” You chirp, brightening further, and Morgan huffs out a laugh.

You pull away, turning to the eclectic women next to him. “And you, must be the famous Penelope.” 

You reach out your hand once more, but Garcia has other ideas. She dives in for a hug, bypassing the formalities immediately.

She pulls away abruptly as you squeak in surprise. “Oh- sorry! I'm sorry.” She blurts out. “I'm just so happy to meet you, finally! Reid has told us so much about you, I just couldn't wait any longer!” She grins broadly. “And you're even prettier than he described, which I don't understand how that's humanly possible, because boy genius over there won't stop talking about how gorgeous you-”

“Woah there, baby girl, slow your roll.” Derek interrupts, patting Garcia gently on the shoulder. You stifle a laugh, glancing at Spencer. He ducks his head, avoiding your eye and shuffling from one foot to another as his face turns pink.

“Sorry!” Penelope flushes scarlet red. “Uhm… what I meant was ‘nice to meet you’.” She cringes at her outburst. 

“No need to say sorry. It's an absolute pleasure to meet the both of you, Spence speaks so highly of you two.” You beam, and Garcia deflates in relief. Spencer’s arm snakes around your waist and under the hem of your sweater once again, smoothing patterns on your bare skin. You lean into his side, a contented sigh escaping your lips. 

“You know, when boy genius here told me he was dating a supermodel, I didn't believe him.” He raises eyebrows, smirking. “But, here you are.” 

“In the flesh.” You flash him a grin, parroting back his own words. He lets out a chuckle. 

“Why is it so unbelievable?” Spencer complains incredulously.

They all laugh at his words, and he hangs his head, sighing dejectedly. You pat him on the chest in consolation.

All of Spencer’s fears are quickly doused as a lively conversation starts up between you and his friends. He doesn’t know why he worried, like if they met everyone would self-combust. No, this was going fine. More than fine, even. 

His breathing slows, sure and steady, and he just watches. Watches you speak animatedly, with a delighted glint in your eye, clearly enjoying Penelope and Derek’s presence. And his friends, his family, seemed to be enjoying you just as much, which he obviously isn’t surprised about, but still fills him with relief. It was okay. It was all going to be perfectly okay.

“How does some dinner sound?” You ask the group, just as Spencer tunes back in.

Penelope claps her hands together, “Yes! I have the perfect place.” 

“Sounds good to me.” Derek replies. “If lover boy is coming, of course. I can't wait to tell lover girl, here, all the embarrassing stories at his expense.” 

Spencer groans, but follows Garcia as she heads towards the door. You just laugh. 

Spencer pinches your side from where you're still tucked under his arm and you yelp. This time, he's the one letting out a quiet chuckle, and you roll your eyes. 

“Come on genius, lead the way.” You look up expectedly from under his arm.

“Anything for you.” He simply replies, wrapping himself around you tighter, before guiding the both of you towards the door.

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Thank you for reading, feedback is appriciated x

Tags: @reidology13 @reidmania <3 - Comment to be added!

Masterlist ౨ৎ

[goldenbrowns]

somebody else || bucky barnes x reader || part two

proofread and cowritten with @d4nshyp3r ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

summary: on his 54th birthday, tony stark goes all out and chooses to take all of the avengers to one of his ridiculously many vacation houses, this one in hawaii. given that you're now seeing a guy, you choose to extend an invitation to him so you can spend these two weeks together, enjoying paradise. the only issue is how much bucky randomly despises this new guy, he considers him impossibly annoying, as well as your odd idea to take him on the vacation. after a few days, you notice buckys made it his mission to shoo the guy away...

authors note: really sorry for blue balling in part one :( this took so much longer than I expected, oh my god??

word count: 15k (wtf?)

warnings: 18 plus minors dni, alcohol consumption, swearing, implied sexual themes, dirty talking, smut, oral fem!receiving, oral male!receiving, throat fucking, hand job, fingering, sometimes sub soft bucky (??), bucky is soo desperate, mentions of cheating.

(PART ONE - PART TWO)

Bucky groaned as consciousness slowly crept in, dragging a pounding headache and a dry mouth with it. The morning sunlight was merciless, pouring through the half-open curtains and slicing across the bed. He shifted slightly, the heavy, unfamiliar warmth beside him anchoring him to the mattress. His heart stumbled in his chest as he realized he wasn’t alone.

Carefully, he cracked one eye open. His vision stung for a moment before settling on the face beside him — you, curled up under the sheets, your hair messy, and checking your phone. Panic lanced through him, overriding the ache in his skull. His mind scrambled for memories of last night, but everything after his third—maybe fourth—cup of mead was a hazy, disjointed blur.

"Morning, rockstar," you said, your voice rough from sleep but filled with unmistakable amusement.

Bucky winced, immediately sensing the teasing in your tone. He dragged a hand down his face, half-dreading the answer to the question clawing at his brain. "What... what did I do?"

Keep reading

You stretched languidly, propping your chin on your hand as you watched him with a spark in your eye. "You really don’t remember?"

He let out a miserable groan, throwing an arm over his face. "Depends. How bad was it?"

You grinned wider, absolutely savoring this. "You got up on a makeshift stage, grabbed a mic, and sang Jessie’s Girl to me. In front of the entire party. The entire song. Really loud. Really passionately. I can assure you you're on at least 10 different newspaper headlines, drunkenly singing Jessie's Girl. I can already see it, 'From Assassin to Rockstar: Barnes Belts Out Jessie's Girl'."

Bucky's entire body stiffened. He peeked at you through his fingers, horror dawning across his face. "No. No way."

"Oh, yes way," you said, your voice bubbling with laughter. "You even pointed dramatically at me every time you sang ‘Jessie's Girl.’ Like, dead serious. You looked heartbroken."

A strangled noise escaped him as he rolled onto his stomach and shoved his face into the pillow. "Oh my God."

"And you did a little spin," you added gleefully. "You almost fell off the edge of the stage"

Bucky let out another pathetic groan, burying himself deeper in the sheets as if they could swallow him whole. He wasn’t sure if the pounding in his head was from the hangover or the soul-crushing embarrassment blooming inside his chest. "I’m never drinking again. Never."

You couldn’t help but laugh, reaching over to poke his side. "You were adorable, though. Everyone loved it."

He turned his face just enough to glare at you, cheeks burning red. "I don’t do adorable. I do badass. I do- I do supersoldier. I do- ugh... " He placed the palms of his hands against his face as he sighed loudly. He looked so defeated.

You snorted. "Last night you definitely did adorable."

Bucky groaned again, rubbing his temples like he could erase the entire memory. But your voice grew softer then, a bit more hesitant.

"And... well... after your big concert, we kinda..." you trailed off, your cheeks heating.

He immediately sat up, the sheet falling to his lap, sudden dread gripping him. "Shit. Did we—? I really don't remember that. Are you okay? Did I—?"

You sat up too, placing a calming hand on his chest. "No, no, it’s okay. We didn’t really get to it... not really. We started kissing and all that, but... I was kind of off, with the whole Mark situation, so we just went to sleep"

Bucky stared at you, mortified beyond belief. “Oh"

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh at the sheer misery on his face. "Out like a light. You were trying to tuck yourself in and you just... face planted into the mattress."

He groans again, this time with real frustration in his face, “Wait, what exactly is the situation with Mark?” Did he finally leave?”

Your heart softened at how genuinely confused he seemed. You scooted closer, tugging gently at his arm until he dropped his hands and looked at you, his blue eyes still clouded with shame.

You couldn't help but laugh. “Not exactly, yesterday at Tony's party, he ran off with some other chick.” 

“Oh…” 

“Yeah, and when we were going up to my room, we heard them in there. But it’s fine, I’m over it. I don’t care,” You continued, not letting him answer. You could see the worry on his face slightly turn to anger, which he thought he was doing a good job at hiding. Probably for your sake, wanting to be supportive and all.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry. He really doesn’t deserve you.” He tried, and ended it there, clearly not good at comforting people. “His loss, poor bastard doesn't know what he's missing anyway…” He chuckles, trying to lighten up the mood-

"It’s okay, Buck," you said, voice quiet. "He wasn't a great guy either, your performance last night outdid his whole boyfriend career, if I can even call him that." You added with a teasing grin, "And for what it's worth, you were very absolutely adorable and so very enthusiastic before you passed out."

He groaned again, dropping his body onto the mattress, completely defeated. "I am also not that guy. Just kill me now. Please," he says, looking blankly at the ceiling, looking like he's debating on whether to keep speaking. "Yeah, uh... when I drink too much, I enter this really pathetic mode," he said, cringing. "Not 'Winter Soldier'. More like 'someone please tuck me in and tell me I'm doing a good job' mode. It's disgusting. Don’t look at me. It should be fucking illegal"

You keep quiet, admiring his frustration. He's still wincing at the idea of yesterday, you really can't blame him. Suddenly, he stands up and goes to the bathroom, and you can hear him from afar washing his face and brushing his teeth. "Next time," you can hear him say as he dries his face off with a towel, his voice low and certain. "I’m making it perfect. No embarrassing concerts. No drunken disasters."

Next time?

You try to ignore this and not let it get into your head. You shift on the bed, pulling your knees to your chest. "Well," you call out hesitantly, "there’s just one tiny problem."

Bucky steps back into the room, towel slung over his shoulder, shirt nowhere to be seen, raising an eyebrow. "What now?"

"I, uh... I don’t have any clothes," you admit, feeling your face warm. "They're all in my room. You know... the one where Mark is currently living out his worst choices."

Bucky blinks, his mouth tightening for a second like he’s imagining marching down the hall and gutting Mark with his metal arm. But he reins it in quickly, crossing his arms with a huff.

"Awesome," he mutters, then rakes a hand through his hair. "Alright. You’re not going back there right now. That's a given." His tone brooks no argument. "Just... wear something of mine. Closet’s open. Grab a T-shirt and some shorts or something, you know I don't mind. You can grab your stuff later when... the coast is clear."

You smile warmly at him, basking in how domestic this all feels. Bucky's protectiveness sends heat to your stomach, he doesn't know how easy it is to like him.

He tosses you a teasing smirk as he pulls open one of the drawers. "Fair warning, though. My shirts might drown you."

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You both step into the living room, and it's clear that the aftermath of the party still lingers. The living room is a bit of a disaster—empty cups on the coffee table, confetti in some corners, and the faint scent of spilled drinks in the air. The kitchen’s quiet, save for the clatter of silverware and the hum of the coffee machine. At the breakfast table, Steve and Thor are already there, with Peter sitting across from them, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

Peter’s eyes are wide, his shoulders hunched, and he's clearly in full-on panic mode. Peter, for some reason, only has his boxers on and some sunglasses. He’s staring at his phone with a sense of dread, occasionally glancing up like he’s about to bolt. He's sitting there uncomfortably, his shoulders and face are red like a tomato. The sight makes Bucky raise an eyebrow, leaning casually against his chair with an amused smirk.

"Peter, buddy, what’s going on?" Bucky’s voice is smooth, and genuine concern for him is peeking through. He’s leaning against Peter's chair, trying to hide a grin as he watches Peter frantically swipe on his phone.

Peter doesn’t even look up, his voice shaky as he mutters, “I have a test in thirty minutes, okay?! I’ve been studying for weeks! Weeks! And I barely remember half of what I read. I've never been hungover before!" Ugh, poor guy, looks like yesterday was his first time being drunk.

"What do you mean, Pete? I didn't see you once at the party. I thought you were in your room studying." You ask with furrowed brows. You're right, Peter was nowhere to be seen yesterday, you hadn't questioned that up until now.

"Yeah, probably because I took two miserable shots and had the awesome idea of getting naked and throwing myself on the pool floatie. And for some unknown reason nobody thought it was a good idea to wake me up or tell me that the party was over, cause this morning I woke up floating on the goddamn pool with the shape of my sunglasses imprinted into my face" He rambles on without catching his breath, clearly very affected by this.

You stare at Peter, your brows furrowing further as his words sink in. “Wait, you what?” You blink in disbelief, not sure whether to laugh or be concerned.

Peter awkwardly face palms, running a hand through his messy hair, his face red, not just from the burns but also from embarrassment. “Yeah, so, I might have gotten a little carried away... but I swear it seemed like a good idea at the time. I mean, I’m a first-time drinker, okay? I didn’t know what I was doing. The floatie was... comfortable.”

You and Bucky sit down at the breakfast table, the sunlight pouring through the large windows, casting a warm glow over everything. You sit on one side of the table, facing the serene view of the pool and the compound’s lush outdoor landscape, while Bucky takes his seat across from you, facing the inside of the compound. It’s peaceful, too peaceful for what you can sense brewing in the air.

As you start to pour some coffee into your mug, you glance up at Bucky, and that’s when you notice it. There’s something off in his expression; he's looking right behind you. Almost like he's zoned off into the distance. But his jaw is unusually tense, the muscles moving beneath his skin, and his eyes are narrowed just slightly—like he's focusing on something, sizing it up. You’ve seen that look before. You know it’s the one he gives Mark whenever the two of them lock eyes. It's a look that says, I'm watching you. And sure enough, just as you turn your head, Mark is stepping into the kitchen.

Mark’s hair is still a bit messy, his shirt rumpled, and he looks half-asleep as he makes his way toward the table. But Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off him. The muscles in his jaw flex again, harder this time. The air seems to thicken as he stares, a hard glint in his eyes. There’s no mistaking it: Bucky’s pissed.

Mark finally notices, glancing around the room before his eyes land on you. “Hey,” he says, offering a hesitant smile as he makes his way toward the breakfast table.

Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off Mark. “What, you think you’re just going to walk around here like nothing happened?” he growls, voice low and venomous. “And you're... just here for the mess? Didn’t think you’d want to stick around for this.”

Mark’s face turns a deeper shade of red. "I—" He starts to speak but is cut off by Bucky's scornful laugh.

“You don’t get to talk, Mark,” Steve spits, eyes narrowing. “Not after what you did.”

Peter looks over at you, wide-eyed, and mutters, “This is definitely not how I imagined my first morning in Hawaii."

Mark was obviously taken aback by all of this. He starts conjuring up a comment, which, by the look on his face, is going to be shameless. "Look," he starts, his voice casual, as if he’s the one in control of the situation. "I get it, okay? You're upset. I was drunk, and I made a mistake. But honestly, it’s not like you were all that innocent either." He shrugs, clearly not understanding how wrong this whole situation is. "You were probably off doing your own thing last night, too. I didn’t see you glued to my side, did I?" He finishes off, looking at you.

"Let me make this clear to you, Mark," You start, your gaze fixed on the man like he's a piece of shit. "You didn’t just mess up once. You didn’t ‘get drunk and make a mistake.’ You intentionally decided to disrespect me. You’re not a victim here, so don’t even try to spin it like you are."

Bucky pushes himself off his chair and begins, “Don’t you dare stand there and act like we’re all supposed to feel sorry for you, Mark. You made a choice. You know what you did, and don’t you even think about trying to justify it? You were drunk? News flash, buddy, we all were."

The table stayed quiet, but somehow, even in that peacefulness, you knew everyone agreed with you two.

"No, Bucky, you’re right," you say, taking a deep breath. You turn to Mark, fury building in your chest. "I’ve had enough of this pathetic excuse for a man standing here, acting like he has some right to make this about anything else but him screwing up. I was trying to make things work, even when I knew deep down something felt off. I gave you trust."

Mark shakes his head rapidly and scoffs, like he still thinks this is all a game "Y/n, c’mon, you're exaggerating. You're blowing this out of proportion."

You roll your eyes at his comment."You’re not even good at being a scumbag. Sloppy and stupid? Sad combo." You snap, your voice dripping with venom. "And you know what? You’re right. You don’t owe me anything. And I sure as hell don’t owe you anything either. So take your pathetic excuses and get the hell out of here."

Steve chimes in from the other end of the table, trying to control his desire to punch the living daylight out of him.. "You don’t deserve to even say her name." Steve then stood up after saying this, his chair scraping sharply against the floor. He didn't raise his voice — he didn’t have to. The authority in his tone was enough. "That's enough. You’re not welcome here anymore."

Mark scoffed, attempting one last desperate smirk. "What, Cap? Gonna throw me out yourself?"

Thor, who had been quietly seething, stood as well, still chewing onto a piece of bread loudly. The temperature of the room seemed to shift when he moved.

"Nay, not just him," Thor said, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It will be our honor."

Mark squirmed and protested as they dragged him across the living room, probably screaming all types of curse words at me. His sneakers skidding awkwardly against the polished floors.

"You might wanna pick up some self-respect on the way out," Steve muttered under his breath.

Tony, seemingly out of nowhere, strolled in from the hallway, dressed in a rumpled AC/DC T-shirt and plaid pajama pants. "Oh, hi, Mark," he said casually, dropping the reference with a completely straight face.

Thor, ever dramatic, added, "And if you ever return, pray that I am not here to greet you." He punctuated the threat with a pat on Mark’s back — one that sent him stumbling toward the exit. You didn't really know what was gonna happen with him, where he was gonna go or what he was gonna do. To be honest, you didn't care, but knowing Tony, you knew he was already tapping away on his phone calling a car for the airport.

As Thor and Steve made their way back to the table, Bucky tapped Steve on his back with a grin and said "Well, looks like trash day came early"

Tony, looking up from his phone, analyzed the room once more — the furious faces, the empty spot where Mark had just been dragged out — and pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead.

"Alright," Tony drawled, "which one of you divas broke the compound before I had my coffee?"

Steve shook his head, taking a long break between each word as if looking for the proper phrasing. "Handled a situation."

"Yeah, I saw," Tony deadpanned, glancing at the door. "If you threw him any harder, we’d be getting a noise complaint from space."

Thor grunted, still adjusting his sleeves. "A cheating worm has been exiled."

"Guy must’ve had a death wish," Tony muttered, sipping his coffee. "Honestly, Thor dragging him out is the nicest thing that's ever happened to him. If it were up to me, I would’ve dropped him off of Rockefeller Center."

Peter, still looking groggy, chimed in quietly, "Mr. Stark, it was kinda awesome, actually."

Tony smirked, ruffling Peter's hair as he passed him. "Kid were gonna have to work on your definitions of 'awesome' and 'legally questionable.'"

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A couple of hours later and a few drinks in, everyone seemed to have found their entertainment for the day. Tony was telling off Natasha and Wanda after Peter let it slip that they were the ones who slipped him a bottle at the party. Natasha is defending herself, saying something along the lines of helping him build character. Scott, Bruce, and Sam were in the kitchen trying to perfect a mystery drink so they could have everyone try it at dinner. 

Down at the beach, Pepper and Maria were having some drinks, while Steve and Bucky were running along the shore because they just couldn't afford to miss a couple days without exercising. They had been trying to dig the biggest hole possible in the sand with Tony before he decided to give a lecture to Natasha and Wanda. You stayed by the pool, rubbing some aloe vera on Peter. The poor kid would not stop complaining about how much it stinged, but it was necessary, if you didn’t want him walking around with his skin peeling off in chunks. Thor, who was next to you sunbathing, opened his eyes and took a bit of pity in Peter as well.

“You are now a man, young Parker. Stop wallowing and be proud!” He started, trying to distract Peter from the burning sensation. “Ah, I still remember my first drunken endeavour. I was at the blushing age of 14, and I couldn’t get out of bed for a week! Of course my brother Loki took every chance he could to try and stab me. Oh, how I miss those days…” He trailed off looking into the horizon.

“What?!” Peter tried turning around to see if Thor was joking or not. You turned him back around, still applying the refreshing aloe. 

“Ignore him, Pete, he’s joking.” You reassure him, looking back at Thor, and give him a look as if to tell him not helping. “Oh! How did your test go?” You say in hopes of distracting him, now from Thor’s horrifying childhood stories.

“Oh please don’t remind me, I’m so sure I failed” He kept beating himself up and you weren’t really sure how to help him. Thankfully he broke the silence again, “Hey Y/n, are you feeling okay? Y’know with the whole Mark situation.” He slightly turned so he could look at you, genuinely concerned since he saw you as an older sister. 

“I’m alright, Pete. I promise.” You assure him, not wanting to worry any longer or keep being reminded of the events that took over last night and at breakfast earlier. You could tell he didn’t want to drop it so you started talking again, “I just wish he didn’t have to be such an asshole, y’know? If he hated me that much, he could’ve dumped me before I even brought him here. But let’s not talk about him anymore. I just want to enjoy our time here.”

With that, Peter seemed satisfied and stood up, making his way to the buggies, promising he’d come back every two hours so you could reapply his sunscreen. He had planned to build a sandcastle with Tony, who was still disappointed in him for getting so drunk, threatening to tell his Aunt May.

You leaned back, watching Peter jog off into the distance, still moving a bit clumsily from his sunburns. You hoped Tony would go easy on him, but knowing him, that's a long shot. As you began to close your eyes to enjoy the sun, you heard Thor sigh dramatically next to you. You opened one eye and turned to meet his gaze, which was already set on you. 

“So, what is this thing you and Sergeant Barnes have going on?” He asks with a shameless grin, he's such a gossip. 

“Sorry?” You asked him, clearly caught off guard by this question. You'd definitely expect this kind of question from Tony or Nat, but surely not from Thor.

“Come on now, lady y/n. Even my brother, far away in some strange realm, planning some poor souls demise, can feel the tension between you two” He finishes with a booming belly laugh, he really enjoys hearing himself speak, doesn't he? 

“God. Well, I don't know if there's any tension there, Thor.” You wander off, chewing on your lip for a second, just to continue your rambling, “I mean… Do you think there's tension there? I really need a second opinion here, Thor.” You're very much aware of what happened yesterday after the party, but something deep in your mind tells you Bucky was acting that way because of all the alcohol in his system. You really don't know what to think or what to assume. Was there really tension? Could this be something more than a one-night stand?

“Well, yes! I thought it was obvious to all, is it not?” he declared with a booming voice. “I could strike the tension with Mjolnir itself! I'm pretty sure even young Peter sensed it, and he's still just a hatchling.”

You groaned again, covering your face with your hands for a moment. “God. I’m doomed.”

Thor just laughed—a big, hearty, Thor laugh—and clapped you on the shoulder so hard your entire chair wobbled.

“Nonsense, Ms y/n! It's a tale as old as time: Man gazes upon woman. A woman gazes upon a man. A fable so foolish, only the fires of fornication could set it in motion!” He basically screams in your face as he keeps his hand on your shoulder, massaging it a bit. 

You can't help but laugh with him at his wording of thoughts. “Alright, Thor, that's enough out of you.” I chuckle at him, sending him a friendly smile to let him know it's all in good fun.

You peeked at Bucky out of the corner of your eye — now grabbing a towel and running a hand through his damp hair — and you felt your stomach twist again in a way that was getting far too familiar.

Maybe, Thor wasn’t completely wrong.

Maybe.

“Subtlety is an art form, dear.” Thor side eyes you and smirks just before closing his eyes and lifting his face. “In Asgard, we call that sort of staring a battle challenge… do you plan on dueling him or bedding him?”

You chose to ignore his last question and close your eyes, trying to clear your mind. You lay there for God knows how long, probably falling asleep because next thing you know, your eyes are blinking open as you notice the loud music coming from somewhere and the lack of the previously unforgiving sun.

Finally locating where the disturbance emerged from, you look over to see Natasha, Steve, Wanda, and Bucky all making their way towards the pool while Sam was connecting to one of the huge speakers in the pool area. 

Thor is nowhere to be seen, and you’re still becoming aware of your surroundings while Wanda is pulling you from the lounging chair and telling you to join them in the water. You notice Bucky and Steve were already inside, in the far end, looking towards the beach and sharing a drink.

You and Wanda get in, thankful that it wasn’t cold as you had expected it to be, soon getting splashed by Sam and Natasha who thought it would be a great idea to cannonball right in the middle of the pool. 

As you both flinched trying to not get water in your eyes, the sudden commotion made the two supersoldiers turn around to see who was the culprit. As they did, Bucky’s eyes landed on you and he immediately, but slowly, started making his way over to you. 

“Hey”, you tell him, realizing how you’ve barely seen each other all day, apart from breakfast.

“Hello Doll, finally stopped ignoring me? And here I thought you cared for me. I’m hurt, truly” He joked as soon as he reached you, putting a hand over his heart to show you how seriously devastated he was.

“Oh please, I was not ignoring you,” you wanted to add more in hopes of defending yourself, until you felt his hand snaking to your waist and settling there. Your thoughts died in your throat before you could even finish the sentence, so you opted to squint at him, trying to decipher what he was planning for tonight. If you knew him well enough, which you did, you could see the gears turning in his head, figuring out new ways to get under your skin.

He noticed the way your breath hitched — just barely, but enough for him to catch it — and his lips quirked into a cocky little smirk.

