#this one - it is out and it is here and of course it is long | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vunblr · 3 days ago

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Roots and Branches

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Smut. Unprotected sex.

Summary: Bucky has built a quiet life in the woods, content to keep the world at arm's length. But when a new neighbor moves to town, her presence ignites emotions he’s hesitant to face.

Word Count: About 18.6k.

notes: I’ve been wanting to write a story in a lumberjack AU for a while now, and here it is. It ended up being longer than I expected, but I have no regrets. In my mind, Lumberjack!Bucky=Beefy!Bucky.

By the way, I’m still dreaming that someone, feeling inspired, creates Bucky as an NPC for Stardew Valley. I would kiss the ground that person walks on.

The city stretched behind her, a blur of steel and noise shrinking in the rearview mirror. Relief and uncertainty warred in her chest, but she clung tightly to the thought of what lay ahead. The town had always been her haven: sunlit summers chasing fireflies, her grandmother’s laughter ringing from the porch, and the quiet that once cradled her restless mind in peace.

It had been years since she’d last visited, but the constant noise, relentless crowds, and a recent, unsettling encounter had made city life unbearable. Her grandmother’s house, nestled at the edge of a sprawling forest, now felt like her only escape. It wasn’t perfect -her uncle had warned her about the repairs needed- but she’d gladly trade peeling paint and creaky floors for the chaos she was leaving behind. Besides, without rent to worry about and the freedom of her home-office proofreading job, she had the space and time to start over, one step at a time.

The road stretched endlessly before her, winding through rolling hills and patches of dense forest. The further she drove, the quieter it became. No blaring horns, no traffic, just the hum of her engine and the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by the wind. She cracked the window, letting in the crisp scent of pine and earth.

For the first time in months, she felt her shoulders begin to relax. And then, with an ominous thunk, the car jerked to one side.

Her stomach sank as she guided the vehicle to the shoulder, the once-smooth ride now bumpier than a cobblestone street. Stepping out, she found her fears confirmed: the back tire sagged, utterly deflated.

“Of course,” she muttered, brushing a stray hair from her face. “Why not?”

She retrieved the jack and wrench from the trunk, determined to fix it herself. She wasn’t helpless, after all. But after twenty minutes of grunting, tugging, and nearly twisting her wrist, the lug nuts refused to budge. Maybe they just needed a little more effort.

Two hours later, she slumped against the side of the car, her arms aching and her patience long gone. She’d tried everything -kicking the wrench, sitting on it for leverage- everything except calling for help, though the lack of cell signal made that impossible. Her lip trembled as she bit down hard, determined not to let the tears of frustration win.

“You wanted quiet? You got quiet,” she muttered, her voice tight with irritation. Walking seemed like the only option now. Maybe she’d stumble upon a house, a gas station, anything. Resolving trying her luck, she locked the car and started forward, her boots crunching against the gravel shoulder.

The air hung heavy with stillness, broken only by the occasional chirp of a bird or the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The walk felt endless, each step feeding her doubts. What if there was nothing ahead? What if she’d made a mistake leaving the car? Just as she was debating turning back, a low rumble cut through the quiet.

She froze, breath hitching as her eyes darted down the empty road. The sound grew louder, unmistakably the steady growl of a truck engine. Relief flooded her chest, tempered by a flicker of caution.

Moving closer to the edge of the road, she raised a tentative hand to wave. Moments later, an old, sturdy truck came into view, slowing as it approached.

Bucky wasn’t in any rush. The late afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows on the road ahead. He kept one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh. The hum of the truck engine was a comforting sound, a backdrop to his thoughts.

As he rounded a gentle curve, something caught his eye up ahead: a car parked awkwardly on the shoulder. He frowned, slowing the truck. From the angle it was sitting, it didn’t look abandoned, but it wasn’t going anywhere either. A flat tire, maybe? His brow furrowed. Someone had to own it, but there wasn’t another soul in sight.

He continued slowly, his gaze drifting to the road ahead, and that’s when he spotted her. She stood near the edge of the road, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder and her hand half-raised in a cautious wave. She didn’t look panicked, just tired, a little frustrated, and undeniably relieved to see another human being out here.

He brought the truck to a stop a few feet ahead of her, letting the engine idle as he leaned across the seat to glance out the passenger window. “Need some help?” he called, keeping his tone easy.

She stepped closer, her cautious wave lowering as she approached. When she stopped short of the truck, her polite smile faltered, her gaze locking on his face.

He didn’t notice at first, but she stared, caught off guard by the sight ahead of her. Shoulder-length dark hair framed handsome face, shadowed with a day or two of stubble. And those eyes… crystal blue, so piercing they looked like they belonged to the lead character of a romance novel rather than the driver of an old truck.

Her lips parted slightly as her thoughts ran wild. Maybe she was hallucinating. Two hours of frustration and the heat of the sun must have gotten to her, conjuring a guy from one of those pink-covered novels she’d been proofreading.

“You okay?” His voice pulled her back, laced with just enough concern to cut through the fog in her head.

She blinked rapidly, heat flooding her cheeks as she scrambled for an excuse. “Uh, yeah, sorry. Just… fatigue, I guess.” She gave a quick laugh, brushing her hair back as if that would somehow erase her embarrassment. “It’s been a long day.”

Bucky didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. He nodded, his expression sympathetic. “Yeah, I can imagine.”

She cleared her throat, trying to sound more composed. “I’d really appreciate the help. The tire’s flat and the lug nuts are stuck. I’ve tried everything, but they won’t budge.”

Bucky nodded again, shifting the truck into park before stepping out. “I saw the car back there. Mind if I take a look?”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she offered a more genuine smile. “Please. That’d be great.”

She couldn’t help but stare as he climbed out of the truck. It wasn’t just the striking eyes or the scruff that made him look like he’d stepped off a book cover, it was everything.

Worn jeans sat low on his hips, perfectly fitted to legs that spoke of strength and endurance. A red flannel shirt, snug across his broad shoulders and well-defined arms, hinted at a life of hard, honest work. His boots crunched against the gravel as he moved with an effortless confidence that made it nearly impossible to look away.

Yup, she thought, feeling her cheeks warm again. A lead character.

She snapped her gaze away, trying to focus on literally anything else, the road, the sky, her worn-out sneakers. But as he approached, the heat creeping up her neck didn’t fade.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his brow furrowing slightly.

She blinked and met his eyes, cursing herself for getting caught again. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine,” she said waving a hand. “Just tired, I guess. Two hours of trying to fight with a tire does that to you.”

He nodded slowly, and his expression softened. “Fair enough.”

She gestured vaguely toward her car in the distance. “It’s over there. I’d appreciate the help, it’s like the universe welded those lug nuts on.”

When they reached the car, she unlocked it and retrieved the tools from the trunk, setting them down beside the flat tire. She stepped back, watching as he crouched and took the wrench in his hand. With what seemed like no effort at all, he twisted the lug nuts loose, the metal giving way under his grip as if it had never been stuck in the first place. She stared again, biting her lip as her gaze lingered on how his forearm flexed under the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel. Completely oblivious to her scrutiny, he worked in focused silence, switching out the flat tire with methodical ease. When he finished, he stood up, brushed the dust from his hands, and glanced at the car. His gaze snagged on the backseat, where duffel bags and boxes were crammed together.

“Looks like you’re movin’,” he said, his voice low and gruff.

She nodded, brushing her hands on her jeans as if she’d done any of the work. “Yeah, I am. Heading to town. My grandmother used to have a house there, I’m moving into it.”

Bucky glanced at her, his sharp blue eyes unreadable, but not unkind. “The old house near the woods?”

Her brows lifted in surprise. “Yeah, actually. You know it?”

He shrugged lightly, his gaze slipping to the ground. “Small town,” he murmured.

Unsure if his hesitation was discomfort or just shyness, she shifted her weight. “Well, thanks again for helping. I’m Y/n, by the way.”

He didn’t respond for a moment and then blinked, as if snapping out of a thought. “Bucky,” he said simply, his tone softening just enough to feel welcoming.

“Well, nice to meet you, Bucky.” Her smile was warm despite the long, frustrating day.

He nodded slightly, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips before it disappeared. “You should get goin’,” he said after a pause. “Road’s pretty empty once it gets dark.”

She nodded, grateful. “Right. Thanks again.”

He gave a short nod before turning to his truck. She lingered for a moment, watching as he climbed into the cab and started the engine, before finally slipping into her car and pulling back onto the road.

He gave her a brief nod, turning to his truck without saying another word. She stood there for a moment, watching him go, before climbing into her car.

Bucky climbed into his truck, shutting the door with a quiet click. As the engine rumbled to life, his thumbs tapped idly on the steering wheel, his mind drifting. So, she was the woman moving into the old blue house, the one the old ladies in town had been gossiping about lately.

“Fresh face,” they’d said, curious and speculative. The kind of talk he usually tuned out, but now he could picture her, standing on the side of the road with that friendly smile.

His jaw tightened as he glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of her car pulling back onto the road. Attractive, sure, but that wasn’t his business. He wasn’t in the habit of noticing things like that anymore, or at least, he tried not to.

Shaking his head slightly, he put the truck in gear and pulled back onto the road.

------------

She reached the house in the late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun painting the wooden structure in warm tones. From a distance, it looked charming, but as she got closer, the years of neglect became more apparent. A shutter hung by a single hinge, swinging slightly in the breeze, and the porch sagged in the middle, its boards warped and cracked.

It didn’t seem unlivable, though, and for that, she was grateful. The windows were intact, the roof looked solid, and the front door swung open without resistance when she unlocked it. She stepped inside, wrinkling her nose at the stale smell of a house left empty for too long. Dust coated the floors and every surface in sight, but nothing that a good cleaning wouldn’t fix.

Walking through the rooms, she made a mental list of things that needed attention. The walls could use fresh paint, the porch would definitely need repairs before it became a hazard, and a few wobbly cabinet doors in the kitchen caught her eye. It was all manageable.

By the time she returned to the living room, she realized the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the house in shadows. She flipped the light switch by the door, but nothing happened. A quick check of the other switches confirmed her suspicion, there wasn’t a single light bulb in the entire property.

“Figures,” she muttered, setting her hands on her hips. Luckily, she’d packed a portable lamp. Its soft glow filled the room as she set it on the floor and unrolled her sleeping bag in the corner, where the old sofa used to sit.

Dinner was a simple affair: a cup of instant noodles and a bottle of water, eaten cross-legged on the floor. She was too tired to think about anything elaborate, and the stillness of the house was oddly comforting after the chaos of the city.

Her thoughts drifted back to the day’s events, replaying the encounter on the road. Bucky’s face flickered in her mind, those piercing blue eyes, the way his long, dark hair framed his sharp features, the slight rasp to his voice when he’d asked if she was okay. She bit her lip, and the memory of the way he’d effortlessly changed the tire brought a faint smile to her lips as her eyelids grew heavy. The moving truck will arrive by morning, and with better lighting, she’ll assess the house and start making it livable. Ideally, she would have cleaned beforehand, but the moving company only had that date available, so she didn’t have much choice.

----------

Right at 8 o’clock sharp, the rumble of the moving truck echoed down the quiet street. She stepped outside, greeting the movers and directing them where to place the furniture. It didn’t take long to realize the porch’s sagging boards were going to be a problem. One mover nearly put his foot through a weakened plank, and after a few close calls, they opted to bring in as much as possible through the windows.

After tipping the movers and seeing them off, she grabbed her bag and headed into town. The general store was easy to find, nestled on the main street between a bakery and a small diner. The scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air as she pushed open the store’s creaky door, the tiny bell overhead jingling.

Inside, the aisles were narrow and well-stocked, offering everything from cleaning supplies to locally-made jams. She grabbed a basket and began filling it with essentials: sponges, dish soap, floor cleaner, and a few staples for the pantry.

At the checkout line, she felt the weight of a few curious stares. Small towns were like that, everyone wanted to know who the newcomer was. A man in line behind her gave her a polite nod, and a couple of women nearby exchanged whispers before one of them, an older lady with a kind smile, stepped forward.

“Moving into the old blue house on Maple, aren’t you?” the woman asked, her voice warm and curious.

She blinked, surprised but not entirely caught off guard. “That’s right,” she said, returning the smile. “Spent summers there as a kid. It’s been a while, though.”

“Well, welcome back,” the woman said, clasping her hands. “I’m Dorothy. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Actually…” she hesitated, seizing the moment. “The house needs a bit of work, especially the porch. Do you know a good carpenter?”

Dorothy’s face lit up. “Sam Wilson’s the man you’re looking for. Runs a workshop just outside town. He’s dependable and does fine work. I’ll jot down his address for you.”

After paying for her items, she loaded everything into the car and headed toward the workshop. The drive was short, and soon she spotted a neatly painted sign that read Wilson Woodworks. The building was modest but well-kept, with stacks of lumber and partially finished projects visible through the open garage door.

Grabbing her notepad and pen, she stepped out of the car, hoping Sam would be able to help bring her grandmother’s house back to life.

The workshop smelled of sawdust and varnish, the soft hum of a saw cutting through wood filling the air. She peered curiously through the open entry, her gaze scanning the neatly organized chaos: tools hanging on pegboards, wood shavings scattered across the floor, and a workbench cluttered with projects in progress. Near the center of the space stood a man in a faded gray t-shirt and jeans, his sleeves rolled up to reveal toned arms. His easy smile and confident posture immediately struck her as someone who knew his craft.

“Sam Wilson?” she asked, stepping further inside.

The man turned, his grin widening. “That’s me,” he replied warmly. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi. I’m Y/n. I just moved into town, to the old blue house on Maple Street. The porch is in pretty bad shape, and I was told you’re the one to call.”

Sam gave an approving nod, wiping his hands on a nearby rag. “Maple Street, huh? Yeah, I’ve worked on a couple of those houses. They’ve got good bones but can be stubborn. I’d have to take a look before I can give you a plan.”

“Of course,” she said, relieved. “When do you think you’d be able to-”

Before she could finish, a gruff voice interrupted from the back of the shop. “Sam, I told you that damn hinge on the-”

Bucky appeared, stepping out from what looked like a storage area, drying his hands on a towel. His words faltered the moment he spotted her, his blue eyes locking onto hers in surprise. He froze for a moment, the towel still in his hand, before nodding stiffly.

“Hey,” he said, with a cautious tone.

She offered him a small, friendly smile. “Hello again.”

Sam’s gaze darted between the two of them, a knowing grin spreading across his face like a Cheshire cat. “Well, well,” he drawled. “You two already know each other so soon?”

Bucky shot him a look -half warning, half exasperation- but Sam’s grin only widened.

“We met yesterday,” she explained, glancing between them. “Bucky helped me with a flat tire.”

“Did he now?” Sam leaned back against the workbench, crossing his arms. “Man of many talents, huh, Buck?”

Bucky muttered something under his breath, his ears turning slightly red as he turned away to busy himself with a random piece of wood.

Sam laughed, clearly enjoying himself. “Don’t let him fool you,” he said to her, his tone light. “He’s a softie under all that brooding.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, unable to suppress a smile.

Bucky’s muttering grew quieter as he moved further into the workshop, but Sam wasn’t done. “You’re in luck, though,” he said to her, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I think you’re gonna give his wood a good use.”

She let out a small laugh, not entirely sure why but unwilling to seem rude. “Well, I’ll do my best,” she said with a shrug, hoping that was the right response.

The sound of tools crashing followed by a sharp, muttered curse that carried through the workshop interrupted the exchange, and she turned toward the source. “Is he okay?”

Sam smirked, his tone teasing as he said, “Oh, he’s just fine. Just gets a little... tense when his work’s involved. My friend here is one of my suppliers. Keeps me stocked up on the best lumber in town.”

“Oh, I see,” she replied, her gaze briefly flicking toward where Bucky had disappeared. Inwardly, she couldn’t help but think that his... thick build seemed to match with the work lumber suppliers did. “So, should we arrange a time for you to come by and look at the porch?” she asked, mentally slapping herself and steering the conversation back on track.

Sam grinned, leaning casually against the counter. “Tomorrow works for you? Say mid-morning?”

“That sounds great,” she agreed, already mentally listing what she might need to tidy up before his visit.

As her car disappeared down the road, Bucky emerged from the back of the workshop, his steps deliberate and brooding as he approached Sam.

“What was that?” he asked, his voice low but edged with irritation.

Sam raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence as he crossed his arms. “What was what?”

“You know what,” Bucky growled, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t.”

Sam held up his hands, his expression mock-innocent. “Don’t what? You’re projecting, man. She’s just a new neighbor who needs some help with her porch. That’s all.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping even lower. “Whatever your bird brain is planning on doing, don’t. I’m not... Just stay out of my business.”

Sam gave him a sidelong look, clearly unimpressed by Bucky’s gruff warning. “You think too highly of yourself, Barnes,” he said with a smirk. “I’m just trying to help the lady out, same as you did.”

The logger threw one last dirty glance at Sam, muttering under his breath. “Next cargo’s in four days,” he grumbled, already heading for the door.

Sam’s amused chuckle followed him, but Bucky ignored it, his boots hitting the workshop floor with heavy steps.

As he reached the truck, a sharp twinge in his left arm made him curse softly. He grabbed it, flexing his fingers out of habit, then glanced up at the sky. It was streaked with soft clouds, their innocent appearance at odds with what he felt brewing in the air.

A storm was coming.

It wasn’t something anyone could see yet, but Bucky didn’t need a weather report. Since his arm had been crushed in Afghanistan, leaving him with orthopedic implants and lingering aches, he could always tell when the pressure was about to shift.

He flexed his arm again, rolling his shoulder to ease the discomfort. The storm would hit soon, inside and out.

Sliding into the truck, he decided to stop by the general store on the way home. He needed a bottle of scotch. Maybe two.

It was shaping up to be one of those nights.

When she got back to the house, she dropped the bags on the kitchen counter and let out a sigh. She glanced around at the dim, dusty space and resolved to tackle it head-on. After eating a quick sandwich, she got to work.

The first task was the lightbulbs, all of them. Room by room, she placed them, swearing quietly each time she had to stretch on tiptoe or drag a chair around. Next came the cleaning. By the time she was almost finished, it was late afternoon. She stood in the middle of the living room, exhausted and sweaty, a few stubborn cobwebs clinging to her sleeves. She pushed her hair off her forehead and noticed, through the newly cleaned windows, the unmistakable sight of grey clouds gathering on the horizon.

“Great,” she muttered, dragging the vacuum to a corner. She glanced up at the ceiling, half expecting to see a stain forming already. “Please, no leaks. Just this once, let me have some luck.” The wind outside began to pick up, rattling the loose shutter on the porch. She grimaced. The house might not be falling apart, but it wasn’t going to win any awards for weatherproofing either.

She pulled the last bag of cleaning supplies toward her, determined to finish what she could before the storm hit.

The rhythmic patter of rain on the roof accompanied her as she sat at the small kitchen table, nursing a simple dinner. Her arms ached pleasantly from the day’s cleaning spree, her newly functional lightbulbs casting a warm glow over the room. Despite the state of the house when she’d arrived, it felt more like a home now, or at least the beginning of one.

The rain grew heavier, drumming steadily against the windows as she finished eating and washed her dishes. With a satisfied sigh, she headed for the bathroom. The steamy warmth of the shower was a welcome reprieve, washing away the grime and fatigue of the day. She closed her eyes as the water cascaded down, her mind meandering to the list of things she still needed to tackle.