“What’s wrong, angel?” he teased, voice low enough that only you could hear. His hand gave a slow, deliberate squeeze at your waist, sending a shiver up your spine despite the warm water. “Cool breeze got you shivering already, or is it just me?” It’s comments like that — said so casually, so effortlessly — that remind you just how far gone he really is. And, honestly, how ridiculous he can really be.

“You can be really insufferable, you know that? It's a genuine talent you have” you mutter to him as you splash water on his chest. It didn't faze him – in fact, it only made him grin wider. Obviously, you weren't aware of the expression on your face when he smiled back at you because he went on to say, “You keep starin’ at me like that and I might get the wrong idea, Doll.” 

Whether it was the consistent teasing, your conversation with Thor or the alcohol flowing in your blood stream, you decided to play along and see how much you could push him. You wanted to see the same feelings and reactions he was provoking in you, etched onto his own face. Give him a taste of his own medicine and reach his tipping point.

You got even closer, flashing a coy smile, voice just above a whisper “Why are you holding back? If you want me so badly then what’s stopping you from taking me right here, right now? Hm?” You watch as his smirk slightly falters and grin a bit wider knowing you got him right where you wanted him. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? The big, scary Winter Soldier can’t handle a simple question. Interesting.” 

His answer wasn’t immediate, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly as his eyes grew darker. “Careful what you wish for, Doll. Girls who play with fire get their little fingers burnt.” His voice had never been as slow and steady before, perhaps he was trying to keep his composure in front of his friends who kept belting out 80’s heart break lyrics.

The closeness of your body, the heat brewing between both of you was making him dizzy, just as much as you. Though neither of you wanted to acknowledge it, silently understanding this cat and mouse game, waiting for the other to break; trying as hard as it was not to be the first one. Pushing each other to the limit was not unknown between you, always training together and challenging the other was old news. But this was different; a personal milestone you both set for yourselves, seeing the other slowly give in seemed to be as sweet a victory as finding the Holy Grail itself.

“Good thing I’m not a little girl then.” and just as fast as it started, the trance you both found yourselves in was broken.

“Okay, that's enough. Towels. Clothes. Dignity. In that order.” The authoritative voice of the play boy himself caught everyone’s attention, reminding you that you were not alone in the pool, although no one else seemed to notice your interaction with Bucky; and if they did they made no mention of it thankfully.

You suddenly remembered you had a barbecue planned for tonight, Tony had invited a guest chef who was known worldwide but you couldn’t remember his name even if you tried. You felt a sudden cold where Bucky’s hand had left your side when you were rudely interrupted. You looked at each other and, without another word, exited the pool along with everyone else, who seemed drunker than they were five minutes ago. You made a mental note to continue the mind games between you and Bucky at dinner, or whenever the opportunity presented itself.  

You enter your room and quickly get dressed, checking yourself in the mirror before heading out the door. You wonder who was already at the table, given half the group was drunk in the pool with you mere minutes ago. As you get there, you’re surprised to see most of them there, pretty sure they hadn’t washed the salt and chlorine out of their heads, all of you dangerously aware that if you were late, Tony would have your heads for embarrassing him in front of the prestigious chef.

Bucky’s eyes find you in an instant, silently demanding you to sit across from him, given both seats next to him were taken by Bruce and Scott; who, according to them, had perfected their mystery cocktail and still refused to tell anyone what it contained. In the middle of the table sat two glass jugs with a glowing orange liquid, which they brought to have everyone else taste and give their opinions on.

Sam saw you walking towards the seat next to him and got up to pull out your chair. You thanked him as you sat down and he pushed the chair in behind you. You noticed instantly the grin on his face, a perfect match to Bruce and Scott, wondering what they were planning, other than possibly poisoning all of you with their strange concoction.  That’s when he joins the conversation he was previously in with the three men sitting in front of you. Steve, who was at the head of the table, briefly got up after complimenting your dress, going over to Tony and the chef to see what was being prepared.

You felt Bucky’s stare burning a hole in the side of your head, as you got a hold of the conversation between them. While he hasn’t said anything since you got to the table, you discover the plan the three wannabe-bartenders had in mind. 

“C’mon man, y’know if you try it everyone else will! I swear. It’s our best creation yet.” Sam kept insisting, but nothing could convince the man who had a different agenda in mind.

“Yeah, and the only one you’ve ever made.” You felt the need to help the poor man, struggling to hold out on his own with the drunk men surrounding him. He looked at you in a thankful manner, but was still aggravated by the request of the men.

Scott piped up from beside Bucky, already drunk, almost pouncing over him, “Exactly! If you drink it first, everyone else will follow. We need a brave leader. Like Moses. But drunk, man.”

Bucky eyed the glass and he swore he could've seen the damn thing bubbling. He held it to the light, trying to figure out what was it these three were mixed in the drink. “Right… What is this radioactive Caprisun supposed to have? I swear to god it was just orange a minute ago…”

Scott pauses for a second. He really doesn't remember. Bruce was probably the right person to ask, considering he wasn't tipsy all the way through the drink's making. Obviously, Scott insisted on trying every single ingredient to give it the 'Certified not-poison by yours truly!' He groggily turns to Bucky and says, “Uh… love?”

Scott seemed too drunk to even try anymore, so Bruce chimed in, “Bucky, do you really not trust me? A professional scientist?”

Your smile suddenly faded as you remembered you wanted to get under his skin; see how far he got before giving in. You decided to back the men up, completely blindsiding the helpless man. “Yeah tough guy, give it a shot.” And just to make it more difficult for him, you had removed one shoe under the table and trailed it up his leg; smirking as you saw him, and felt him, stiffen at your touch.

His eyes hardened and he sat up, grabbing a glass. “Is that a dare, Doll?” He didn’t wait for you to answer as he poured himself some of that worryingly colorful beverage. He didn’t break eye contact once as he downed it in one go, your ears filled with cheers from the victorious men who got up to tell everyone that the Winter Soldier himself had tried their drink, finally convincing them to try for themselves. 

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Dinner was pretty much uneventful, with everyone trying the guy’s drink, and agreeing that it was actually pretty good, yet they still refused to tell anyone what it contained.  You would now definitely consider the drink endorsed by 3 out of 4 semi-sober Avengers. You felt the buzz before you even finished your first glass, and the food was incredible. Bucky made it his personal mission to distract you from your conversations, as your game of footsie went on the entirety of the dinner.

You didn’t speak much to each other, but enough was being said with the glances you shared more than enough times. You couldnt help but notice how low-lidded and dark his eyes had become since his first drink. So when you found yourself in the pool once again with Natasha, Maria and Wanda, it was no wonder that Bucky followed you; opting to stay outside by the edge so he could still talk to you and rile you up even more, without having touched you yet.

You weren't sure which one of the girls' ideas was to jump in the pool fully clothed but you couldn’t seem to mind as you let the alcohol take over long ago, enjoying the way your dress flowed in the water with your movements. Steve was desperately telling Natasha to get out before you all caught a cold, lending her a hand. It turned out to be a terrible mistake, as she pulled him in in an instant, followed by Peter and Thor who raced to jump in the pool.

You took advantage of the commotion, and Tony’s awful singing next to the speakers, to get closer to the edge and talk to Bucky who still hadn’t taken his eyes away from you.

“No way, Doll. Don’t even think about getting me wet.” He acted like he was pulling away, although you know that’s the last thing on his mind right now. 

Your smile only grew wider as you finally reached him.“See, now you’re paranoid. I wouldn’t ever think about doing such a thing. I’m just disappointed you're gonna leave me here all by myself.” You teased, batting your eyelashes before looking over at the God who was currently in a water fight with the spiderboy. 

Bucky rested his forearms on his knees, looking down at you with that infuriatingly smug little smirk. “You? Disappointed? In me?” he mocked, pretending to be hurt. “Now that’s just cruel.”

You swam a bit closer, hands trailing along the edge of the pool, resting your chin on your arms so you could look up at him properly. “Cruel would be throwing you in this pool in front of all your friends. But don’t worry,” you tilted your head, tone syrupy sweet, “I’d never do that.”

“Oh, I’m terrified,” he said dryly, watching you like he already knew what you were about to do. “I mean, for the record... I like seeing you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Loose. Happy. A little drunk. Wet.” His lips curved into that crooked smirk again, eyes gleaming. 

You flashed him one last passive aggressive smile before kicking up with both legs and splashing a wave of water straight at him.

It soaked the front of his shirt and a good part of his pants. He blinked once, slow and unimpressed, as the girls behind you broke into laughter.

“Oops,” you said, doing your best to feign surprise.

Bucky stood, wiping water from his chest, shirt clinging to his abs in a way that made it very clear he hadn’t skipped any workouts. “You wanna play dirty?” he said, voice low, eyes darkening in that way that made you grow hotter.

Before you could react, he tossed his shirt aside and crouched down, grabbing you by the wrist. You squealed, trying to swim back, but it was useless. With a sudden yank, he pulled you half out of the water — and then jumped in after you, crashing the both of you beneath the surface.

When you surfaced, gasping and laughing, you found Bucky already brushing hair from your face, his hand lingering just a second too long on your cheek. His grin was wide and playful, but his eyes searched yours like he was trying to find something underneath it all.

“You happy now? Was that what you wanted? To see me with my shirt off? You could’ve just asked, Darling.” He smirks and slightly tilts his head to the side, resting his hands on the curve of your hips. 

“How presumptuous of you. That abs-to-arrogance ratio is really something, huh?” You bite back with a proud expression on your face. To be real, you were really proud of that one. Somewhere, in the midst of looking into his eyes, you heard Thor’s roaring laugh from behind you get closer. As you turn around, you see the mighty God of Thunder make his way to you with a drink in hand, slowly but surely. Before you can go after Thor and eagerly greet him, Bucky's hands move swiftly to pull you closer, wrapping both arms around your waist in a firm grip. It's as if he's making sure you couldn't escape, like he's marking his territory. The move is intentional — calculated, even. He doesn't just hold you, he controls where you go. You feel your heart race as his chest presses against your back, the warmth of his body radiating through you, even through the cold water.

And just before Thor is close enough to hear you, Bucky pulls you in even closer and whispers "You're not getting away so easily this time," he says, voice low and hot against your neck. "You like to run, huh? I don't think so, Doll." His grip tightens slightly, and your breath hitches at the sudden intensity.

“Ah, I see the tension here!" Thor laughs, slapping Bucky's shoulder quickly as if the two of them were in some kind of camaraderie, which only makes the situation weirder. "But you know, the one thing you both should know is the real tension I’ve faced in my life…” He pauses dramatically, catching everyone's attention like he’s about to reveal some hidden truth.

Before Bucky, behind you, could protest “Thor-,” he launches into a full tale.

“Let me tell you of the time I fought the mighty Jörmungandr, the Midgard Serpent. This was no ordinary beast! Oh no, this creature was massive, huge, like a mountain with fangs! I had to climb its back as it thrashed through the ocean waves.” He gestures wildly, inadvertently bumping into Bucky, who looks less than impressed. Thor doesn’t notice, of course, continuing his story with all the flair of a man who’s had too much mead. 

People start gathering around the group to listen, in the light of this being one of the first genuinely interesting tales Thor’s told in a while, and soon, he has a crowd. Even Tony, who was immersed in his 80’s hits karaoke, had stopped singing and brought a stool to the edge of the pool to listen to the story.

Bucky on the other hand, probably as an excuse to get comfortable, took a few steps back to settle in one of the inner corners of the pool, nestling there with you still in his arms. You could feel him shuffling behind you, now feeling closer than ever. For a moment, only your back was pressed to his chest, but after a second, when he noticed this, he grabbed you by your hipbones and forced you onto his lap.

He didn’t ask, didn’t give you a chance to wriggle away — just guided you down with firm hands until you were perched right where he wanted you, legs between his, your back against his broad chest, and his arms loosely draped around your waist like he’d done it a thousand times before.

“Much better,” Bucky murmured in your ear, voice dripping with satisfaction as he shifted slightly beneath you, settling you closer. “Wouldn’t want you getting distracted, not when I’m trying so hard to keep you entertained.” You just looked back at him over his shoulder, wanting to bite back, but you just side-eyed him while shaking your head. There is no way in hell hes so cocky. 

“You always get this quiet when you’re sitting on a lap, or is it just when you’re enjoying yourself?” Bucky was now making himself comfortable, resting his head against your shoulder.“I mean, if I knew this is what it took to get you to settle down and listen to a story, I would’ve offered my lap way sooner,” he added, smugness practically radiating off him.

You roll your eyes and sush him “Can you please? Im listening to a story here. Ever heard of common decency?” 

“Go on, keep pretending you’re here for Thor’s epic saga,” he murmured. “But I’ve got a better story for you, sweetheart. One with a little less lightning and a lot more tension.”

He taps you dangerously low on your abdomen, his voice smooth, “And I’m a real fan of happy endings.”

You can’t even hide your grin anymore. Thor, completely oblivious to any awkwardness, is now fully engrossed in his own story, surrounded by a group that’s all-too-happy to let him entertain them.

“...and there I was, in the finest gown of Asgard, about to deliver the most epic punch to the giant you’ve ever seen. No one else would dare…” he trails off, completely unaware that Bucky had started palpably growing harder.

₊‧ʚ・︵︵ ₊˚๑ ᕱᕱ ꒱✦ ₊ ︵︵・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

It was nearly 2:00 a.m. when the last ripple in the pool finally began to settle, and the chaos of the night simmered down to something quieter, lazier. The music had been reduced to a mellow background hum, the once-bright string lights above now flickering faintly like they were tired too.

Tony had one arm around Peter, half-dragging, half-carrying him out of the water while muttering something about child labor laws and the next Avengers meeting being a pool-free event. Peter, clearly past the point of resistance, had his goggles askew on his forehead and was mumbling about how he definitely didn’t lose the underwater breath-holding contest to Thor.

Speaking of whom, the thunder god stumbled out of the pool, soaked and happy, with one arm slung over Vision’s shoulder and the other over Wanda’s, telling them he was fine and that he always walks sideways when he’s “this full of honor and mead.” Thor continued to walk lopsided, telling both of them how much he loves them, kissing Vision on the head. “Did you feel that? I'm well aware you're an android, but did you feel that?” Wanda looked ready to drop them both.

Sam, Bruce, and Scott had long disappeared. You suspected their mission to test the second batch of “extraterrestrial” cocktails had either knocked them out cold or led them to explore the stars themselves. Probably unconscious behind a bush somewhere, earning tomorrow’s hangover with scientific dedication. The mere thought of this made you shake your head. Those three were going to be the next ‘Parker catch-22 situation.’ 

Somewhere in the chaos, Steve and Natasha had vanished. Not an emergency-vanish, but a very telling, low-key one. Natasha had turned to you with her usual amused smirk just before she left and called, “You two planning to stay outside? You wanna catch a cold or something?” The wink she gave you at the end made it hard to tell if she meant a literal cold or something more... suspicious. Steve jumped at Nat's words as if he meant to say something similar but forgot amidst all the chaos. "Yeah, guys, please clean up and get ready for bed. And you two, come inside, it's getting cold. Don't want you sick on the boat tomorrow. No one here is willing to babysit." He punctuates the whole thing with a few claps to get everyone's attention, as if we were cadets.

Right, the boat. You had forgotten all about that. Tony dropped the bomb that he was taking the yacht out tomorrow, between rounds two or three of Scott's mystery drink. Of course, he was. Because why wouldn’t there be a yacht involved? Steve trailed behind Natasha not long after, visibly flustered when she whispered something in his ear. Were they flirting?

"Alright, yeah, old man," Bucky mutters from behind you in the water like they both aren't well over a hundred years old, rolling his eyes playfully at Steve's comment.

You sighed and finally peeled yourself away from the water, the soaked dress clinging to your skin with every step you took toward the towel rack. The hem of it slapped against your ankles with a sad little shhhk shhhk noise. It seemed a good idea at the time — jumping in fully clothed — and in your defense, it still kind of was. Until now.

Behind you, Bucky climbed out too, dripping from head to toe, his chest slick and shining under the soft garden lights. His pants were sticking to him in a way that made you momentarily forget how to walk in a straight line. He ran a hand through his hair, flipping the water from it in an almost rude display of hotness, and shot you a tired, lopsided grin.

“Not going inside like this,” you said, looking back at him, expecting an answer.

“Yeah, I’m not in the mood to hear Steve get into the ‘how pneumonia starts’ lecture,” Bucky replied, snatching a towel with one hand. With his metal arm, he started fidgeting with the pants belt buckle, trying to take it off. When he succeeded, he slung the towel over his shoulder to easily take his pants off, which were, from what you could tell, irksomely stuck to his skin by the moisture. Who would have thought Srg. James Buchanan Barnes wore boxer briefs? Huffing loudly, he swung the pants over the back of a lounge chair and wrapped the towel over his waist. The towel hugged his hips in a way that made it very hard not to look — especially when he looked so smug about you trying not to look.

“Not to sound like Steve or anything — and I swear this isn’t just an excuse to get you naked — but you really should ditch the wet clothes. That actually is how pneumonia starts” 

You huffed out a laugh, rolling your eyes as you folded your soaked dress over the back of a chair. “Wow. That’s the line we’re going with, huh? ‘Medical precaution’? What’s next, Bucky? You gonna tell me your towel and ducky boxer briefs keep slipping because of gravity?”

His lips quirked up instantly with a scoff like he cant believe youre making fun of him for that, the cocky glint in his eyes sharpening as he turned toward you with that maddening, slow smile. “Hey, I’ll have you know these duckies are very aerodynamic,” he points both of his index fingers in the shape of finger guns to his crotch, still completely gobsmacked you would say that. “Also, if you excuse me, your highness," he starts, with a distinguishable glint of sarcasm to his words, "Gravity is a very real thing. You’re gonna fight science now?” He scoffs at you, turning his back to you to hang his jeans properly off the chair.

"Whatever…” you muttered with a sigh, grabbing your towel and tossing it onto one of the nearby chairs. With as much discretion as you could manage, you began shimmying out of your soaked dress—assuming Bucky had the decency to keep his back turned.

He did not.

Unbeknownst to you, the moment you turned around and started slipping out of your clothes, he glanced over his shoulder—completely shameless, pants still half-folded in the air. His eyes lingered, taking you in with a familiarity that made his chest ache. He’d seen you like this before—of course he had. He remembered every second of that night, every curve and breath and sound burned into his memory. How could he possibly forget?

But this—this felt different. There was something about seeing you again like this, in the quiet aftermath of laughter and water and heat, that made it all feel undeniably real. Not a memory. Not a fantasy. Just you. Something he was not used to. As he snapped out of his trail of thought, he gave you a once-over, admiring the shape of your every curve. Tilting his head so very slightly at the sight of your ass, the shape of your thighs and the smooth arch of your waist. He couldn't help but think how awfully hard your little hops were making the whole situation.

And with all the pride of a man caught in the act of watching a woman secretly undress, he really hoped you'd stop—because, well, the situation wasn’t the only thing getting harder.

And still, he said nothing. The weight of his silence pressed against the space between you, daring you to acknowledge the heat of his gaze. Almost like he was testing how long you could pretend you didn’t notice. You finally slipped off your dress and grabbed your towel from the chair, wrapping it around your body and securing it with a twist. He almost kissed his teeth with disappointment at watching you covered up again.

Once the dress was off, you folded it over your arm and tightened the towel around yourself.

“There,” you said with a shrug, voice dry. “Happy now? I’ve officially joined the nudist squad.”

Bucky didn’t answer right away, just ran his tongue over his bottom lip slowly, eyes dragging over you with no shame at all. Then he smirked.

“Oh, very,” he drawled, leaning back against the lounger with his arms folded, the towel dipping just a bit lower on his hips than necessary. “Now I don’t have to feel guilty about staring.”

"Oh, please! Right, like you were guilty before. Don't act so innocent." You snort and turn around, gesturing for him to follow you.

The soft feel of grass under bare feet was oddly soothing as you and Bucky made your way down the narrow garden path, towels wrapped around your still-damp bodies. The compound behind you was finally quiet. You could hear the faint hum of music Tony had forgotten to turn off.

Ahead, a wooden gazebo lounged at the edge of the garden, half-shadowed by trees and glowing softly under warm hanging lights. You made a small noise of approval when you saw it—cozy, empty, and, most importantly, far from everyone else.

“This looks nice,” you murmured, glancing sideways at Bucky.

He grunted in agreement, adjusting the towel around his waist with one hand. “Bet Tony spent ten grand just on those fairy lights.”

You snorted. “They’re probably from Wakanda. Imported and blessed by some high priestess or something.”

He chuckled, and the sound came easy. The kind of laugh that only seemed to escape him when it was just the two of you. He only ever snorted like that when he was around you, a sound so innocent, so free of burden that it made your heart churn.

You climbed the short steps and plopped onto one of the cushioned loungers, the towel around you slipping slightly, revealing the bare line of your shoulder. Bucky followed and took the spot beside you, leaving only a breath of space between your legs, but you were way past all of that already, so you let your thigh rest on top of his. His torso still gleamed faintly from the water, arms draped across the back of the chair like he had no idea what that did to your ability to speak in full sentences.

“Y’know,” you said after a beat, tilting your head back to look up at the strings of light above you, “this whole night- well, these two days to be fair, have been weird. Good-weird. Like… weird in the way I kinda needed?”

Bucky looked at you out of the corner of his eye, nodding softly. “Yeah. I get that.”

You let the silence stretch comfortably for a moment, watching a few bugs flicker around one of the lights before continuing. “It’s been chaos lately. Nonstop missions, briefings, all that. So, just being here… with everyone being human for a change, it’s nice.”

He nodded, like it finally dawned on him, “We don’t get many nights like this. Where it feels like we’re not soldiers or Avengers—just people.”

You hummed in agreement, then gave him a sidelong glance. “Especially you. You’ve been…” You trailed off, searching for the word.

“Less broody?” he offered, smirking.

“I was gonna say ‘actually fun,’ but sure, that works too,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

He chuckled again, the sound a little rougher this time. “Yeah, well.. You make it easier.” giving you an awkward, tight-lipped smile.

That made your stomach flip slightly—not just because of the compliment, but the way he said it. Quiet. Honest. You studied him for a second, the way the line of his jaw twitched under your gaze, the way the towel dipped slightly at his hip from where he leaned forward. Your fingers toyed with a loose thread on your towel before you cleared your throat.

“So… there’s something I’ve been thinking about.”

He raised a brow, head turning slightly toward you, almost sure he knew what you were about to say. “Yeah?” he said a bit hesitantly.

“That night,” you said, finally. “The… first one." You chuckle, noticing how strange that sounds. "The one-night stand that wasn’t really just a night.”

Bucky didn’t tense. He didn’t flinch. If anything, he sat a little straighter, like he’d been expecting it—maybe even waiting for it.

“What about it?”

You shrugged, looking ahead. “I guess I never asked how it felt for you. I mean… it wasn’t just sex. At least, it didn’t feel like that to me. But then we both just… pretended it didn’t happen. Which, looking back at it now, was probably the worst decision we ever made.” You sigh and your eyes flick over to his confused expression "Oh no, I meant the whole 'ignoring it ever happened' thing!"

"Oh, right," he nods with a forced smile. He was quiet for a beat. Then, “It didn’t feel like just sex to me either.”

You turned your head, meeting his gaze. He looked calm, but there was something in his eyes—something that made your chest ache.

“I didn’t know what to do after,” he admitted. “I woke up and thought, ‘Well, shit. This is gonna mess me up.’ Not because it was bad. But because it felt real. And real is... hard for me.”

You swallowed. “Yeah. Same.”

“I tried to act like it didn’t mean something. Thought maybe you’d be better off if I stayed distant. Didn’t want to screw it up by wanting more.” Bucky pressed his palm against his beard as if he were combing it, looking very pensive. "The worst part of all of it was having to see you over and over at the compound, day in and day out. I remember having talked about it to Sam and Steve, but they weren't much help. I remember them saying something about whatever is meant to be will be." You thought about the last sentence, noticing how Sam and Steve weren't technically wrong. And it looks like he had the same exact thought because suddenly he paused the hand motion on his beard.

You gave him a small, sad smile.

He nodded slowly. “And honestly? I’m tired of pretending I don’t want more. Tired of pretending that night didn’t change things.”

You leaned back again, heart hammering against your ribs—not from nerves, but from relief. Because finally, finally, you both weren’t dancing around it anymore.

You didn’t answer right away.

Mostly because your brain had short-circuited.

“Now I’m stuck. And I don’t wanna go anywhere.”

Those words echoed in your head, bounced off the soft wood of the gazebo. You could feel the warmth of him beside you — the steadiness of his breathing, the calm strength radiating off of him like a space heater.

You swallowed, eyes flicking away briefly before glancing back at him with a half-smirk. “Okay,” you whispered, more to test the word on your tongue than anything else. “That was good. I’ll give you that. Kind of hard to top ‘I’m stuck and I don’t wanna go anywhere.’”