The porch needs fixing first. Maybe some paint for the walls. And that loose shutter... her lips curled into a soft, almost dreamy smile as her thoughts drifted to Bucky. She bit her lip, suppressing a laugh at herself. It had been a while since she’d had anyone to daydream about, and maybe it was just her exhaustion playing tricks on her. Clearly, she needed a break from all these romance novels. The irony wasn’t lost on her, spending her days proofreading swooning declarations and lingering glances wasn’t helping her sanity.

On the other side of town, the rain was more than just a backdrop for Bucky, it was a trigger, a reminder. He sat on the kitchen floor, his back pressed against the counter, cradling a bottle of scotch in one hand and absently flexing the fingers of his left arm with the other. The pain in his left arm wasn’t unbearable -he’d had worse- but the weather had settled into his bones.

One would think Afghanistan’s climate rarely saw rain, but he knew better. In the northern regions, heavy rains could flood entire valleys in minutes, turning the ground into treacherous mud. It wasn’t just the water he remembered, but the chaos it brought. Mud-caked boots slipping on uneven terrain. The deafening crack of gunfire cutting through the downpour. The screams of comrades who’d never make it out of the storm, swallowed by water and bullets alike.

He closed his eyes tightly, forcing the memories away, but the rain’s steady rhythm seemed determined to drag him back. He took a long swig from the bottle, the burn of the alcohol a poor distraction for his haunted mind.

And then, unbidden, he thought of her.

The way she’d smiled at him earlier today at Sam’s workshop. Like she was genuinely glad to see him. He shook his head sharply, scowling at himself. He didn’t deserve to think about her. Didn’t deserve to let himself linger on the way she’d looked at him with curiosity instead of judgment. He was a broken-down man who knew better than to let anyone get close. The rain’s rhythm matched the pounding in his head, and he rubbed his temple with a quiet groan. Thinking about her was a mistake, one he couldn’t afford to make.

------------

The low hum of a truck pulling up broke the peaceful morning. She peeked out the window, spotting Sam hopping out with a clipboard in hand, a tape measure clipped to his belt. His easy smile greeted her as she opened the door.

“Morning,” he said, tipping an imaginary hat. “Ready to figure out what your little slice of heaven here needs?”

She chuckled, stepping aside to let him in. “Let’s call it a fixer-upper and go from there.”

Sam gave a low whistle as he stepped onto the sagging porch. “First thing’s first, this baby needs a lot of love. I’m surprised it’s holding up at all.” He tapped one of the warped boards with his boot, and it creaked ominously.

“Well, that’s why you’re here,” she replied lightly, crossing her arms.

They walked the perimeter of the house as Sam scribbled notes on his clipboard, occasionally pausing to point out things that needed attention, a loose shutter here, a weathered doorframe there. He climbed the porch steps again, shaking his head. “You’re lucky nothing major’s out of whack, though this porch... Yeah, we’ll start here.”

She nodded, leaning against the railing -carefully-. “Sounds good. So, what’s next?”

Sam grinned, snapping the clipboard shut. “Now comes the fun part, asking nosy questions while I figure out how to turn this place into a proper home. Where’d you move from?”

“City,” she said, her gaze flicking to the overgrown yard. “Needed a change. Too much noise, too many people.”

He nodded like he understood perfectly. “Yeah, city life can wear you down. And what do you do for work? So that I know if I ever need something specific.”

“I’m a proofreader,” she replied. “Not exactly glamorous, but it lets me work from anywhere.”

He chuckled. “Sounds pretty glamorous to me. Living the dream: working in pajamas, no one to bother you.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Not quite. Deadlines don’t care if you’re in pajamas.”

“Fair point,” Sam said, scribbling something on his clipboard. He glanced at her casually. “Anyone special missing you back in the city?”

Her brow furrowed slightly, caught off guard. “Uh, no. Why?”

“No reason,” he said with an exaggerated shrug, flashing his most innocent grin. “We small-town folks are just naturally curious.” Satisfied, he tucked the clipboard under his arm. “Well,” he said, turning on the charm, “I’ll put together a plan for the porch and those other fixes we talked about. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Thanks, Sam,” she said, smiling warmly.

He tipped his imaginary hat again. “Happy to help.” As he walked back to his truck, he patted the clipboard storing every little detail she’d just shared. Oh, he’d have fun with this later.

Over the next few days, she found herself settling deeper into the rhythm of small-town life. Locals stopped to chat whenever she ran errands, and she was finally starting to remember their names. The house was slowly transforming under her care, each repair bringing it closer to what she remembered from her childhood summers.

And then there was Bucky. He was a puzzle she hadn’t figured out yet. Quiet and guarded one moment, then unexpectedly kind the next. Their paths seemed to cross more often now. It wasn’t intentional, but each encounter left her feeling like she’d peeled back another layer of his carefully constructed wall.

The first time it happened, she was in the general store, arms full of cleaning supplies and pantry staples, along with a guilty indulgence or two. As she stepped into the checkout line, she spotted him just ahead of her with a modest basket of items, his broad shoulders blocking most of her view of the cashier.

As she shuffled forward, her eyes drifted to his basket. Among the practical items -bread, coffee, and what looked like a pack of nails- sat a brightly colored box of dinosaur-shaped mac and cheese.

She couldn’t help herself. “Didn’t peg you for the novelty pasta type.” She quipped lightly, a teasing smile curling her lips.

Bucky turned his head sharply, caught off guard. He glanced at the box, then back at her, a faint pink tinting his cheeks, as he muttered “They’re easy. And cheap.”

The combination of his flustered tone and stoic expression made her grin. “Hey, no judgment. Dinosaurs are awesome. I’d pick those over plain elbows any day.”

His lips twitched, just slightly, but enough to count. “You’ve got good taste,” he said, the faintest trace of a smirk softening his features.

The cashier rang up his items, and he moved through quickly, nodding politely as he passed her. But as she finished paying and struggled to balance her bags, she found him lingering outside near his truck.

“Need a hand?” he asked gruffly, though he was already moving toward her.

She hesitated for a moment before relenting. “If you don’t mind.”

Without a word, he scooped up the heaviest bags as if they weighed nothing. She blinked at the sight, muscles flexing under his worn henley.

“Thanks,” she said, slightly breathless, trying to keep up as he strode to her car.

“Welcome,” he said simply, setting the bags in her trunk with ease. His gaze flicked to her briefly, and he almost looked like he wanted to say more. Instead, he just gave a curt nod and walked back to his truck.

It was only a few days later when they ran into each other again, this time at the post office. She had just picked up a package that was almost comically large, far too awkward for one person to handle easily. Balancing it against her hip, she tried to maneuver her way out of the building without dropping it, muttering a steady stream of curses under her breath.

Just as the box tilted precariously, a hand appeared to steady it, large and sure.

“Careful,” came the familiar low drawl.

She blinked, startled, and looked up into a pair of blue eyes she was starting to recognize all too well. “Thanks,” she said, exhaling in relief. “Starting to think you have impeccable timing.”

His lips twitched, that almost-smile she was beginning to appreciate flickering across his face. “Just passing through.” He replied, shifting his grip on the package and effortlessly hoisting it up, carrying it like it weighed nothing at all.

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

“It’s fine,” he stated simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. He glanced at her car and walked toward it.

She trailed behind him as he easily strode with the package. By the time she unlocked the trunk, he deposited the box neatly inside, brushing his hands off quickly.

“Thanks,” she said again, feeling a little useless but sincerely grateful.

“It’s nothin’,” he replied, already stepping back. His eyes lingered on her for a second longer than usual before he turned toward his truck, parked a few spaces down.

She watched him go, following the deliberate, measured way he moved. Just as he reached his door, she called out impulsively, “I owe you one, you know.”

He paused, glancing back at her with a quirk of his brow. “I’ll hold you to it,” he said, the hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. And then he was gone, leaving her with a warm, unexpected feeling she carried all the way home.

The days that followed were quiet but productive. Between finishing work assignments, and tinkering with small projects around the house, she hardly noticed how much time she spent indoors until her eyes began to ache from staring at her laptop screen for hours on end.

One crisp morning, the allure of fresh air proved too strong to resist. She decided to take a walk in the woods, craving a change of scenery. It had been years since the last time she’d wandered those familiar paths, but she still remembered some of the trails from her childhood summers.

As she wandered along the narrow dirt trail, the sunlight filtering through the canopy in golden shafts painted the forest in a warm, serene glow. She hadn’t expected to encounter anyone out here, but the steady, rhythmic thwack of an axe meeting wood broke through the quiet, catching her attention.

Curiosity stirred, and before she could think better of it, she found herself following the sound, her footsteps light on the soft earth.

There he was, in a small clearing just off the trail, splitting logs with effortless precision. Bucky’s axe swung high before coming down in a clean arc, the sharp crack of splitting wood breaking the stillness. A neat pile of firewood grew beside him, while fresh rounds waited in a haphazard stack.

He hadn’t noticed her yet, too focused on his work, and she found herself lingering longer than she should have, watching the way his muscles moved beneath his shirt and how his hair stuck to his forehead.

When he finally glanced up and spotted her, her stomach flipped. His brows knit together in mild surprise, and he straightened, propping the axe against a nearby stump.

“You lost?” he asked, with a low and even voice, though his tone wasn’t unkind.

She stepped closer, shaking her head. “No, just wandering. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t,” he said, grabbing a rag from the pile and wiping his hands. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, like he was trying to piece together why she was there. “Trail gets tricky up ahead. Lots of roots and uneven ground.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, glancing around the clearing. “This your spot?”

He nodded once. “Helps to stay busy.”

She looked at the pile of wood, then back at him. “Looks like more than just ‘staying busy.’”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Winters here are rough.”

There was a pause, not quite awkward, but heavy. She shifted her weight, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, it’s impressive. I mean, you make it look easy.”

“It’s not,” he said simply, picking up the axe again. “But you get used to it.”

She lingered, unsure if she should say more or let him get back to work. He tilted his head slightly, watching her with a curious expression.

“You like the woods?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” she said, smiling softly. “It’s peaceful out here. Different from the city.”

His gaze flicked back to the axe in his hand. “It is.” There was a weight to his words, hinting at something deeper than just the stillness of the woods, but she chose not to push.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it,” she said finally, offering him a polite nod.

“Careful on the trail,” he said again, his voice softer this time.

As she turned to leave, she couldn’t resist glancing back over her shoulder. He was already back to work, the axe slicing clean through another log. She bit her lip, shaking her head at herself as she continued down the trail.

He sighed. Winters are rough? That was the polite answer, the one people accepted without a second glance. The truth was darker, heavier. Every time the weight of old memories clawed at him -screams, chaos, the suffocating fear that came into walking a dark tunnel that could bury him alive- he found his solace in the rhythmic swing of an axe. Splitting firewood was his refuge, the repetitive motion carving out a rare emptiness in his mind.

He kept chopping, waiting until he was sure she wouldn’t glance back again. Then, he let himself linger, his eyes following her retreating form.

He was interested.

Shit.

Sam hadn’t been helping either, dropping “innocent” tidbits about her, like breadcrumbs, every time they crossed paths. How she worked from home. How she wasn’t seeing anyone. How she seemed to be settling in, though she was still getting used to small-town life. Bucky could tell Sam was trying to nudge him, but it only stirred something conflicted in him.

On one hand, he was drawn to her, from her curves to the way she smiled, also, the way her voice provoked a warmth in him he hadn’t felt in years. On the other hand, the thought of pursuing something -anything- good for himself felt... wrong. Like he didn’t deserve it.

And then there was the matter of simply not knowing how.

He was out of shape when it came to people. Always had been, even before life turned upside down. Now, with scars inside and out, the idea of approaching her felt like staring down at a puzzle he didn’t have the pieces for.

What would he even say? What would she think if she knew the mess he was?

Bucky swung the axe harder, the sharp crack of the log splitting echoing through the clearing. He flexed his fingers and tightened his jaw.

For now, all he could do was chop and hope the noise drowned out the voice in his head whispering that he wasn’t enough.

Over the next couple of months, the little town started to feel less like a temporary retreat and more like a place she could call home. The older women gushed over her porch restoration project and eagerly shared gardening tips, while the crowd closer to her age welcomed her into their fold with invitations for coffee dates or potluck dinners.

And then there was Bucky.

Though technically part of that age group, he was absent from most social gatherings. She couldn’t picture him at a potluck, anyway, sitting around sharing recipes or small talk. It just wasn’t him. Yet, in his own quiet way, he’d become more present in her life.

Bit by bit, he seemed to uncoil from whatever tension held him so tightly. He started to linger longer during their chance encounters, sometimes surprising them both with a dry, unexpected joke. Other times, he’d pitch in with simple acts of kindness, like carrying eventually heavy stuff to her car, or even fixing the wobbly step on her porch when Sam got busier and asked him to do it. He could have said no, but he still came, quietly getting the job done without any fanfare.

-----------

Then, the announcement of the annual town festival brought a new wave of excitement. It was the event of the season, where everyone came together to celebrate the town's founding. Without much hesitation, she signed up to contribute, deciding to sell pies and baked goods. Not only was it a way to contribute to the celebration, but it was also a chance to make a little extra income for the ongoing repairs to the house. The porch was done, but there was still plenty of work to do: fresh paint, creaky floorboards, and other little fixes that added up.

So, she rolled up her sleeves and got to work. The week leading up to the festival was a whirlwind of flour-dusted counters and the comforting aroma of cinnamon and vanilla. She tested each recipe to make sure they were just like her grandmother used to make.

The excitement of the upcoming festival settled over the town, and she felt like she was becoming part of something bigger, a tradition, a community.

Meanwhile, word had spread that she was setting up a booth to sell her pies. Sam, always the one to keep an ear to the ground, couldn't help but tease Bucky one morning while they were working on a new batch of supplies for the festival booths. They were building the structure for several of the vendors, and Bucky had come by to help with the heavier lifting, always lending a hand when needed.

“She’s doing a booth, huh?” Sam asked with a knowing grin as he hammered in a final nail. “Maybe you should swing by, get yourself a little sugar, hm?”

Bucky’s response was as sharp as ever. “Shut up, Wilson,” he grumbled, his eyes narrowing as he worked, but Sam could see the way his shoulders stiffened, the way he held himself a little straighter.

He stayed silent for a beat, focusing on the sturdy plank of wood he was planing down. The rhythmic scrape of the tool seemed to be the only thing keeping him calm. Sam, however, was never one to let a good opportunity slip by.

“I’m just saying,” Sam pressed on, leaning casually against the workbench, “she’s single, she’s sweet, and she seems to like you.” He smirked, his tone teetering on playful. “You could, y’know, take a shot. Maybe buy a pie while you’re at it. You can’t live on just dino-shaped mac and cheese.”

Bucky huffed a humorless laugh, setting the plane down with a bit more force than intended. “And what would I even say to her, huh? ‘Hi, I’m good at chopping wood and screwing things up.’ That’s a real winner.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “You don’t have to lead with the self-deprecating monologue, man. Just... be you. You’re a good guy, Buck, even if you refuse to see it.” He straightened, resting a hand on his hip. “And she’s clearly got some interest. Not every woman looks at a guy like he’s the only steady thing in a storm.”

Bucky shot him a sharp look, the tips of his ears unmistakably pink. “She doesn’t-“

“Oh, she does,” Sam interrupted with a grin that widened at Bucky’s growing discomfort. “And you’d see it too if you didn’t spend so much time convincing yourself you’re not worth her attention.”

For a long moment, Bucky said nothing, his jaw tightening as he flexed his left hand, a tell Sam recognized far too well. Finally, he sighed, leaning his weight on the workbench. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is,” Sam agreed, his tone softening. “But you don’t have to figure it all out today. Start small. Talk to her at the festival. Buy a pie. Hell, buy the whole booth if you have to.” He clapped Bucky on the shoulder, eliciting a grunt. “Just don’t let this pass you by.”

----------

The day of the festival arrived, and the town square buzzed with life. Booths lined the streets, each one bursting with local goods: handmade crafts, fresh produce, and jars of preserves. Children darted through the crowds, their faces painted like butterflies or superheroes, their laughter weaving through the cheerful hum of a local band playing in the distance.

Her booth stood out in its simplicity, decorated with gingham tablecloths and jars of freshly picked flowers from her garden. The pies were the centerpiece, their golden crusts glistening in the sunlight, flanked by trays of cookies and jars of homemade jam.

She adjusted the sign that read “Baked Goods – From Granny’s Recipe Box” and stepped back, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

The day unfolded in a whirlwind of chatter and laughter. Her booth was busier than she’d dared to hope, a steady stream of customers stopping to sample the pies or chat about the sign. Compliments came easily from the townsfolk, praising her buttery crusts and spiced fillings. Each kind word felt like a little victory, her heart swelling with the realization that she was becoming a part of the community.

The sun climbed higher into the sky, casting warm golden light over the bustling festival. Her booth remained busy, the stream of smiling faces keeping her occupied and distracted, though not enough to stop her from glancing through the crowd now and then.

By mid-afternoon, Sam strolled up, hands in his pockets and an easy grin on his face. "Well, well. Look at you, baking queen," he teased.

She laughed, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Hardly. But I’ll take it. Want a slice?”

Sam leaned on the edge of the booth, scanning the offerings. “Tempting, but I might be here on more of a reconnaissance mission.”

Her brow lifted. “What kind of mission?”

“You know, checking in, seeing how you're doing, and maybe scouting for a certain broody lumberjack.” He winked, and she rolled her eyes with a chuckle.

“Let me guess, he sent you to grab a pie?” she joked, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Bucky? Nah.” Sam’s grin dimmed slightly, and he gave a small shrug. “Didn’t see him around earlier. Honestly, he might not even show. Festivals aren’t really his thing.”

She tried to keep the disappointment off her face, focusing instead on adjusting a jar of jam on the table. Sam caught the subtle shift in her expression, his teasing smile softening.

“He’s around,” Sam said casually, leaning an elbow on the edge of the booth. “Bucky’s just… not much of a crowd guy. Give him time.”

Her fingers paused on the jar, but she didn’t look up. “I wasn’t-”

“Sure you weren’t,” Sam interrupted with a knowing grin. “But I wouldn’t hold it against him. People aren’t really his thing. Except, maybe, certain people.”

She rolled her eyes, her lips curving into a small smile despite herself. “And you’re just full of insight, aren’t you?”

“Hey, I’m just observin’.” He straightened up, grabbing a cookie from the tray. “And I’ll take one of these for the road. Festival’s not complete without snacks.”

She shook her head, amused as Sam strolled off, leaving her alone to greet the next customer.

The hours passed in a blur of chatter and sales, the sun dipping lower in the sky. She’d almost stopped scanning the square for him when, late in the afternoon, a familiar figure emerged.

Bucky walked slowly, his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, his gaze flicking over the booths like he wasn’t sure where to go. Then he spotted her. His shoulders straightened, and their eyes met across the square. For a moment, neither moved. Then, with an almost sheepish hesitation, he started toward her.

Each step closer felt like a mistake, and yet he didn’t stop. His eyes took in the sight of her booth, tidy and charming, and then her. She wore a casual dress under a cardigan, and a frilly apron tied neatly around her waist, the image of a vintage housewife. The dress fit snugly at her chest, the fabric pulling slightly when she moved to rearrange something on the table. It wasn’t anything overly revealing, but it didn’t matter; all of the visual information seemed to bypass his brain entirely and head directly to the south. He swallowed hard, trying to redirect his focus before he embarrassed himself.