Bucky’s lips tugged into a grin. “Damn. Should’ve saved it for a more dramatic moment. Like mid-battle. Or during a heist.”

“Or on a rooftop in the rain,” you offered.

He laughed again — that rare, low, real laugh that always made your chest tighten just a little. “I’ll keep it in my pocket for the next dramatic rooftop situation.”

You hummed, leaning back on your elbows and staring at the sky. The stars above were faint with the glow of the compound lights, but still there — quiet, unmoving.

It wasn’t loud between you.

Just… comfortable.

Safe.

You could hear the gears in Buckys head turning and shifting, you could tell he wanted to say something by the way his eyes flickered all over the garden. “You know…” Bucky broke the silence, his voice low, “I’ve been trying not to bring it up, that night. Figured I’d just mess things up if I did.”

You turned to glance at him, head tilted, “Why? Because of the whole ‘teammates with benefits’ taboo?”

He gave a dry chuckle. “More like… I didn’t want you to think it was just about the sex." He paused as if gaining the confidence to say this next thing. "But... you remember how I touched you that night, right?” Bucky’s voice was low, almost a whisper, as he leaned in just a little closer, his breath warm against your ear. He had turned to look at you, you could tell out of the corner of your eye.

You froze, suddenly aware of how close he was, of how the way the space between you felt so much tighter than it did minutes ago. You swallowed, your voice coming out a little shaky "You've really got to ask?” you chuckle trying to relieve some of the tension.

Bucky chuckled softly, snaking a hand up your thigh, just high enough to curl a finger on the bottom of the towel. “I don't know, Doll. I think about it a lot, actually. How responsive you were to my touch, how soft you felt under my hands.” As he spoke, his gaze flicked between his hand fidgeting with the towel and your eyes. That damn smirk, he really knew how to get under your skin.

“Yeah,” you managed, your voice a little quieter. “I remember.”

He shuffled closer to you, and you could feel his breath against your neck, hot and shaky.  “Yeah?” You felt his hand move to the back of your neck, steady, turning your head to make you look at him. “Tell me about it, Doll.” 

Your brain turned to mush, thoughts scrambled and unable to form a coherent answer for him. You knew exactly what he wanted to hear, though, the memories of that night plagued your dreams every other night, making it impossible to forget how he sounded moaning your name, and the way the lightest of his touch made you come undone in ways you hadn’t experienced before or after him.

“I mean it's hard to forget, Barnes. Cumming 6 times in one night is kinda hard to compete with.” You answer truthfully, still relying on the drinks from earlier to loosen your tongue, although the effect had almost run its course.

Bucky looked at you in disbelief, either because of how crude you may have sounded or the confession that no one had ever been as good as him. “So you’re telling me that excuse of a man never left you craving more?” You couldn’t wipe the grin away from his face if you tried. “Geez, Doll, I mean I do feel bad for you. That’s probably the worst thing you’ve told me about him.” You couldn’t help but join him, laughing lightly at how bad it actually was.

“Well, he had enough trouble with making me come even once, if I didn’t fall asleep in the process; so asking him for more was the same as asking him to challenge Thor to a duel with nothing but a stick.” You felt at ease, so admitting this didn’t make you feel as miserable as it should’ve.

As the two of you laughed at your own banter, reveling in the ease of the moment, your eyes—traitorous as ever—flicked down to his lap. You’d really been trying not to look. Honestly. But the second he started talking like that, he made it ten times harder to keep your gaze in check.

The towel slung low over his hips wasn’t helping either. It clung to him in all the wrong ways—or right ways, depending on your self-control—and sat dangerously low on his pelvis, practically inviting your eyes to explore further. Even in the low light of the night, you could make out the sharp V of his hips, carved into his skin like some unfairly sculpted masterpiece.

And in the quiet stillness of it all, with him leaned back against the lounger, arms lazily draped along the top like he owned the whole damn night, looking at you through his lashes as if expecting your next move—his chest rising and falling in just a bit too much of a rhythm to pass for calm. 

When you kept scanning him, you caught it—the unmistakable bulge under the towel, the fabric doing absolutely nothing to cover it. You didn't mean to look that long, but… Has he always been that big? Although when you think about it, it makes sense. You could see the bulge resting to the left of his thigh, following the very base of his V line. Thick and daunting. And just as if to make it all the harder for you, resting under the two layers of fabric, you saw his cock twitch. It wasn't subtle or indistinct; it jerked completely unembarrassed and shameless. Obviously done on purpose after noticing you staring.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer, Doll." He chuckles, tilting his head forward." You barely had time to recover before he leaned in a little closer, just enough to make your breath hitch. “Unless... you want me to take the towel off,” he added, voice dropping an octave, slow and deliberate. “In that case, you won’t need a picture at all.”

You wanted to come up with something witty and funny, but all that came out of you was a meek nod. He was so dangerous.

"Yeah? And here I thought you were holding it together so well. Took one question and all that snark flew right out the window, huh?” He tilted his head with mock sympathy just after caressing your chin in an act of compassion.

Rolling your eyes at him, you stand up, containing a laugh, "You know I can just stand up and go back to bed, right?" but before you can even stabilize yourself on the ground, he grabs you by the hand and pulls you to sit so impossibly close to him.

"No, come on! Why would you do that when we were just starting to have fun, baby?" He says, a breath away from your face, scanning it and flicking his eyes all over your features, "Come here, Doll. I'll even let you do the honors, how about that? Does that sound okay?" He takes your hand —the same exact one he had pulled you down by earlier— and places it ever so lightly on his uncovered thigh, just below the edge of the towel. As if guiding you, he makes you caress the inside of his thighs while looking into your eyes with some unreadable, unblushing expression. Still holding onto your hand, he starts leading it upwards, making you feel your way above into the fabric of the towel, stopping just at the very beginning of his anterior thigh.

"Do you still need guidance for this?" he begins and chuckles. "Should I keep holding your hand all the way through it?" he says with a condescending tone, tilting his head with a little pout.

“You— God, no. Bucky, I don’t need your assistance. Calm down before I get up and leave before we even start.” Almost as if he had taken that seriously, he jumped a bit and looked at you from the corner of his eye, as if shooting a threat. “But don't worry, I won't do that to you. I'm not that evil.” Relishing your newfound confidence, you decide to take his advice and 'do the honors' as he said.

You change position right beside him in the lounge chair, your knees meeting the cushion under you. You look at him with hooded eyes, and he takes his hand off of yours, now pressing both of his hands to his sides. You reach the twist on the towel on the very far end of his hip and untie it, slowly but surely, making sure to let yourself enjoy the moment. You unfold the fabric once and then twice, being met once again with Buckys ducky boxers. You snort, shaking your head.

“Still can’t believe you own those,” you mutter, amused and almost fond.

Bucky catches your reaction and smirks, clearly amused by your disbelief. “What? You don’t like my fashion sense, Doll?” he teases, raising an eyebrow. “I’ll have you know these are a limited edition. Real collector’s item.”

You ignore his comment, already feeling a coil in your stomach. There it was, still hidden by the fabric of his boxers, but there nonetheless. Even immersed in the darkness of the garden, you could see the dark spot, already wet from precum, just over his cock's head. The thought of him being needy enough to leave such a spot on his boxers without even being touched sent electric shocks to your very core. He had to have been thinking outright disgusting things all throughout the conversation to have been this hard already. You snapped out of your thoughts and leaned in, pressing soft pecks all over the length of his concealed cock.

"Fuck-" He muttered from above you, starting to take shaky breaths, sounding more desperate every passing second. You could feel his cock twitching against your lips in response to your every move and kiss.

“Oh- you think you’re real slick, huh?” he murmurs, voice dropping. “Teasin’ me like that, then acting all innocent? Keep pokin' me, sweetheart — just remember, I bite back.” He says, eyebrows furrowed into high heaven.

"Sure..."

Kiss...

"I'd really like to see you try, old man."

Kiss...

"Alright, that's enough.” He says, voice worryingly stern, grabbing you by the hair at the back of your head, interrupting you mid-kiss. “Keep callin’ me that, doll. See where it gets you.” As he held your head still, forcing you to stay in place, he swiftly shoved his thumb under the hem of his boxers and pulled them down completely uninterrupted. Now inches away from your face was his cock, bouncing from the motion, tapping you for a brief second on the nose. It was some sort of shade of coral pink, completely flushed and desperate, a clear difference to the skin on the rest of his body. Your eyes snapped from his shit-eating grin to his tip, still indecently dripping precum.

“What’s the matter?” he teases, voice low and smug. The hand that was once holding his boxers down snakes its way to the base of his cock, guiding it to tap against your lips. "Stick it out," He adds, tone stern like an order. As you pull your tongue out, expectant, he begins drawing slow, unhurried circles against the flat of it, “Cat got your tongue? Or did I finally find the off switch?” You look deeply into his eyes for a second, feeling the almost imperceptible salty taste on your tongue.

You pull away for a second, “You didn’t shut me up — I was just being generous. Letting the elderly speak, and all that. Although if shutting me up is what you want, there are a few ways to achieve that." All the while you were speaking, you could see Bucky looking at you mindfully, albeit you were still somehow unsure if he was listening to a word you were saying. Somewhere mid-sentence, he started shamelessly stroking himself, spitting into his hand, and moaning into it as he did, mere inches away from your face. You were so close you could hear the squelch of his hand against his shaft, so close you could smell his musky scent.

"Is that- Is that so?" He asks, clearly struggling to keep composure as he keeps working himself. Up and down. Up and down. "Oh yes, Sergeant Barnes. There is one way," As you finish saying this, you replace his hand with yours, continuing his exact motions. You make sure to stroke him, keeping a specific pace. The second you placed your hands back on his cock you fet how utterly wet he had achieved to be after spitting on himself. Looking back again into his eyes, you start to give him small kitten licks, watching him react almost instantly with a whimper.

“C’mon… stop bein’ mean. I’ve been good. Haven’t I been good?” And just as if you were agreeing or taking pity on him, one of the two, you took him into your mouth, slowly inching him to the back of your throat. The second you did, he let out a groan, not just any groan, one brimming with pure want, absolutely primitive.

"Fuuck..." He rasped, letting his head fall back and rest on the cushions on the head of the backrest. That was the encouragement you needed. After hearing him, you began to work yourself upwards on his shaft, keeping his cock still engulfed on your mouth, making sure to shelter all of your front teeth with your lips —we don't want any accidents here...

You continued doing the same exact thing, working your mouth and lips up and down his cock, hearing him gasp and sucking in ragged breaths from above you. At some point, he held the back of your head, grabbing a handful of your hair, and forcing you to look up at him. He looked so genuinely fucked out, lips parted into the shape of an 'o', brows furred and pupils dilated. As he looked at you, you took your mouth off of him and spat all the pent-up spit right on his tip, letting it drip in all directions. As you did, he watched you attentively, somehow looking even more needy than before. Blinking back at him innocently, you start stroking him once again, this time faster, trying to keep up with the pace your mouth had before.

“This isn’t fair," He whines, letting out a high-pitched noise in his throat. "You’ve got me wrapped around your finger, baby. No one else has ever had me like this,” He whimpers at you, making his grip on your hair even tighter.

"Yeah? That's alright, cause either way I'm not willing to let anyone see you like this ever again." To make your point be heard, you sped up your pace, not stopping for a second to look at anything else but his eyes. He, on the other hand, was seemingly tearing up. You could see his glassy sky blue eyes shining under the garden fairy lights.

Then all of a sudden, Bucky's head jerked backwards, eyes wide open. "Can’t take much more of this, baby…" You knew exactly what he meant, but there was nothing in the world you wanted more than to hear him say it. So you stroke him even faster, knowing exactly what was gonna happen. "Much more of what, Buck?" You blink up at him, taking the opportunity to use your tongue and play with the slit of his tip.

"Doll- You know what I meant. I'm gonna-" He grabs onto the cushions next to him, throwing his head back forwards to face you, now with a completely different expression. His mouth had fallen even more agape and his eyes were screwed shut.

"Yeah? gonna what?" You tease back at him, taking him back into your mouth. Something which apparently turned out to be his last straw, cause his legs tensed up under your forearms and his hips began to jolt forward. "Fuck baby, gonna- Im gonna cum-" He made you take him all the way with the hand he was still holding your head with, pushing you all the way down and making your nose bump against his pubic bone. You felt his tip touch the very back of your throat as he kept jerking his hips forward. He kept you like this for what felt like ages. He manually made you suck him off, each time making you gag from the force he was applying on you. "Doing so good, Doll. Oh- Oh my god?" You gagged on him, involuntarily letting spit drip all over him. He loved seeing you like this, teary-eyed and red in the face. At this point he didn't need to throat fuck you, he just wanted to hear the little noises you made a little longer, and as cynic as this sounds, he wanted to hear you gag.

It wasn’t long before you tasted it, that salty and strong taste relentlessly hitting the back of your throat, leaving you no choice but to swallow it. You gladly did, passing your tongue over his cock, not wanting to miss a drop. He was writhing away, the sensation too much at once yet you wouldn’t let go that easily.

He had to pull you back by your hair, not harsh but quickly enough that it almost gave you whiplash. “God, darlin’, you gonna suck me dry on the first night?” He managed to get out between pants, as his legs were still twitching unconsciously from the aftermath. 

You only grinned in response, rising to his face and kissing him immediately, a primal hunger overcoming both of you once again. “Would that be so bad?” You giggle between kisses.

“You’re so mean, Doll,” He said softly as he pulled you into his lap, pressing you to him as much as physics allowed him to. “Gonna be the death of me.”

“Is that a complaint I hear, Sergeant?” Your words were muffled by his lips, still refusing to pull away just for a second. He didn’t answer, putting one arm around you, engulfing you completely while the other went under your thigh as he stood up. 

That only lasted a couple seconds though, because soon enough he was laying you down on the other end of the lounge sofa, soft cushions supporting your upper half. “For you? Never,” He pulled away, hovering over you. “Just wanna make this last as long as possible.”

He positioned himself between your thighs, looking up at you with blown-out pupils, his left hand completely holding him up as his right hand traced the outline of your body. The kisses became hungry again, like the air out of each other's lungs was your only life source. The fire between you growing rapidly, wild and untamable. 

His hand trailed down, leaving you hot and begging for more wherever he touched. He grabbed the back of your thigh, going up where skin meets fabric. He groaned, and you felt him getting hard again, clearly the work of his superserum. He moved his hand again, pressing down just above your clothed cunt. With a thumb, he began to tease you. He ran it all along your slit, stopping just a moment to draw achingly slow circles on your clit. The sudden pressure had you whimpering, begging him to stop teasing; yet he paid you no mind, moving as if he had all the time in the world to undo your towel and remove your panties.

He stopped and stared at you, taking you in, eyes glossy and wondering as if had seen the light at the end of the tunnel. He stayed there staring directly into your pussy for a second, you were sure you almost sawy his mouth watering. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” You teased him,  knowingly smirking at the reactions you were pulling from him.

“No need,” He started as he leaned down and kissed your neck, getting closer to your ear. “I’ll have you like this every night for the rest of our lives.” The confession that he was planning to never let you go, and his hot breath combined with his open mouthed kisses at your neck had you moaning louder than intended. 

“Is that a promise, Barnes?” You said breathless, all composure you thought you had left had been thrown out the window a long while ago.

“Get me a bible and I’ll swear on it, sweetheart.” He went back to kissing you, making his way down your chest as his fingers danced along your inner thigh, itching closer but still not close enough to where you needed him most.

“Fuck, Bucky, stop teasing,” You pleaded, getting annoyed by the growing anticipation. 

“Patience, Doll, we have all night” He muttered, clearly forgetting that you, in fact did not, and that you had to be all packed and ready, cruising the ocean in about 5 hours. And before you could remind him yourself, ever so responsible, you felt his fingers slithering from your inner thigh, inevitably sliding along your slit, collecting all the wetness that had pooled there and spreading it around. 

"So wet..." He says almost with disbelief, a tinge of surprise to his words "Did sucking my cock really get you this wet, angel?" You could only gasp, all thoughts interrupted and words caught in your throat. You felt him smirk against your skin, before sucking your nipple into his mouth. “Yeah? That feel good, Doll? Would’ve been so very mean of me to not repay you after the stunt you pulled back there”

He didn’t stay there for long, getting close to your face, purposefully making his lips hover right above yours. Before you could complain, two of his fingers entered you swiftly, making you gasp and arch your back involuntarily. Unlike you, his pace was fast and deliberate, as if watching you squirm was his one and only mission. All the while he hammered his fingers into you, palm of his hand slapping against your clit, he was glaring at you menacingly. “Fuck…” You whispered, all you managed to get out.

“Yeah? What’s that, Doll?” Getting closer to your face and pressing kisses all around the corner of your mouth, as if framing your face. His smirk only grew wider as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, slightly curling them before almost taking them out completely, and entering them again. “Did Mark ever do this for you? Hm? Fingering you until you were a sticky mess? Tell me, please, tell me-” He pulled away from your face, not once pulling out his fingers. He shimmied his way down your torso, stopping just above your pelvis, pressing soft kisses to the skin there. He licked and mouthed words of reassurance to the inside of your thighs, so irritatingly close to where you actually wanted him.

“No! He never did, never…” You managed to spit out. You wanted to beat him with a stick, the sly bastard knew the effect he had on you and you hated how cocky and insufferable it made him. The problem was that your thoughts were completely wiped from your brain and you couldn’t form a single coherent sentence other than the meek pleas and whimpers escaping your lips with every thrust of his hands. The moment you said that, as if to reward you for being so honest, he pressed his mouth to your clit, instantly feeling like he's air sealing it. He flicked his tongue notably quick, if you hadn't been completely overtaken by pleasure, you probably would've been surprised by his speed.

“You look gorgeous, darling, letting yourself go so easily.” He mouthed into your cunt, inaudible. You could hear the vulgar wet slapping of his tongue, and the filthy squelch of him licking you into his mouth.

That’s when he picked up the pace, holding on to the roots of his hair, steering his face closer into you, “Oh my God…” You really tried being as quiet as possible, knowing the compound was full of trained agents and spies who were always alert, even during their sleep. That proved to be impossible as he smirked and looked into your eyes, reveling in the way he made you feel and how tight you were.

You had to ground yourself somehow, so you gripped his forearm, guiding his hand as deep as he could. That familiar coil started to form in the pit of your stomach, making him grin even wider against you. “Thaaat’s it, Doll. God, you’re doin’ so well for me.” Bucky, looking for your pleasure, pulled out his tongue and began shaking his head from side to side.

That’s all it took for the coil to snap, strong, intense and completely blindsiding you. His movements gradually slowed down as he kissed his way up your neck, going up to your cheek and lastly on your forehead. “So pretty, y’know that? Did so well for me. Prettiest girl ever...” He laid with you for a minute there, basking in your presence and feeling the motion of your chest as you breathed. He pressed kisses to your nose, forehead and side of your jaw, making sure to not miss a single spot. You could only smile back at him when you noticed that all through pecking your face he was quietly chuckling against your skin. “I really do like you, you know that? This was unbelievable, don't get me wrong, but I really need you to know that you are so much more than just this” 

Damn it. He really makes it so incredibly hard not to love him.

“I know… I know Bucky, you are so much more than just mind blowing sex to me too”  You both can't help but giggle at your comment. “You were right, you know? You and me… were always gonna happen.” You continue. He looks at you almost in disbelief. You don't know how long he's been meaning to hear that from you. “Don't worry, angel. I'll make sure that we do. Always” Just as he finished his sentence, he collapsed his body onto  yours, crashing both of your lips together. He was hungry, desperate, almost primitive with the ways he kissed you. You couldn't help but wonder the reason as to why Bucky was so pent up. Had he hooked up with any women after you? Had he been waiting for you this whole time?  The thought must’ve been clearly eating at your brain, because at some point you weren't able to contain yourself and you let the question fly. 

“Buck- Wait…” You tried to begin but he kept stealing kisses from you, just as starved as before “Buck, did you ever fuck anyone after me? Just pure curiosity” You pulled him away from your lips to look into his eyes, but he only stayed there for a second. He went back to biting and licking your lips the way only a famished man knew how to. “No..” He muttered into your lips, not pulling away for a fraction of a second. “How- How could i? The second I got a taste of you I couldn't erase it from my lips” He said, grabbing onto the back of your neck to pull you into his mouth even harder, his words coming out almost indistinguishable against the wetness of both of your mouths. “I tried for a while y’know? Tried to find other women attractive, even Sam helped for a while. But I just couldn't, Doll. You're the only one who knows how to work me” He finally finishes the sentence with a quiet groan. To some extent, you felt pity for him. He deserved to have been happy. But to be honest, you were more glad than anything, cause then it wouldn't have led you both to this.

As you kept kissing him you couldn't help but to look down towards his painfully hard cock. You had started feeling it a few moments back, rubbing against your belly, swinging and slapping against you with his every move. You reach down to grab it. 

“Already?” you ask, commenting about his hard on. “What can I say? That super serum works wonders” He replies with snark. Holding himself up by his hands – which were laying to both of your sides– he began to look towards your hand  as you worked it up and down. “Is that so? How about we test that out, soldier?” You shot your eyes open in faux surprise.

He laughed, finally looking back up at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “How about we do?” His smile disappeared from his face instantly after he said this, making his expression one of concentration rather than anything else. He grabbed the base of his cock swiftly with one hand, keeping himself upright with his other arm, and with one languid motion he pressed the length of it to your cunt. He slapped it against you, looking at you with some sort of expression that whispered ‘and what are you gonna do about it?’ 

“Do you want this?” he whispers in your ear looking back down towards his hand, watching himself sliding his cock against the length of your slit. You can only moan back at him “Now’s really not the time to ask, Buck” He scoffs at your desperation and with one harsh motion he pounds his hips into you. You let out a guttural sound, forgetting completely that everyone else was asleep and if you were heard you could be both found here, laying naked. Bucky’s pace began to pick up, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from where you too were meeting, you couldn’t look away from such a sight. 

Bucky leveled himself out and straightened his back, now grabbing you by your thighs instead of being propped up by his arms like he was earlier. You grabbed onto the cushions behind you as your eyes began to screw shut, feeling so completely overpowered by the feeling of him inside you. He hadn’t looked away from your cunt for one single second. He watched you swallow his cock easily with disbelief, shaking his head from side to side. 

“Fuck, missed this pussy so much. Feels so good…”  He grabbed you by the neck as he pushed you up to make you touch foreheads. 

“God, i missed you too Buck”  you close your eyes, trying to ignore the coil in your stomach. Bucky then tightens his grip on the back of your head and pulls you a few inches back, looking directly into your eyes crudely barefaced. 

“Hm? I bet. That deadbeat couldn’t make my baby cum, could he?” He whispered into your face, his voice cracking and shaking after every thrust into you.  

And as if to prove himself something, he let go of your neck gently, letting you fall into the cushions behind you. He grabbed you by the back of your knees and harshly pulled them to your shoulders, bending you in a way that only seemed vulgar. You —insecure and maybe a little ashamed of the position he had twisted you into—grab a pillow from beside your head and cover your face. As soon as he noticed you had done this, you felt the cushion being ripped from your face as he sent it flying into the darkness of the garden. 

“Uh uh” he tuts at you, giving you a few taps on the cheek “I wanna see your face when you cum, baby. I want you to see me fucking into you. Can’t have your pretty face covered up, can we?” He taunts with a face of very obvious sarcastic disappointment. You couldn’t do anything but nod at him; all the snark you had in you before had left you along with your ability to speak words.

Bucky, still as desperate as ever, began to thrust his hips even faster. You were able to hear and feel the wetness between your legs, although very sure it wasn’t completely your doing. You looked down, trying to understand Bucky's fixation. As soon as you did you saw him ramming himself into you, his cock slick and shiny under the glow of the fairy lights.

“Y’like the view?”He smirked down at you, eyes dark with want. The room seemed to blur around you as your bodies moved in tandem, hips meeting in a desperate rhythm, each thrust pulling you both deeper into the frenzy. The air was thick with heat, every breath shared, every sound echoing in your ears.

Bucky was grunting now — raw, guttural — like a man undone, clinging to control by a thread. One of his hands cradled your face, holding you close, his gaze locked on yours as if he didn’t want to miss a single flicker of pleasure in your expression.

The pressure inside you coiled tighter with every movement, building to something you couldn’t outrun. You were burning up — flushed, breathless, slick with sweat. Every sensation hit at once, crashing into you like a wave: the heat of his skin, the weight of his body, the sounds falling from his lips.

It was too much — too good — and not nearly enough all at once.

“M’ gonna cum, Bucky” You barely managed to get the words out — a breathless whisper, trembling on your lips. Bucky didn’t respond right away. He just nodded, eyes heavy with heat, his jaw slack like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. The tension in him was palpable. You clung to his bicep with one hand, the other clawing at the muscles of his back, searching for something to ground you through the storm inside you.

Every nerve ending was on fire — like always, like only with him.

“You’re gonna drive me outta my damn mind,” he whimpered, his voice breaking as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His hips never faltered, moving with a determined rhythm that pushed you both closer to the edge.

“I’m so close, Doll. Just let go,” he panted against your skin. “I’m not askin’ for much — just that.”

And just like that, it hit you both — like lightning through the spine. A chorus of tangled moans filled the air as the wave crested, pulling you under together. Bucky wrapped his arms tight around you, chest pressed flush to yours as if afraid you'd slip away. You felt the frantic pounding of his heart, the sweat and heat clinging between you.

That blinding rush hadn’t even fully passed, but it still pulsed through your limbs, keeping you shivering beneath him. And Bucky — breathless, trembling — stayed there, arms locked around your body like you were the only thing tethering him to reality.

The world felt suspended for a moment — like time had bent to give you this small pocket of quiet, right here in each other’s arms.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly beneath Bucky’s as he lay half-draped over you, his forehead resting on your shoulder, lips brushing your skin with each steadying breath. The sweat-slick warmth of his body was comforting rather than suffocating now, the burn of passion replaced by a slow, grounding calm.

Neither of you said anything at first. There was no need. He simply let out a soft sigh, the sound almost content, and then shifted slightly to cradle you better — his metal arm slipping under your back, warm from your shared heat, pulling you in. His other hand ran gently down your side, fingers tracing soft shapes on your hip as if to remind himself you were really there.

"You okay, Doll?" he finally murmured, voice rough around the edges, but tender. His nose nudged against your cheek as he looked down at you, eyes softer now. "Did I hurt you at all?"

You shook your head, offering him a lazy, hazy smile. “Not even close. That was... incredible.”

He chuckled quietly, that low, affectionate sound that made your chest flutter more than anything else. “Yeah,” he whispered, brushing some damp hair away from your face, “you just about killed me.”

You laughed, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead — slow, deliberate, like it meant something more than the ones before it. It did.

After a moment, he leaned back just enough to reach for a throw blanket at the end of the lounger, draping it over both of you with surprising care. You curled into his side instinctively, your leg tangling with his, hand resting against his chest — right over the heartbeat that hadn’t yet settled down.

“We gotta be up in, like… four hours,” he muttered, his forehead thunking lightly against your shoulder. “Stark’s stupid yacht leaves at sunrise. Something about ‘golden hour content’ and 'champagne breakfast'."

You groaned too, your voice muffled into his chest. “Ugh. If he plays that ‘I’m on a Boat’ song one more time, I’m throwing myself overboard.”

Bucky snorted. “I’ll jump with you. We'll go down together like Jack and Rose.”

“I get the door this time.”

“Deal.”

A sleepy silence settled again, his hand absentmindedly brushing up and down your back. Then, just as your eyes started to drift shut, he whispered, a quiet grin in his voice, “Y’know… if someone told me a year ago I’d end up half-naked, wrapped around you like this, under the stars, after a Tony Stark pool party... I’d say they were full of shit.”

You smiled, eyes still closed, nuzzling into his warmth. “Yeah,” you murmured, “but I think I always hoped you would.”

And in the stillness of the night, with only your shared heartbeat and the far-off sound of waves crashing in the distance, Bucky held you a little tighter — as if, finally, he understood what it meant to be home.

[katnipp]

was it really all just a lie?- daniela avanzini

genre: angst, fluff ending

synopsis: you and dani used to date at one point but it ended because she was afraid of coming out, so it came as a shocker to you when she introduced the members to her bf

pairing: daniela avanzini x 7th member, slight manon x reader

warnings: internalized homophobia, mentions of men

———————————————————————

katseye was the kind of girl group that looked effortless on stage. their harmonies wrapped around each other like silk, and their chemistry was electric—especially between dani and y/n.

off-stage, their connection went deeper than music. late-night studio sessions turned into whispered conversations, fingers brushing over piano keys, stolen kisses before every performance, and laughter under city lights. they were infatuated with each other.

but daniela was scared.

her world was carefully curated, and being out wasn’t part of it—not yet. As the band started gaining traction, so did the pressure. Managers, magazine covers, fan speculation—it all made dani felt like the walls were closing in.

one night after practice, she just ended it. she thought it was the best thing to do for the both of you guys.

“I just… I can’t,” she said, eyes glassy, refusing to meet y/n’s gaze. “It’s not the right time. I worked so hard and i can’t risk it all because of something that was supposed to only be casual.”

y/n didn’t say much. just stood there, holding back her tears, “was it really all just a lie?” but the only response she got was the sound of dani walking away.

y/n ran back to her and manon’s shared apartment and slammed the door of her room shut. she quickly got rid of anything that reminded her of her now ex girlfriend. as she was about to take down the last photo of her, she finally broke down into tears

“holy shit— y/n what’s wrong??” manon pulled you into a tight hug, “we broke up. she said that i was nothing but a one time fling,” you wept into her shoulder.

manon spent the whole night comforting her members and whispered sweet nothings in her ear while she slept. but she knew that the group was going to be impacted because of this situation.

—

weeks passed. the group’s atmosphere was off to the point where eyekons started to notice it too. dani and y/n’s usual bickering was now replaced with silence and her now loving gaze was gone.

during one of their hangouts at the local cafè, daniela decided to introduce her boyfriend to her members

y/n froze, her breath caught somewhere between shock and disbelief. dani was ready for a relationship—just not with her. the secret wasn’t the problem after all. she was.

“are you okay, y/n? you look like you just saw a ghost” her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of manon’s voice coming from right next to her

“i’m not feeling good right now so i’ll be heading home. just continue on without me,” she says while giving the girl a weak smile. everything in manon’s mind told her that something was wrong and to go after her.

manon entered the keys to your shared apartment and she found her laying on the couch with tears covering her face.

“she shouldn’t have done that to you,” manon said quietly, sitting beside you

y/n glanced over. “i don’t understand why she decided to end it so easily especially after everything we went through together. she decides to bring over her new boyfriend and rub it into my face?! i feel hurt and unloved,”

“you’re not,” manon said simply. “not to me, of course”

there was a sudden pause, the kind that hung heavy between two people standing on the edge of something. then manon reached over and touched her hand. “i’ve wanted to say something for a long time. but I didn’t want to come between you two.”

y/n looked at her. really looked. manon’s eyes were steady and kind. warm in the way dani’s had turned cold.

“I think I’m in love with you,” manon said. “the way you effortlessly look good on stage ,everything about you is so captivating. even in a room full of other people my eyes are only focused on you,”

y/n didn’t answer right away. but she didn’t pull her hand away, either

“you’re such an idiot,” she says while pulling the girl into a kiss. the kiss felt different— way more loving and passionate than dani’s

—

it took dani months to realize she’d made the wrong choice.

dylan was a sweet guy, but he wasn’t you. every performance kept reminding her of the memories—your laugh, your eyes, the secret kisses you guys would share backstage.

she decided to fix it

she showed up to y/n’s apartment with flowers and a shaky apology on her lips. but when the door opened, it wasn’t y/n who answered.

it was manon.

and behind her, y/n was laughing at something on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, a soft glow in her eyes that dani hadn’t seen in months.

manon looked at dani. “she’s okay now,” she said gently, not with bitterness, but with a quiet finality.

dani nodded, heart sinking. she had been too late.

in the end, the group kept performing. but now it was manon and y/n who were now sneaking secret kisses. which left dani wondering, always, what they could’ve been if she didn’t give up on them.

—

a/n : hey guys so like this is my first time ever writing a fanfic so i’m sorry if it’s ass lmao😭 okay bai bai

[ashwhowrites]

Can you do one where Eddie and the reader are in a secret relationship and Eddie wants to make it public but the reader doesn’t and he feels insecure about it but in reality the reader doesn’t want him to get picked on.They get into a big fight but they make up please and thank you 💖💘

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

Ending isn't proofread whatsoever

To be ready

Y/N and Eddie agreed to keep their relationship a secret for the beginning. They wanted to date and get to know each other without everyone getting in their business.

Eddie struggled with it once they reached their five month anniversary. He felt like it was long enough and he was ready to express his feelings for her with no shame. Y/N was a little bit more nervous but she agreed, it felt like the right time.

"You ready?" Eddie asked, the smile on his face full of excitment. Her heart warmed knowing how badly he wanted to show her off, and their relationship. This was going to be their first public moment, and the first time he will introduce her to his band.

She gripped his hand, nerves filling her body. "Yes," she smiled, even though she was terrified. All she had to do was meet new people, it couldn't go that bad, right?

He walked them through the back of the bar, a small gig for the band. He walked into the small backroom and she slipped in behind. She saw a group of some boys and girls, all talking.

"Well, look who finally showed up. And not alone," one of the guys said, teasing Eddie. Eddie's face responded in a blush.

"Gareth, this is my girlfriend, Y/N. Baby, this is Gareth, one of my best friends."

Y/N released his hand to kindly shake Gareth's hand.

"It's nice to meet you," Gareth replied.

She met the rest of the band, and the band's girlfriends. Or groupies, if she was honest. A few gave her dirty looks and it made her nervous. She couldn't help but notice how opposite she was from them. Their clothes were different, the way they talked and carried themselves.

Once the show started, the boys went on stage and the girls joined the crowd. Y/N was in awe watching her boyfriend perform. She forgot about all the girls, just focused on him. As the show ended, she excused herself to the bathroom.

She headed back out to the crowd. Everyone was spacing out now that the entertainment was done. She spotted the girls from earlier waiting by the back doors, where the band would be. She headed over to join them as they waited.

"How long do you think they've been together?"

"Who knows, but I would've kept her hidden. She is so not his type," the three girls snickered. Y/N frowned as it was clear they were talking about her.

"I know! I'm not sure how she managed to pull that off"

"She must have a great personality"

"Isn't he worried she's going to ruin his whole sexy rockstar look? She'll only bring him down. He should be with someone as attractive as he is"

Y/N felt a lump in her throat. She began to second guess the whole thing. They let a few people know and everything she feared that would happen was happening. Eddie was getting looked down on because of her.

Insecurity and anxiety filled her. She felt much less ready to share their relationship with more people. She was back craving their nights alone in his bed, where no one had thoughts on them. As the girl's laughter began to get louder, she ran out.

She grounded herself against the wall, inhaling the smoke as a few people blew their cigarettes. The door opened and she saw her boyfriend looking around, with worry in his eyes. Once his eyes landed on her, his gaze softened.

"There you are, what's wrong?" he asked, as he got closer he noticed her tears. She sniffled and wiped her face, a fake smile sent his way.

"Nothing! I just needed some air," she said but Eddie gave her a look.

"Fine," she sighed, "I'm second-guessing telling people about us."

"It's been an hour. We have to try longer than that before giving up," he argued. She feared where the conversation would go knowing Eddie had been growing more annoyed as the months went by.

"I know, but those girls...I'm not like them, Eddie."

"No one said you had to be, all you have to do is be yourself. Let's go in, have a drink, and try," he said holding out his hand.

"I don't feel ready for that, Eddie. I'm sorry. I thought I could do this but I can't." She flinched as Eddie's face hardened. He puffed air out of his nose and rubbed a hand over his face.

It was clear he was agitated, and she felt horrible for causing it.

"When will you be?" Eddie snapped, his force harsher than he intended. "Six months? A year?"

"I don't know," she said as she rubbed her temples. She hated the way she felt and how hard everything felt.

"Do you even want to be with me?" he asked, his face falling. His words were much softer, a little more broken.

"Of course I do!" Y/N gasped, moving closer as he cupped his face in her hands.

"Then why can't you tell other people that?" he looked up at the sky as he tried to keep his emotions back. But the familiar feeling of not being good enough was creeping in.

"I can, Eddie. But dating me, telling people, I've been scared people will pick on you. And I was right! Those girls said everything I feared," she explained. She figured her honesty would help him understand but she gulped when he stepped back and removed her hands from his face.

"Y/N, I've been picked on all my life. I don't give a shit about what people have to say, and you shouldn't either," Eddie explained.

"I don't think I can just ignore it!" Y/N exclaimed, "their words have weight. I'm not like you, I can't shove away people's opinions and thoughts about me and us."

"I think we have different mindsets of being in this relationship," Eddie whispered, he feared he couldn't talk louder without a sob breaking through.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm in this relationship to be with you, to love you and be happy with you. The only person I care about is you, the only person's that thoughts matter to me is you. You can't say the same." Y/N panicked at his words. The look in his eyes and the goodbye tone in his voice.

"But I do!" she tried to argue

Eddie laughed bitterly and scoffed. She moved passed the way his reaction snapped her heart in half. "You don't care about me. If you did, you wouldn't be breaking us up."

"YOU ARE!" Y/N yelled, tears building in her eyes.

"I DON'T WANT TO BE A SECRET!" Eddie yelled back. He took a deep breath as he tried to calm himself. "You're worried about how others will treat me because of you? What about you? What about how you're treating me. You know all I want is for us to be together, no secrets and no shame. And you can't get over yourself to give me that."

"I understand I'm hurting you but can't you understand where I'm coming from? I tried Eddie and I realized I need more time, why can't you give me time?" she argued, her tears turning hot and angry.

"I've given you time, way damn more time than I would have ever needed," Eddie sighed. "Once you feel ready, maybe we'll figure it out."

She covered her mouth as she let out a small cry. Her heart pounded as she took in his heartbroken state. "Are we breaking up?" She whimpered.

Eddie nodded as he tucked his lip into his mouth. He put his hands in his pockets as a way of comfort. "Yeah, baby. We are."

Y/N bit her lip to silence her cries as Eddie walked back into the bar. She wanted to run after him and beg for him to stay. But he was right, he deserved someone better.