“Hey,” he said when he reached the booth, his voice a little softer than he intended. He scratched the back of his neck, glancing briefly at the display of pies and jars before forcing himself to meet her eyes.

“Hi,” she replied, her face lighting up in a way that made the whole awkward journey worth it.

“I, uh... thought I’d stop by,” he continued, the words fumbling slightly as he fought the urge to retreat. “Looks like business is good.” He gestured vaguely at the booth, trying to seem casual, though his pulse was anything but.

“It’s been steady,” she said, her smile warm. “I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”

Her words made him hesitate, but only briefly. He nodded toward the pies, his lips twitching into what might have been the beginnings of a smile. “Figured I’d see what all the fuss is about.”

“And?” she asked, a playful glint in her eye. “Are you finding the fuss justified?”

He looked at her then, his gaze lingering in a way that made her shift her weight slightly. His lips quirked into the faintest smirk. “Seen a few tempting products,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing.

Was that... a double meaning? She wasn’t sure, but the way her stomach flipped at his tone left her biting her lip to suppress a smile.

“Well,” she said, leaning slightly against the booth, “what might you be interested in, then?”

“Got any plum jam?” he asked after a moment, his eyes scanning the jars displayed on the table.

She winced apologetically. “Sorry, sold out this morning. It’s a popular one.”

He gave a small nod, not seeming too put out. “Guess I’ll settle for a slice of apple pie, then.”

“You won’t regret it,” she said, quickly cutting a generous slice and placing it in a little paper dish. As she handed it to him, their fingers brushed briefly, a small, electric jolt of contact that she tried not to overthink.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his gaze flickering back to hers for a split second before focusing intently on the pie. He took a bite, and the deep, guttural groan that escaped him had her blinking in surprise, and then staring at him, very much not with pure thoughts.

Her gaze dropped helplessly to his mouth, where a small dollop of apple mush clung stubbornly to the corner of his lips. Oh, how she’d love to help him clean that up, maybe even by lapping it up herself. The thought had her throat going dry. “Uh, you have... there,” she managed, signaling to her own mouth because words failed her entirely.

He frowned slightly, his thumb swiping at his lips. When he missed, she gave a quick, stifled laugh, shaking her head and pointing more precisely. His next attempt was successful, and when he scooped the apple filling with his thumb and licked it clean off, her breath caught.

That should be illegal.

“Damn,” he said, glancing down at the pie with newfound respect. “Guess you can marry now.”

She blinked, startled. “What?”

His ears reddened as he fumbled for an explanation, suddenly realizing how strange that sounded. “Uh... my ma used to say... I mean, like, if a woman could cook well, she’d be ready for marriage, or something… uh, forget it.” He waved a hand, suddenly looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

“Oh no,” she said, crossing her arms and quirking a brow, her lips twitching in amusement. “Now I really want to know what your ma used to say.”

“My ma used to say,” he admitted reluctantly, “a woman who can bake a pie like this could keep a man happy for life.”

As the words left his mouth, he realized -really realized- what he’d just said. Bringing up marriage, even indirectly, in what was supposed to be casual conversation? A new low, even for him. His inward grimace was immediate, a mortifying mix of regret and disbelief at his own lack of subtlety.

She blinked at him, her head tilting slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. “Well,” she said slowly, the edge of her lip quirking up, “Bet she was the kind of person who made everyone feel at home.”

He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, she... she was something.” Hoping to steer the moment away from the awkward territory he’d stumbled into, he gestured vaguely to the booth. “Anyway, uh... pie’s great. Really.”

“Thanks, Bucky. I’m glad you like it. It’s one of my granny’s best recipes.” She smiled warmly

He nodded, his lips twitching into something close to a smile. “She taught you well.”

That earned a soft laugh from her. “Yeah, she’d make me practice until I got it just right. Burned a lot of pies before this one.”

The conversation lingered as they eased into a rhythm, the earlier tension giving way to something more relaxed. She asked about his work, curious about how he supplied Sam with lumber, and he surprised her by sharing a bit more than usual talking about the care it took to choose the right trees and how the process wasn’t just chopping wood but understanding the forest itself.

“You make it sound like an art,” she said, tilting her head thoughtfully.

“Guess it kinda is,” he admitted. “You’ve gotta respect it. If you don’t, it shows in the work.”

Before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted, cutting through their moment like a buzz saw.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to show up!”

Sam’s broad grin was radiant as he strolled up to the booth, hands tucked casually into his pockets.

Bucky groaned softly, his shoulders slumping a fraction as if bracing himself for whatever teasing was about to come. “What do you want, Sam?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Sam said breezily, his eyes darting between the two of them. “Just thought I’d check in, maybe grab some pie, see what’s happening over here.” He smirked. “Looks like I picked the right booth.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “Careful, Sam. You’re gonna run me out of inventory if you keep showing up.”

Sam leaned on the counter, grinning. “Don’t worry, I’m here only to make sure Bucky doesn’t scare off your customers with his broody face.”

Bucky shot him a glare, but Sam only shrugged, completely unfazed.

“Actually, Buck, some of the people are starting to pack up. We should get a head start on breaking down everything so tomorrow’s not such a hassle,” Sam continued, his tone shifting to business mode. “Don’t give me that look, I'm not the one who strolled in here right before closing time.”

Bucky sighed but didn’t argue. “Right, right,” he muttered but didn’t seem eager to leave just yet.

She chuckled softly at their dynamic, watching as Sam started to organize a few things, seemingly trying to speed up the process of wrapping up. “Well then, I’ll just get the last of these pies packed up.” she said, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll make it a little easier on yourself if you let us take a couple of those home,” Sam said with a grin, his eyes scanning the remaining trays. “For later, of course. Can’t let all this deliciousness go to waste.”

Bucky didn’t respond right away, but his gaze lingered on the last few slices, making it clear he wasn’t about to pass up on some baked goods.

“Yeah, well, I suppose you’re right,” she said, laughing. “Guess you both deserve some for your hard work on the structures.”

“I’m not gonna argue with that,” Sam said, grinning as he reached for the remaining slices of pie. “Besides,” he said, gesturing toward Bucky, “look at him. He must be starving. You don’t know the amount of food it takes to keep all that going.”

Bucky froze mid-chew, his fork hovering just above the plate, and gave Sam a pointed look, equal parts exasperation and disbelief. “Seriously?”

“What?” Sam shrugged innocently, though his smirk said otherwise. “It’s true. You’re always munching on something. Remember last week? Three sandwiches in one sitting, and you still stole my fries.”

Bucky’s glare sharpened, but it only fueled Sam’s amusement. “You ate half my wings, Wilson,” Bucky said dryly, his tone low and unimpressed.

“Details,” Sam said with a wave of his hand, his grin not fading. “Point is, you’ve got the appetite of a bear coming out of hibernation. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t go hungry.”

She laughed as she placed the box of pies on the counter. “Well, I can’t have that on my conscience,” she teased. “Take as many slices as you need, Bucky. We’ll call it a public service.”

Bucky shifted on his feet, his gaze darting between her and the pies. The faintest flush crept up his neck as he mumbled, “Thanks,” and slid another slice of pie onto his plate. His eyes lingered on the cookies for a moment before he reached for one, his movements a little hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure how much was too much.

“You sure?” he asked, glancing up at her, his voice quieter now.

She smiled warmly, waving off his concern. “Positive. Consider it payment for all the heavy lifting.”

He huffed a low laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up in what could almost be called a smile. “Appreciate it,” he said, his words rough but sincere.

Sam clapped him on the shoulder, almost making Bucky drop the cookie. “Alright, big guy, let’s get out of her way before you clean her out completely.

Bucky shot him a half-hearted glare but allowed Sam to steer him toward a cluster of tables nearby, his plate balanced carefully in one hand.

She watched them go, her lips curving into a smile as Sam said something that made Bucky shake his head in exasperation.

With a deep breath, she turned back to finish packing up, though her gaze flicked toward their working spot every now and then.

That night, she lay in bed, the exhaustion of the festival weighing her body down but leaving her mind buzzing. Every detail of the day replayed like a film reel, but one moment stood out above all: Bucky and his awkward, utterly endearing comment about marriage.

She groaned, burying her flushed face into her pillow like a teenager. Guess you can marry now. The memory of his hesitant, almost panicked attempt to explain himself made her toes curl, not in secondhand embarrassment but in something far warmer, more thrilling. And the way he’d looked at her as he said it... that fleeting vulnerability, his ears burning red. She shook her head, biting her lip against a smile.

An idea came to her mind while sipping her morning coffee, staring at the half-empty box of baked goods and preserves she hadn’t packed into the car the day before. She’d thought she was carrying too much, but now she saw what she’d left behind: two jars of plum jam. The very ones Bucky had wanted at the festival but hadn’t been able to get.

She turned one jar in her hand, smiling faintly. It wasn’t much, but it felt like the right thing to do, a small gesture to thank him for all the ways he’d helped her. A friendly token, nothing more. The thought made her nerves tingle anyway.

Shoving those thoughts aside, she packed the jars into her backpack, laced up her boots, and headed out. She made her way toward the spot where she’d found him last time, the rhythmic thwack of his axe cutting through wood still vivid in her memory. She tried not to feel disappointed when the clearing came into view and she didn’t see him right away, but then a faint rustling sound caught her attention.

Bucky was there, further back, crouched near a stack of neatly cut logs, inspecting a wedge that had splintered unevenly. He looked so at ease in his element, that she almost turned back. But then he shifted, his head tilting slightly as if he’d heard her approach.

“Hey,” she called, her voice lighter than intended.

He stood, turning to face her. His brow furrowed slightly in surprise, but it softened quickly. “Hey.”

“I, uh...” She adjusted her backpack strap, suddenly feeling awkward for tracking him down like this. “I had some leftovers from the festival, and I remembered you wanted plum jam. Turns out I had two jars I didn’t even bring.” She opened the backpack and pulled them out, offering them with a tentative smile. “Figured I’d bring them to you as a thank-you for all the times you’ve helped me out.”

Bucky stared at the jars, his expression unreadable at first, but then his lips tugged into the faintest hint of a smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” she said, shrugging lightly. “But I wanted to. It’s just jam, anyway.”

“Just jam,” he repeated, taking the jars from her hands, his fingers brushing hers briefly. He glanced at the labels, then back at her. “Thanks. Really.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, feeling breathless under his intense gaze. She stuffed her hands into her knitted jacket pockets, trying to play it cool. “Hope it’s as good as my pies.”

His lips twitched, that almost-smile appearing again. “Guess I’ll have to let you know.” For a moment, neither of them moved, then he cleared his throat, gesturing toward the logs behind him. “You walked all the way out here just for this?” he asked, slightly lifting his brow.

“Pretty much, yeah,” she admitted, her voice softening as a hint of shyness crept in. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, suddenly very aware of how much effort she’d put into this small gesture.

Bucky’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, “That’s... thoughtful of you.”

Her cheeks warmed under his quiet scrutiny, but she forced a casual shrug. “Well, I figured it beats letting them collect dust in my pantry.”

“Still,” he murmured, “thanks. Means a lot.”

“You’re welcome. I, uh...” She glanced at the jars in his hands, suddenly unsure of herself. “I won’t take more of your time. Just wanted to...” She gestured vaguely toward the jam, the movement almost bashful.

Bucky’s gaze softened, his grip tightening slightly around the jars. Before she could step away, he called after her, his voice rough yet almost hesitant. “Hey.”

She turned back, catching the flicker of something earnest in his expression.

“Thanks again,” he said simply, holding up the jars slightly.

Her smile softened, more genuine now. “Anytime.”

Bucky stood there for a long moment after she left, staring at the jars in his hands. The deep, rich purple of the jam glinted faintly in the sunlight filtering through the trees, but his mind wasn’t on the contents. It was on her. The way her voice had faltered, the slight hesitance in her movements when she handed them to him, like she wasn’t sure if he’d even want them.

Why the hell wouldn’t I? he thought bitterly, his jaw tightening. He shifted the jars to one hand, his free one dragging down his face. Damn it.

The easy confidence he used to have, -the kind that once let him charm anyone he wanted- was long gone, worn away by years of service that had left their mark on his body and mind. His scars, both visible and hidden, weren’t just marks; they were reminders of a life split into before and after. He set the jars carefully on a stump, picking up his axe again and turning back to the log he’d been working on.

The first swing came down harder than necessary, the wood splitting with a satisfying crack.

What if Sam was right? What if she really did like him? What the hell would he even do with that? He couldn’t imagine someone like her -a woman who baked pies for town festivals and brought plum jam out to the woods- being happy with someone like him. Someone who carried more baggage than he knew how to unpack.

The axe came down again, the sharp sound echoing through the clearing.

She deserved better than someone like him. Someone whole. Someone who didn’t wake up in cold sweats or flinch at loud noises. Someone who could stand in a crowd without feeling like the walls were closing in. He couldn’t even have a simple conversation without fumbling over his words like a damn teenager.

Another swing and the log finally gave way, splitting clean in two. He adjusted the pieces and started again, the rhythmic motion grounding him even as his thoughts spiraled.

And yet... there she was, walking through the woods just to give him something she thought he’d like. Her smile was genuine, her laugh soft, and for a moment, it had felt almost normal, like maybe he wasn’t the broken mess he’d convinced himself he was.

Don’t kid yourself.

The axe paused mid-air as his gaze flickered to the jars again. She wasn’t just being polite, was she? There had been something in her eyes, something he didn’t know how to name but felt keenly.

God, I used to be good at this, he thought, lowering the axe and resting his hands on the handle. Before everything went to hell, before the nightmares and the scars and the sense of being completely out of place in a world that had moved on without him, he’d known how to read people. Known how to charm them.

Now, he couldn’t even tell if the kindest gesture he’d received in years was just... friendliness.

Bucky exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on the axe. He had no answers, only doubts, and a feeling in his gut that maybe, just maybe, he was about to screw this up like he did everything else.

----------

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the living room curtains as she sat cross-legged on the couch, her laptop balanced on her knees. She rubbed her temples and glared at the screen, rereading the same sentence for what felt like the hundredth time. The latest manuscript she was proofreading was a Highlander romance, complete with a Marie Sue, a couple of brawny warriors, and more plaid than a fabric store. It wasn’t that she disliked the genre, but this one was so cliché-ridden it was almost impressive.

“And then his emerald eyes bore into hers, as if he could see the depths of her soul,” she read aloud, her tone dry. She let out a groan, rolling her eyes for what felt like the fiftieth time that day. “Of course he did.”

Still, it paid the bills. She took a sip of her now lukewarm tea and leaned back, debating whether to power through or take a break. That’s when a knock sounded at the door.

Her brows furrowed. Dorothy, the old lady he met at the general store, had mentioned bringing over some plant bulbs today, and it was her signature to show up unannounced. Closing the laptop with a sigh of relief at the distraction, she stood and padded to the door.

“Dorothy, you didn’t have to-” she began, opening the door with a welcoming smile, only to have the words die in her throat.

It wasn’t Dorothy.

Bucky stood there, one hand gripping a well-worn toolbox and the other shoved casually into the pocket of his jeans. The red henley he wore was snug enough to highlight the curve of his shoulders and the breadth of his chest, but not enough to look like he was trying. His hair was slightly mussed, as if the wind had tussled it just before he knocked, and the faintest hint of stubble shadowed his jaw.

For a second, neither of them spoke. She blinked, her surprise evident, while he cleared his throat and offered a small, almost sheepish nod.

“Hey,” he said, his deep voice tinged with a hint of hesitation. “I, uh... remembered you mentioned during the festival needing to fix a couple of roof tiles.” He lifted the toolbox slightly as if to emphasize his purpose. “Thought I’d stop by and take care of it. For the jam.”

It was a perfectly logical explanation, but the sight of him on her porch, looking like an ad for rustic competence, left her momentarily speechless.

She groaned inwardly, the warmth of embarrassment creeping up her neck as she registered her current state, an old pair of sweatpants and an even older shirt with a faded logo, complete with a jam stain right across the bosom. Great. Just great.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she finally managed, her voice brushing off the initial surprise as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Really, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Bucky shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small, easy smile. “Figured I owed you one. Besides, it’s no trouble.”

Despite herself, her lips quirked in a smile as she stepped aside and gestured toward the side of the house. “Well, okay then. The tiles that need fixing are just over there.”

He nodded, his movements purposeful but unhurried, as he turned toward his truck. “I’ll grab my ladder and get started.”

As he walked away, she shut the door with a quiet click and let out a soft exhale, leaning her forehead briefly against the cool wood. A glance down at her outfit made her wince. Nope. There was no way she was standing out there in this while Bucky Barnes fixed her roof looking like a walking ad for rugged, small-town charm.

She bolted for her room, tearing through her wardrobe with newfound urgency. A simple casual dress with a V neckline and cardigan was the winning combo, comfortable enough for an impromptu chat but still presentable. She smoothed the fabric over her hips and checked her reflection in the mirror, brushing her hair back into place before heading back to the living room.

The faint clink of metal outside signaled that Bucky was already at work. Feeling slightly more put-together, she made her way to the kitchen to make some lemonade, hoping she didn’t look like she was trying too hard.

Once the lemonade was ready, she poured a glass, her movements steady as she tried to keep her thoughts from spiraling. It wasn’t a big deal. Just a neighborly gesture to bring him something cool while he worked. Absolutely no ulterior motives, she told herself firmly, ignoring the tiny thrill that ran through her at the thought of talking to him again.

After tidying up a few things to stall for time, she finally stepped outside, the lemonade glass balanced carefully in her hand. The sun had warmed the air, and she spotted Bucky perched on the ladder, one boot firmly planted on a lower rung as he worked to secure a tile.

“Hey,” she called out lightly, making her way toward him.

He glanced down, his hands pausing mid-adjustment. His gaze caught on her new outfit, lingering for a moment before flicking back to her face. She wasn’t imagining it, the slight shift in his expression was hard to miss.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious under his sharp blue eyes, she offered the glass with a small smile. “Thought you might want something to drink.” Then, in a rush of nervous energy, she added, “Dorothy was supposed to drop by, so I figured I should look a little more... put together.”

His gaze flickered briefly to the neckline of her dress, the height of his vantage point affording a view to skin that other way should be concealed by cloth. For a split second, his focus lingered on the swell of her breasts before he forced his attention back to her face with an unreadable expression.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly, reaching down to take the glass. His fingers brushed hers for a fraction of a second, the callouses rough against her skin, and she fought the urge to shiver at the contact.

“You’re, uh, making good progress,” she said, nodding toward the roof as if that would distract from the warmth in her cheeks.

“Not much to it,” he replied, taking a sip. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he drank, and her eyes dipped of their own accord, watching the movement.

When he handed the glass back, their fingers brushed again, and she swore his hand lingered just a moment longer this time.

She lingered by the ladder, holding her glass of lemonade, the condensation cool against her fingers. “You and Sam did a great job building the booths for the festival,” she said, her tone casual. “Not only a provider, huh? Seems like you’re quite the handyman too.”

Bucky glanced down at her, his lips twitching into a faint smile before he focused back on the tile he was securing. “It wasn’t just us. Plenty of other guys helped out.”

“Still,” she insisted, watching the muscles in his forearms shift as he worked, “it’s cool. You don’t see that kind of dedication every day.”