She blinked back as many tears as she could and walked to the nearest bus station. She sat on the bus, alone and crying, her heart wishing nothing more than to be in Eddie's van with his hand on her thigh.

~~~

With the summer heat, Y/N felt more miserable. She felt suffocated in her room, with too many memories of Eddie. And she couldn't escape outside without a sunburn.

It's been a long month of nothing from Eddie. Which made sense, he wasn't chasing her. She was chasing him. She was the one who had to make the move. She knew the longer she took to figure it out the faster he would run.

As she stared at her ceiling fan, she wondered if any of it was worth it. She's never felt this much pain in her life, and she was the cause of all of it. She had the power to fix it and she was wasting time.

She was getting sick of herself. Hating herself for what she did and continued to do. She missed him, and might even love him.

Eddie tried to seem like the world didn't crash on him. Tried to smile and act like he wasn't falling apart on the inside. But in reality, Eddie couldn't stand being alone. Her scent followed him everywhere and he missed the feeling of her. He missed her hands, her kiss, her body, everything. But he couldn't go back, she needed to come to him. He hoped that she realized her mistake, that this week of silence was her finding out how to come back.

The show ended and Eddie could hear his thoughts again. Not wanting to, he headed to the bar. He sat down on the stool with a heavy sigh and ordered a beer.

"Still pouting about her?"

Eddie turned as a girl's voice talked into his ear. He rolled his eyes as he looked back at his beer.

"Leave me alone,," Eddie sighed. He definitely wasn't in the mood. But she didn't listen. Instead, she dragged the barstool out and took a seat next to him.

"You're too good for her, anyway. She should have been delighted to have you on her arm," the random girl said.

Eddie eyed her weirdly, having no idea how the news of his ex-secret girlfriend began spreading. But he shook it off and went back to his beer. She talked his ear off for around an hour. Eddie was on his fifth beer as he tried to zone out the noise.

Y/N walked into the bar, feeling uneasy as the last time she was here went horribly. She scanned the crowd, her eyes easily finding him, but he wasn't alone.

A girl was seated beside him, way too close for Y/N's comfort. She was perched up, talking in his ear. Y/N's plan was to have a conversation but the jealousy overpowered everything. She was glad to see that Eddie wasn't entertaining the girl.

Eddie felt his body being spun around on his stool in a flash. Sudden arms wrapped around his neck and soft lips on his. He was surprised to see the lips belonged to Y/N. He instantly kissed back, enjoying the force of her lips against his.

She held on to him as if he was going to disappear. Her heart raced when his arms circled around her waist. He spread his legs, allowing her body to stand between them. She moaned as his tongue slipped inside her mouth, making her warm all over.

They pulled away, and Eddie couldn't wipe the smile off of his face.

"What was that?" He asked, he wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or her that made his head feel dizzy.

"I'm ready. And I'm sorry for not being ready when you needed me to be. But I can't imagine my life without you. I love you and I want us to be together, no shame or secrets." Y/N said, she turned her head and saw the girl had vanished. She looked back at him, their bodies tangled.

"I love you too, baby," his lips smashed on hers. Knocking the air out of her lungs, but she liked the way it burned.

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Part 2

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: As you can see, I switched up the posting schedule slightly (check out the series masterlist for new "coming soon" dates). Thank you, guys so much for all the responses on Part 1! I hope you have just as much fun with Part 2. 😉

Word Count: 5.9K

Tags/Warnings: "Lies, lies, lies, yeah." ‘80s references, a new mission (and violence), cattiness, and some more cat and mouse tension.  

🎙️ Series Masterlist || YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 2: Foolish Game

“You know, we really are a family here. The whole Payback team,” Crimson Countess said.

Her voice was filled with earnestness as she held the microphone to her ruby red lips with both gloved hands. She smiled and reached out a hand to you.

“But it’s truly my pleasure to welcome Sirena into the fold. It’s about time we got another badass chick on the team, am I right?”

She knew how to play up the packed crowd in the auditorium. They roused with cheers and clapping, and you stepped closer to her in the spotlight.

It wasn’t entirely an act when you gave them (and several cameras) a somewhat shy smile. You’d been on stages almost all your life, but never one like this. You knew you were being seen by the entire country right now.

On Countess’s other side was Soldier Boy and the TNT Twins, while on your side stood Black Noir, Swatto, and Mindstorm keeping himself in the back. Off at the far left of the stage were Arthur and Madelyn Stillwell, both seemingly patient and professional.

“And you look great, hun. I love the new suit,” Countess said, gesturing at you with a playful air.

You smiled a little more and affected some humility. You tried not to adjust the black mask sitting on the bridge of your nose. It felt like a pair of pool goggles.

“Well, a little leather goes a long way,” you joked into your own mic. It earned some laughs from the sea of flashing lights amidst darkness.

Countess laughed, a sultry sound. “I know that’s right.”

“I’m really just so grateful to be here on this incredible stage with you all,” you said, casting a hand at the rest of the team. “I’m just a girl from a dusty little town in Indiana. Seriously. Imagine Smallville, Kansas, but more tumbleweeds.”

Cue more indulgent laughter. The lie was well-rehearsed on your tongue, along with this next bit, as you looked into the closest camera.

“But if you all see some small greatness in me, then I’m honored and ready to serve,” you finished.

Enthusiastic applause met the end of your little speech. You smiled and lowered the mic. Countess nodded in agreement and offered her mic to Soldier Boy next. He stepped up to the center podium and leaned on it like he was John Wayne.

“Well, it’s a good day when another hero joins our ranks. I have a feeling that Sirena,” he paused, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, “Is gonna be a good fit.”  

You didn’t like that smile on his face, but instead of letting that show on yours, you gave him a grateful smile. He had the gall to wink at you. Then he handed the mic back to Arthur and stepped back from the podium.

“All right, one more time, you guys. Let’s hear it for Sirena!” Arthur said to the crowd, and they erupted. You accepted the praise with a demure smile and a congenial wave, like you were Princess Diana or something.

The rest of your team gave perfunctory claps as well, but Soldier Boy was the first to head off stage. Countess and the rest of them followed suit, so you did as well. She and Soldier Boy didn’t even share a glance when she stopped off into the women’s restroom. An idea struck you, and you decided to join her.

“Hey, Countess,” you began to say, but she let out a humorless huff.

“What, are you going to follow me into the fucking stall?” she said dryly.

You were momentarily taken aback by her acidity. You blinked, and she turned to give you a bored look.

“I…just wanted to say that I really look up to you,” you said.

“Do you?” she asked, with a slightly mocking smile. Her gaze briefly ran down your form. “Is that why your suit looks like a Dollar Store knockoff of mine?”

Ah…okay, you thought. You saw what this bitch was about. She’d supported you in the public eye, but she didn’t actually want another woman on the team. She’d been a powerhouse for over a decade, and not just her years at Vought.

But for every icon, there’s the threat of becoming an old has-been, you thought. 

“Well, you’ve got a point there. I asked for a cape too, but they thought it was a bit too…retro,” you remarked, hinting at a smile as you gestured at her suit, and the long red cape that draped down her back. “But really, I’m a big fan. I actually grew up watching you when I was a kid. I remember that little documentary you did with Vought Geographic. The one with the baby chimps? So cute.”

Countess’s brow twitched, ever so slightly. Both her fake smile and yours remained the same.

She broke first with a roll of her eyes.

“Just stay out of my way,” she said. Her cape brushed your arm as she breezed past you. Your smile remained until she was out of the room. Then you took a deep breath.

Be careful, you reminded yourself. You had to prove that you wouldn’t easily bend to whatever bullshit might get thrown at you, but you were still the rookie here. You had a feeling that this was just the first test of many.

You kept your guard up, even at the afterparty hosted at a nearby hotel. Tessa followed Countess’s lead and gave you fake smiles when you passed by her. Otherwise, she ignored you. Mindstorm was the only one who seemed truly indifferent towards you. (You barely ever saw him out of his room anyway.)

You couldn’t much tell with Black Noir. He’d never taken his helmet off in the few days since you’d met him, but you sensed nothing but vague interest from him. The other three men were more obvious in the way they looked at you.

In fact, you could’ve predicted the way Soldier Boy found you in a slightly quieter corner of the banquet hall. His gait was relaxed and arrogant as he made his way towards you.

He annoyed you on sight, no matter how damn attractive he was. All broad shouldered and brown hair coiffed, his face mostly clean shaven, save for some stubble. With his military green supe suit, the silver decal of an eagle stretched across his broad chest—he certainly looked the part of America’s first hero. Too bad he was also a chauvinistic ass.

But you also had a plan. It had started to form after that first encounter with him in the break room.

You kept your true thoughts off your face as you turned to greet him. He was holding his fifth tumbler of whiskey, and he smelled like it too. You sipped at a glass of red wine.

“Small town girl, huh?” he said, smiling with old-world charm. “I happen to be a city boy.”

“Born and raised in South Detroit?” you teased. “I didn’t take you for a Journey fan.”

“The mean streets of Philly, actually,” he said, with a tip of his imaginary hat. “I may be a Sinatra kind of guy, but I don’t mind a little rock ‘n roll.”

You inclined your head. “Same here. Not that my parents approved. Growing up, I had to hide my Rolling Stones records under the bed.”

That much was true.

“Ah, a little rebel,” he remarked. His gaze roamed down your form, and back up to your eyes, shaded by smokey makeup. “Who knew they made ‘em like you in Indiana.”

Your lips curved. “It’s not just cows and cornfields.”

“Evidently,” he said, taking a swig of his whiskey. “How do you like the big city so far?”

“To be honest, I haven’t had a chance to see much of it yet. This whole thing has been a whirlwind,” you said.

Lie.

The truth was, you were born and raised in Brooklyn. Maybe you had never lived in Manhattan before, but you were no stranger to the city.

Ben not only ate up the lie; he took the bait.

“Maybe I’ll give you a tour of the city one day,” he said. He thumbed at your chin once again with half-gloved fingers.

You tipped your face up to him, and you smiled.

“I’d like that.”

Your first mission with Payback was not at all what you expected.

To start with, you’d expected to do some patrolling, run down some leads, do some investigating. Instead, they had a Surveillance & Security team to do all of that for the team. Plus, they were patched in via the local police scanner of any new crimes in progress.

Arthur had paged you to come to his office. There he told you that you’d actually be going for your first save today. You were excited, until he told you that you’d be on a “team up” with Crimson Countess.

Great, you thought.

She didn’t look happy about it either, when you met her in the lobby downstairs. She gave you another frigid look before she swiftly exited the double doors.

Stay out of my way. You got the message loud and clear.   

A black SUV took you two to the Lower West Side, where there was a robbery in progress. The front window of the jewelry story had been shattered, and tens of thousands of dollars in merchandise stolen by two masked men according to the store clerk. He’d been shot in the shoulder before the men took off. The police had yet to find them.

The most unnerving part of this was the cameras that followed you and Countess while you canvassed the area—like catching criminals was some kind of reality show.

“I think I can feel them,” you said, with your fingers on your temples. “They’re headed south through the alley.”

“Which alley?” she asked, waving a hand at the several blocks ahead of you. “And what do you mean you can feel them?”

You shot her a look, endeavoring not to be snarky. “I can sense them.”

Let’s just say, your powers were particularly potent when it came to men. That’s what allowed you to feel the robbers’ energies, set high with adrenaline. They were close.

You pointed the way, and Countess begrudgingly went along with it.

“Follow my lead though,” she said.

You agreed in the moment, but you were filled with maybe too much anticipation and excitement yourself when you turned the corner into the alley without waiting for your companion.

You found yourself staring down the barrel of a gun.

You froze, your breath stilling in your lungs. The safety clicked, and the man holding the weapon quirked his head.

“Haven’t seen you before,” he drawled.

“But you know me. Don’t you, handsome?”

Countess’s fist landed squarely across the man’s jaw. He yelped as the weapon clattered out of his hand. You jumped back as the gun fired, ricochetting off the brick wall. Countess rolled her eyes and tossed a fireball at the next man, who jumped out of his hiding place behind the dumpster. He screamed and dove to the side.

She didn’t wait for him to recover. Grabbing him by the collar with a gloved hand, she threw one hard punch that broke the man’s jaw. You winced at the telltale cracking sound. The other man just held his hands up in surrender, wide-eyed and afraid. You felt his fear radiating off of him. With another swift punch, she knocked him out as well.

You could only stand there with your mouth open in surprise. You managed to close it when Countess turned your way.

“I told you to follow my damn lead,” she said coolly.

The police filtered in shortly after, as did the camera crew. The director sighed at Countess.

“This was supposed to be Sirena’s first save,” he said. Countess turned to him with a sharp look.

“Train her fucking better then,” she snapped.

You chewed the inside of your lip, but you fought not to outwardly show your embarrassment. Why’d they have to partner you with her, for fuck’s sake?

The car ride back to the Tower was just as tense and silent. At least there was a black partition between you two in the backseat and the driver.

Finally, you sighed and tried to offer an olive branch.

“Look, I’m sorry. I just got a bit excited,” you said.

“You almost got yourself killed,” she drawled, not even looking at you as she gazed boredly out the window. “Even that would’ve been a challenge for the PR team.”

Your lips pursed in irritation. Oh, my God. Is she that insecure?

“Countess, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m not trying to replace you. I’m not trying to take anything from you.”

“Except my boyfriend,” she shot back. Finally she turned her head towards you with cool disdain. “You think I didn’t see you flirting with him last night at the afterparty?”   

You rolled your eyes, though you hid a sliver of embarrassment. You should’ve known she’d spot that.

“He approached me, okay?” you said. Maybe you were about to let your pettiness to get the best of you, but you couldn’t help it. You smiled slyly. “And from what I hear, I’m the least of your worries. Looks like Ben has quite the appetite.”

The cracks of Countess’s cool façade finally broke through to anger. She glared at you tightly.

“He may have his little toys, but they never last long,” she said pointedly. “The only reason he’s giving you the time of day is because you’re new, and shiny, and full of silicon.”

“And young,” you added with a wink. “Don’t forget young.”

She seethed, and you were almost concerned that she might toss a fireball your way. Mercifully, the car rolled to a stop in the back entrance to the Tower to make it easier to navigate past any paparazzi. You slid out on your side, and you didn’t bother waiting for Countess when you went back inside the Tower.

All the way back up the elevator to your floor, you thought about the way you’d frozen at the sight of the man’s gun. You did have proper combat training. Your dad had paid for the lessons.

“You’re gonna pay us back one day,” as he’d said. “We’re investing in our future, just as much as yours.”

You shook your head and sighed. You should have grabbed the robber’s arm and reached for any flash of skin you could touch to compel him into submission.

The thought continued to unsettle you as you went into the breakroom first for something to eat. You ended up making yourself a sandwich and sat down at the nearby dining table with an unsweetened tea. Swatto happened to fly in for a coke and an old slice of pizza. When he noticed you, his insect-like wings folded back into his back after he landed on the ground.

Out of everyone, his suit looked the most cumbersome with the big shoulder armor and the condom-like mask over half his face. You understood why he wasn’t wearing it now. He was dressed down in an old Ramones shirt and a pair of jeans. He ran his fingers through his short hair and slid into the chair closest to you.

“Hey. How’s it going, beautiful?” he asked, with what was likely meant to be a charming smile.

You were close enough to sense his salacious thoughts. You restrained a sigh. Ordinarily you’d entertain him a bit more, but frankly, he was making a bad day worse and you weren’t in the mood.

So you smiled. While your hand slid over his on the table, you leaned in close to his ear.

“Shoo, fly,” you said. Your words held power as your eyes glowed violet.

Immediately, you felt the way Swatto’s body sat up straighter. With a blankness falling over his face, he got up from the table and left the way he came, forgetting his snacks on the table.

You shook your head and continued eating your sandwich in peace.

A few minutes later, there came an even rarer sighting—Mindstorm snuck into the breakroom next. He glanced at you with wary eyes, like a deer pausing before it took a drink from the pool. When you just stared at him in slight bewilderment, he quickly rucked through the cupboards for a bag of Bugles labeled:

MINDSTORM’S – DO NOT EAT!

As if anyone would want to steal a bag of Bugles.

Just when you opened your mouth to offer him some kind of greeting, Mindstorm quickly ducked out of the room. You blinked in confusion.

“Odd,” you said to yourself. “So very odd.”

“Right?” came a voice behind you. You screamed and nearly jumped out of your skin, but you realized it was only Black Noir, holding a beer.

“Jesus…” You held a hand over your beating heart. It wasn’t the first time he’d snuck up on you like that. Can this guy wear a bell or something?

“Don’t mind him. He’s got a few dozen screws loose,” said Noir.

Unlike the other two, he was fully suited up. However, he took his helmet off and set it on the table so he could drink. You held in a breath, as you were pleasantly surprised to see the face of a handsome black man. It was the first time you’d ever seen him unmasked.

Wonder what else he’s hiding under there, you thought. Your gaze briefly dipped down his chest and strong-looking thighs.

You both chatted over small things at first. According to Noir, Mindstorm’s apartment was completely soundproof, but it didn’t do much good for the guy, since he had a hard time keeping people’s thoughts out of his head. You thought New York City was probably a terrible place for him to live, in that case.

“And you’re smalltown, right?” Noir asked.

You offered a half-smile. “Guilty.”

“Yeah, same here,” he said, raising his beer. “From a nowhere town in Georgia.”

For the first time, you felt slightly bad for keeping up the lie. Noir seemed like a decent guy so far. You clinked your iced tea with his beer.

“Well, Nowhere, it’s nice to find a kindred spirit,” you said.

You two drank for a bit in a comfortable silence, until he turned to you with curiosity in his dark brown eyes as he took you in. 

“So, what made you want to join Payback? The pay, or the free shit?” he asked.

You quirked a smile. You decided to give him the easiest answer he’d believe.

“Well, the free shit is a big perk. But…as vapid as it sounds, I wanted to get out of the background, make a name for myself,” you said. Noir nodded.

“Believe me, I get it. Around here, it can be hard to stand out,” he said. His brows knitted together while he stared hard at the table. You watched him, wondering what he meant.

After a beat, he perked up and met your gaze. “You know, I’ve been wanting to pitch a movie idea to Arthur.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, just trying to…you know, find the right words.”

Your expression eased, and you crossed your arms and turned towards him.

“Okay, let’s go then,” you said, waving at him in a bring it on gesture.

Noir’s brows popped up. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, why not?” you said. “Give me your best elevator pitch.”

Black Noir stood up from the table, nearly knocking over his empty beer bottle as he went. You grabbed it so it wouldn’t tip over. You were amused by his slightly flustered state. He set his hands on his hips and couldn’t quite meet your eyes when he started speaking.

“So, I’m thinking it could be like 48 Hours meets Trading Places. Except instead of a wise-cracking criminal or a guy down on his luck, I’m like, a wise-cracking ninja.”

“But ninjas don’t typically talk, do they?” you said. Clearly this guy had a thing for Eddie Murphy. “Aren’t they supposed to be stealthy?”

Noir raised a finger. “Okay, yes, but it’s a comedy. So that’s the ironic part, in a funny way.”

“So you’ll make witty quips before you kill your targets?” you said, holding in a laugh. You brandished an invisible sword. “‘You’re gonna need a new carpet.’ Fshh.”

You mimed a cutting motion, then blood spraying from your neck as you made some mock death throes. Noir stared at you blandly. You bit your lip.

And you were the first one to break with a laugh. The sound was infectious enough to break him too though. Noir couldn’t help but shake his head and chuckle along with you.

You were almost too distracted to hear a pair of heavy boots, and sense the male presence at the door. You turned at the flash of green in the corner of your eye.

Of course, the cast wouldn’t be complete without Soldier Boy. Or Ben, as he’d insisted you call him.

His gaze roamed the room with feigned disinterest, but you could tell when he looked over at you and Noir that he wasn’t pleased. He clung to stoicism as he approached your table with his usual gait: calm, controlled, and arrogant.

“What’s going on in here?” he asked with a raise of his brow. “Could hear you all the way down the hall.”

“Just working on a pitch for Noir’s new movie,” you said, though the man in question gave you a hard stare. One that warned you to stop talking.

“Noir’s new movie?” Ben said, with a curl of his lip. He turned to the other man. “Trying to compete with Red Thunder before it’s even out in the box office? That’s not very good form.”

“No, no. Of course not,” said Noir. “Just…throwing some ideas around.”

“Oh, yeah, I heard. Some kind of samurai bullshit,” Ben said dryly. His green-eyed gaze was sharp, however. “Why don’t you stop wasting people’s time on tragic fucking ideas, and find something actually fucking useful to do.”

You watched carefully between the two men. Was there some kind of bad blood here?

Noir’s lips pursed, but despite the spark of anger in his eyes, he kept it all inside when he lowered them. He got up from the table and left without another word, putting on his helmet as he went.

Ben shook his head and drew closer to you. You frowned up at him as you stood and crossed your arms below your breasts.

“Well, that wasn’t very kind,” you remarked.

“This is the real world, sweetheart. He still needs to learn his place on this team,” Ben replied. But then, his charm was back. His face eased into a smile. “I’m glad I found you. It’s time I made good on my promise.”

You tilted your head. “What promise?”

“To take you out,” he said. “Give you a little tour of the city.”

After that little display, you had even less interest to spend any more time with this man than absolutely necessary…

Remember the plan, you reluctantly reminded yourself.

“Come on,” he prodded, extending a hand out to you. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Releasing a breath, you uncrossed your arms and slipped your hand into his.

“Okay. I would appreciate you showing me around,” you said, giving him a smile with some feminine charm of your own.

His lips curved into a grin. He raised your hand up to his lips, and despite yourself, his stubble ignited small tingles across your skin.

“Meet me downstairs in half an hour,” he said.

After taking the time to change out of your supe suit and into something dressier, reapplying your makeup and fixing up your hair, you met Ben downstairs out front. He was waiting for you there on a motorcycle, of all things.

“Really?” you asked, giving the vehicle a dubious look. “I thought you’d be a limo kind of guy.”

“Oh, I am. But today we need speed if we’re going to cover the whole city,” he said with a grin. He revved the engine, and it let out a loud, rumbling sound. It looked like a death trap.  

“I don’t know, Ben,” you said, for the first time using his name. You were actually nervous enough to show it.

He chuckled and motioned you over. Reluctantly, you went to him. His hand smoothed down your arm and held your elbow. He peered into your eyes.

“You think I’m going to let you fall on my watch?” he said. 

You held his gaze. Eventually, you bit your lower lip, and you accepted his offer of a helmet (even though he was going without one), then his helping hand to climb onto the motorcycle behind him. You tentatively held onto his waist.

“That ain’t gonna cut it, baby doll,” he said. He grabbed your hands and tugged you closer, until your arms wrapped around his middle. You made a small sound of surprise, feeling the solidness of his frame. You had a feeling he was grinning.

“All right, hold on,” he warned, revving the engine once again.

Your teeth clenched with dread. “Please, go slooow—ahhh!”

Ben peeled out of the curved landing in front of Vought Tower with a screech of tires. You gripped onto his jacket like a lifeline and pressed yourself to his back as closely as you could—something you were sure was his intention.

You sensed his amusement, though he at least had the decency not to laugh at you. He merged onto the street and zipped through the layers traffic, heading towards the center of the city.

Ben didn’t just show you the city. He showed you his world.

He first took you to Top of the Rock at Rockefeller Center. Instead of the normal group tour to the observational deck, he had a short chat with management that had them letting you two up to an even higher level, into an exclusive bar. It was apparently so high up that only twenty people could be inside at a time.

You two enjoyed a couple of drinks along with the amazing view of the city, and of Empire State across the way.

“You don’t get views like this in Indiana, do you?” Ben asked.

You nodded indulgently. “You do not.”

Never mind that you had never even been to Indiana. Yet, you had also never seen the city like this either.

“Thank you for taking me out like this,” you said. You reached out and softly touched his hand. You met his eyes with a subtle smile. “I didn’t know what to expect when I got here, but you’ve been really nice to me. Makes me think I can actually belong here.”

He seemed pleased as he sipped his drink, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand.

“What can I say? I’m a nice guy,” he said.

You smiled, affecting demure as you ducked your head. It was an act you’d long ago perfected. Men tended to underestimate you, and you always used that to your advantage.

From there, he took you to clubs you’d never even knew existed, then to a restaurant so old, it still had a dress code. (And it was the best surf and turf you’d ever had in your life.)

When you got to Times Square, however, you were delayed practically an hour by all the fans who wanted Soldier Boy’s autograph. Once the first couple of young women recognized him, even out of his suit, it was all downhill as more and more people got excited by the world’s most famous superhero.

You stood off to the side, watching him be flirtatious to women of all ages, ruffling kids’ hair, and shaking hands with men, and even veterans who thanked him for his service.

You signed a couple of autographs and took some pictures with people yourself, but you knew you wouldn’t be recognized as much. You had to be content with waiting for Ben off to the side. Though admittedly, you were getting bored and more than a little annoyed that he was taking so long.

He seemed to realize it when he finally looked your way.

“Hey, Sirena!” he called out to you by your supe name, drawing your attention in front of a few of his fans. He waved you over, and even introduced you to the small crowd still gathered around him. He set a hand on your lower back.

“I’m sure you all know about Sirena, the newest member of our team,” he said. You looked up at him with some measure of gratefulness. Maybe this part of the day was working in your favor even more than you’d thought.

You intentionally leaned closer to him, laying a semi-innocent hand on his arm as you smiled at the others.

“I’m taking some time to show her around,” he continued, glancing down at you. “She’s from a small town, so this city can be pretty daunting. But it’s my home. My favorite place in the world. Especially because I get to see all of you.”

He swept a hand out towards the crowd, and they ate it up with cheers, clapping, and some flirtatious whistling. He shot a wink and a raised finger at that one.

“If you’ll excuse us,” he said, with one last parting hand at the people. He ushered you back onto the motorcycle, and off you went.

He was trying his damndest.

He wore that fake, debonair charm like a second skin as he got you a private tour of the Met, and treated you to rich food and expensive wine. He was showing off his wealth, his fame, and giving you the “best” of him.

However, you had already seen glimpses of the true man underneath the gaudy show. And it was ugly, with an edge of darkness.

You had that thought in the back of your mind, even while you two sat side by side on a ledge. He’d brought you to a spot near the Hudson River, close to an overpass. It wasn’t an area meant for parking (according to the No Parking sign), but he didn’t seem to care.

Neither did you, really. The view was too beautiful, with the large orange sun halfway sunk below the water. It cast shades of yellow and red and purple across the sky, even over the dark waters.   

Ben was working on his third hotdog. You were licking your way around a scoop of cookies and cream ice cream on a waffle cone, letting the end of it swirl off your tongue. You resisted a smile, feeling the warmth of his gaze on the side of your face.

“So tell me,” he said, after he finished off his snack. He crumpled his napkin and tossed it somewhere behind him. “I heard you were making a name for yourself as a singer. What made you want to join Payback?”

He was giving you a little too much credit. You’d been making your money by being a background singer for various artists, but your last big break going on Whitney Houston’s latest tour was what finally put you on Vought’s map.

You considered his question with a tilt of your head. Black Noir had asked you the same thing, more or less. You’d given him an easy, predictable answer. With Ben, you edged closer to the truth...or part of it, anyway.   

“I don’t just want people to know who I am,” you said. “I want to be remembered for something good. I want to prove it to my family too, that I can do it. …Is that naïve?”

Ben hummed in understanding, though he shot you a certain look.

“Not if you play your cards right,” he said. 

His leading tone didn’t surprise you. You slid him a smile. 