He didn’t respond right away, his grip tightening on the hammer. The compliment clearly unsettled him, and for a split second, his aim wavered. The hammer came down too close to his thumb, and he muttered a sharp curse under his breath.

“Are you okay?” she asked, stepping closer instinctively. Her brows knit together with concern as she watched him shake out his hand.

“Peachy,” he muttered with a gruff voice, though the faint pink creeping up his neck gave away his frustration, whether from the near miss or her watchful presence, she wasn’t sure.

Her lips twitched at his tone, but she held back a laugh, not wanting to poke the bear. “Alright, then. I’ll leave you to it before I distract you into taking off a finger.”

He glanced down at her, his blue eyes sharp but not unkind. “You’re not a distraction,” he said after a beat, his voice softer this time.

Her stomach did a little flip, but she forced herself to keep her tone light. “Still, I’d hate to be the reason you get hurt. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

He gave a small nod, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned back to his work, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

She stepped back toward the house, clutching the empty glass tightly as she crossed the threshold and shut the door behind her.

With a deep breath, she returned to the couch, her laptop waiting for her where she’d left it. But even as she opened the screen and stared down the next line of plaid-covered Highlander melodrama, her thoughts drifted back to the man on her roof and the way his gaze lingered just a second too long.

---------

The knock at the door startled her out of the repetitive loop of her manuscript edits. Leaving the laptop on the coffee table, she stood, smoothing the fabric of her dress instinctively. When she opened the door, there he was, a faint sheen of sweat on his face and his toolbox in hand.

“All done,” Bucky said, his deep voice a little quiet, as though he wasn’t entirely sure how to say more. He gestured vaguely toward the roof with his free hand. “The tiles should hold up fine now. No leaks to worry about.”

Her smile was warm as relief and gratitude washed over her. “Thank you, Bucky. Really. That was so kind of you to come by and take care of it.”

He gave a small shrug, his lips twitching into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t take long. Figured it’d save you some hassle.”

“Still,” she said, stepping back to open the door wider, “you didn’t have to. Can I at least get you something? Another drink, maybe?”

He hesitated, his hand tightening slightly on the handle of the toolbox. “You don’t have to-”

“I insist,” she cut him off gently, her smile unwavering. “Please. It’s the least I can do.”

After a beat, he nodded, stepping over the threshold with a cautious ease, as if unsure of how much space he was allowed to take up. She led him to the kitchen, motioning for him to sit at the small table while she poured a fresh glass of lemonade.

He sat stiffly, setting his toolbox carefully by his feet and rubbing the back of his neck. The kitchen smelled faintly of citrus and sugar, a scent that mingled oddly with the outdoorsy hint of sawdust and sweat he carried with him.

“Here,” she said, placing the glass in front of him before sitting across the table. “I hope it’s still cold enough.”

Bucky nodded his thanks, taking a sip. The silence stretched for a moment, not uncomfortable but loaded with unspoken thoughts. She was the first to break it.

“So, how long have you been working with Sam?” she asked, leaning her arms casually on the table.

He set the glass down, his fingers lingering on the rim as he answered. “A few years. Helps keep me busy.”

She tilted her head, studying him with quiet curiosity. “Do you supply the rest of the workshops and stores too?”

Bucky let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “Not really, just a few. Don’t think anyone’s lining up to hire a guy like me.”

Her brows knit together. “I don’t know about that. You’re dependable, skilled... and clearly a good neighbor.”

Her words caught him off guard, and he looked down, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Just doing what needs to be done,” he mumbled.

“More than that,” she pressed, a hint of teasing in her tone now to lighten the moment. “If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I wouldn’t believe how fast you fixed those tiles.”

Bucky shook his head, his lips twitching into that barely-there smile again. “It’s just a roof.”

“To you, maybe,” she said lightly. “To me, it’s one less thing to worry about. And I really appreciate it.”

Her sincerity left him quiet for a moment, his fingers tightening briefly around the glass. He glanced up at her, meeting her eyes. “You’re welcome,” he said finally, with a low voice.

Another pause lingered between them, she smiled, leaning back slightly in her chair. “Well, if you ever need more jam -or a roof to fix- you know where to find me.”

He chuckled softly, the sound surprising even himself. “Guess I’ll keep that in mind.”

Their gazes held for just a beat too long before he stood, his hand already reaching for the toolbox. “I should get going.”

“Of course,” she said, standing as well, though she didn’t move to rush him out. “Thanks again, Bucky.”

As Bucky made his way toward the door, his gaze swept briefly over the living room, pausing on the open laptop resting on the coffee table. His steps slowed, curiosity flickering across his features. “What’s that you’re working on?” he asked, tilting his head toward the screen.

She followed his gaze and let out a soft, sheepish laugh. “Oh, just... proofreading a manuscript.”

He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly. “What kind of manuscript?”

Her lips parted as if she might dodge the question, but his steady, inquisitive look made it clear he wasn’t letting this one go. “It’s, uh... a romance,” she admitted, her voice almost shy.

His brow lifted a little higher. “About?”

She hesitated, fidgeting slightly under his gaze. “It’s... okay, it’s one of those super cheesy historical romances. You know, with a rugged Highlander and a maid who’s swept up in some dramatic, forbidden love affair.” Her words tumbled out in a rush, her cheeks warming as she spoke.

Bucky’s expression shifted. First skeptical, then mildly amused, and finally landing somewhere between disbelief and intrigue. “And that sells?”

“It’s a very popular topic,” She nodded, already cringing inwardly. “It’s... well, it’s got a lot of dramatic tension, flowery descriptions, and... other stuff.”

“Like what?” he asked, genuinely curious, his head tilting slightly as he leaned against the doorframe.

She bit the inside of her cheek, debating how much detail to share. “You know... dramatic misunderstandings, passionate declarations, epic sword fights... and, uh...” She trailed off, waving her hand vaguely. “Other... things.”

“Other things,” he repeated, his lips twitching like he was trying not to smile. “You mean... the spicy stuff?”

Her cheeks flamed, and she groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Yes, okay? That stuff. Happy now?”

He chuckled making her peek at him from behind her fingers. “Didn’t take you for someone who’d spend their day reading about shirtless Highlanders sweeping maids off their feet.”

“I don’t spend my day reading it,” she shot back, lowering her hands to glare at him, though her expression was more embarrassed than angry. “I’m proofreading. There’s a difference.”

“Right,” he said, dragging the word out like he wasn’t entirely convinced. “So you’re not secretly daydreaming about a plaid-wearing, hero coming to whisk you away?”

“Absolutely not,” she replied firmly, though the faint crack in her voice betrayed her mortification.

He smirked, finally stepping back from the doorframe. “Good to know.”

She crossed her arms, watching him as he moved toward his toolbox. “Not that you’re one to judge,” she called after him. “You seem to know an awful lot about what goes on in those books for someone who’s never read one.”

That stopped him in his tracks. He turned back, his gaze narrowing slightly, though there was still a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I have a sister,” he said simply, as though that explained everything.

Her mouth opened, then shut, caught off guard. “Touché,” she murmured, conceding the point. Still, she couldn’t let it rest. “But honestly, this one is so bad, I don’t get how the editors went along with it.”

His curiosity piqued, and Bucky tilted his head. “And why’s that?”

“It’s just... so cheesy,” she said, her voice dipping with exaggerated drama. “Way too fluffy, the guy won’t stop talking about his feelings, and he’s clingy in a way that makes me cringe.” She shuddered a little for effect.

Bucky raised a brow, his thumb absently tapping against the handle of the toolbox. “So... that makes it bad for the genre? Or is that your personal taste talking?”

She blinked, thrown off by the question. “I-what?”

“I mean,” he continued, leaning casually against the doorframe, “aren’t romance novels supposed to be... you know, emotional? Feelings and all that? Or is it just not your thing?”

She frowned, his thoughtful tone making her pause. “I guess... it’s not the emotions that bother me,” she admitted, her arms crossing loosely. “It’s the way it’s written. This guy is just so... over the top. He’s constantly swooning over her, saying how she’s his whole world, his sun and stars... it’s too much. Like, tone it down, man.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, and he gave a small, thoughtful nod as if chewing over her words. “So, you’re more into the... brooding types?”

Her face warmed slightly at the observation, but she shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Maybe. I like characters who... don’t lay it all out at once. You know, someone with a little mystery.”

A long silence stretched between them, his gaze lingering on her as if trying to read between the lines. “Sounds like it’d be tough to figure out what they’re thinking.” He observed.

She raised a brow at that, tilting her head. “Sometimes actions speak louder than words, you know.”

Bucky seemed to consider that, his fingers flexing lightly around the handle of his toolbox. He nodded once, then glanced toward the door. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your... highlander drama.” He shifted his weight, toolbox in hand, and turned toward the door. But as he stepped through, he hesitated, glancing back. “Hey,” he said, his tone quieter now, almost hesitant. “If, uh... if you ever need something else, just let me know.”

She smiled “I will. The same goes for you, thanks again.”

He nodded, a small, almost shy tilt of his head, before stepping fully out the door. She stood there for a moment, staring after him as the faint crunch of his boots faded down the path. The quiet of her house enveloped her as she closed the door, replaying snippets of their conversation.

She had barely made it back to the couch when her phone buzzed. The screen lit up with a text from Sam:

Hey, I’m grilling tonight. You should come by. No excuses.

A smile tugged at her lips. The idea of stepping out, getting off her screen, and being around people sounded better than staying cooped up with plaids and cringy lairds. She quickly texted back her agreement.

The gathering was small, just a handful of locals chatting around the glow of the garden lights and the firepit, the scent of burning wood mingling with spiced cider in the air.

She wasn’t expecting to see Bucky there, given he wasn’t the social type but there he was, standing slightly apart from the crowd, his hands shoved into his pockets as he listened to a conversation between Sam and another neighbor.

She hesitated, her pulse quickening at the sight of him. Sam spotted her, waving her over. “Hey, glad you made it! C’mon, grab a drink.”

She made her way to the table laden with snacks and drinks, feeling Bucky’s gaze on her as she poured herself some cider. When she turned, he was standing just a few steps away, his expression unreadable in the flickering firelight.

“Hey,” she said, her voice a touch breathless. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

His lips quirked in a half-smile. “Sam can be... persuasive.”

She laughed softly “Yeah, he’s good at that.”

They stood there in companionable silence for a moment, and then, as someone started strumming a guitar on the other side of the yard, Bucky glanced at her, his blue eyes glinting with something she couldn’t quite place.

“Walk with me?” he asked, with a low but steady voice.

Surprised, she nodded, and they left the noise and light of the gathering behind, stepping into the quiet shadows of the trees that bordered Sam’s property.

As they walked, the only sounds were the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant chords of the guitar. Finally, he spoke.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began with a cautious tone like he was testing the waters. “About what you said earlier. About liking... brooding characters.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Oh?”

His gaze stayed forward, but his hands fidgeted at his sides. “Got me wondering if you really meant that. Or if you were just... making conversation.” The vulnerability in his voice sent a wave of warmth through her.

“I wasn’t just making conversation,” she admitted softly.

He stopped walking, turning to face her fully. The firelight was distant now, casting only the faintest glow, but she could still see the intensity in his expression. “Good,” he said, his voice rougher now. “Because I don’t want to keep wondering.”

Before she could respond, he stepped closer, his hand brushing hers, tentative but deliberate. And when she didn’t pull away, he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin as his lips captured hers in a kiss that was both hesitant and deeply certain, as if he’d been waiting for this moment far longer than he dared to admit.

She melted into him, her hands sliding up to his shoulders. That small gesture gave him all the permission he needed. Tilting his head, he traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, a gentle yet deliberate request. She parted her lips for him, granting entrance, and he deepened the kiss with a low, quiet sigh that sent warmth spiraling through her.

His hand slid to the curve of her lower back, pulling her closer, while the other found its way to her nape. His fingers tangled gently in her hair as he cradled her. Their kiss broke slowly, reluctantly, his lips brushing hers one last time as if he couldn’t quite let go. Bucky lingered close, his breath warm against her cheek, his nose skimming along her jaw before dipping to her neck. He pressed his face there, inhaling deeply, and his quiet, teasing voice sent a shiver down her spine.

“This too clingy for you?”

A soft laugh escaped her, though it dissolved into a breathy sigh as she tilted her head, exposing more of her neck to him. “Shut up,” she murmured, her fingers threading through his hair, keeping him close. Whatever witty retort she might have had melted into nothing as he pressed a lingering kiss to her pulse point.

Bucky’s lips lingered against her neck for a moment longer before he pulled back just enough to look at her. His fingers at her nape flexed, and then his gaze dropped briefly to her lips. Her heart stuttered as he closed the distance again, this time more demanding. His mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was deeper and hungrier. Gone was the tentative sweetness, this was need, raw and unrestrained. His hand slid from her lower back to her hip, splaying wide, pulling her flush against him as if he needed to eliminate even the smallest gap between them.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, throaty sound from him that sent a thrill through her. She arched into him instinctively, and his hand slid down to the hem of her dress, his fingers brushing her bare thigh. His touch was deliberate, teasing, but his restraint was evident. Her hands left his hair, sliding down to his chest, the soft flannel brushing her palms before she gripped the fabric and tugged him closer. He responded instantly, groaning softly into her mouth as the hand on her nape angled her tighter against his lips.

When they finally broke apart, their breaths mingling in the charged silence, he pressed his forehead to hers. Neither of them moved to step away, the distant chatter and laughter around the grill fading into the background. The weight of unspoken need between them was palpable.

“We should...” she started, her voice catching slightly. Then, more firmly, “We should go somewhere.”

His head lifted slightly, blue eyes dark as he searched hers for a beat before a slow smile tugged at his lips, agreeing with a low voice.

Without another word, he took her hand, intertwining their fingers briefly before leading her away. They drifted toward the edge of the yard with casual ease, their steps slow enough to avoid suspicion but quick enough to betray their shared urgency. Once they’d slipped into the cover of the trees bordering Sam’s property, she turned to him, their bodies close in the dim light of the evening. “Your truck or...?”

Bucky’s brows shot up at the suggestion, and for a moment, the idea tempted him, briefly, wildly. Considering the insistent ache in his jeans, the thought held undeniable appeal. But then, reason settled over him like a cool breeze. Not like this. Not tonight.

His lips quirked into a lopsided smirk, and he leaned in just enough that his voice sent a shiver through her. “Your place,” he murmured, low and deliberate.

The shift in his tone left her breathless, her pulse hammering against her skin as her cheeks warmed. She nodded wordlessly, her hand tightening slightly around his as they moved with quiet purpose. The path back to her house felt electric, each step charged with anticipation.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Bucky turned sharply, cornering her against the solid wood. His hands framed her face as his lips captured hers again, more demanding this time, his body pressing into hers with a heat that left no room for misinterpretation. She gasped softly into the kiss, the feel of his hardon against her stomach sending a jolt of desire through her.

Her fingers tangled in his long hair, tugging just enough to make him growl low in his throat. The sound vibrated between them, primal and electrifying. He broke the kiss just enough to murmur, his voice gravelly, “Where’s the bedroom?”

She pointed vaguely down the hall, her breath hitching. Before she could blink, his strong hands were gripping her waist, and he effortlessly threw her over his shoulder in one smooth motion.

A surprised squeal left her lips, and she braced herself against his back, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. His hand splayed firmly over her rear to steady her, his voice teasing but thick with intent. “Easy there,” he said, the words curling with a hint of amusement.

He strode purposely through the hallway, and when they reached the bedroom, he set her down on the bed with surprising care, though his gaze was anything but gentle. He stood over her for a moment, taking her in, the way her hair fell wild around her face, her lips swollen from his kisses, her chest rising and falling with anticipation.

His tongue flicked over his bottom lip as his eyes darkened. “Damn,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with hunger, “you’re a sight.”

She shifted slightly under his intense stare, a flicker of shyness creeping in her despite her arousal. The way he looked at her, so unapologetically hungry, made her feel exposed. His lips quirked slightly as if sensing her hesitation, and he leaned down, his hand coming to rest against her jaw.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less intent.

She nodded, her breath hitching as his thumb brushed along her cheek. “Yeah,” she whispered.

“Good,” he replied, his lips curving into a faint smile before he kissed her again. This time, it was slower, deeper, his tongue sweeping against hers in a way that left her clinging to him, her earlier shyness melting into the heat of his touch.

Her fingers found his shirt, tugging at the hem, and he pulled back just enough to strip it off, tossing it aside without ceremony. The scars on his chest and arm caught the dim light, but the confidence in his gaze never wavered as he leaned back in, his hands sliding down her sides with deliberate, teasing slowness.

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as her eyes roamed over him, the sheer breadth of his chest and the powerful arms flexing with restrained strength. He was a bear of a man, solid and unrelenting, and she loved every bit of it.

“You know,” he began, his voice low and rough, his fingers deftly popping open the buttons of her dress one by one. “I love seeing you in these dresses and skirts.” His lips quirked into a wicked grin, his gaze flicking up to meet hers. “Makes it so damn easy to get under them. Have my way with you.”

Her cheeks burned at his words, a mixture of arousal and shyness bubbling to the surface. “Bucky...” she breathed, but her protest was feeble at best, especially as he continued his slow, deliberate assault, parting the fabric of her dress to expose more of her skin.

“That one you wore at the festival,” he went on, his tone darkening with heat as he leaned closer, his lips grazing her collarbone. “That vintage-looking thing? Sweetheart, it drove me crazy.”

She gasped softly as his hands slid over her hips, his thumbs tracing patterns against her bare skin. “Crazy how?” she managed to ask, her voice trembling under the weight of his attention.

He let out a low, throaty chuckle, his lips trailing down to the swell of her breasts. “Crazy enough to want to bend you over the booth table,” he murmured, his teeth scraping lightly against her skin, “and fuck you right there. Pies, jam… didn’t care. Would’ve made a mess of it all just to get my hands on you.”

A desperate whimper slipped past her lips as heat pooled low in her belly. Her hands slid into his hair, tugging slightly.

He growled softly at the sensation, pressing her back against the bed. His hands gripped the fabric of her dress and tugged it down her arms, exposing her fully to his gaze. “But we’ve got all the time we want now,” he said, his voice rough, his lips curving into a predatory smile. “And I plan to take my damn time.”

Her pussy clenched with anticipation as her mind whirled, trying to reconcile the quiet, awkward man she’d come to know with this unabashedly vocal, commanding version of him. It was as though he’d been holding back all this time, and now, the dam had finally burst.

Her bra followed the dress, and his sharp intake of breath sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through her. His thumb traced the curve of her breast, slow and deliberate, before he leaned in, his lips hovering just above her skin.

“Y’know,” he murmured, his voice rough and teasing, “all I could think about this afternoon was pouring that lemonade on these.” His lips ghosted over her nipple, his breath warm. “Then drinking it straight off you.”

Her gaze widened, a sudden wave of shyness overtaking her. She let out a nervous laugh, pressing her hands over her face to shield herself.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said firmly, his hand catching her wrists and gently tugging them away. His eyes burned with an intensity that made her stomach flip. “You were the one who instigated our little escape from Sam’s party, remember?”

His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn’t help the way her body arched toward him as his lips finally claimed the peak of her breast, his tongue swirling in deliberate, maddening strokes. Any remaining hesitation evaporated as he pressed his hips against hers, letting her feel just how much he wanted her.