“And how should I do that?” you asked. You turned to him, setting your finished cone aside. Ben took the opportunity to reach out and draw a line down your cheek with his thumb. He wiped a small smear of chocolate from the corner of your mouth. 

He smirked. “By sticking close to me, baby doll.”

You had to admit, his proximity was stirring you more than you liked. He was devastatingly handsome, and he knew it too. With his face inching so close to yours, it was hard for you to remember the things this man had said about you to Arthur, how he clearly didn’t give a fuck about Countess, and even what a dick he'd been to Black Noir.

Not to mention, how he acted all the time, as if the whole world was his.

Just as his lips neared yours, you leaned back. Your eyes met his knowingly.

“You already have someone close to you,” you pointed out. “What about Countess?”

Ben stilled. He sighed, but he didn’t let go of your cheek. He traced your jawline with the sensuous promise of a practiced hand. It made your breath difficult in your lungs, rising into your throat.

“Ah, Donna,” he shook his head. “We’ve been on the rocks for a while now.”

I’m sure, you thought wryly.

“What you and I have, right here, right now,” he said, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your cheek. “It’s special. The moment I saw you, a pure connection.”

Your brows furrowed. Those words triggered some kind of familiarity in you. A pure connection…

Wait, isn’t that a line from one of his movies? you thought. Oh yeah, A Gentleman’s Promise. 1949.

You had to bite your lip to stifle your laughter. This man did not just quote himself.

Ben took your reaction for a different kind of inner conflict, as he continued pressing tantalizing kisses down your neck. You cleared your throat a little, fighting a sigh of pleasure.

Stick to the plan, you thought.

Because he was right. The fastest way for you to get what you wanted was to be close to him, to use his status to your advantage. Timing was everything, however.  

You slipped your hands between you two and pressed gently, but firm against his chest.

“Ben,” you implored.

You were grateful that he actually stopped. His lips stilled against your skin, and he pulled away with a frown.

“What?” he said.

You looked up at him through your lashes, before you leaned in, stopping just shy of his lips.

“Maybe I’ll consider your offer when there’s a real place for me by your side,” you said with a smile. Then you backed off.

You gathered yourself and stood, coyly sauntering back to the motorcycle. You’d wait for him there.

Ben turned to watch you go, unwilling to admit he was both equally aroused and irritated. His jaw clenched, then eased.

After a moment, he joined you and drove you back to the Tower in silence. All the while, he couldn’t stop thinking. About your lips, your eyes, your voice, your soft body, your smile, and worst of all, the way you’d denied him. For fuck’s sake, you’d given him an ultimatum.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had that kind of audacity, let alone a woman. He wouldn’t let show, or even admit to himself, how much it affected him. But the same thought kept turning through his mind as the streets of New York passed by in a blur.

Just who the fuck does she think she is?

AN: 😅 Lol Ben's got his work cut out for him. Think he'll be able to figure out her game?

Next Time:

“What’s in it for me then?” he asked, crossing his arms.

You blinked your eyes wider. Really?

“I doubt whatever you’re thinking, Soldier,” you said, a little more snidely than you meant to.

Ben's cocky smile said it all.

Your lips pursed in exasperation. You hadn’t thought you would have to bargain to get him to be nice to a kid. 

“Okay, I’m sorry. Clearly you’ve had a long day, so I’ll just get out of your way,” you said, raising your hands in surrender. You turned to leave.

“All right, don’t get your panties in a twist,” he said.

You paused at the door, tossing him an annoyed look over your shoulder.

His smile deepened. “I’ll do it.”

His steps were measured as he approached you. You turned back to face him, albeit warily. As he seemed to like doing, he gently grasped your chin between his fingers.

“I’ll do it for a kiss,” he said.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 3

Ko-Fi Me ☕

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[evilminji]

Broadway :3c

And I hear ya. (Insert spooky joke here) There is a sprawling WEB of central hubs, for The Arts. For trade. For getting drunk and having a good time. The Zone is large and it is endless. You'll NEVER reach the far end. It can never reach you.

All things, in gentle sweeping waves, across eternity.

So when folks want to have "a market" or "a movie theater" or "the waterpark"? You gotta PICK a point on the endless map. Figure if you are close or far enough away for others like it, to make it worth the effort to build.

You might even be the first to do it for GALAXIES in any direction! People might fly for WEEKS to come to your place! Move their Lairs to be closer too it. Like dust gathered by gravity, slowly creating planets and stars. A mega Lair. A CITY.

They rise, they fall, the Zone shifts all the while.

But!

Does the dead starlet stop singing? Does getting gunned down, stop the show?? I think NOT! Where is her STAGE? What musicals? What dramas? What operas and tragedies and forms unknown to human kind??! Ballet dancers who CAN defy gravity! Singers who have no NEED for air! The haunting blend of instruments, that could never in life have met! From empires long turned to ASH!

The greatest show in DEATH!

Ember was a world wide hit. Yes, her voice was hypnotic. But that could be FOUGHT. It was SKILL that carried the game. And she was hardly "I was Literally The Greatest My Planet Ever Produced" skilled. She was good, great even. Not "I was Born For Greatness" Excellence.

And like?

.....eventually? Danny's gonna ask after "cultural-y" Culture stuff. Clothes and food. Music and the arts. To help his parents get used to the whole "our son is half-dead" thing. To show he's not some mindless monster now.

And? Ghostwriter? Probably an absolute legend. Does he know where you can find some CULTURE? Oh THANK ZONE! He thought you'd NEVER ask! You unsophisticated-! *fist fight in a library* Still a dick, though. Always and forever.

And just? Imagine Broadway stretched out into a floating city. That never sleeps. Never stops. Shows ever changing. Some on a cycle, some only once. Dream-like. Beautiful. Eye catching.

And yeah, Danny didn't think he LIKED musicals. It was more of a Jazz thing. But? This was important! Gotta get the whole family in the Speeder. We're going to see a play, guys! We'll pick when we get there! Family road trip! Educational! We can make notes!

His parents are trying to be supportive. Big, fixed, strained grins. Trying to pretend to be excited. But they... DO seem reluctantly intrigued? And Jazz is all but vibrating in her seat. It's basically her "before you go away to college" present. And she is THRILLED.

The longer she excitedly speculates? The more into it she gets their folks. This IS gonna be new! Exciting! Never before seen Ghost Culture! Music! As a FAMILY! Think we could find souvenirs? Ooooh, wonder if they sell CDs??!

Then? They GET there. And it's... it's like seeing the Las Vegas strip for the first time, except multiplied into a city. Made of even MORE styles and eras. At angles gravity would never allow.

The air filled with laughter and excitement, people rushing to shows or humming bits of tunes. Street stalls. Fountains. Flowers growing everywhere.

They could stay for months and not even reach a fraction of these buildings. His parents are taking countless photos. His sister squeeling with joy as she races for an information kiosk like they just arrived at Disneyland. He, at least, remembers to lock up the Speeder. Grab their day bags.

When did HE become the responsible one?

The argue over shows. Obviously. Wouldn't be Fenton's otherwise. HE wants to see the alien one. It's from mars! But it's his sister's trip, as his dad points out, so she gets to choose. She picks a musical set during the Fall of Krpton. He's... reluctantly kinda interested. I mean, EVERYBODY likes Superman, right?

It's... it's amazing. Terrible, but amazing. I mean? A coming of age story cut tragically short? Oof. Hello, massively projecting then getting FEELS about it! Yeah, sure, rip my heart out why don't you? He's fine. No, really! Just drowning in his own emotions over here. The refrain of "A Life Well Lived"? *gargling dying whale noises* he's FINE. Not grappling with anything! Go on without him!

Thankfully?

They DO sell CDs.

He... he may end up, kinda, getting a bit of a collection. Going on the weekends, hoping show to show. Wandering to whichever catches his eye in the moment. Buying the CDs for one's he likes. Which? Honestly is a lot of them. Even though there's all sorts of genres and languages. Cause it... it RESONATES you know?

The grief. The anger. The "I have died but I wasn't FINISHED. It isn't FAIR.". And? Something about ghost speak flows so BEAUTIFULLY in song? It's hard to explain. But he... he needs them.

A pair of headphones, a CD, and a clear night sky? Nothing touches it. It's like a trance made of light. Like he can just drift.

The problem? Is the CDs are kinda... Zone made? They're radioactive, for one. Nothing a Fenton CD player can't handle. But... they? Also? Kinda fuckin GLOW? Like... very, very noticeably. And not in a "ha ha, cool glow in the dark paint!" Sorta way.

.........but like FUCK is he leaving his music behind when he goes to college. Gotham will have to deal. It's already a burning shit-nado, it can handle this. Probably. He'll put um in a lead lined box. Actually, speaking OF.... he needs to get a few more of those... *goes back to packing*

Which? Is how? The Bats are treated to some of the most HAUNTING music they've ever heard, belted and crooned from Some Guy's speakers, out an open window, on the "stop for a mid-patrol drink of water and a snack" building. It's one of the intersections of their patrol routes. And THAT? That is some dude listening to a Romani ballad about death and the circus. Now it's a musical about the trenches of an obscure war.

Okay, that was DEFINITELY Kryptonian. Like... coherent Krypto- *Bruce gets a call from Clark on his "work" number DEMANDING to know where that is coming from. Who is that voice Bruce?!* huh.... Well Then.

@hdgnj @hypewinter @nerdpoe @lolottes @babbling-babull @spidori @mutable-manifestation @the-witchhunter

[ddejavvu]

i just read your drabble about Darry being sweet on pregnant reader and I love the part where he says he will lift her stomach up if the baby got too heavy 😭 can we pls have another drabble where he does that

send me requests for the outsiders!

--

It's pretty impossible for you to wash the dishes at this stage of your pregnancy. Your belly provides an immovable barrier between you and the kitchen counter, and leaning over into the sink puts uncomfortable pressure against your stomach that makes you nervous. Not to mention the backache from hunching over- doing the dishes is simply not in your wheelhouse anymore.

That doesn't mean you can't dry them, though. You can take a towel and wipe the water droplets off of the glasses once Darry is done washing, and you can set them neatly on the counter if you can't manage to put them away yourself. You can still contribute to the household, no matter what Darry says.

"Are you out of bed again?" He asks, his voice coming from the bathroom as he exits the shower. He's a little more forward thinking than Sodapop: he brings his clothes into the bathroom so that he doesn't get caught naked by any unexpected visitors, which means that he's wearing a threadbare sleeping tee that's tight around the chest, plaid pajama pants over his lower half.

"I'm just drying the dishes, Dar." You promise, "Nothing strenuous."

"It looks strenuous." He frowns, brows creasing hard as he looks at your posture. Standing while this heavily pregnant is inherently awkward; you have to hunch yourself to maintain your new center of gravity.

"It's not, honey. I'm okay, I promise."

He studies you for a moment, leaning against the counter on his hip. Then he makes his decision, starting forwards over the small kitchen floor. You think he's reaching for the dish you're drying, trying to take it away from you in another endearingly overbearing attempt to relieve you of moving a single muscle. So you turn away from him, clutching the towel and the dish to your chest as if you could ever fight him off if he truly wanted to take it from you. But his hands slide around your waist and beneath your belly, apparently exactly the angle he'd wanted as he slowly, gently lifts your baby's weight off of your back.

You nearly melt into his chest at the feeling of the relief, an audible sigh leaving your mouth as he holds your pregnant belly off of your tired muscles.

"That feel nice?" He guesses, his voice a soft murmur beside your ear as you lean back against him. You should be more considerate; maybe he doesn't want your entire body weight slung against him while he lifts your baby bump, but he's sturdy and strong nevertheless. It doesn't seem to be a struggle for him.

"It feels so nice, Dar." You hum, feeling your tired muscles loosen and sing with relief from their constant strain, "Love it when you do this."

He presses a chaste kiss against your temple, still unmoving despite your whole body sagging against him, "Well I won't be doin' it for much longer. Baby's comin' in two weeks."

"You'll still have to hold her," You muse, "She's gonna hang off of you like a little monkey, Dar."

He chuckles and it shakes you slightly, the warmth of his chest intensified by the sweetness of his laughter, "You think so?"

"I know so." You nod, eyes still closed as you lean against his chest, "She's gonna love you. She'll be a total Daddy's Girl."

"I hope so." He hums, and you know that it's not as casual as it sounds: he's truly worried about his capabilities as a father, and he has been since you'd announced your pregnancy. But you know he'll be a great one, not only from the way that he takes care of his brothers, but by the way his hands already so expertly cup your stomach, cradling your baby before she's even born. You tug his hands closer together beneath your stomach, feeling your baby squirm but not kick in your belly.

"You'll be a great dad," You promise, soaking in the warmth of his touch as you lean back against him. She squirms again, not kicking you in the ribs but instead gently settling against the support his hands offer, "You already are."

[kitkat13001]

༘⋆₊⭑⋆｡ the ball pit

a late birthday oddity courtesy of kitty <3 happy belated birthday tomu !

“this absolutely was not here before.”

you and tomura stand before the building, staring in shock. 

you swear you’ve walked this route a thousand times on your way back from the city and there had been nothing but empty grass fields and dingy sidewalks, maybe an empty warehouse but way out in the distance. 

there’s definitely never been what looks like some kind of abandoned chuck e. cheese type place just sitting on the side of the road, that much you’re certain of. 

“it had to have been here, look at the thing,” tomura replies dryly, gesturing to the obviously old building. “maybe we took a wrong turn.” there’s vines climbing the sides, the neon sign has long been out, and the whole thing looks just shy of falling apart. 

“let’s go inside.”

tomura looks over and you’re beaming. although he has trouble saying no to you, he could do it if he really wanted. except that he doesn’t really want to, and is somewhat morbidly curious about the weird occurrence. so he just shrugs.

“alright, whatever.”

this probably isn’t your best idea. the place screams ‘cursed!’ like something out of a horror video game. there probably won’t be anything inside except an abandoned playground and some beat up arcade games, but curiosity seems to win as tomura follows you inside. 

at your request, he decays the chain on the door. going inside is like entering a whole new dimension. your tiny gasp of awe brings a little smile to his face. 

“this is so trippy. i’m scared.” in spite of your words, you’re grinning. tomura doesn’t miss the way you grab his hand as you walk further in. 

the place is totally deserted, definitely run down but not in terrible shape. 

you’re giddy when you let go of tomura’s hand to run over to a large lever. “i think this is the power. how much d’you wanna bet it still works?”

“i think it’ll be a miracle if you don’t electrocute yourself,” he replies sarcastically, trailing behind and watching you throw the lever. 

by some miracle, the lights flicker and the place comes to life. the room fills with various neon colors, blinking lights and cartoon voices from the games. 

tomura thinks it’s kind of creepy, but your face absolutely lights up. 

it feels like a time loop in here. you both have no idea how long you spend running around, playing video games and skeeball and making every effort to stay far away from the curtained stage. 

tomura doesn’t follow you up when you venture into the abandoned playground, but he does catch you when you come tumbling down the slide screaming about a spider. 

he snorts, watching you dust yourself off, and carefully plucks a speck of dust from your hair with nimble fingers. “don’t know what you expected to find up there besides bugs.”

you wave him off with a little mumble about him being pessimistic before you collapse at the edge of the playground that drops off into a ball pit, winded from your escapade. 

he drifts over to follow, taking a cautious seat by your side and gazing at the pool of neon plastic spheres. 

“this is so five nights at freddy’s,” he notes, gaze wandering around at the desolate place. he chuckles to himself at the oddity of it all. 

“i’ve only seen the movie,” you reply, sitting up beside him. 

“what? that’s criminal.”

“i liked it!” you protest, grinning with your tongue between your teeth. “josh hutcherson~”

“you’re depraved.”

you giggle, bumping him with your shoulder. “you like it.”

he does, but he’s not going to tell you that. so he lets you both lapse into comfortable silence, listening to the off-tune video game music and electronic beeping until you speak again a few moments later. 

“imagine something reached out of the pit and grabbed us?”

“why would you say that?!”

you burst into raucous laughter and fall against him before he can move to push you into the ball pit. the warmth and weight of your body against his is a strange kind of comfort. 

tomura didn’t tell you it was his birthday. it just didn’t seem like something worth mentioning, especially if you were going to make a big deal out of it which would only guilt and embarrass him. but still, sitting here with you, legs dangling in the creepy ball pit like it’s a picturesque lake at sunset? this is probably his best birthday yet. 

dividers by @/saradika-graphics, pics from pinterest — mmyehhh i got a lil lazy in the middle bc it’s already lateee and i kinda wanted to just get it outtt but the focal point was the endingggg :3 anywaysss hope you like!! much love and good night, - kitty ! 

[dead3ve]

Hii, I have a Charlie Dalton x fem!reader request/suggestion. Maybe something like Charlie tries to impress the reader with his rebellious acts, but what really wins her over are his genuine moments of vulnerability or support of his friends 🌸

Charlie Dalton x fem!reader

Summary: The request! And also, the scene where God calls him.

Warnings: The scene after where God calls him, and Charlie gets the paddle :(, no use of y/n, reader referred to as a girl, wears the uniformed skirt.

The reason for the limited number of female students was because the education board wanted a smoother transition process when making Welton Academy a co-ed school.

Did the new girls excite the boys? Yes. Was it any different? Not really.

Within the first few weeks of the school term, Charlie managed to make the prettiest of the girls laugh. Since then, he had become addicted to the sound.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Mr. Keating had taken the students out of class to recite poetry and play soccer. An interesting mix of activities. Each student would recite a line or two of poetry and then kick the ball. When Charlie reached the front of the line, he took a confident stance, puffed his chest and he yelled his passage of "To indeed be a God!" He then kicked the ball.

He could hear laughter from several people, mainly from his friends. The laugh that was the most noticeable to Charlie was a ringing, girlish giggle. It bubbled from their chest and made Charlies neck warm under its collar. They had been stood behind him the whole time and he didn't notice how pretty they were. He had been craving the sound of their laugh since that lesson.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The article in the school newsletter had been a popular topic among the student body. Charlie's plan was going exactly the way he wanted it to. All of the students were seated in the assembly hall, and Charlie had the phone prepared and his dialogue ready. The girl Charlie needed to impress was sat behind him around the other new girls.

Mr. Nolan was speaking in his calmy-furious way. Then suddenly, a phone was ringing. The silence turned into confused murmurs and chuckles in the assembly hall.

Charlie turned around in his chair to look at the girl. He sent them a wink and stood, phone in hand. The wink had made their stomach flutter and breath hitch. The girls around them had laughed and hollered at the interaction. But when he stood, the butterflies stopped. The butterflies turned into a nauseous feeling. This wasn't going to end well. That was when they heard Charlie's charismatic voice.

"Welton Academy, Hello?" The girl's knee was bouncing, "Yes, he is. Just a moment." The back of the girl's neck was sweating.

"Mr. Nolan, it's for you." Charlie moved his arms to gesture the phone towards the stern man stood on the stage before the lectern, "It's God. He says we should have more girls at Welton."

The girl's brows drew together as laughter erupted. They turned and looked around at some of the other students. They saw Charlie's friends, Neil and Todd and two redheads. Their postures were shrinking and their faces falling. Hands covering faces in shame.

While the hall was loud in laughter, Charlie sat back down. He turned to look at the girl to see their reaction. His brows also knitted together at their reaction.

There was no smile or laugh.

A frown. An awfully confused, gorgeous frown was what Charlie saw instead.

When Charlie caught their eye, the girl's gaze pulled away and lowered towards their skirted knees. They were considering whether or not the rebellious boy was worth the girl's attraction. They were wondering what he had done to himself and his friends.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The girl had asked Neil Perry what Charlie had done when they were in the boys' dormitory hallway of Welton. He'd told them about the cave and the poetry.

Then he told them about why he probably pulled this stunt to impress them.

"What?" The girl's brows raised and pulled tightly together. They had grasped Neil's arm, wanting sincerity. "You're joking, right?"

"I wouldn't put it past him," Neil spoke with the needed sincerity, "He's liked you for a while now. I'm sorry I had to tell you." A small, apologetic smile was on Neil's lips.

The girl had turned away from Neil and slammed their back against the wall. They'd winded themself, a breath escaping them as they stood in shock.

The boy they liked was trying to impress them. He was trying to impress them by being a dumbass. Their heart fluttered. They turned to look at Neil with red cheeks.

"Do you mind if I stick around until he comes back?" The girl spoke quietly with a red face.

"You're welcome to," Neil gave a sad smile at their red face, "But he might be upset. Facing Nolan..." Neil didn't want to bring up 'the paddle' around the girl.

"Thank you, Neil." They gave him a sad smile back. Then they excused themself to wash their face under a tap. They were flustered from the conversation.

When they were walking back towards the boy's dorms, Charlie was walking slowly down the opposite end of the hallway, he went to turn into his dorm, but Neil began to talk to him in the doorway. The girl could no longer see Charlie, and because Neil said he might be upset they stopped, not wanting to overstep. Whatever was said ended with Neil smiling. That made the girl's heart flutter.

Once Charlie's door had closed with a solid clunk, the girl's feet moved quickly. They had stopped in front of Neil. They were frantic with their questions.

"Is he okay? What did Nolan say? What did Nolan do?" Their voice was growing in volume as they spoke. They were getting nervous. The girl's head was turning between Neil's face and Charlie's closed door.

Neil had to take the girl by the arms to calm them down. "He's going to be fine, okay?" Neil spoke softly, with confident reassurance. "If he's at study hall tonight, one of us will come and get you. You should rest, okay?" This made the girl release a relieved breath.

"Thank you, Neil," The girl pulled away, stepping towards the exit of the boy's dormitories, "If you get to speak to him, tell him I'm worried."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

When Neil and the girl walked into the common room where the boys usually held study hall, they were shocked to find it so quiet. The boys had fallen silent because Mr. Keating was there.

"Phone call from God. If it had been collect, that would have been daring." Mr. Keating finished the sentence with a smile. The boys laughed at his comment.

When Mr. Keating walked out of the common room, silence turned to the girl. The boys dispersed around the room, all the while, the girl stared at Charlie who was sat on a plush, leather recliner. When the girl took some steps towards him. He was looking towards them with hopeful eyes.

"You know that was really stupid, Charlie." The girl spoke quietly with little conviction.

Charlie pulled his gaze away from their face. He couldn't bear to see the disappointment. Charlie looked at the tip of the girl's shoulder instead as he spoke in an apologetic whisper, saying "I thought it would've made it you laugh."

The girl sat on the arm of the couch, facing Charlie. Charlie's gaze failed to meet theirs until they ducked to see his brown eyes. The girl knew he was sorry. Sorry for almost exposing his friends. Maybe even sorry for himself.

"You make me laugh. Just not when you're hurting your friends in the process." Charlie had placed his elbow on the arm of the couch next to the girl's knees in order to cup his face in his hand . He wanted to look at the girl.

"I'm sorry," Charlie was still speaking quietly. Both to preserve his emotional control and to keep the girl by his side, not wanting to scare them off, "It won't happen again." He finished the sentence with one of his winning smiles.

The girl's heart fluttered, and they smiled back. They had to look down at their lap, or else they would have been too overwhelmed by him. That was when they realized there was a bongo drum on the floor by Charlie's recliner. They picked it up and released a breathy chuckle.

"This is what makes me laugh, Charlie." They spoke while looking down at the instrument. They had missed Charlie's story and what the bongo drum was used for, but the girl knew it would have been funny.

Charlie then told them the story of what happened in Nolan's office. He told them about the paddle. Charlie made the girl frown in pity for him and then laugh with joyful tears in their eyes. For the rest of study hall, the two were sat in their own world on the leather recliner. Sudden, girlish jolts of laughter were heard, pulling students away from their books and pens. The boisterous voice of Charlie Dalton was a constant distraction.

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At breakfast the next day, in between staring at the girl and eating from his plate, Charlie was planning on how to ask the girl out on a date.

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[biblical-chronicles]

Exposed

___________________________________________

where an interview host let's Noel know that you have a crush on him

___________________________________________

You sat comfortably on the plush chair, smoothing your hands over your trousers, shaking off the last bit of nerves. You weren’t new to interviews, but this one felt different, maybe because Noel Gallagher was about to sit beside you.

You had barely processed the thought when the man himself strolled onto the stage, greeting the host with a firm handshake before turning to you. His blue eyes flickered with curiosity as he pulled you into a quick hug, his jacket slightly rough against your arms, the scent of cigarettes and some light perfume clinging to him.

“Alright?” he murmured near your ear, his voice low, effortlessly cool.

You nodded, hoping you didn’t look as starstruck as you felt. “Yeah, you?”

“Sound, yeah.” he said, before dropping into his seat with a sigh, already making himself comfortable.

The host grinned, glancing between the two of you. “Well, this is quite the moment. First time meeting, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, shooting Noel a quick look. “Big moment for me.”

Noel smirked, adjusting his cuffs. “For you, yeah?”

Before you could fire something back, the host’s grin widened. “Now, I don’t know if you know this, Noel, but—” He turned to the audience with a dramatic pause. “She’s got a bit of a crush on you.”

Your stomach dropped. Your head snapped toward the host. “Oh, you are not doin’ this to me right now.”

Laughter erupted across the room. Noel raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, while the host only leaned forward.

“Oh, come on,” the host continued, barely holding in his own laughter. “You’ve said it in interviews before—how fit you think Noel is, how much you rate him—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you groaned, covering your face for a second. “This is cruel.”

Meanwhile, Noel just leaned back, stretching an arm over the couch with a smug grin on his face. “Yeah? That right?”

The audience laughed louder, and you could already tell that this was going to get you some embarassing publicity later.

You turned to him. “Can you blame me?”

He let out a low chuckle, tapping his fingers against his knee. “Suppose not.”

The host clapped his hands together. “Oh, this is brilliant.”

Noel smirked, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you. “So, what’s the deal then? You got a poster of me on your wall or summat?”

You narrowed your eyes, trying not to laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself too much.”

Noel only grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. He reached out, taking your hand in his, running his thumb along your knuckles in an infuriatingly casual way.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “But I reckon I should be a bit flattered, yeah? You’ve been singin’ me praises all this time, after all.”

Your breath caught for just a second, but you masked it with an eye roll. “You are such a dickhead.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismissed, still holding onto your hand, tilting his head slightly. “Just tryna picture it, y’know? You, sittin’ in your room, starin’ up at me face on your wall, sighin’ all dramatic—”

“Oh, fuck off.” you laughed, tugging your hand back, your face growing warm.

The audience was eating it up, and the host was also happy with the new dynamic. “Oh, you two are unreal.”

Noel let you go but was still smirking as he leaned back. “Nowt to be embarassed about—I had posters too, y’know.

You scoffed. “Right, that makes me feel so much better.”

“No problem love.”

You shook your head, still grinning despite yourself, but thankfully, the host took mercy on you and steered the conversation back towards actual interview topics. You spent the next twenty minutes discussing your new album, your influences, your upcoming tour. But the whole time, your mind kept flashing back to the way Noel’s fingers had grazed yours, the teasing look in his eye, the way he had leaned just that little bit closer than necessary. You were rattled, no doubt about it.

And then, just like that, the show wrapped up. The host thanked you both, the audience cheered, and the crew began to move around, wrapping cables and adjusting equipment. You exhaled, shaking off the last bit of nerves as you stood from the couch, ready to head backstage and escape this ridiculous night with at least some dignity intact.

But just as you turned, Noel’s voice stopped you.

“Oi,” he said, standing up beside you.

You glanced up at him. “What?”

Noel shifted on his feet, hesitating for a beat, then exhaled through his nose, giving you that same measured look he’d had earlier. “Maybe I’ve got a bit of a crush too now.”