“You don’t get to act shy now,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly against her skin. “Not after everything you’ve been driving me crazy with.”

Her voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling as she stammered, “I... I didn’t do anything...”

Bucky pulled back just enough to meet her wide-eyed gaze, his lips curving into a wicked smirk. “Oh, you didn’t?” he drawled, his tone laced with teasing disbelief. His hand slid down her side, his calloused fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “That little dress at the festival? the lemonade with that neckline? The way you bit your lower lip every time we spoke? Sweetheart, you’ve been doing everything.”

Her cheeks burned, her lips parting as if to protest, but no words came out. Instead, he leaned in closer, his nose brushing the curve of her jaw as he whispered, “And I’ve been trying real hard to keep my hands to myself... but now? Now, I’m done trying.”

Her breath caught, and before she could respond, his lips were on hers again, claiming her in a kiss that left no room for doubt. His hands roamed her body with purpose, pulling her flush against him, his erection pressing firmly against her pussy.

Her fingers found their way into his hair again, tugging gently at the strands as he groaned into her mouth, the sound reverberating through her. “You’re killing me, you know that?” he murmured against her lips, his voice rough and filled with longing. “All I’ve been thinking about is this... you... for weeks.” He kissed her again, slower and deeper this time, as if savoring the moment.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he rasped when they parted for air, his forehead resting against hers. “But you’re about to find out.”

He left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down her body, his lips lingering on every inch of skin as if committing her to memory. When he reached the waistband of her drenched panties, he paused, his hands gripping her thighs firmly to keep her in place. Pressing his face against the soaked fabric, he inhaled deeply, a guttural groan rumbling from his chest.

“God, you smell so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with hunger. His thumbs hooked into the sides of the delicate lace, slowly pulling it down her legs as he kept his eyes locked on hers. The intensity in his gaze made her pulse thunder in her ears. “You’ve been driving me insane,” he confessed, his lips brushing against her inner thigh as he tossed the damp fabric aside. “Every time I saw you in those little dresses... I thought about this. About getting under that hemline and taste you.”

Her body quivered at his words, her fingers tangling in the sheets beneath her as anticipation coiled tight in her core. “Bucky...” she breathed, her voice a plea.

“Patience,” he said again, his voice low and teasing, but there was no mistaking the edge of hunger in it. His hands spread her thighs further apart, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he held her open. His breath ghosted over her pussy, warm and tantalizing, making her gasp and clutch the sheets. “I want to take my time with you.”

And then his mouth was on her. His tongue dragged through her slick folds with slow, deliberate strokes, before barely retreating with a sinful hum. “Fuck,” he groaned, “You taste even better than I imagined.” He paused only long enough to meet her eyes, his own dark and full of promise. “And I’ve been imagining this for a long time.”

Her breath caught in her throat as he spread her pussy lips with his thumbs, baring her fully to him. His mouth latched onto her clit, his tongue swirling in lazy circles before he nursed it with intent. The sharp jolt of pleasure ripped a cry from her lips, her hips thrusting against his mouth involuntarily.

“Bucky! oh, God!” she gasped, her voice trembling as he kept at it, alternating between sucking and flicking her sensitive nub with maddening precision. His growl vibrated against her, the sound and sensation drawing another moan from deep within her chest.

“Stay still,” he commanded, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening. The rumble of his voice sent shivers down her spine. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Two thick fingers joined the assault, sliding slowly into her wet heat, stretching her as they pressed in until they were knuckle-deep. She gasped, her walls clenching around him as he paused for a moment, letting her adjust before starting a maddening rhythm.

His mouth stayed on her clit, tongue flicking and circling in tandem with the slow, deliberate thrust of his fingers. The combination was overwhelming, a perfectly orchestrated symphony of pleasure that had her crying out his name, her thighs trembling as she struggled to keep still.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he murmured against her, his voice filled with awe and lust. His fingers curled inside her, finding that sweet spot that made her hips jerk off the bed. “Right there, huh? That’s it.”

Her breathing turned ragged, her hands gripping his hair tightly as her body climbed higher and higher toward release. He didn’t let up, his tongue and fingers working her with relentless precision, coaxing her closer to the edge with every stroke.

The orgasm tore through her like an electric shock, sharp and all-consuming. Her body clenched tight, her muscles locking for a heartbeat before releasing uncontrollable spasms. Her walls clenched around his fingers, her back arching off the bed as a sharp cry tore from her lips. He growled with satisfaction, his fingers slowing but not stopping as he rode her through her climax, his mouth pressing soft, soothing kisses to her inner thigh as she shuddered beneath him.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, pulling his fingers free slowly and bringing them to his lips to taste. His darkened gaze met hers, his tongue flicking out to clean the slick from his fingers. “You’re fucking perfect.”

She barely had time to catch her breath before Bucky stood, towering over her, his eyes dark with intent. With a sharp tug, he kicked off his work boots, the thud of them hitting the floor making her jump slightly. Then came the metallic clink of his belt, the sound sending a thrill straight through her.

Her gaze was locked on him as he unzipped his jeans, the low rasp of the zipper making her stomach tighten. He tugged them down along with his underwear in one swift motion, revealing himself in all his glory. He was all broad shoulders and thick muscle. His broad chest and left arm were marred by scars that only added to the raw magnetism he exuded. And then there was his cock. Thick, hard, and so utterly intimidating that she bit her lip at the sight.

“Like what you see?” he asked, a lazy smile pulling at his lips.

She nodded, unable to form words as her cheeks flushed.

“Good,” he said, his hand wrapping around his shaft, stroking lazily as he took a step closer. “Because you’re going to feel all of me.”

Bucky climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between her parted thighs. His hands gripped her waist, firm but careful, as though he might crush her if he wasn’t mindful of his strength. His cock rested heavy and hard against her slick folds, the head teasing her entrance as he rocked his hips slowly, coating himself.

“So wet,” he murmured, his voice a husky growl that sent a shiver down her spine. She moaned softly, her thighs trembling as the thick head of his cock pressed against her opening, the stretch beginning even before he was inside. He moved slowly, agonizingly so, letting her body adjust to his size inch by inch. Her walls fluttered around him as he filled her, her slick heat clenching tightly as he pushed deeper. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as her breath hitched. “Oh my God, Bucky... you’re so-”

“Big?” he finished for her, his tone edged with dark amusement as he paused, fully sheathed inside her. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear as he rumbled, “That’s it, sweetheart.”

Her head fell back against the pillow as she panted, her body stretched to its limit, the delicious pressure bordering on too much. But as her hips shifted slightly, the friction sent a bolt of pleasure through her that made her moan his name.

Bucky groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding to her rear to tilt her hips upward. He withdrew slowly, almost to the tip, before thrusting back in with deliberate care. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he murmured, his gaze locked on her face as he started to move in earnest.

His pace began slow and steady, each thrust measured, but it wasn’t long before his control began to slip. His grip on her tightened as he quickened, the powerful thrusts rocking her body against the mattress. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, the wet slap of his cock driving deep into her pussy mingling with her moans and his guttural groans.

“Hold on to me,” he ordered, his voice rough with lust. Before she could process his words, he hooked an arm under her ass and lifted her effortlessly, sitting crisscrossed with her perched in his lap.

Her arms flew around his neck, clinging to him as the new angle made him hit even deeper. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements as he thrust up into her, the force of his cock driving her wild. Her head fell forward, her forehead resting against his as she whimpered, overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure building inside her.

“Look at me,” he demanded. Her hazy eyes met his as he tilted her hips slightly forward, the firm muscles just above his shaft slapping her clit with every thrust.

She cried out, her nails raking down his back as the coil inside her tightened, ready to snap. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

He groaned, his cock swelling even harder inside her as he chased her climax. “I’ve got you,” he promised, his thrusts growing rougher, deeper. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me feel it.”

Her orgasm hit her hard, her pussy clamping down on his cock as she cried out his name, her body trembling violently in his arms, and he growled in satisfaction.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he ground out, his movements growing erratic as her spasming walls pushed him closer to the edge. “You’re mine, doll. Mine.”

With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself fully inside her, his cock pulsing as he spilled into her with a guttural moan. He held her tightly, pressing his forehead to her shoulder as they both panted, their bodies trembling from the intensity of their encounter.

For a moment, neither of them moved, the room filled only with the sound of their heavy breathing. Then, with utter gentleness, Bucky eased her back onto the bed, his body following hers as he stayed buried inside her. He braced himself on his forearms, keeping his weight off her but staying close enough that she could feel the warmth of his skin against hers.

A lazy smirk tugged at his lips as he glanced down at her, the faintest hint of mischief in his eyes. “So,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, “better than the breathtaking Highlander?”

Her breath hitched before she burst into laughter, making his smirk widen. “Oh, so much better,” she stated, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a quick, playful kiss. “I find the curt and gloomy lumberjack character more appealing.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his smirk faltering just slightly. “Curt and gloomy, huh?”

She nodded, her voice turning softer. “Mysterious. Rugged. A little broody. Kind. Thoughtful. Handsome.”

He blinked, caught off guard by the weight of her words. A faint flush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks, and he glanced away, suddenly looking very much like the socially awkward man she’d come to adore.

“Didn’t know I was signing up for flattery,” he muttered under his breath, his ears reddening as he busied himself with brushing away a strand of hair hanging on his face.

She laughed and cupped his cheek, gently forcing him to meet her gaze. “Just telling the truth,” She said softly, her thumb brushing over his stubbed skin.

He swallowed hard, the blush deepening as his lips twitched into a shy, crooked smile. “Still not used to it,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a murmur.

“Guess I’ll just have to keep saying it until you are,” she replied with a grin, pulling him down for another kiss before he could argue.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #fatws bucky #bucky barnes fanfic #the winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x female reader #winter soldier fanfiction #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader #Lumberjack!Bucky

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p0orbaby · 12 hours ago

Note

if you’re still doing blurbs could you do one with alexia where she’s dating a doctor who has a very busy schedule, and alexia has a concussion in the training and gors to the hospital, and alexia sends a message to reader telling about it but r doesn’t see and when shes going to take care of the next patient it’s alexia? lmao or maybe alexia and r have a daughter and her daughter gets injured and shes the next patient and r goes feral about it idk

i changed the injury but i hope you still like it !

The shift is hell, as usual. You’re striding through corridors, flicking through paperwork and half-listening to one of the interns ramble about a patient they’re struggling to diagnose. Something about abdominal pain and “maybe a foreign object ingestion?” You nod distractedly, mentally filing it under deal with later.

“Just send them for imaging,” you say, not breaking your stride. “And next time, don’t say ‘foreign object’ like you’re narrating a true crime documentary. It’s unsettling”

The intern stammers out a response, but you’re already waving them off. “You’ll be fine. Go. Be great or something.” Another day, another long list of problems, it seems. You let yourself drift into autopilot, the professional rhythm of your job taking over as you stride towards the cubicle and pull back the curtain.

“Hi, I’m Dr Putellas,” you begin, still not looking up. “What seems to be—”

“¿Estás bromeando?”

You freeze. Your grip on the clipboard tightens, and your heart drops into your stomach because that voice, that exasperated, honey-warm, decidedly unimpressed voice, belongs to your wife.

Your injured wife, apparently.

“Alexia?” you blurt, snapping your head up to find her sitting on the exam table, her left leg stretched out in front of her, an ice pack balanced precariously on her knee.

She doesn’t look happy.

“Hola, cariño,” she says, dry as dust. “Fancy seeing you here”

For a moment, all you can do is stare, caught between disbelief and irritation. “What—what happened? Why didn’t you call me?”

“I did call you,” she replies, gesturing to her phone sitting next to her on the table. “Several times. Apparently, you’re very busy and important”

Your stomach twists with guilt as you instinctively check your phone. Sure enough, three missed calls from Alexia. You curse under your breath, shoving it back into your pocket and stepping closer.

“Are you okay?” you ask, switching instantly from doctor mode to wife mode. “What happened? Is it bad? Why didn’t someone—”

“Relax, doctor,” Alexia interrupts, lifting her free hand to stop your avalanche of questions. “It’s not that bad. Just a tackle gone wrong at training”

You glance at the ice pack, then at her knee, which looks swollen but not grotesque. “Define ‘not that bad.’ Can you move it?”

Alexia sighs like you’re overreacting and flexes her leg a little, wincing but managing. “See? It’s fine. Probably just a sprain”

“Sprains don’t feel fine,” you mutter, already pulling on gloves and grabbing your supplies. You kneel down, gently pressing around her knee, watching her face for any reaction.

“Your hands are cold,” she says, the corner of her mouth twitching like she’s trying not to smile.

“Your knee is swollen,” you counter.

“Touché”

You’re quiet for a moment, focused on the task. The swelling isn’t as bad as you feared, but it’s enough to set off every alarm in your mind. You sit back on your heels, exhaling slowly.

“You need imaging,” you say firmly. “Just to be safe”

“Of course I do,” she replies, her tone light but her eyes softening. “Because I’m married to the most thorough doctor in this hospital”

“Don’t flirt with me right now,” you say, though your lips twitch in a betrayed smile. “You scared me”

Her expression softens further, and she reaches out, brushing her fingers against your cheek. “Lo siento, mi amor. I didn’t mean to”

You close your eyes briefly, leaning into her touch. Then, with a deep breath, you stand up, trying to refocus.

“Alright,” you say briskly, grabbing the chart again. “Let’s get you x-rayed and figure out what’s going on. And after that, you’re resting. No arguing.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Alexia says, her smile turning mischievous. “But I might need some help resting”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Careful, Putellas. I can still make you wait for a nurse”

“Please.” She gestures around dramatically. “You’d never leave me at the mercy of hospital food”

“Not unless you keep up that attitude,” you mutter, but your heart is already lighter.

You press a quick kiss to her temple before heading for the door. “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere”

“Where would I go?” she calls after you, gesturing to her knee.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #woso #woso x reader

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starkwlkr · 1 day ago

Text

she’s always a woman | max verstappen

an: this fic is a special birthday fic for my lovely friend anto!! happy birthday love!! hope you enjoy your special day <3 also let’s just pretend that lewis wasn’t battling max for the championship in 2021 instead it’s max and the reader

tw: jos mention and narcissistic mother

Max couldn’t really remember why your friendship ended. He was always there when you needed a shoulder to cry on, when you had a bad race and needed some support, etc. He was always there so when you stopped talking to him, he was confused and hurt.

KARTING DAYS

At the time, the boys you raced against hated being beat by a girl. It was humiliating! A girl was faster than them? No way! But when Max Verstappen saw how fast you were, he was amazed. You made it look so easy.

“How many trophies do you have now?” Seven year old Max asked you as you two shared a bag of gummy bears, your favorite snack.

“I haven’t counted. What about you?” You questioned.

“I haven’t counted either.” He replied.

It was a long day of practice and all Max wanted to do was spend time with you and eat gummy bears. He noticed how you only ate certain colors like red, blue, orange and yellow. He asked why only those colors and your response was that those colors were your favorites, all the other colors looked unappetizing.

Spending time with you was something Max loved about karting. Most of the boys you competed with would rather lose than hang out with a girl, but not Max. He liked being around you. And it seemed like you liked having Max around too so it made no sense to Max why you stopped talking to him.

As time went on, Jos Verstappen kept a close eye on you. He certainly didn’t want some girl distracting his son. He kept telling Max how much of a bad influence you were, but of course Max didn’t listen. Why would he? He liked you and you liked him.

Unlike Max, your mother’s words went to your head.

“He’s just like the other boys, sweetheart. When you least expect it, he’s going to leave you heartbroken.” Your mother told you one day after another successful win. She watched the way Max stood next to you on the podium and clapped for you.

“But he’s my friend.” You said lowly.

“What did I say about this sport? You are not here to make friends, they are not your friends and neither is he. He’s competition and if you want to keep winning then you need to keep away from that boy!”

The next time Max saw you, he was the heartbroken one. Every time he kept trying to get your attention, you ignored him and turned the other way.

Did I do something wrong? Maybe I forgot her birthday? No, it was a month ago and we ate chocolate cake together.

All day Max was wondering what he did to make you upset. He had even brought a tiny bag with only red, blue, orange and yellow gummy bears for you. He had spent an hour picking out your favorite gummy bears and now you weren’t talking to him. . .

Little Max Verstappen had his first heartbreak at the hands of his first love.

The next day he figured you would start talking to him, but it was like he didn’t even exist in your world. He was starting to lose hope.

“Good, now you won’t have any distractions.” Jos told him after Max mentioned how you had stopped talking to him.

“But she wasn’t!”

“She was.” Jos confirmed.

Max stayed quiet. He knew it was no use trying to argue with his father.

As you both grew up, Max was beside you at every podium even if you weren’t on speaking terms. He hoped that maybe one day you would speak to him. He also kept a plastic bag in his bag with your favorite gummy bears to share with you in case that day ever came.

2021 SEASON

Max was both nervous and excited for the last few races of the season. Both you and him were battling for the championship. It was like a dream come true for him, both of you in Formula 1 and now you’re both in the championship picture. He wouldn’t have it any other way. To Max, it would’ve been better if you could at least acknowledge him.

It was after the Brazilian Grand Prix when Max wanted to congratulate you on your win, but had to wait until you finished with your interviews. He was eager to talk to you.

The post-race interviews were a whirlwind, but the moment that caught your attention was when a reporter, eager for a headline, asked you about Max Verstappen.

“We've heard that you and Max were childhood friends. What’s the story there? You two seem to be fierce competitors now. Was there any friendship left between you, or is it all business these days?"

Your smile tightened. It was the last thing you wanted to discuss, but you were a professional, and you knew better than to let your personal life spill over into the press room. Your gaze flicked to the corner where Max was conducting his own interviews, but you quickly refocused on the question.

“Max and I... we were friends, sure," you said coolly, your voice steady but your tone sharp, almost as if you were trying to distance yourself from the memory. "But that was a long time ago. I don’t really have time for friendships anymore. Racing’s my focus. It always has been."

“But you were so close back then," the reporter pressed. "Is it hard to battle him for the title, given your history?"

You shrugged, trying to maintain your composure. "Racing's not about who you used to be friends with. It’s about who’s the best right now. And I’m focused on being the best."

“So, no hard feelings?" he asked, genuinely curious.

You didn’t miss a beat. "No time for feelings," you replied, your lips curling into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Just results."

After finishing all your interviews, you walked back to your driver’s room. All you wanted was to lay down and take a much needed nap, but the sweet voice of a Dutchman stopped you. It had been years since you heard Max say your name.

Before you could say anything, Max stood up abruptly and walked toward you, his stride purposeful. He reached out, grabbing your arm with a firm grip, pulling you into your room without a word.

“Let go of me, Max," you whispered, but your voice cracked.

“No," he said simply, his tone rough, but his eyes were soft—something in them that you hadn’t seen in years. "I’m not letting you walk away again."

Your heart skipped a beat. His eyes searched yours, that fierce intensity you remembered from your childhood still present, though now mixed with something else—pain, perhaps. The unspoken hurt you both carried for so long hung between you two.

“Max," you began, but he cut you off.

“Why did you stop talking to me?" His voice was quieter now, but the question hung in the air, sharp and urgent. “Everyday i asked myself ‘did I do something wrong? Did I say something that hurt her?’ What is is? Why?”

Your throat tightened. You took a shaky breath, your eyes lowering to the floor. "You were my competition," you muttered. "And my mother… she made it clear. She said you would take everything from me. That I needed to stop talking to you or I’d lose everything." Your chest constricted, and you felt a sudden wave of bitterness rise within you. "She said you were nothing more than a threat to my future, and I had to focus—focus on winning.” It pained you to even remember all the talks your mother had with you about Max.

Max stared at you for a moment, taking in your words. The silence that followed was thick, the air between them charged with everything unspoken. Then, slowly, he stepped closer.

“I never wanted to take anything from you." His eyes were filled with a quiet sincerity that made your stomach twist. "I never asked for this. I never asked for us to be enemies."

Your breath hitched as a knot formed in your chest. You stepped back, your hands trembling. "But that’s what she wanted. She wanted me to beat you, to prove I was better. To make sure you didn’t have what I could have." Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out in a flood of emotion you had long kept hidden. "I—"

Your words faltered as you felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to fall. You tried to hold them back, but the weight of it all—the pressure, the competition, the years of silence—was too much. You turned away, pressing your palms to your face, feeling the dam break inside you.

Max didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, his arms enveloping you in an instant. You stiffened at first, surprised by the warmth and steadiness of his embrace. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, couldn't think. But then, something inside you snapped, and you collapsed into him, your body shaking as the tears finally came.

Max didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just held you, his hand gently rubbing your back, grounding you in the moment.

"I’m sorry," you whispered between sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You kept repeating.

His grip tightened ever so slightly, as if offering you the comfort and understanding you had been denied for so long. "You didn’t deserve any of that." You clung to him, unable to stop the flood of emotions that had been building for years.

Eventually, the tears slowed, and the sobs turned into shallow breaths. Max didn’t let go. He stayed, a quiet anchor, as if he would hold you for as long as you needed.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes were swollen, your makeup smudged, but you felt something lighter—something like relief, like a door you hadn’t realized was closed had finally opened.

“Does your dad know you’re here?” You wiped away the tears.

“I don’t really care about him right now,” Max responded. He took your hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “You need me right now.”

“Max, I don’t want you to get in trouble. You need to leave.”

“I’m a grown man. He can’t tell me who I can and any talk to.” He said.

“Then . . . I don’t care what my mother says either,” You declared. “You know, she said we couldn’t talk anymore because you were my competition. That I shouldn’t get too close to you. She thought it would make me weak."

“Your mom never understood that... you’re not my competition. You never were. You were my best friend. And I . . . I miss that.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Max.”

QATAR

The camera lights flickered on, and the usual hum of the media circus surrounded Max Verstappen as he sat in front of the press. Another victory under his belt, but the atmosphere in the room felt different today—slightly more tense than usual. The 2021 season was in full swing, and the rivalry between Max and his childhood best friend and fellow F1 driver, had become one of the most talked-about stories of the year.

“Max, earlier this week, someone that you knew quite well was quoted saying, ‘No time for feelings, just results,’ when talking about your past friendship. Given the intensity of your current rivalry, how do you feel about that statement?”

He took a breath and leaned forward, his voice steady but laced with an undeniable undercurrent of emotion.

“she’s one of the most focused and driven people I know. I don’t think anyone truly understands what it’s like to be in her head—how much racing means to her. She’s an artist, in every sense of the word, when it comes to driving. She doesn’t do anything halfway.”

A brief silence fell over the room. Max seemed to weigh his next words carefully.

“We’ve both been through a lot over the years, and yeah . . . I get why she said what she did. This sport can make you say things you don’t always mean. It can make you choose things—like cutting ties with people who used to be your family, just so you can win. But trust me, it’s not easy for her. Or for me.”

His voice softened slightly, the edge of competition giving way to something more genuine—something rooted in your shared history.

“She’s not the kind of person to just forget about things or people. I know her better than anyone,” He continued. It was as if he could talk about you all day and never get bored. “As for the championship, yeah, It’s just the way it is. But that doesn’t change the fact that I respect her more than anyone. She’s a hell of a driver, and I know what she’s capable of.”

Max leaned back slightly, the cool exterior of the driver once again overtaking his emotions. He was a fighter. And this season, he wasn’t just fighting for the title.

ABU DHABI

It had been weeks since your last conversation with Max, but occasionally you would sneak glances at each other. Maybe even smile at him, which caused the media to wonder if your friendship had finally been restored.

The paddock was bustling with the usual pre-race energy—team members darting around, engineers checking telemetry, and drivers preparing for what would be a pivotal race. But Max Verstappen was not focused on the usual chaos. He was standing in front of your motorhome, his jaw clenched as he faced a woman who had been an obstacle in his life for far too long: you mother.

All he wanted to do before the race was to wish you good luck but he had one problem that came in the form of your mother.

“This is a pivotal moment for her career, Max. The championship is on the line. She needs to focus.” Your mother spoke.

Max’s eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t need you to tell her how to focus. She’s not a child anymore. She’s not your puppet.”

She smirked, her gaze calculating. “Oh, I know exactly how to handle her. You, on the other hand, have always been a distraction. Just like you were when you were kids. I told her back then that you were competition. And look where we are now—competing for the championship.”

Max took a step forward, his voice low but sharp. “You don’t get to control her anymore. She doesn’t deserve the way you treated her. She never did. She’s not some tool for you to use to further your own agenda. She’s a person. A damn good one, too.”

Your mother raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smug grin. “And now you think you have feelings for her? After all these years? You’re wasting your time, Max.

Max’s chest tightened, a sudden rush of frustration coursing through him. He had always felt something for you—something deep and complicated—but he hadn’t realized how much until he saw you again. How could he not? The way you made him laugh, the way you understood him in a way no one else did. The way your presence grounded him when the world felt chaotic.

“I’m not wasting my time,” Max snapped, his voice rising. He was no longer just angry; there was something more vulnerable beneath his words. “I... I care about her. More than you’ll ever understand. And I’m not going to just stand by and watch you tear her down again.”

Her eyes widened, the smugness on her face faltering for just a moment. She hadn’t expected that. But she quickly recovered, her icy demeanor back in place. “You think you can just waltz in and change everything, Max? You think she’s going to forget the way I’ve always looked out for her?”

Max’s pulse was racing now. “You’ve never looked out for her. You’ve held her back. You’ve made her feel like she couldn’t trust herself. Do you know how many times she’s questioned her worth because of you?”

Before your mother could reply, Max spoke again. “If you think for a second that I’m going to back off now, you’re wrong.”

Your mother glared at the Dutchman. “I’ve spent years in Formula 1, fighting for every ounce of respect, and now I’m fighting for her, too. And I’m not letting anyone—least of all you—tell me what I can or can’t feel about her.”

His words hung in the air between them, the weight of them settling in. He turned to leave, but paused at the door of your motorhome, looking back one last time.

“Tell her,” Max said, softer now, “Tell her I’ll be waiting at the finish line. I’ll always be waiting.”

Maybe your mother would pass on the message, maybe not. Either way, Max would still be waiting for you.

The roar of the crowd still echoes in the distance, but it’s muffled, almost surreal, as you stand behind the barriers, your helmet under your arm, heart still racing from the intensity of the race. The buzz of the paddock feels far away, and your body is heavy with exhaustion and disappointment. You finished second—close, but not close enough. Max had done it. He’d won the championship, after all the drama and all the battles that had led them to this final, decisive moment.

You lift your eyes and see him, standing by his car. Max, in his usual composed way, looking like he belongs there, like he's always belonged there, standing among the team and the media, all his focus, all his attention fixed on you. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips when he spots you, but it’s the way he’s standing, waiting, that hits you. Like he said he would.

You hesitate for a moment, thinking about your mother’s words, about everything that has always been said about Max—his arrogance, his rivalry, the fact that he’s always been competition. But this, here, this feels like something different. He’s not the enemy anymore. At least, not in the way they used to think of each other.

You take a breath, and then, almost instinctively, you walk toward him. As you step closer, you hear the whisper of her mother’s voice in the back of your mind, a warning you’ve heard so many times before. Stay focused. Don’t let him distract you. He’s your competition, not your friend.

But your steps don’t falter. You reach him, and when you do, you look up at him, your gaze soft, not the hardened competitive stare it once was. Max’s grin deepens, though it’s filled with something almost bittersweet.

“I heard you were waiting for me,” You said, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Your voice is steady, but there’s a touch of vulnerability in it, something you can’t quite mask.

Max’s eyes soften, and for a moment, it feels like time pauses. He looks at you as if he’s not seeing the driver, the fierce competitor, but the girl he used to know—the one he used to race against in karting, the one who once shared the same dream, the one who still, in some ways, understands him better than anyone else.

“I told you I would,” he replies quietly, his voice low and calm. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”

Your mind flashes back to the words he said to your mother, the promise he made—I’ll always be waiting.

“You won. Congratulations.”

Max’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a certain warmth in the way he looks at you, a quiet understanding that goes beyond just racing. He takes a step closer, his voice a little softer now. “You’re better than you think. I have a feeling you’ll take it away from me next year.”

You shake your head, but there’s no bitterness in your gesture. “Next year,” you repeat. Your fingers press the edge of your helmet tighter, almost like you’re grounding herself in this moment. But there’s something else too—a sense of peace you haven’t felt in a long time. “Maybe. But I’m just glad you’re here.”

Max’s smile is genuine now. “I’ll always be here. Waiting for you to finally beat me.”

You laugh—a real laugh this time, one that’s not forced. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that one day,” you say, your voice a little lighter. “You should go with your team, I’m sure they’re waiting to drown you in champagne.”

Max chuckles, then steps forward. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, standing in the midst of the chaos, everything else fading into the background. You breathe in, realizing just how much this—this moment—matters more than the championship itself.

“So, Max, you’ve just won the title, but there’s a lot of talk about your competitor. She’s been called ‘too emotional’ in the past by some. What’s your take on how she handled this title fight?”

Max turns towards the reporter, a protective energy surging in him. He absolutely hated doing interviews, all he wanted to do was get back to you. “Well, for one, I think anyone who says she’s ‘too emotional’ is clearly not paying attention. She’s one of the most focused drivers out there. Honestly, anyone who thinks you can compete in this sport at the level we’ve been at, especially in the last few races, without being deeply passionate—well, they don’t understand what it takes.” He glances over at you, who’s trying to hide a smile while also looking frustrated with the question.

While you were a few feet away from him doing your own interview, you could hear Max. You tried hard to listen to the interview questions, but all you wanted to do was listen to what Max had to say.

“isn’t it a bit too much? The way she gets in her own head. She’s been—well, let’s just say, a bit of a perfectionist this season.”

Max shook his head, chuckling at the reporters words. “But, you know, that’s exactly why she’ll be winning a championship someday soon. I have no doubt about it, but I’m excited for the day she takes my championship away.”

Max could hear you burst into laughter at his words. His smile grew ten times bigger. “Seriously, though, she’s one of the most talented drivers I’ve ever known. she’ll steal the show when you least expect it. And maybe she’s a little bit hard to understand at times, but that’s exactly what makes her great.”

The reporter nodded. “Are you saying she’s like, uh, the Billy Joel song?” He asked confused.

Max grinned, clearly amused by the confusion. “She’s always a woman to me. Maybe I’m not the best person to explain it, but you get the idea.”

You chuckled once again as you heard Max. He really had a way with words.

“And one day, I’ll be watching her take the title with the same respect I have for her right now.”

That’s when you decide to step in after finishing your interview. “Maybe, Max. But for now, I think I'll let you have your moment. You’ve earned it.”

“We both did. I owe it all to you.”

#formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x you #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen imagine #mv1 x reader #mv33 x reader #mv33 #mv1 fic

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cherrygirlfriend · 1 day ago

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touchy subject II pairing: reader x exfiancé!rafe synopsis: seeing your ex-fiancé after four years. warnings: heavy angst. some fluff. miscarriage/stillbirth. vehicular accident. wc: 2k part 2 of touchy subject. part 3 / the final part coming soon. click here for part 1

you could feel your heartbeat in your throat, raw with unshed tears, the vision of your ex-fiancé with another woman blurred by nothing but the tears brimming at the edges of your vision, so different from the ones that ran down your cheeks the day you'd said yes to him.

"of course i'll marry you." you pulled rafe to stand up, your arms around him before you could even think about what you were doing, rafe letting out a sigh of relief. "wait, wait, i gotta ask you something." you rushed out, pulling away from the hug, his hands still staying on your waist.

"what is it?"

"is this just because i'm pregnant?" you ask, rafe's brows furrowing in confusion, yet you left him no time to respond, "it's just- i want to marry you, but i don't want you to feel like you have to ask me just because i'm pregnant, and if you want to wait until the baby's-"

you could feel how tired rafe was getting of your rant by the intensity of his lips on yours, using it to interrupt you, his fingers sliding under your jaw to help hold it up to meet his; and just like always, he didn't need to say one word for you to understand what he was communicating to you.

the moment his eyes found yours, it felt as if all the air was punched out of your lungs, like the entire planet just stopped spinning. it didn't matter that the jewelry store's display was separating you; it felt like the first time he looked into your eyes and told you he loved you.

you wanted to run, to make sure you wouldn't have to face him, to have to hear what his voice sounded when you'd already managed to forget how it was to hear it in person, but it was like your feet had rooted to the ground within the few seconds that he spotted you.

and you begged to whatever entity that once you saw him approach the exit to the jewelry store, the other woman long forgotten, that your fight-or-flight instinct would kick in, but luck was never really on your side, because there he stood, his face the same as the last time you saw him, with a few lines added here and there, and a part of you couldn't help but ache at the thought of having missed the moment they appeared.

you looked up at him, into the same eyes you'd once imagined your daughter would have, the thought making the bout of nausea in your throat even worse. a part of you wanted to congratulate him, to tell you that you were happy for him, but it felt like the words were choking you, like they were burning in your throat. but the choice to even say something was taken from you, when you heard the bell above the door to the jewelry store let out a cheery ring.

"rafe…?" the red-haired woman called out, her brows furrowed in question, and the moment your ex turned around to face her, you took the opportunity to turn the other way, begging that your feet would take you away before you threw up on the spot.

"i saw him yesterday."

"it was the first time you saw him in person since you left, correct?"

"yes. i sometimes checked up on his social media, but seeing him like this... so close to me i could touch him... it was pretty jarring. it felt like no time had passed, but also like i hadn't seen him in decades."

"and how did he look?"

"handsome." you chuckled softly, your hand going to fiddle with the locket around your neck, sliding it up and down the golden chain, avoiding looking at the zoom meeting displayed on the laptop screen. "he looked just like he looked with me. he looked happy."

"happy anniversary, rafe." you smiled softly as you pushed the gift box at him, your fiancé letting out a small tut.

"you know you didn't have to get me anything, right? you're enough for me already. both of you are."

"yeah, yeah, stop being all cheesy and chivalrous and open it already." you urged, watching as he lifted the lid of the gift box, his eyes widening as he looked down at the present, but before he could say anything, you stopped him, "look at the back of it!"

rafe rolled his eyes, picking up the steel watch from the box, and you could see his gaze soften the moment his eyes spotted the engraving on the back of the watch, the edges of his lips almost automatically twisting up at the words 'evelyn cameron'.

"is it bad that it makes me feel bitter?" you asked, chewing at the inside of your cheek, "that it's been four years, and i haven't been able to move on, but he has? that he's managed to be happy, but i haven't? that i don't know if i ever will?"

"the loss of a child..."

you couldn't help but tune out the words of your therapist like they were nothing but background noise, not knowing if it would be worse if she tried justifying your anger or if she tried to get you to understand why rafe had managed to move on, your eyes instead focusing on the heart-shaped locket you'd opened, the faces of the couple staring right at you.

"rafe, where are we?" you laughed softly, your feet hurting from the heels you were starting to regret wearing, the blonde having parked his car in front of a random house.

"you didn't think i wouldn't get you an anniversary present, did you?" when you didn't immediately answer, he pressed his hand to his chest in mock offense, shaking his head, "come on. lemme show you."

the two of you got out of the car, your heels clacking against the stone pathway leading to the house, rafe's muscular arm keeping you close to him, helping you walk.

when you got to the door, he let go of you, and you watched as he took out a set of keys without saying anything, twisting them in the lock and pushing open the door, looking to you enthusiastically, extending his hand to you.

the moment you stepped over the threshold, you were enveloped by warmth, rafe flicking on the light next to the entryway before turning to you as your eyes got used to the light, sliding his hands onto your waist, pulling you as close to him as the growing child allowed.

you looked into his eyes, yours filled with confusion while his were filled with nothing but sincerity, his thumb stroking your waist. "rafe, what's this?"

"it's our home." he said, bringing his hand to your bump, "i know it's not much, but it's got enough room for our family."

"rafe, this is-"

"this is my anniversary present for you. i won't take 'no' for an answer." he brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek, tugging it behind your ear, "i want us to build our own home. our own life."

you kicked the radiator in frustration; it seemed like no matter what, the place wouldn't warm up. you'd called a maintenance guy, but they told you that it'd take at least a week for them to get someone there, and in the middle of winter, your only option was to light the fireplace in the middle of the living room while you waited for your mom to arrive with a portable radiator she told you she'd borrow you.

you sat in front of the blazing fire, your fingers fiddling with the frayed edges of the worn-out ultrasound picture you'd looked at a million times, your voice coming out weak from the sobs you were holding in your throat.

"hi, evie." you said softly, looking to the small urn next to you, engraved with the name of your daughter as well as today's date, only five years before. "happy... happy birthday."

"hi, baby." rafe's voice called out from the speakerphone of your car, the windshield wipers wiping away some of the rain falling down on you as you drove through the dark streets lit only by the yellow streetlights above, "are you almost home?"

"i am." you chuckled softly, "seeing my mom was so nice, even though she kept being all cheesy about how big i'd gotten. i swear, she almost cried."

"come on, she's gonna meet her grandkid in a month, of course she's gonna be all cheesy. if my dad had a paternal bone in his body, i'm sure he'd be ecstatic."

"yeah, well, you're not the one whose stomach is constantly getting pawed by people." you let out a snort, looking out into the road, "listen, i'm gonna drop by the store cause little evie's craving chocolate, do we need anything?"

"nah, just need you two home as soon as possible."

"aye aye, captain. see you soon, baby." you laughed, hearing the noise that signaled that the call had been ended, eager to get home and off your feet.

but before you could even realize what was happening, you were faced with a second pair of headlights that was approaching you, another car lit up by your own yellow headlights. and you swerved.

maybe it's a part of the so-called mother's instinct to blame ourselves when something happens to our child. no matter how many people told you that it wasn't your fault, that there was nothing you could've done, every bone, every cell in your body couldn't help but beat yourself up over what happened.

rafe ran down the hospital hallway, the smell of disinfectant mixed with the feeling of his heartbeat in his ears making him feel nauseous, the man sure that it was beating 200/bpm, but finally, when he reached the hospital room the reception had guided him to, a sense of relief took over him.

a nurse walked out of the room, startled by the man, her eyes widening at the obvious sense of urgency he was displaying, "can i help you?" she asked.

"no, no, i'm just here to see my fiancé." rafe said, his hand going for the door, only to be blocked by the nurse.

"i'm sorry, but the patient has told us that she doesn't want any visitors."

"what?" rafe let out a dry, humorless laugh, his brows furrowed, "you have to let me see her, that's my fiancé. that's- that's the mother of my child."