You blinked at him, then let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Alright, dead funny.”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“You don’t have to be nice, you know.” You gave him a pointed look, arms crossing over your chest. “I get it, you were just playin’ along for the telly, it’s fine.”

Noel stared at you, looking almost offended. “You think I’d say summat like that for a laugh?”

You lifted a brow. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

He huffed, running a hand through his hair. “Jesus Christ.”

“I mean, come on,” you went on, your voice light but a little nervous. “I'm not mad or owt. It's only natural tha—”

Before you could finish, Noel let out a frustrated noise, stepped forward, and grabbed you by the waist, pulling you in and kissing you.

It was just a quick, firm press of his lips against yours, like he needed to prove his point before you could talk yourself out of believing it.

He looked at you after pulling away, eyes sharp, lips just barely curled at the corners. “That change your mind?”

Your thoughts were scrambled. You swallowed, blinking up at him. “Maybe?” Then, with an exhale, “Yeah.”

A satisfied smirk tugged at his mouth. He leaned in slightly, voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip again. “Meet me by the exit in half an hour, yeah?”

And before you could even find a response, he stepped back, gave you one last look, and walked off, leaving you standing there with your heart hammering, trying to process whatever the fuck just happened.

___________________________________________

gettin' back on track, hope ya lot like it xx

I'll try me best to post more regularly now, love ya all !

[slippytapeworms]

2D -> Falling In Love With You

warnings : none

scenario :

plastic beach definitely wasn't 2d's favourite place in the world since murdoc had forced him here. but what made it bearable was that you were here along with him.

you had recently joined the gorillaz crew as an artist, helping to design new album covers and stage setups. that's one of the many things that enticed 2d about you. from the moment you arrived, 2d found himself drawn to your presence, your laughter, and the way you saw beauty in the chaos around you.

it was a sunny morning at plastic beach, the gentle waves lapping against the shore and the sound of seagulls in the distance. 2d was sitting on the edge of the pier, his feet dangling over the water. his usually spaced out eyes searching for something, or rather, someone.

as he sat there, he just looked back down at the water. his bare feet dangled just out of reach from the water. he wasn't paying attention when he heard footsteps coming closer to him, just small pitter patter to be heard.

2d looked back and saw you. as you walked down the pier toward him, 2d's heart skipped a beat. he tried to act natural, threading his fingers through his blue hair and giving you a lopsided grin.

you return the smile and sit down beside him, your shoulder brushing against his. "what's on your mind?" you ask.

the male shrugs. "just thinkin' bout some new songs... you know gettin' inspired by the view." you don't miss the glance he makes your way, his cheeks warm. "you're good at that, y'know. inspiration."

you laugh, a sound that makes 2d's heart flutter every single time. "thanks. you should give yourself more credit. you help me with my inspiration too, in fact you're my main source of inspiration..."

your words just make him flush and he just nods silently.

⟨ time skip ⟩

over the next few days, you notice 2d's behaviour changing. he would bring you small gifts. seashells he had found on the sand, a medium sized fairy light jar he made himself. he had also given you a drawing he had made. little did you know that he had drawn a visual representation of the sound waves from a recording of him saying 'i love you'.

2d would often seek you out, sitting close to you during meals or joining you during your works around the island.

one afternoon, while you were painting a mural on one of the walls, 2d approached you with a shy smile. "is there something i could help you with?"

as you thought, an idea popped into your head. "i'm glad you asked that, can you stand here?" you positioned him so that his back was flat against the wall. 2d blushed and flusteredly just let you push him up against the wall.

you take out the paint brush and dip it in the paint. "you can relax, just stand there." he nods, his usual aloofness disappearing in a pinch as he relaxes at your words.

2d just watched as you started painting around his silhouette. he adored how you were so considerate to not get any paint on him. he just couldn't help all the butterflies rising in his stomach as he stays still.

goddamn how could you be so considerate and delicate with him? so understanding. you looked at him like he really and truly mattered.

when you were done tracing around his whole being with paint, 2d keeps still. you laugh at the cute, aloof expression on his face and instinctively ruffle his hair. you were just making him a puddle of affection and fuzzy feelings for you.

that's it, he was in love with you.

i'n still fairly new to the gorillaz lore so please don't get mad if i make a mistake of the timeline please !

[brainddeadd]

Halloween Party

The New Jersey Devils' Halloween party was destined to be anything but normal. You knew that from the moment you walked into the venue—a rented-out lounge decked with fake cobwebs, jack-o-lanterns, and strobe lights—only to be tackled by a very enthusiastic Jack Hughes in full Spider-Man gear.

“Y/N!” Jack yells, wrapping you in a bear hug and lifting you off the ground. “You made it!”

“Put me down, Spidey,” you laugh, squirming in his grip.

Jack grins under his mask but finally sets you down, brushing invisible dust off your costume. “What even are you supposed to be?” he asks, squinting at your outfit.

“I’m a vampire,” you say, flashing the plastic fangs you barely managed to keep in.

“Cute.” Jack winks, slinging an arm around your shoulder just as Nico Hischier—dressed as a very convincing pirate—walks up, giving both of you a fond, exasperated look.

The lounge is packed with players, staff, and their partners—everyone dressed to the nines in goofy, spooky, or downright ridiculous costumes. Luke Hughes stands by the snack table, inspecting a bowl of candy with the kind of concentration you usually only see him use on the ice. He’s rocking a cowboy hat, boots, and a vest that’s way too small for his frame.

Dawson Mercer, meanwhile, has gone all-in with a werewolf costume, complete with fluffy ears and a tail that keeps smacking people as he walks by.

“I swear to God, Dawson,” you mutter, swatting at the tail when it brushes your arm again. “Control that thing.”

“It has a mind of its own!” Dawson defends himself with a mischievous grin.

As the night progresses, the chaos only multiplies.

Nico keeps trying to convince everyone to join him for a game of beer pong, insisting that pirates have an unfair advantage because they’re “naturally gifted at throwing things.” You’re not entirely sure that’s historically accurate, but no one argues with him.

Jack somehow convinces half the team to start a limbo competition—using a hockey stick, of course. Luke crushes it, his height somehow not being a disadvantage for once, though he nearly trips over his boots at the end.

Dawson, in typical Dawson fashion, sneaks up behind you at one point with a fake severed hand, pressing it to your shoulder.

You jump and swat him again. “You’re asking for a punch, Mercer.”

“Worth it,” he laughs, scampering off before you can retaliate.

The highlight of the night is, without a doubt, the costume contest.

You watch as Nico steps onto the makeshift stage, adjusting his pirate hat dramatically. “Arr, mateys,” he says, clearly enjoying himself way too much. “Who dares challenge the captain?”

Jack boos from the crowd. “Your hat’s crooked, Captain Fraud!”

“At least I didn’t dress as Spider-Man for the third year in a row!” Nico fires back, making everyone roar with laughter.

Luke takes the stage next, tipping his cowboy hat. He pulls out a toy gun from his holster and blows on the barrel dramatically, earning a mix of cheers and teasing catcalls from the crowd.

When it’s your turn, the boys start cheering before you even reach the stage.

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” Jack chants, getting the whole room to join in.

You roll your eyes but strike a dramatic vampire pose, hissing playfully at the crowd. Nico, Jack, Luke, and Dawson lose it, clapping like you’ve just scored the winning goal in a playoff game.

“Best costume ever,” Dawson declares loudly, like a proud big brother.

After the contest wraps up (Nico wins because, as Jack puts it, “the pirate hat has plot armor”), the team settles into smaller groups, chatting and dancing to the Halloween playlist someone threw together.

Jack stays glued to your side for most of the night, making sure no one gives you too much grief—though he’s not above throwing in a little teasing himself. “You’re lucky you have us,” he jokes. “Otherwise, these guys would eat you alive.”

Nico walks by, overhearing. “We’re protecting you from them,” he says, tilting his head toward the crowd of rowdy teammates. “Not the other way around.”

You laugh, but you know it’s true. These boys are chaos incarnate, but they’re also fiercely protective. And if that means surviving a Halloween party filled with ridiculous costumes, bad jokes, and limbo competitions—well, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The night winds down with Jack flopping onto the couch beside you, half-asleep but still grinning like a kid. “You have fun, Y/N?”

You smile, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Yeah. Thanks for dragging me here.”

Jack gives your shoulder a gentle nudge. “Anytime, little sis.”

Nico, Luke, and Dawson join you shortly after, each collapsing into the nearest seat. The five of you sit there, surrounded by the aftermath of the party—empty cups, candy wrappers, and a whole lot of memories.

And as you glance around at your chaotic, overprotective teammates, you realize there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

[catxolotlquoise]

THRUTHLESS RECLUSE X SHADOW MILK PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

I didn't forget this btw...just some good ol stage fright :"] Anyways...enjoy my first fanfic every posted to the internet lord save me

True Puppet Master

Shadow Milk adored his new theatrical stage. It wasn’t just the thrill of watching the cookies under his control…it was an art. Having had eons to perfect his scripts, crafting blissful illusions so all those in his domain could live in the ignorance they so desired. But of all his favorite play-things, Truthless Recluse, was his prized possession. A canvas of despair cloaked in subtle submission, and oh, how Shadow Milk could not get enough of his most prized marionette.

He summoned the melancholic recluse with the clap of his hands, watching as he entered the jester's domain, silent as always. Shadow Milk lounged upon his thrown of lies, his usual shit-eating grin plastered across his face. Truthless Recluse stood before him, head tilted up to meet the beasts gaze. Eyes locking for what feels like eternity.

“My good little puppet.~ I see you are doing well.” Shadow Milk cooed, gesturing for him to approach. Truthless Recluse obeyed, his movements fluid yet eerily quiet, like a marionette guided by invisible strings. Shadow Milk left his spot to meet the quiet recluse halfway. The jester circled him, like a beast eyeing its prey. His hand grazed the others the soft cheek. “Why the long face Nilly~ You should be happy. All these cookies here are living in bliss. Unaware of the true horrors awaiting outside. And you helped me with that”

Truthless Recluse tilted his head, just enough to pull aware from Shadow Milks touch, his gaze never leaving his. Stepping closer to the jester. A faint smile curled upon the lips of the fortune teller…a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Is that what you believe?” he asked, their voice light, almost mocking.

Something about their tone felt…off. He masked his unease with a chuckle. “Of course, I believe it. Have you forgotten your place, little puppet?”

Truthless Recluse stepped even closer, their faces nearly inches apart, that unsetting smile only growing, the air around them shifting. “Oh…I haven’t forgotten,” he said. Pulling Shadow Milk close by the waist before twirling him around by the hand and whispering in his ear. “But I wonder…have you?”

Shadow Milk froze. Turning his head slightly to look at  Truthless Recluse, “What are you—”

Before he could finish, Truthless Recluse hand lifted, fingers brushing the others cheek, not with tenderness, but with the cold precision of someone testing a tool. The touch sent a shiver through him, though he couldn’t tell if it was fear or intrigue.

“I’ve played your game,” Truthless Recluse murmured. “Danced to your tune, let you believe you pulled the strings. But did you never wonder, why everything felt a little…too easy?”

Shadow Milk’s breath hitched. His hands trembling out of character. “Because I’m—”

“All-powerful? The true Master?” Truthless Recluse finished, leaning closer as he grabbed the trembling beast's face. His voice dropped with a soft, cutting whisper. “That what I wanted you to believe”

The realization hit him like a blade as he noticed his own blue string around him instead. Truthless Recluse being the puppet master. Every moment of obedience, every act of submission... it hadn’t been him pulling the strings. It had been him, guiding him, putting on an award-winning performance…feeding into his delusion. He had been played this whole time.

Truthless Recluse’s laughter was low, almost pitying. “What's the matter, MY favourite puppet? Why the long face?”

Shadow Milk could not move…nor speak. He was not sure if the string had paralyzed him…or fear.

Truthless Recluse stepped away from Shadow Milk, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. “I’m reminding you of your true place,” they said. “And showing you mine~”

With a flick of his wrist, the strings that bound Shadow Milk tightened, pulling his arms and legs into place. Shadow Milk’s body moved against his will, his head turning, his hands lifting, a marionette controlled by its puppet master.

[niallerspayno]

About Last Night - Part 4

Masterlist

You and Louis continue to navigate the final weeks of your pregnancy, along with the boys being there to support the both of you.

Tags: Louis x pregnant reader, lots of fluff, hospitals and pain

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

...

The energy in the stadium is electric, the cheers of thousands of fans filling the air as the final chords of the closing song fade out. The boys gather at the edge of the stage, sweat glistening on their brows and smiles lighting up their faces. Louis grabs a microphone, his voice cutting through the noise.

“Thank you, Manchester!” he shouts, his grin wide and boyish. “You lot have been absolutely unreal tonight—and this whole tour. We couldn’t do it without you.”

The fans erupt into cheers, and Niall steps forward, his own mic in hand. “Seriously, you’ve been incredible. Best fans in the world!”

Zayn nods and flashes a rare but genuine smile, leaning into his mic. “Yeah, thank you for sticking with us. It means everything.”

Harry cracks a joke about losing half his wardrobe to fans over the years, earning a wave of laughter, and Liam promises new music soon, his tone warm and heartfelt.

Finally, Louis turns to you, his blue eyes sparkling under the stage lights. “And before we wrap this up, there’s someone else who deserves a huge thank you.” He gestures for you to join them, and despite the roaring crowd, you feel a flicker of hesitation.

But Louis reaches out, his hand steady and inviting, and you take it, letting him pull you to his side. The cheers grow louder as he beams at you.

“This one right here,” he says into the mic, his voice filled with pride. “She’s been with us every step of the way this tour, even when it hasn’t been easy. So let’s give it up for her, yeah?”

The crowd responds with a deafening roar, and you can’t help but laugh, shaking your head at the overwhelming support. Taking the mic Louis hands you, you smile at the sea of faces.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” you begin, your voice a little shaky but steadying as you continue. “Not just to the boys but to all of you. You’ve been so patient and understanding while I’ve been figuring out how to navigate... well, everything.” You place a hand on your bump for emphasis, earning a wave of cheers.

Niall steps forward, his grin boyish and full of warmth. “And she’s been a legend, hasn’t she? A total star!”

The crowd erupts into cheers again, and you can’t help but laugh, feeling a wave of affection for him and the others.

“And I promise,” you add with a grin, “next time I’ll be able to give you a hundred percent again.”

Louis takes the mic back, his hand slipping to rest protectively over yours on your belly. His face softens, and his voice drops just enough to make the moment feel intimate, despite the thousands of people watching.

“Next tour’s gonna be a bit different, though,” he says, glancing at you before looking back at the crowd. “Because I’ll be a dad, and she’ll be a mum.”

The audience erupts, the cheers shaking the entire venue. Louis’ words hit you in the chest, a mixture of love and pride blooming in your heart. The other boys beam, patting Louis on the back and giving you knowing smiles.

Harry leans into his mic, winking at the crowd. “We might have to add some lullabies to the setlist.”

Niall chimes in with a cheeky grin. “Or get the baby some earplugs. Loudest kid in the world already, I reckon.”

The laughter from both the band and the crowd is infectious, and Louis pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple as the music swells for the final bow.

Together, with your little one growing between you, you step forward with the boys, hand in hand, ready to close this chapter and start the next.

...

The atmosphere at the bar buzzes with post-concert energy, the perfect blend of exhaustion and triumph fueling the celebration. Glasses clink, and laughter ripples through the room as the boys share stories of the tour, each memory growing more exaggerated and ridiculous with every retelling.

You sit nestled in the corner of the booth, sipping your sparkling water with lime. At 31 weeks pregnant, you’re doing your best to stay engaged, but your body isn’t exactly cooperating. Your back aches, your feet throb, and you can’t help but long for a comfortable bed and quiet.

Louis, ever-attentive, sits beside you, his arm protectively draped over the back of your seat. He’s been glued to your side all evening, stealing glances at you between conversations and checking in every few minutes.

“You sure you’re alright, love?” he asks again, his voice low so only you can hear. His hand gently squeezes your knee.

You give him a tired but genuine smile. “I’m fine, Lou. Just a bit sore and tired, that’s all.”

Louis frowns, not entirely convinced. “Do you want to go back to the hotel? I can make an excuse—”

“Absolutely not,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “This is a big night for us and the boys. I’m not missing it.”

Louis leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Biggest night of my life is sitting right here with me,” he murmurs, his words making your heart ache in the best way.

“Oi, what’s all the whispering about?” Niall interrupts, sliding into the booth across from you with a teasing grin. He holds up his soda. “You and me, non-drinkers’ club. Cheers to sparkling water.”

You laugh and clink your glass against his. “Cheers, Niall. Thanks for joining the club.”

“Only for you, darling,” Niall says dramatically, earning a chuckle from Louis.

A moment later, Liam joins, carrying an extra cushion he swiped from one of the bar’s chairs. “Thought you might need this,” he says, placing it gently behind your back.

You look up at him in surprise, warmth spreading across your face. “Liam, you’re a lifesaver. Thank you.”

“Not a problem,” Liam replies with a soft smile. “Figured you might need a bit of extra support. Don’t let him take all the credit,” he adds, nodding toward Louis.

“She never does,” Louis quips, earning a laugh from the table.

Harry saunters over, sliding into the seat beside Niall. “Alright, what’s the verdict? Are we raising the next frontman for the band or a future footballer?”

Louis smirks. “Why not both?”

Zayn follows with a plate of fries, setting them in front of you without a word.

You blink up at him, your face lighting up. “Zayn, you’re officially my favorite tonight.”

“Oi,” Louis protests immediately. “What about me?”

“You’re a close second,” you tease, popping a fry into your mouth as laughter erupts around the table.

The banter continues, the boys all taking turns doting on you in their own way. Even Liam can’t resist, offering to grab you anything else you might need.

As the night progresses, Louis clears his throat, his hand resting on your knee again. He glances at you, a silent question in his eyes. You nod softly, giving him permission.

“Alright, everyone,” Louis announces, his voice cutting through the hum of the bar. “We’ve got some news.”

The table quiets immediately, all eyes on the two of you.

“We’ve decided,” Louis continues, a proud smile tugging at his lips, “that we’re moving in together.”

The room erupts in cheers and congratulations. Niall raises his glass with a wide grin. “About bloody time! You two are a proper team already.”

Liam nods in agreement, his voice sincere. “It makes sense. You’ve already been there for each other through so much. It’s the next step.”

Harry leans back, smirking. “Louis and domestic life—this I’ve gotta see.”

“I’m an excellent cook,” Louis fires back defensively.

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “He burns toast.”

Zayn shakes his head, chuckling softly. “Seriously though, that’s great. You two are going to smash it.”

Louis glances at you again, his hand squeezing yours. “We already are, aren’t we?”

Your heart swells as you lean into him, his arm wrapping securely around your shoulders. For the first time in weeks, the exhaustion and aches feel secondary to the overwhelming love and support radiating from the people around you. You look around the table, feeling lucky beyond words.

...

The plane touches down at Heathrow, and the bittersweet weight of the moment sinks in as you and Louis step off the plane. The familiarity of London feels comforting, but the knowledge that this marks the end of the tour leaves your heart heavy.

In the bustling terminal, the band gathers near the baggage carousel. The energy is subdued, the usual chatter replaced with reflective silence. The past months have been a whirlwind, and now it’s time to say goodbye—for now.

Harry is the first to step forward. His arms open wide as he gives you a warm hug, his curls tickling your cheek. “Take care of yourself, yeah? And don’t let Louis boss you around too much.”

“I’m the boss,” you reply with a small laugh, squeezing him tightly.

Harry pulls back, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “That’s what I like to hear. Don’t be a stranger.”

Next is Zayn, who leans in for a hug without much fanfare, but his actions speak volumes. “You’ve done good,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a murmur. “I mean it. You’re family.”

The lump in your throat grows as you nod, unable to form words. His calm presence has been a quiet comfort throughout the tour, and you’ll miss it.

Liam steps up, his kind smile making you feel at ease even as the tears threaten to fall. He pulls you into a firm hug. “You’ve been incredible through all this. You’ve got a lot on your plate, but you’ve handled it better than anyone else could. We’ll be around if you need anything, alright?”

“Thanks, Liam,” you manage to choke out, touched by his sincerity.

He steps back, looking at Louis. “Take care of her, mate. Not that I doubt you will.”

Louis nods, his arm tightening around your waist. “Always.”

Then there’s Niall. Your heart twists as he approaches, his expression a mix of pride and sadness. Niall’s been your rock, from the very start of this journey to now. He steps close, wrapping you in a hug that’s warmer and longer than any of the others.

“Don’t know what I’m gonna do without you,” he murmurs into your ear. “You’ve been my partner in crime, you know that?”

Tears spill over, and you cling to him. “You’re going to be fine, Niall. And you’ll come over all the time, right? You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Damn right I will.” He pulls back, his blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “You’ve got something amazing ahead, though. And I’m so happy for you. Both of you.”

You smile through the tears, wiping at your cheeks. “Thanks, Niall. For everything.”

He steps back, clearing his throat and giving Louis a pointed look. “You better keep her happy, Tommo. Or I’ll be moving in.”

Louis grins, clapping Niall on the back. “Wouldn’t dream of doing anything else.”

With all the goodbyes said, the boys gather their luggage, ready to head off in different directions. They promise to visit often, knowing events, interviews, and their unbreakable bond will keep them connected.

As you watch them walk away, your heart feels heavy but full. Louis leans down to press a kiss to your temple, his hand resting on the small of your back. “You alright, love?”

You nod, smiling up at him despite the tears. “Yeah. Just… a lot to take in.”

He squeezes your hand, his gaze filled with nothing but love. “We’ve got this. Together.”

And with that, you leave the airport, ready to step into the next chapter of your lives.

...

As Louis pulls into the driveway of his home, a warm sense of familiarity washes over you. It’s cozy and welcoming, much like the man sitting beside you. You smile as you glance at him, his face lighting up with pride as he parks the car.

“Welcome home,” he says softly, reaching out to squeeze your hand.

“Thanks,” you reply, feeling a swell of emotion at the idea of this being your shared space. You’re about to grab your bag when Louis holds up a finger.

“Wait. Before we go in, there’s something I should probably tell you.”

Your eyebrows raise in curiosity. “Oh? What’s that?”

Before he can answer, the front door swings open, and you hear a familiar voice call out. “Louis! You’re back!”

Your jaw drops as you see Johannah and Lottie stepping out onto the porch, beaming at the sight of the two of you.

“Johannah? Lottie?” you exclaim, looking to Louis for an explanation.

He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Surprise! I may have invited them over for dinner.”

“You could have warned me!” you hiss, though there’s no real heat in your tone.

He chuckles and leans in, whispering, “Thought it’d be nice for them to see you again—and for you to meet them properly, you know, as my girlfriend. And the soon-to-be mother of my child.”

Your heart swells despite the nerves fluttering in your chest. You’ve met Johannah and Lottie before in the context of being a band member, but this is entirely different.

By the time you step out of the car, Johannah is already making her way over. She envelops you in a warm hug, her genuine affection immediately putting you at ease.

“It’s so lovely to see you again,” she says, pulling back to give you a once-over. “And look at you! Absolutely glowing.”

You can’t help but smile, her kindness melting away your nerves. “It’s so nice to see you too, Johannah.”

“And me, obviously,” Lottie pipes up, her grin mischievous as she pulls you into a hug next. “This is such an exciting surprise.”

“It’s definitely a surprise,” you say with a laugh, shooting Louis a playful glare.

Johannah waves you toward the house. “Come on in. We’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

Inside, the dining table is set beautifully, and the delicious smell of a home-cooked meal fills the air. You feel a bit overwhelmed but also incredibly touched by the effort they’ve put in.

As dinner begins, the conversation flows easily. Johannah asks about the pregnancy, her enthusiasm contagious, while Lottie teases Louis mercilessly about finally settling down.

“So, are you ready for all those sleepless nights, big brother?” Lottie quips, smirking over her glass of wine.

Louis rolls his eyes but smiles. “I’ll manage. Not like I’ll be doing it alone.” He places a hand on your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Johannah beams at the two of you. “You’re going to make a wonderful little family. I couldn’t be prouder.”

Her words bring a lump to your throat, and you blink back tears as you look at Louis. He meets your gaze with so much love that you feel your nerves dissipate completely.

By the end of the night, you feel fully embraced by Johannah and Lottie, their warmth and support wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. As they say their goodbyes, Johannah hugs you tightly one more time.

“You’re part of the family now,” she says softly. “Don’t ever forget that.”

As they leave and the house falls quiet, you turn to Louis, unable to hide your smile.

“That was... really nice,” you admit, leaning into him as he wraps his arms around you.

“I told you it would be,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Welcome home, love.”

...

A few days later the sound of the doorbell echoes through the house, and you glance at Louis with a knowing smile as he rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

“Let me guess,” he says, already pushing himself off the couch. “Niall.”

You laugh, nodding as you watch him head to the door. Sure enough, moments later, Louis returns with Niall trailing behind him, holding a small box and a handful of brochures.

“Guess who’s here to be the best uncle ever?” Niall announces, a wide grin on his face as he kicks off his shoes.

“Niall, you already won that title by default,” you tease, standing up to greet him.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t secure my lead,” he counters, leaning down to give you a careful hug before setting the box on the coffee table. “Brought something for the nursery—and these.” He fans out the brochures with a flourish.

Louis raises an eyebrow. “Are those... nursery design ideas?”

“Yup!” Niall says proudly. “Figured you two haven’t started yet, so I’d help get the ball rolling.”

You glance at the brochures and then at Niall, warmth blooming in your chest. “That’s really thoughtful of you. Thank you, Niall.”

He shrugs, but his smile grows softer. “Anything for you guys. Now, open the box!”

You sit down on the couch, Louis taking a seat beside you, as Niall perches on the edge of the coffee table. Carefully, you lift the lid of the box to reveal a beautifully handmade wooden mobile. Small, intricately carved shapes of stars, moons, and clouds dangle delicately from strings, their craftsmanship stunning.

“Oh, Niall,” you breathe, running your fingers over the smooth wood. “This is... it’s perfect.”

Louis reaches over, lifting one of the tiny moons with a reverent look. “Mate, did you make this?”

Niall blushes slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I had a little help, but yeah. Thought it might add a nice personal touch to the nursery.”

You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes and quickly wipe them away, smiling at Niall through your emotion. “It’s beautiful. Thank you so much.”

“Oi, don’t cry!” Niall exclaims, half-teasing, half-concerned. “I’m supposed to be helping, not making you emotional.”

“Too late for that,” Louis mutters with a grin, leaning over to kiss your temple.

As you calm yourself, Niall spreads out the brochures on the coffee table, motioning for you and Louis to join him. “Alright, so I’ve got ideas for themes, color palettes, furniture—you name it.”

For the next hour, the three of you pour over the brochures, debating everything from neutral tones to bright pops of color. Niall’s enthusiasm is infectious, and soon, you and Louis are bouncing ideas off him as if he’s an honorary interior designer.

“Okay, so we’re thinking stars and moons as a theme,” Niall says, scribbling notes on a pad he brought along. “Soft blues, creams, and maybe a touch of gold for accents. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect,” Louis agrees, glancing at you for confirmation.

You nod, feeling excitement bubble up for the first time about putting the nursery together. “I love it. Thank you for this, Niall. Really.”

“Hey, anything for my favourite little family,” he says with a wink. “Now, let’s figure out where to start shopping!”

...

The bedroom is chaos—dresses strewn everywhere, shoes kicked off into random corners, and the vanity cluttered with makeup and jewelry. You’re standing in front of the mirror, glaring at your reflection as your hands tug at the hem of the dress you’ve been trying to make work for the past ten minutes.

Tonight’s event is a big one—a fancy charity gala where you and the boys are expected to make an appearance. You’re thrilled to see everyone again and can’t wait to catch up with Harry, Zayn, Liam, and Niall. It’s been too long since you’ve all been in the same place, laughing and joking like old times.

But instead of being excited about the evening, you’re caught up in the growing frustration of trying to find something—anything—that makes you feel good. At 33 weeks pregnant, nothing seems to fit the way you want, and the insecurity has hit harder than usual with the thought of facing the paparazzi tonight.

“God,” you mutter under your breath, smoothing your hands over the fabric clinging to your growing belly. “I look like a whale.”

From the doorway, Louis’ voice cuts in, light and teasing but laced with warmth. “Now, now, love. Don’t be insulting my gorgeous girlfriend like that.”

You spin to see him leaning casually against the doorframe, and your heart skips a beat. He looks devastatingly good in a tailored black suit, the crisp white shirt underneath unbuttoned just enough to hint at his collarbone. The sight of him, all sharp angles and boyish charm, takes the edge off your frustration for a moment.

But then you remember your reflection, and the frown returns. “Louis, I’m serious. Look at me! Nothing fits right, and I just look... huge.”

He steps into the room, his hands in his pockets, his eyes soft as they sweep over you. “You don’t look huge. You look like the absolute goddess that you are.”

You roll your eyes, unable to stop the bitter laugh that escapes. “Don’t start with that ‘glowing’ nonsense again.”

“Alright,” he says, grinning as he walks up to you. “How about this: You look hot.” His voice drops on the last word, and the heat in his tone makes your cheeks flush.

“Louis...”

“No, really,” he interrupts, his hands gently gripping your waist as he pulls you closer. His thumbs rub soft circles against your sides. “Do you know what it does to me, seeing you like this? These curves—” He lets his hands drift over your hips and down to the swell of your belly, his voice turning low and full of mischief. “—every last one of them. You’re even more irresistible than usual.”

Your breath hitches, your earlier frustration melting under his gaze. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Nope,” he says, popping the p with a cheeky grin. “I’m saying it because it’s true. You’re carrying our baby, love. You’re the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen. And if you weren’t so annoyed at this dress, I’d probably have to pin you against the wall right now and show you just how much I mean it.”

You laugh despite yourself, swatting his chest lightly. “Louis!”

“What?” he says, his grin turning softer as he cups your cheek. “It’s the truth. You’re gorgeous, and I’m the luckiest man alive.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten, and tears well up in your eyes. “You really think so?”

“Always,” he promises, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. It’s soft and lingering, filled with the kind of reassurance that settles deep in your heart.

When he pulls back, he tugs at the dress slightly. “This one’s perfect, by the way. You’re going to steal the show tonight.”

You glance back at the mirror, and for the first time all evening, you see what he sees—a woman who’s radiant, strong, and glowing with life.

“Okay,” you whisper, nodding. “Let’s do this.”

“That’s my girl.” He steps back, offering you his arm. “And don’t worry, love—I’ll be by your side the whole time. If any of those photographers so much as look at you wrong, they’ll have to answer to me.”

You laugh as you loop your arm through his, already feeling lighter. “I think I might actually be excited now. I can’t wait to see the boys.”

“They can’t wait to see you either,” Louis says as he leads you out. “Though I’ll have to remind them to keep their hands off—you’re mine, after all.”

The cheeky wink he throws your way has you rolling your eyes, but the smile that spreads across your face is undeniable. As the two of you head out, your heart feels full, and for the first time all evening, you’re not thinking about how you look—you’re just thinking about how loved you feel.

...

The event is in full swing by the time you and Louis step out of the car, hand in hand. The red carpet is dazzling under the flashes of the cameras, and though the noise and chaos of it all make your nerves twinge, Louis’ steady grip keeps you grounded.

“You ready for this, love?” he murmurs, leaning close as you approach the entrance.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you reply, squeezing his hand.

The moment you step into the venue, a wave of warmth washes over you. Familiar faces greet you—celebrities, industry professionals, and longtime supporters of the charity the event is for. The boys are already scattered around, chatting and laughing with guests, but they immediately light up when they see you.

“There she is!” Niall grins, making his way over with a drink in hand. “How’s my favorite mum-to-be?”

“Excited to see all of you,” you say with a smile, accepting his gentle hug.

“You’re glowing,” Harry comments as he approaches, his charm dialed up as always. “And Louis, mate, look at you—ever the doting partner.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Louis quips, a proud smile spreading across his face.

Zayn and Liam join the group shortly after, their greetings just as warm. It feels like coming home, surrounded by the boys’ easy banter and genuine affection. For the first time in what feels like weeks, you’re not thinking about how tired or sore you are—you’re just enjoying the moment.

Throughout the evening, you catch up with old friends and acquaintances. There’s laughter, heartfelt congratulations, and even a few playful jabs at Louis, who takes it all in stride with his usual humor.

“You two are going to be amazing parents,” Rita Ora says with a warm smile. “And if your kid has even half the personality you both do, the world’s in for a treat.”

The words make you blush, and Louis beams, pulling you a little closer. “We’ll do our best,” he says.

But as the night wears on, the energy in the room shifts. The press and paparazzi start to linger closer, their questions and cameras becoming more invasive. You try to brush it off, but the constant attention starts to grate on your nerves.

“Over here, Louis! How’s fatherhood treating you?”

“Y/N, what are you most nervous about with the baby on the way?”

The questions come rapid-fire, and while Louis does his best to shield you, the noise and flashing lights start to feel suffocating.

It’s Niall who notices first. “Alright, that’s enough,” he says firmly, stepping in front of you. “Give her some space, yeah?”

Harry and Liam are quick to follow, their presence forming a protective barrier around you.

“She’s here to enjoy the night, not be interrogated,” Zayn adds, his voice calm but sharp enough to cut through the chaos.

Louis’ hand never leaves yours as he turns to the crowd, his tone steady but laced with warning. “You’ve got your photos. Now, back off.”

The collective effort of all the boys is enough to send the press retreating, and you breathe a sigh of relief as the noise dies down.

“You alright, love?” Louis asks, his concern evident as he gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah,” you say, offering a small smile. “Thanks to all of you.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Niall says, flashing you a reassuring grin.

“And we’ll always be,” Harry adds, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder.

The rest of the evening passes more smoothly, the boys making sure to stay close and keep things light. By the time you’re heading home, you feel a renewed sense of gratitude—not just for Louis, but for the incredible group of men you’re lucky enough to call family.

...

The living room is filled with tension as you pace back and forth, your frustration bubbling over with every step. Everything feels wrong today. Your back is aching, your feet are swollen, and every piece of furniture you attempt to sit on seems determined to make you uncomfortable.

Louis, perched on the armrest of the couch, watches you with cautious concern. “Love, you’re wearing a path in the carpet. Why don’t you take a breather?”

You whip around, your glare sharp enough to make him straighten up. “A breather? Louis, I’ve been sitting and breathing for months. That’s all I can do anymore because of this!” You motion to your belly, which feels impossibly large and heavy.

Louis raises his hands in mock surrender, his tone soft and steady. “Alright, I get it. You’re uncomfortable. But snapping at me isn’t going to make it better.”

“Oh, don’t you dare start with the rational advice,” you snap back, planting your hands on your hips. “This is your fault, you know. You’re the one who got me into this mess!”

Louis blinks, and then, to your utter annoyance, he laughs. “I seem to recall you being pretty enthusiastic about it at the time.”

“That’s not the point!” you grumble, turning away from him. “I’m tired, and miserable, and I still have over a month to go. And everything we’ve bought for the baby is scattered in bags—we haven’t even started the nursery yet!”

At that, Louis gets to his feet, his teasing demeanor giving way to something softer. He steps behind you, his hands settling on your shoulders. “You’re right. We’ve been so busy, and you’ve been dealing with so much. But how about this—we’ll tackle the nursery today?”

You glance over your shoulder, skepticism written all over your face. “How? We’ve barely got a plan.”

“Well,” he says, grinning as he pulls out his phone, “I might’ve already texted Niall to come over. Figured he’d be good for some nursery shopping. You know how he loves planning things.”

Your frustration falters, replaced by a mix of surprise and relief. “You invited Niall?”

“Of course,” Louis says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “He’s been asking about when we’re getting started. Thought he might cheer you up a bit too.”

Before you can respond, there’s a knock at the door, followed by the familiar sound of Niall’s voice. “Alright, lovebirds, open up! Let’s get to work!”

Louis smirks and nudges you toward the door. “See? He’s already fired up. You can direct the two of us while we carry the heavy stuff.”

When you open the door, Niall greets you with a warm grin and a small stack of baby catalogues tucked under his arm. “Got some ideas for you,” he says, stepping inside. “Thought we could hit the shops, grab some furniture, maybe a few cute decorations.”

The sight of him, so eager and supportive, melts the last of your irritation. “Thanks, Niall. I could really use the help.”

“Anything for you,” he says with a wink, then glances down at your belly. “And for this little one too. Let’s make their room amazing, yeah?”

With Niall’s infectious enthusiasm and Louis’s steady encouragement, the day starts to look a little brighter. You feel a spark of excitement as you all head out, ready to take on the task together. Maybe things aren’t so bad after all.

…

The nursery has become ground zero for chaos. What started with Louis and Niall quickly spiraled when Niall decided to text the rest of the boys, and now your small house is filled with One Direction in full, uncoordinated action.

Zayn is unpacking boxes at lightning speed, scattering items across the floor with no apparent organization. Harry is flipping through wall color samples and making dramatic pitches about the “calming energy of sage green,” while Liam has somehow become the self-designated foreman, holding a clipboard he found somewhere and jotting down “essential steps.”

You stand in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the whirlwind with a mixture of amusement and mounting irritation. “Are any of you actually doing something productive, or are you just here to make my life harder?”

“Oi, we’re helping!” Niall protests, holding up a tiny set of baby booties like a trophy. “Look at these—they’re adorable!”

“Yeah, well, the baby can’t wear them if we don’t have a proper dresser to put them in,” you snap, pointing to the unopened flatpack still leaning against the wall.

“Got it!” Louis says, stepping up and grabbing the box. “Zayn, give me a hand with this.”

“Why me?” Zayn grumbles, but he joins Louis anyway.

As they start fumbling with the assembly instructions, Harry sidles up to you with a charming grin. “You know, love, you should sit down. Stress isn’t good for you or the baby.”

“Don’t ‘love’ me right now,” you say, leveling a glare at him. “I’m pregnant, not fragile. And maybe I wouldn’t be so stressed if you all weren’t treating this like a circus!”

Harry holds up his hands in surrender, his grin never faltering. “Noted.”

From the corner, Liam clears his throat. “Alright, team, let’s focus. We’ve got a crib to assemble, a dresser to build, and a lot of decorations to hang. Let’s divide and conquer.”

The boys spring into action—or rather, varying levels of action. Niall and Harry are surprisingly efficient at assembling the crib, though they keep breaking into fits of laughter. Louis and Zayn bicker over which screws go where for the dresser, and Liam is busy taping up a diagram of the “ideal layout” on the wall.

You sit down in the corner with a sigh, your irritation ebbing slightly as you watch their antics. Despite the chaos, there’s something endearing about how hard they’re all trying.

Niall looks up and catches your eye. “You alright over there?”

“I’m fine,” you mutter, though your tone is softer now.

“Good,” he says with a wink. “Because this room’s going to be perfect, just you wait.”

By the time the afternoon rolls around, the nursery is actually starting to take shape. The crib is standing proudly in the corner, the dresser is fully assembled (though slightly wonky), and the walls are adorned with a mix of shelves, photos, and baby-themed decorations.

You find yourself smiling as you inspect their work. “Not bad,” you admit grudgingly.

“Not bad?” Louis repeats, pretending to be offended. “Love, this is a masterpiece!”

“It is,” you say, and this time, your smile reaches your eyes. “Thanks, guys. I mean it.”

The boys beam at you, their camaraderie making your chest feel a little lighter. For the first time in weeks, you feel like everything might actually be okay.

…

At 36 weeks pregnant you’re standing in the living room, rubbing your lower back and silently cursing how heavy and tired you feel. Louis has been oddly insistent about keeping you distracted all morning, encouraging you to take a long bath and pick out something comfortable to wear for what he cryptically called “a little outing later.”

But as you waddle into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, you hear a sudden burst of noise behind you.

“Surprise!”

You freeze, turning slowly to find the living room filled with familiar faces. Louis is at the forefront, grinning from ear to ear, and behind him are Niall, Zayn, Harry, and Liam, all looking ridiculously pleased with themselves. But it doesn’t stop there—Louis’ mum, Johanna, is there too, along with his sisters, and even a few of your mutual friends. The house is decorated with pastel-colored balloons and banners that read “Welcome Baby Tomlinson!”

Your hands fly to your mouth as a flood of emotions rushes over you. “What is this?”

“It’s your baby shower, love!” Louis announces, stepping forward to press a kiss to your temple. “Figured you deserved to be spoiled a bit.”

“More like a lot,” Niall says, pointing to the dining table, which is groaning under the weight of gifts, snacks, and a massive cake shaped like a baby bottle.

“You’re all insane,” you mutter, but your voice wobbles with gratitude.

“Insanely good at keeping secrets,” Harry teases, handing you a mocktail garnished with fruit.

The next couple of hours fly by in a blur of laughter, games, and heartfelt moments. The boys take every opportunity to dote on you, fetching your drinks, snacks, and even a cushion for your back when you sit down to open presents.

“Alright, let’s see what we’ve got here,” you say, carefully tearing into a brightly wrapped box while everyone watches. Inside, there’s a tiny blue onesie with the words “I Get My Charm from Daddy” printed across the front.

Louis grins proudly. “That’s from me. Accurate, isn’t it?”

You roll your eyes but can’t help laughing. “Of course it is.”

Zayn’s gift is next—a beautifully illustrated baby book that’s both sentimental and stylish. “Thought it’d be nice to keep track of all the little moments,” he says casually, though you catch the warmth in his smile.

Niall presents you with a custom plush bear that has ‘Baby Tomlinson’ embroidered on the paw. “Figured I’d get a head start on being the favorite uncle,” he says with a wink.

“Don’t start that war, mate,” Liam warns with a chuckle, handing over his gift—a baby carrier that looks both practical and impossibly sleek.

Harry, ever the joker, gives you a pair of baby sunglasses. “Because no child of yours and Louis’ is going to leave the house without style.”

The highlight of the day, though, comes when Johanna stands to make a little speech. “I just want to say how proud I am of you both,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re going to be amazing parents, and I can’t wait to meet my newest grandbaby.”

Her words bring tears to your eyes, and when she pulls you into a warm hug, you cling to her tightly.

As the afternoon winds down, you find yourself leaning against Louis on the couch, surrounded by laughter and love. He kisses your temple and whispers, “Happy?”

“More than happy,” you murmur, your hand resting on your belly as the baby gives a little kick in response. “Thank you for this, Lou. It means everything.”

“Anything for you,” he says softly, and the sincerity in his voice makes your heart swell.

…

The house is finally quiet, the baby shower a beautiful but exhausting memory. You’re lying in bed, your head nestled against Louis’ chest as his fingers trace soothing patterns over your belly. The day’s excitement has left you both drained but content, his soft kisses to your hair a gentle lullaby as you drift toward sleep.

But a sharp, tight sensation grips your abdomen, pulling you out of your haze. Your breath catches, and you sit up suddenly, clutching your belly.

“Louis,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Something’s wrong.”

He’s instantly alert, sitting up beside you and flipping on the bedside lamp. His blue eyes search yours, his expression calm but concerned. “What is it, love? Are you in pain?”

You nod, wincing as another wave of tightness washes over you. “It’s—it hurts. I think it might be contractions?”

His face softens with understanding, and he places a steadying hand on your arm. “Alright, take a deep breath. It might be Braxton Hicks, yeah? Practice contractions. Remember, the midwife said they could happen.”

“This doesn’t feel like practice!” you cry, gripping his hand as another cramp rolls through.

“I know, darling, I know,” he murmurs, shifting closer. “Let me help. Come on, let’s get you in a warm bath. It’ll help relax those muscles.”

You nod hesitantly, and he helps you to your feet, steadying you with a supportive arm around your waist. In the bathroom, he quickly fills the tub with warm water, his hands working efficiently but gently as he adds a bit of lavender bubble bath to soothe you further.

“Come on, love,” he says, helping you step in. The warmth engulfs you immediately, easing the tightness in your belly and the tension in your back.

“Better?” he asks, kneeling beside the tub, his hand slipping into the water to gently massage your leg.

“A little,” you admit, leaning back against the edge and closing your eyes as the heat works its magic.

Louis doesn’t leave your side for a second. He rests on the edge of the tub, his hand skimming soft, lazy patterns over your wet skin. He presses kisses to your shoulder, his lips lingering as though trying to will the pain away.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he whispers, his voice warm and full of awe.

You open one eye, giving him a tired but wry smile. “I don’t feel very amazing right now.”

“Well, you are,” he insists, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your knee. “You’re carrying our little one, love. That’s nothing short of magic.”

The cramps begin to subside as the water soothes your body, and his tender care melts away the fear that had gripped you.

When the water starts to cool, Louis helps you out of the bath, wrapping you in a soft towel and guiding you back to bed. He dries you off with gentle precision, then helps you into one of his oversized shirts, which feels like a warm hug against your skin.

“Let’s get you comfy,” he murmurs, tucking you into bed and slipping in beside you. His arms wrap around you instantly, pulling you close so you’re nestled against his chest.

His hand finds your belly again, and he begins to draw those lazy patterns once more, his touch soothing and grounding. He peppers kisses along your hairline and murmurs sweet reassurances into your ear.

“You’re doing so well, love,” he says softly. “I’ll be here every step of the way. You and me, yeah?”

Tears well up in your eyes at his tenderness. “You’re too good to me, Louis.”

“Not possible,” he replies, grinning as he presses a lingering kiss to your lips.

The combination of his warmth, the bath, and his calming presence lulls you into a much-needed sleep. Even as you drift off, you feel his hand on your belly, steady and protective, like an unspoken promise that no matter what, you’ll face it together.

…

A week later the clock strikes two in the morning when you’re jolted awake. The sharp pain in your lower abdomen pulls you from a restless sleep, and you sit up with a gasp, clutching your belly.

You try to breathe through it, thinking it’s just another Braxton Hicks contraction, but the pain intensifies quickly, coming in waves. The rhythm is different—this isn’t like anything you’ve felt before.

You glance over at Louis, who’s still sound asleep beside you. His peaceful expression gives way to your growing panic. You take a deep breath, trying to remain calm, but the contractions hit again, stronger this time.

“Louis,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

He doesn’t stir. You try again, louder. “Louis!”

This time, he bolts awake, eyes wide as he sees the panic in your face. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice full of concern.

“I think… I think it’s happening,” you manage to say between breaths, gripping the edge of the bed as another contraction hits.

Louis’ eyes widen, and without missing a beat, he jumps out of bed, already grabbing his phone to call for help. “Alright, love, breathe. We’ve got this, okay? Just breathe.”

You nod, though it’s hard to focus with the waves of pain coursing through you. “Louis, it hurts,” you gasp, pressing your hands to your belly, but it doesn’t seem to help.

He comes back to the bed, kneeling in front of you. “I know it hurts, love. Just keep breathing with me, alright? Focus on my voice.” He places a hand on your back, rubbing it gently. “I’m right here. We’re going to get through this.”

You try to focus on him, on his soothing words, but it’s hard. The contractions are coming faster now, and you can’t seem to catch your breath.

“Louis,” you whimper, “I need to go to the hospital. It’s really happening, isn’t it?”

He looks at you with determination, his voice calm but firm. “It is, love. We’re heading there now. I’m gonna call everyone, okay? Just focus on me. You’re doing amazing.”

He helps you to your feet, steadying you as another contraction hits. You lean into him, your breath shaky as the pain pulses through you.

The next few minutes are a blur—Louis calling Niall, telling him to head to the hospital, getting you dressed, making sure everything is in the car, and keeping his eyes on you the entire time.

As he helps you out the door, he presses a kiss to your forehead. “We’re so close, love. You’re so strong. I’m so proud of you.”

You try to smile, but another contraction grips you, and you bite your lip to keep from crying out.

“Just keep breathing, love,” Louis says, his voice low and comforting. “We’re almost there.”

The drive to the hospital feels like it takes forever. Louis keeps talking to you, his voice steady, telling you how amazing you’re doing. You focus on his voice, on his hand holding yours, doing everything you can to ignore the overwhelming pain.

By the time you arrive at the hospital, the contractions are constant, one after another, no more than a minute apart. You’re sweating, your face flushed, but Louis never lets go of your hand.

He’s right beside you as you’re checked in, his hand on the small of your back as he rubs soothing circles to calm you.

The nurses lead you to a delivery room, where everything starts to blur together. There’s the constant beeping of monitors, the bustling of the staff around you, and Louis’ voice, always in your ear, grounding you.

“You’re doing amazing, love,” Louis says again, bending down to kiss your forehead. “You’re so strong. I can see it.”

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as the pain increases, but you’re too focused on getting through it to cry. The room feels small, the air thick with tension, but there’s a sense of comfort in Louis’ presence.

After what feels like hours of agony, the doctor finally says it’s time.

“You’re doing great,” the doctor reassures, giving Louis a nod. “We’re just going to take it one step at a time. You’ve got this.”

Louis kisses your forehead once more, his hand holding yours tightly. “I love you, so much. I’ll be right here the whole time.”

With his words, you push through the pain, ready to meet the little one who’s been growing inside you for all these months.

As the contractions intensify, you grip Louis’ hand harder, feeling like your body is being torn apart with every wave of pain. The pressure is unbearable, but Louis is right there, steadying you with his calm presence. His hand is firm around yours, his voice never wavering as he speaks soothingly.

“You’re doing amazing, love. Just breathe. I’m right here, okay? You’ve got this,” he reassures you, his face a mixture of love and concern, his eyes locked on yours with unwavering intensity.

The pain is all-consuming, but you focus on Louis’ words, his warmth, his touch. Every breath feels like it takes everything you have, but you know you’re not alone. Then, just as the pressure becomes too much to bear, Niall bursts into the room, his face lighting up at the sight of you.

“You’re doing great!” he says, his voice full of encouragement as he comes to stand beside Louis. His presence offers a little relief, a welcome distraction from the pain.

Louis gives Niall a quick nod, but his focus never leaves you. “Just breathe, love. We’re almost there. You’ve got this.”

The next contraction hits hard, and you squeeze both their hands, digging your nails into their palms as the room spins with the intensity of it all. Louis whispers words of love and support in your ear, trying to ground you. But it’s so much, so overwhelming, the pain, the anticipation, the excitement.

“I can’t do this,” you breathe out, tears streaming down your face, your chest heaving with each breath.

“You are doing this,” Louis insists, his voice fierce with love. “We’re almost there. You’re about to meet our little boy.”

That one word—boy—takes your breath away, filling you with a new burst of strength. Your baby. Your son. The thought of holding him in your arms keeps you going.

With a cry of effort, you push through the next wave of contractions, your body straining against the pain. Louis is right beside you, his hand in yours, Niall standing next to him, both of them encouraging you through it.

“Just one more push, love,” Louis says, his voice barely a whisper, but it’s all you can hear. His forehead presses against yours, his hand stroking your hair, his words like a promise. “You’re so close. I’m so proud of you.”

Another contraction comes, and you push with everything you have left. It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but the relief that comes afterward is indescribable. You feel the shift, the pressure releasing, and then you hear it.

The sound of your baby crying fills the room, and your heart stops for a moment. The tears well in your eyes as you look up at Louis. “We did it,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

Louis’s face is lit up with awe and love. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, then looks down at you, his voice full of emotion. “We have a son, love. Our beautiful boy.”

The nurse gently places the tiny baby on your chest, and you can’t help but gasp as you look at his tiny face, his little hands. He’s perfect in every way.

Niall steps forward, his voice shaky with emotion. “He’s beautiful,” he says, his smile wide and full of joy. “Congrats, guys. He’s a little champion.”

Louis leans down, brushing his lips against your temple, his hand resting softly on the small of your back. “I love you both so much,” he whispers. “You’ve made me the happiest man alive.”

You look down at your baby, tears streaming down your face as you hold him close. Louis is beside you, his hand in yours, and you both gaze down at your son, a love more overwhelming than you ever thought possible swelling in your chest. This is your family now. And in this moment, you couldn’t be happier.

…

A little while later, the door to the room opens gently, and one by one, the rest of the boys filter in, their faces lighting up as they take in the sight before them. You and Louis are lying together, exhausted but content, with your tiny son nestled between you. He’s already asleep, his little hands curled into tiny fists, his face serene and perfect.

Harry is the first to speak, his voice soft and full of wonder. “Mate,” he says, his eyes glistening with emotion, “he’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

Zayn steps forward, his usual calm demeanor giving way to pure awe. “He looks just like you, Louis,” he murmurs, a gentle smile on his lips as he leans closer to get a better look at the baby. “This is incredible.”

Liam looks at you both with pride in his eyes, a grin spreading across his face. “Congratulations, you two. He’s going to be so loved. He’s got an amazing family.”

Niall stands just a little behind the others, his eyes wide with excitement. “I can’t believe it,” he says, his voice cracking slightly with emotion. “You guys are parents. This little guy’s going to be spoiled with love from all of us.”

Louis, still beaming, glances over at you, his eyes soft and full of love. “It’s the first One Direction baby,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “He’s going to be loved by all of us—by his uncles, his mum, his dad.” His voice breaks for a moment, and he looks down at his son, shaking his head in disbelief. “I still can’t believe he’s here.”

“You’re going to be an amazing dad, Louis,” Harry says with a grin, giving him a playful nudge. “And you, too,” he adds, turning to you. “You’re gonna be the best mum ever.”

The boys gather around the bed, their attention completely captivated by the tiny little life you and Louis created. There’s a lightness in the room now, a quiet joy as they all take turns peeking at the baby, their voices filled with excitement, pride, and the unspoken bond they all share with him already.

“You’ve all got to teach him all the good stuff,” Niall says, his eyes twinkling. “Like how to play guitar, of course.”

“And all the best football teams,” Zayn adds, winking at Louis. “We’ve got to teach him everything we know.”

Louis chuckles softly, his gaze never leaving his son. “He’s going to grow up surrounded by love. I can already tell he’s going to have all the best role models.”

Liam places a hand on Louis’ shoulder, his expression sincere. “He’s going to be one lucky kid, with all of you around him.”

You watch the scene unfold, your heart swelling as you realize just how much love is in the room for your baby. Your son. Your beautiful boy is already surrounded by a family who will protect him, guide him, and love him with everything they have.

And in this moment, you know that your little one is going to grow up with a support system unlike any other, and you couldn’t be more grateful.

Louis kisses your forehead, his hand resting on the back of your head, pulling you gently against him. “We did good, didn’t we?” he murmurs. You nod, feeling every ounce of joy and love in your heart. You did good. Together, you made something incredible. And as the boys laugh and chat around you, you know this is just the beginning of an incredible journey for your family.

…

Author’s note: I hope you guys enjoyed this mini series!