"i'm sorry, but the patient-"

"hey!" rafe pounded the palm of his hand on the door, the hospital bed visible from the rectangle of glass on the door, the man able to see your mother hunched over your bed, holding you. "let me-"

"sir, if you don't calm down, i'm going to have to call the guards and they'll remove you from the premises."

"that's my fiancé!" rafe shouted as the nurse pushed him further from the door, "i have to go see her! you have to let me see her! just tell her that i'm here, she'll want-"

the door to your hospital room swung open, rafe meeting the crestfallen eyes of your mother, her lips pulled into a straight line. "rafe, she doesn't want to see you."

when you heard the doorbell ring, you wiped away the tears that had ran down your cheeks; you didn't want to make it obvious to your mother that you'd spent the last fifteen minutes crying, and even if she could tell by the redness of your eyes, you knew she wouldn't mention it.

you pushed yourself off the ground, placing the small urn and the ultrasound picture on top of the fireplace as you straightened out your sweater, your feet cold against the hardwood floor as you walked to the front door.

but when you pulled it open expecting to see your mother, it felt like all the air had been knocked out of your lungs, like your heartbeat shot through the roof just from the sight of his downcast eyes.

"rafe."

#rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey #outer banks fanfiction #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe x you #rafe fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron obx #outer banks fic #outer banks rafe #outerbanks rafe #rafe obx #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fic

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ennabear · 3 days ago

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imagine you and sevika still being in that “situationship” stage before you start officially dating, and you’re absolutely dying to feel her touch in any way but she’s still too guarded to let you touch her. so every time you try to grab her hand or intertwine your fingers during a meeting or conversation, she tenses up and shoves your hand away.

this would lead to you finding a loophole— grabbing onto her mech hand instead of her human hand because she can’t feel it. of course you’d have to do it softly because she can still sense something tugging on her arm, but the gentle brush of your human fingers against her metal ones would go unnoticed for as long as you want it to.

from here, 2 things could happen. one being that she notices after only a little while, probably from you pulling her hand too hard and her feeling the tug of it on her shoulder. but she would pretend not to notice, she’d let you hold her hand while she steadies her breathing and tries to focus on anything but the fact that you’re holding her hand. and she’d end up getting used to it, which leads to her admitting timidly that she knows you’ve been holding her hand, and more importantly that she likes it.

OR she doesn’t notice at all, your touch being so delicate that your right hand grabs ahold of her left one discreetly. and eventually you slip up one day, maybe forgetting to let go of her hand before she stands up and realizes that you’re attached to her. or you forget that your covert hand-holding is technically one-sided since sevika can’t feel it, so you accidentally get too bold and lean your head on her shoulder.

she’d internally freak out, thoughts zipping through her brain at a million miles per hour as she just gawks at your hand against hers. the tiniest hint of a blush would creep up against her brown skin, which looks stunning against the dark blue of her scars. your eyes would get starry as you practically melt at the expression on her face, and she’d blush even harder at the way you’re looking at her. and then—

#if she dies in act 3 i’m going down with her #SHES NOT GONNA DIE THO #sevika #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x female reader #arcane #arcane sevika #arcane season 2

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vanillamatt · 1 day ago

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vanillamatt .. talkingstage!chris & reader

matt trying to convince chris to get out of the talking stage - based on their recent ‘suspect’ tiktok

you’ve been in the “talking stage” with chris for what feels like forever. casual texts, hanging out here and there, but nothing more serious. sometimes you catch him looking at you a little too long, or he gets all soft when you laugh, but when it comes to making things official, he never quite takes that step. it’s like he’s stuck in neutral, and you’re starting to wonder if you’re the only one actually waiting for more.

matt notices, of course. he always does. one night, after chris had been texting you for what felt like hours, matt had had enough. he plops down next to chris on the couch, arms crossed, eyeing his brother with a look that says he knows exactly what’s going on.

“you still doing this, huh?” matt says, his voice light but there’s an edge to it.

“doing what?” chris replies, not even looking up from his phone as his thumb swipes over the screen.

“playing it safe. with y/n.” matt leans forward, poking chris in the side. “dude this whole ‘talking stage’ is getting old.”

chris shifts uncomfortably, setting his phone down like he wasn’t just glued to it. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“come on,” matt says, rolling his eyes. “you like her. i see how you act when her name pops up on your phone. you’re basically glued to your texts with her, and whenever shes around, you act all weird, like you’re trying to hide it, but it’s obvious, man.”

chris looks at him, slightly defensive but also a little lost. “it’s just… i don’t know. i don’t wanna rush things, you know?”

matt shakes his head, leaning back. “you’ve been not rushing for months now. she’s probably waiting for you to do something, but you’re just sitting there like a bitch, acting like everything’s fine. if you don’t make a move, you’re gonna lose your shot.”

chris looks conflicted, glancing at his phone again. he’s silent for a moment, clearly thinking about what matt said, but there’s still that hesitation in his eyes. matt sighs.

“you’ve got to stop being scared, man. if you keep playing it safe, you’re never gonna get anywhere. either you take the risk and find out, or you keep pretending like you’re not into her.”

there’s a long pause, the tension between them thick, before chris finally groans, running a hand through his hair. “you really think i should just… text her? tell her how i feel?”

matt smirks, leaning back against the couch. “hell yeah. if you don’t, i’m gonna do it for you.”

“alright, alright,” chris mutters, picking up his phone. “but you better not say anything to her.”

“promise,” matt says, grinning. “just make sure you don’t screw it up.”

chris lets out a small laugh and starts typing, his fingers moving slow at first, then faster, as if he’s convincing himself more than anyone else. matt watches, arms folded, a look of satisfaction on his face.

it’s about time.

a/n - i feel this is something that would happen

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #chris sturiolo fanfic #matt stuniolo fanfic #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo headcanon #sturniolos #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets #the sturniolos #chris sturniolo fanfic

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gravegoer · 14 hours ago

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Sevika is on the council now, GO.

Council member Sevika

thank you for this ask ive been WAITING for this !!! i love council member sevika (the only council member with a lip piercing)

masterlist (comment to be on my taglist)

You fought in that war with Sevika. You had her back, and she had yours.

At the end of that day, you went home together, injured, and exhausted.

The war had ended, but at the cost of so many losses. Peace was finally in sight.

Until enforcers knocked at your door. Sevika snapped at them, telling them to "Fuck off." But they had to be here for a good reason, right? Right.

Sevika was an important figure to Zaun. People believed in her. She is loyal to all Zaunites. that's a trait not many people have. So, of course, the council wanted her. The enforcers were there to deliver that important message

She growled at them, telling them to leave. You knew she needed time to think, even though in the back of your mind, you already knew what her decision was.

You waited an hour or so for her in bed, hearing her grunts of frustration and her pacing around the living room.

It pained you to not go comfort her but you knew this was a decision she needed to make on her own.

Sevika entered the room with a determined expression. She kneeled at your bedside and put a larger hand on yours.

"I know this is going to be a change, and you might be upset but—"

"Im so proud of you, Sevika." Your eyes glimmered with hope.

Her brows furrow at your words, and you reach up to rub the crease from her expression. "You've made it so far. You're going to do so well." She is the voice of Zaun and speaks for you all.

You know there couldn't be a better person for that position. With Sevikas loyalty, she would never make a move to put the undercity in jeopardy.

Her eyes soften at your encouragement. It's all so new to her. She knew it was going to be a hard start, but not as hard knowing you had her back. You would always be there with open arms at the end of the day.

At that thought, you hold her warm face between your hands, and she closes her eyes at your touch. She's exhausted but still relents. That's one of the things you admired about her.

That night, you held her head to your chest, comfortingly. She deserved no less. Your fingers raked through her hair gently. Her heavy arm was draped over your waist softly, and your sweet voice lulled her to sleep. There was a long day ahead of her.

In the morning, she was more affectionate than usual, kissing your forehead before she got dressed. (And then again after). Laying her head on your shoulder as you finished up your breakfast. Hugging you from behind tightly while you brushed your teeth.

She was nervous, and this was the first time you saw her this way. Albeit not the last. But it was weird seeing Sevika, who was oh-so-big-and-strong get worked up over this.

People eyed you both on your walk there. She didn't make eyecontact with anybody and stared straight ahead with a firm look. Unlike her, you waved and smiled at some curious people, holding onto Sevikas arm.

When you got to the most important building in Piltover, she insisted that you walk her into the council meeting room. At first, you refused, but at her defeated and almost scattered look, you relented.

Even though you knew it would be hard to see with the topsiders, you knew it was for the best. The council members eyed you as you stood in the doorway with Sevika. You gave her an encouraging look, and she put a hand on your shoulder, lovingly, before stepping past you.

Taking a step back, the doors shut, and you waited for her on the other side.

Sevika was a part of the worlds new beginnings. Even though she held an important role amongst the people, she could argue that your role was more important.

You kept her sane through it all.

i absofreakinglutey love council member sevika in all her 5 second screentime glory !! and i will definitely be writing for her so look out for that in the future..

#arcane #sevika #sevika x reader #lesbian #sevika arcane #arcane sevika #sevika arcane x reader #wlw #arcane netflix #arcane act 3 #arcane season 2 act 3

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meansevika · 2 days ago

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okay so very long thinkpiece about meljay and jayce' treatment of mel / the writers treatment of mel and how i think that all things considered she hasnt really won as much as we think she did

the thing about this that makes me so mad or rather sad (both, actually) is that we learn in season 1 how mel was brought up, that she didn't get to be soft and kind, that her surroundings were hard and rough just like her mother was, that love isn't a thing she knows like that especially not in relation to vulnerability. now if you think about media in general there is a pattern we know. the black woman is always the strong woman, the independent woman, the woman who doesnt get to be vulnerable bc of the first two points. so here comes this man she's trying to use not just for her own endeavors but for the good of piltover, clearly having a different mindset than her mother, and he cracks her open just like that. he's vulnerable with her and he lets her be vulnerable with him and it allows this woman this kind of vulnerability that she was never allowed to feel. she feels and she loves and there is someone who holds her and looks out for her when things go bad. he is his first thought after the bombing and hes so loving and endearing unlike her mother who is concerned, of course, but straight back to business too. and oh what a lovely thing that was to watch as a black woman who to this day still doesn't get to see this as often as we really should

so mel gets to experience something she hasnt before and you can tell it means something to her because when she gets back in act 3 the first reaction to him is an excited, hopeful one.

this is the man she cares deeply for and it is also the man who shes comforted before many times. something she needs in those very confusing times too. something she might be looking out for. something she might hope to get herself. some comforting after what shes been through for months. someone to share what is going on with her and how confusing it is to find out all those lies and secrets about herself.

until she notices how changed he is, how different he looks, so instantly she is worried. of course! who wouldnt be! she very likely didnt even know he was missing since its the first time we see her back in the city so she must've assumed he has been here and well for the whole time being (does she even know how long its been?) but it isnt fine as we know. she puts herself second! immediately! (and rewatching that scene now it actually makes me mad how she does that. and how anyone can question any of her feelings for him when shes immediately all jayce. or how in general people think shes only interested in her own goals) she asks this man who has shown her to be vulnerable around him and it BEING FINE, what happened, shes opening herself up to him, again, over and over, and he not only tells her it doesnt matter (what happened to him) but TURNS HIS BACK ON HER. he is literally shutting her off. he is saying with his body she does not get to do that. and for someone who has grown up like this, with a mother cutting off any kind of displays of weakness, this must be a familiar feeling, something that goes off like a bell

but she still tries! she still tries! she sees something is wrong but she tries to get comfort anyway, because this is jayce, right, this is the man she cares for deeply, the man who has opened this door for her and the door she's let herself through, the man who has always had compassion for her. of course she tries again. why wouldn't she? so she starts that something has happened to her but he doesn't even let her tell him what happened (actually it makes me so mad seeing this again and how crazy hostile he is towards her, its like im looking at the mel hating part of arcanetwt and him repeating beat for beat what theyve been saying for years) he doesnt give her room to speak, just takes it for himself, prioritizing himself and his own feelings. and, yes, figuring out the bombing thing and wanting to talk about it is valid and i think in general this could've been a great angsty way to deal with this topic IF they would've had the opportunity to talk this out properly but what happens instead is that the man that makes mel feel safe starts INTERROGATING her like she is a criminal that should be held for trial FOR SAVING HIM something she doesnt even undestand herself. and suddenly she is in a whole different position and i think by now she knows that this kind of compassion and understanding and room for vulnerability isn't part of their conversation anymore

she loses her composure and that of course isnt a first because she has started to be less put together around him, allowing her more room to "sway" but this kind of destruction is a different one because she feels at trial, feels cornered, feels like she has to explain herself but - and thats what is important - isnt heard. and i think that is something she knows very well, something shes grown up with, trying to explain herself and not being heard.

all of that happens while he is, mind you, still holding onto that hammer. something she surely notices too. the man who's usually quick to let down his defences around her, who isnt councilor talis or mister talis but just jayce around her, is holding onto that hammer like shes a threat. so he tells her he thinks shes lying and she asks him why he would think she'd do that, obviously, because her understanding of their relationship and their trust is a different one than his or at least this jayce that has come back from the arcane, because clearly this kind of understanding comes from somewhere and it comes from the times they've spent together alone throughout season 1 and a little in the beginning of season 2.

he throws at her that shes been using him, something that surprises her, because clearly she doesnt know what has happened, but she tries to explain anyway, because she doesnt know what has happened at least not in full (as you can tell by her reaction to viktor appearing, sensing the hostile mood between both, but also the way she reacts when viktor mentions the noxians intentions), and you can see that these thoughts of his are a result of months in the arcane alone with them and imagining conversations over conversations (although for me its still hard to understand how he grew that hostile towards her this quickly as if she were responsible for everything that happened but those are thoughts for a different post). he crashes out during that conversation, his face is warped with hatred and that is. all. for. her. to. see. and then BOOM goes the hammer off. mid conversation. a conversation that should feel safe with a man she should feel safe with but none of that is there. there is no space for her. (and yes i know hes aiming at viktors puppet but that isnt somethng mel is aware in that moment)

it all leads up to a fight and eventually they walk together and he apologizes, although very distantly and without much explanation, and despite it all, despite having good reasons to shut off and not share what she's feeling, she does. she talks to him about what is on her mind and they have a short, bittersweet exchange but it's just nowhere to what they've established in the first season. as a shipper of course that is super frustrating, but as a mel fan it's just sad to see that the person she felt safe enough to seek comfort in is just so closed off. but not only that, it's obvious they're parting ways and it's very obvious this is coming from his side and i think that is also why she so wilingly accepts it. she doesn't fight much back throughout their whole fight earlier either, she tries to explain herself, but doesnt demand that room for herself even though in this relationship she should be able to take just as much room for herself and her feelings as he does, but she doesn't. she just lets it happen and i understand it bc you have this man you trust and probably love and his first reaction to you is hostile when hostile has never been a response to her. he made a complete u-turn and of course that's off putting, maybe even scary, of course it shuts her down, makes someone who's so good with words and fighting just try to cause as little damage as possible because that is how she's grown up, isn't it?

and that is why i am sad about this. she learned that love doesnt have to look like her mothers and that being vulnerable isnt a weakness and its his doing but here she is met by this kind of hostility she only knows from noxus and it hurts even more that it COMES FROM HIM and over something as SAVING HIS LIFE when its clearly was an act out of love and not investment bc if i'd would've been just that than she would've saved viktor as well? but it wasnt about that. it was her subconscious making a decision and it was something her mother would describe as an act of weakness (theres a reason she gets renni to attack him bc she sees how fond mel of him is maybe even because shes been fond of a man herself once and she knows what itll do) and i think the worst part about it is that she doesnt ever get to truly articulate this or anything else and now that jayce is gone (dead? in a stone? who knows?) she won't get to ever probably. she won't get to say what she thinks and explain herself truly and she won't have anyone to confide in, to be comforted by or comfort. elora is dead, kino wasn't real and the real one is actually dead too, jayce is well whatever he is, and her mother died in her arms. yes, mel is a mage and that is fucking awesome and i was so happy to see her go off and get so many spotlights in battle, but shes also so fucking tragic actually. because here she is with a fuck ton of weight on her shoulders, the noxian army looking up to her, the whole name, not knowing who her father is or what any of her powers mean, the whole black rose thing, everything unresolved between her and jayce, the death of the people she loves, and shes all alone with it. shes all alone with it and she gets no one. man im just fucking sad that this woman got a glimpse of what it could be like to be loved and have someone to "come home to" just for her to have literally no one left like why do you hate black women so much why cant they get a fucking good ending and why cant they be fucking loved even when things get hard

also im lowkey mad that jayce got to find comfort in her lap so many times and not once did she get that in return, not even a squeeze of her shoulder, but dont let me get started on that....

#mel medarda #jayce talis #meljay #onlymeljay #goldenforge #arcane #arcane season 2 spoilers #arcane spoilers #kds.txt #im sorry this is a lot but i have so many thoughts #a lot of them hurt me #but i think this one just kills me the most #i wanted her to have something she didnt have before #it was so nice to see her being treated this well #only for it to end like that #and so cold too

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what-if-i-just-did · 2 days ago

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I looked behind me at reflex, although I don't know what I was expecting, given the fact Disillusioned had said "invisible". Rather than some hideous creature, or nothing at all, I was met with the sight of Talon. I sighed. Right, of course.

I'd completely stopped thinking of Talon as a 'monster' over two decades ago, so he'd slipped my mind. Nobody else could see him, so I'd kind of forgotten that he'd look pretty scary to most others. Well, or sexy, depending on the person. Yuck. He had talons for fingers, like his name would suggest, with sharp claws rather than fingernails. He was 6'8 tall, give or take, with pitch black skin (or rather, short fur) that had red patterns on it like galaxies. Sharp teeth, somewhere between those of a shark and those of a vampire, and his eyes were as dark as his skin, with a silver iris in the middle of each of them.

Turning back to Disillusioned, I chuckled. "Oh. No, that's just Talon, he does whatever he wants. I guess I ask him for things sometimes but it's not my superpower. He's not even that helpful really."

I would've expected Talon to protest somehow, mock-offended, but he still seemed to be recovering from the surprise of someone else being able to see him. There was a slight smirk on his lips though, if you knew him well enough to be able to tell. His expressions were usually miniscule, but after living with him breathing down my neck for twenty-seven years, I'd learned to read them.

Disillusioned clearly wasn't expecting that. "Ah... so... why is he here?"

"Uh, complicated story.... he's kinda attached to me, so he just has to hang around until I die. We're friends though."

"Mmmm, I wouldn't go that far, little one. I'll help you out on occasion, for my amusement. Don't mistake that for friendship."

"Talon, I made you pancakes for breakfast yesterday and you put whipped cream on my nose. You have no ground to stand on."

Talon, wisely, kept his fanged mouth shut.

Disillusioned raised an eyebrow. "That's... certainly intriguing." He paused for a moment, before continuing. "I don't normally do this- I'm not supposed to, but.. if you're agreeable, I'm intrigued. Could we exchange number and arrange for a meet-up? I'd love to know more about Talon."

Talon howled with laughter as I fangirled, either uncaring or simply unused to the fact that Disillusioned could hear him. Disillusioned wanted to meet with me???! More than the meet-n-greet that I paid for???!

It took me much too long to finally stutter out a "yeah" that didn't sound nearly enthusiastic enough. Disillusioned chuckled, and wrote something on my arm. His number. Oh gods. When did he even get a pen?

"Uh, that's your fifteen minutes up, luv, but I'm looking forward to seeing you again... Casey, was it?"

"Ciji.", I said, dazed. A few minutes later, I realised I had not only just MET Disillusioned, but he wanted to meet ME. Granted, it was about Talon, but still.

!!!

(authors note- comment if you want a part two?)

“So what’s your power?” Said the all-seeing super-powered individual, “Telekinesis” you said “……….so it’s not the ability to order around the invisible monster that follows you around?” “The fucking what?”

#writers #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writblr #short story #short stories #original fiction

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goldfades · 2 days ago

Text

TIGHTLING ─── LUKE HUGHES

request: "luke hughes + reader doing tiktok couple trends??"

here is the trend i was doing!

The phone props precariously against a stack of books on the coffee table, its tiny lens trained on you and Luke as he lounges on the couch beside you. His long legs are sprawled out, a stark contrast to your cross-legged position, and he looks completely at ease, a faded Michigan sweatshirt hanging loosely on his broad frame.

It was your idea—of course it was—to rope him into yet another TikTok trend. And honestly, it didn’t take much convincing. Luke, for all his teasing about how “obsessed” you are with the app, has never been one to back down from your antics. You swear he secretly loves these little moments where the two of you can just be goofy together.

“Okay, so here’s the deal,” you start, holding your phone up to demonstrate the angle and framing, even though he’s barely paying attention. His eyes flick lazily from your face to the camera. “I’m gonna ask you a bunch of questions, and they’re things only girls would know—like, makeup stuff, skincare stuff. You just have to guess what they mean.”

Luke blinks at you, visibly unimpressed. “That’s it? I just guess?”

“Yes.” You grin, wide and mischievous, and he narrows his eyes at you suspiciously.

“Why do I feel like this is just a setup to make me look stupid?”

“It's not, I promise.” You say, patting his knee in mock reassurance.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes, but the corners of his mouth tug upward into the faintest smile. You’ve won, and he knows it. “Fine. But you owe me for this.”

“Uh-huh,” you deadpan, grabbing the remote and shoving it out of the frame. “And what exactly do I owe you for a few minutes of your time?”

He tilts his head, pretending to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you stop stealing my clothes every time you come over?”

“That’s a deal I’ll never make,” you quip, setting the phone back on its makeshift tripod. “Okay, ready?”

Luke leans forward slightly, brushing his hair out of his face as he flashes you a lopsided grin. “Hit me with it.”

And just like that, you hit record.

You settle back into the couch, phone recording, and glance at Luke, who’s already sitting straighter, his focus zeroed in like this is some kind of high-stakes playoff. The intensity is so out of place that it’s almost impossible not to laugh, but you manage to keep a straight face. Barely.

“Alright,” you say, scrolling through your mental list of girl-specific words. “First question: What does waterline mean?”

Luke blinks. “Waterline?” His brows furrow, and he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees like he’s trying to think through an SAT question. “Like... the edge of a body of water? Or where water stops?”

You gasp dramatically, clapping your hands together. “Oh my God, yes! That’s exactly it. How did you know?”

His face lights up, the corners of his mouth quirking into a self-satisfied grin. “Seriously? I mean, it makes sense, right?”

“Totally,” you nod fervently, resisting the urge to crack up. “You’re so smart.”

He smirks, leaning back against the couch. “Told you. What’s next?”

You bite your lip, stifling a laugh, and move on. “Okay, next question. What’s a cuticle pusher?”

Luke’s face scrunches up, his confusion written all over it. “A... what?”

“Cuticle pusher,” you repeat innocently, as though this is a perfectly normal thing for him to know.

He hesitates, narrowing his eyes at you. “Uh... is it like... something you use to push dirt out from under your nails?”

You gasp again, clutching your chest like you’re shocked by his brilliance. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke, how do you know these things?”

He lets out a laugh, visibly proud of himself. “I don’t know! It just made sense!”

“Wow,” you say, shaking your head like you’re genuinely impressed. “You’re two for two.”

“Duh,” he quips, leaning forward again, his confidence swelling. “Keep going. I’m on a roll.”

You suppress another laugh and press on. “Okay, what about... baking?”

“Baking?” he repeats, frowning. “Like... cooking?”

You shake your head quickly. “Not that kind of baking. It’s a makeup thing.”

He sits back, tapping his fingers against his leg as he thinks. “Makeup... baking... Does it have something to do with heat? Like, you heat the makeup onto your face or something?”

It takes every ounce of willpower not to break character. “Oh my God, yes! Exactly! You bake it onto your face to, like, set it. You’re literally on fire, Luke. I can’t believe this.”

He laughs again, a full, genuine laugh this time, his cheeks a little pink. “I’m just that good.”

“You really are,” you say with mock awe. “Okay, okay, one more for now. What’s a winged liner?”

Luke doesn’t even pause to think this time. “Easy. It’s eyeliner, but it’s, like... shaped like wings.”

You clap your hands together, nodding enthusiastically. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke! You’re literally unstoppable!”

“I know, right?” He beams, clearly riding the high of getting “everything” right. “See? I told you I’d win.”

You bite back your laughter, nodding along like you’re his number-one fan. “You’re seriously the best at this. I’ve never seen anyone crush these questions like you.”

Luke leans back, folding his arms across his chest, looking far too pleased with himself. “Alright, what’s the next round? I’m ready.”

You can’t hold it in anymore and burst into laughter, but he just looks at you, confused but still grinning. “What? Why are you laughing? I’m killing it!”

And the best part? He truly believes it.

You shake your head, waving your hand as if to dismiss your laughter. “Nothing, nothing! You’re just—you’re killing it, Luke. Like, I think you might know more about this stuff than I do.”

He grins, sitting up straighter. “I mean, you said it was trivia. I’m just good at picking stuff up.”

“Right, right,” you say, wiping an imaginary tear from your eye as you compose yourself. “Okay, next question. What’s... double cleansing?”

Luke pauses, his competitive streak kicking back in as he furrows his brow in concentration. “Double cleansing... like, washing your face twice? First to get the dirt off and then... to, I don’t know, make it extra clean?”

You gasp again, clutching his arm this time. “Yes! Oh my God, that’s exactly it. How do you keep doing this?”

He looks so smug now, like he just nailed a game-winning goal. “It just makes sense, you know? Two steps—one for the surface, one for deep cleaning. I’m basically an expert.”

You nod vigorously, stifling another laugh. “Seriously. Like, you should teach a class or something.”

“Maybe I will,” he says with a smirk. “Alright, next one. Hit me.”

You glance at your mental list again, biting your lip to keep from cracking up. “Alright. What’s a dupe?”

Luke tilts his head, confused but determined. “A dupe... like... a duplicate? Something that looks like something else?”

You slap your hand over your mouth, pretending to be floored. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke, you’re literally on fire. It’s like a cheaper version of something expensive. How are you so good at this?”

He’s grinning so wide now, his cheeks pink with pride. “I don’t know. I guess I just have a natural instinct for this stuff.”

“Clearly,” you say, barely holding it together. “Okay, okay, next one. What’s a beauty blender?”

“A beauty blender?” He pauses, his competitive edge shining through as he carefully thinks it over. “Uh... like... a machine that mixes stuff? Like makeup or foundation or something?”

You clasp your hands dramatically, your jaw dropping. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke, are you kidding me? How do you know this?”

He throws his hands up like it’s no big deal, even though he’s clearly eating up the praise. “What can I say? I’m just built different.”

You double over with laughter, but quickly try to disguise it as a cough when he narrows his eyes. “I’m serious! You’re like... a prodigy.”

“I know,” he says, fully leaning into the role now. “Alright, what’s next? Let’s keep going.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, wondering how far you can push this before he catches on. “Okay, this one’s tricky,” you warn, straightening up. “What’s... tightlining?”

He blinks at you, a little wary but still confident. “Tightlining? Uh... when you line something up really close together? Like... packing it in tight?”

You gasp again, throwing your head back. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke! It’s when you line your eyes super close to your lashes! You’re incredible!”

His grin is so wide now, he looks like a kid who just found out he’s getting a puppy for Christmas. “I mean, it’s just logical, right? Tightlining. Tight lines. Easy.”

“Easy for you,” you say, shaking your head in mock amazement. “You’re like a makeup genius.”

“I should probably put that on my résumé,” he jokes, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Luke Hughes: NHL defenseman, trivia champion, and makeup expert.”

You can’t help but laugh again, your chest aching from holding it in for so long. But he still doesn’t catch on—he’s far too busy basking in the glory of his “success.”

“Alright,” you say, wiping a pretend tear from your eye. “One last question, and this one’s a doozy. What’s a halo eye?”

Luke’s face scrunches up in confusion, but he’s clearly not backing down. “Halo eye... uh... is it like... when your eyes look shiny? Like they’re glowing or something?”

You clasp your chest, pretending to be in awe. “Yes! That’s exactly it! How did you know?”

He throws his hands in the air, grinning ear to ear. “I mean, it’s in the name. Halo. Glow. It’s not that hard.”

You’re practically wheezing at this point, barely able to hold yourself together. But Luke? He’s still riding that high, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s been getting it hilariously wrong the entire time.

── COMMENTS

melia 🤍 "halo eye… uh… when your eyes look shiny?" IM SCREAMING ♡ 18k

abby grace 🌸 the gasp after every answer has me CRYING 💀 ♡ 14.5k

lily 🦋 the fact that he’s dead serious makes this even better ♡ 6.3k

viv 🪩 “double cleansing… to make it extra clean?” i can’t breathe 😭 ♡ 292

nj devils enthusiast “baking… does it have something to do with heat?” AND YOU SAID YES 💀💀 ♡ 500

sarah rose ☁️ his face when you said he got it right 😭😭😭 pure joy ♡ 4.2k

ellie ✨ he’s never gonna trust you again when he finds out 😭 ♡ 1.8k

emma 🤍 “tightlining… tight lines… easy” LUKE WHAT ♡ 239

sophia 💕 he’s gonna tell people he’s a skincare guru after this 😭 ♡ 2k

madeline you could’ve asked him anything and he’d still be so proud of himself lmaoo ♡ 103

noah’s gf how is he so wrong yet so sure every time 💀 ♡ 89

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

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hotshotsxyz · 3 days ago

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living lies and compromise

(8b spec) (buddie) (879 words) spoilers for 8x08! set a few days after eddie returns from texas and i still managed to make it angsty :) i bet you'll never guess what band i stole the title from

The knock on Buck’s door isn’t entirely unexpected. He doesn’t know what to do with it, though, doesn’t know how to exist in this strange liminal space where Eddie’s back but everything is still different.

A few months ago, Eddie would’ve used his key and walked straight in. A few months ago, Buck would’ve welcomed him with open arms. As it stands, he hesitates. Just for a moment, but—

It’s been a long time since Buck was hesitant with Eddie. He hates it.

He opens the door, and the smile he greets Eddie with feels brittle and fake.

“Hey, man,” Buck says, trying trying trying to make it come out right. He hears it, though—it doesn’t sound the same.

“Hey,” Eddie replies. He hoists a six pack in the air, and if Buck squints he can almost pretend this is exactly what it used to be. That they’re what they used to be.

“Come—come in,” Buck invites. He can’t remember the last time either of them waited for permission like this.

Eddie swallows visibly and steps into the loft for the first time since—god, he’s not actually sure. Right after Halloween, maybe?

“Thanks,” Eddie says. He drops the beer on the counter but makes no move to grab one.

Silence stretches between them. It’s not uncomfortable, necessarily, but it’s also not the kind that falls when everything that needs to be said is out in the open and everything left can wait.

“I thought you’d be happy to see me,” Eddie says finally, achingly quiet.

Buck shakes his head. “I am, of course I’m happy to see you,” he says.

“Please don’t do that.” Eddie’s eyes are wide and sincere, and if Buck’s not careful—

“Eddie,” he says, pleading, “I am, you have no idea.”

“Then why…” He gestures vaguely at the space between them. Why the distance? Why the reticence? Why aren’t they falling together the way they always have?

Buck bites his lip and steps into Eddie’s space to grab a beer for himself. He retreats, but he doesn’t go far.

He pops the cap off and sighs. “You left,” he says simply.

Eddie stumbles back against the counter. “But I came back,” he says. “And I thought you understood.”

Buck offers him a sad little smile. “I did. I do. But—coming back wasn’t the plan.”

“Did you… not want me to?” Eddie asks, small and a tiny bit incredulous.

“No,” Buck says, watching as Eddie’s disbelief turns to hurt. “I didn’t want you to come back. I needed you to.”

A wounded noise escapes Eddie’s lips. “I did,” he says.

“What about next time?” Buck asks. He wishes he didn’t sound so raw and ragged, but it hardly matters when Eddie’s the one listening.

“What?” He breathes, punched out like a cough.

Buck looks over Eddie’s shoulder, out the window and into the vague glow of night in Los Angeles. He takes a swig of his beer.

“I need you, Eddie, I still—the whole time you were gone it felt like—like I was missing a limb. And I can’t—I can’t keep needing you like this, not if I don’t get to keep you,” Buck admits. “So I just… I have to figure out how to stop. But I can’t do that when you’re here.”

“Don’t,” Eddie says desperately. “Please don’t. I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. You have me.”

“I’m not sure I know how to survive believing that again,” Buck replies.

Eddie takes a step forward, close enough now that Buck can feel his breath ghosting across his skin.

“Look at me?” he asks.

Buck’s never been able to deny him much of anything.

“I kept looking for you. I’d see something funny and I’d turn, because I wanted to see your reaction. The front door would open, and I kept thinking you were going to be the one to walk through it. Hell, every time I went to the grocery store I wanted to call you to make sure everything we needed was on the list.”

“Eddie,” Buck breathes.

His hand drifts toward Buck’s shoulder, just like it always seems to, but this time it doesn’t stop. Eddie reaches until his fingers are resting against Buck’s neck and his thumb is slowly sweeping across his jaw.

“You need me?” he asks.

Buck nods.

“Good,” Eddie says in a rush of air. “Because I need you too, okay? So please don’t stop, please don’t pull away. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to come with me.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to stay.”

Eddie’s shoulders slump. He takes the last step forward and pulls Buck into a tight hug.

There’s this thing Buck’s been trying not to look at. It’s been growing in size, taking up more and more of his field of vision since the moment Eddie left for Texas. It’s been fuzzy and hard to discern, difficult to ignore but easy to avoid putting a name to. As he melts into Eddie’s arms, though, everything comes into sharp relief.

It’s need. It’s want. It’s love.

And the thing is, Buck knows how this goes. But what the hell? It’ll be a privilege, getting his heart broken by Eddie Diaz.

He clings a little tighter.

#you know when you have something important to do but you decide to write an angsty little spec fic instead? yeah #buddiefic #buddie fic #911fic #911 fic #911 #buddie #fic #abbie writes #911 spoilers

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guksfairy · 2 days ago

Text

pink digital camera | JJK

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | PLAYLIST

wc: 2.6k

notes: jk and y/n's friends meet, hyeonjae and areum crushing on each other <3, nsfw: they fuck in a parking lot, jk records y/n, jk cums in y/n (STAY SAFE PLEASE)

“Fuck I’m so hungry,”

“I’d assume so-we’ve been trying to get you out of your studio for the past 2 hours,” Hyeonjae responds to Tag with a chuckle. The two, in front of Jungkook and Jungwon, on their way to Jungkook’s car. It had been a good while since the four friends have been able to have a proper meal together so they took advantage. It took a long time to convince Tag to leave his studio but eventually they succeeded.

Finally reaching the car, the four friends get in with Jungkook as the driver of course.

“Yo JK what’s this?” Hyeonjae, who was sat in the passenger seat, asks holding a pink digital camera. Your pink digital camera. Fuck.

You must have forgotten it in his car from when you both went on a picnic late in the evening to watch the sunset near the Han River. You had commented to Jungkook how you had seen a TikTok of a girl and her boyfriend who bought a camera just to capture their dates and thought it was a cute idea. So after a quick trip to the store, and a couple thousand won later, you had started filming your dates.

Jungkook is taken away from his thoughts when he hears a jingle next to him signaling that the camera had been turned on. Hyeonjae, who was intrigued and looking at the camera’s quality, was completely oblivious to the panic set on Jungkook’s face.

“Is it yours?” Tag asks from the backseat and Jungkook is quick to grab the camera from Hyeonjae’s grasp, placing it gently on his side of the car in the pocket of the door.

Maybe he should have said something because now the three were laughing at his reaction.

“You seeing somebody, Kook?” Jungwon asks patting his shoulder and Jungkook can only clear his throat and shrug his hand away.

“I think our Kook is in love,” Hyeonjae playfully adds and Jungkook replies, “You guys are just hungry,” and turns on the car.

“Sure, that’s the reason Hyeonjae found a pink camera in your car and you got all nervous,” he laughs and leans back in his seat. Jungkook rolls his eyes and looks down at the camera that’s slightly visible. Feeling a little better now that the guys were focused on their phones.

Had Hyeonjae pressed the little camera button on the side he would have been met with pictures of you and Jungkook. It’s not something ideal right now.

“I could probably have finished my song by now,” Tag says, commenting on how long it was taking for their food to arrive.

“Hyung we barely placed our order. It hasn’t even been five minutes,” Jungwon replies laughing at the older’s grumpy state knowing he’ll cheer up once he has some good food in his system.

“Still,” Tag mutters and the rest chuckle.

“Hyeonjae?” A voice from behind Jungkook calls out, grabbing the attention of all the guys.

“Areum!” Hyeonjae is too quick to stand up and slightly bow at Areum in which she does the same. Meanwhile, Jungkook is once again panicked.

Areum was part of your friend group and here she was talking to Hyeonjae for some reason. He had no reason to worry really. He had never talked to her or any of your friends but there had been a couple close calls.

He remembers when you and Areum had to attend a study group with two guys from your guys’ class and how annoyed Jungkook had gotten because he wanted to take you out that night. He had made his way to the library that night and managed to get you to meet him in an area of the library where no one really went.

Let’s simply say you had a steamy meet up and almost got caught. Had it not been for Areum calling your name from afar, Jungkook wouldn’t have gotten the chance to walk a good distance from you while you fixed your skirt and hair.

“Uh Areum these are my friends Jungkook, Jungwon, and Taegyun but we call him Tag,” Hyeonjae, Jungkook had taken notice, was slightly fidgeting as he introduced them. Huh…

The guys all waved and she did the same, “Hi, I’m Areum,” she places a piece of her hair behind her ear, “You guys are welcome to join me and my friends. We just arrived-unless you guys are on your way out,” she says and all three guys look at Hyeonjae for his response.

Wait. Her and her friends? Does that mean you too? Jungkook knew you would be staying in a class later than usual today with a couple classmates but that’s pretty much all he was aware of.

Should he check your location to see if you’re here? Jungkook doesn’t get a chance to when Hyeonjae replies, “No, we just ordered a while ago. We wouldn’t want to bother,”

“No it’s fine! The more people, the merrier,” she says and Hyeonjae can’t say no. Jungkook sees Tag and Jungwon wanting to tease him for getting so visibly nervous.

“Okay,” Hyeonjae follows Areum to the other side of the restaurant and the guys take that as an invite as well. The three get up and follow. Jungkook, at the very back, a bit concerned. How should he act with you in front of his friends? Ignore you? No, he can’t do that very well but he knows he can’t kiss and hug you either.

The guys take notice that the area in which you guys are eating had suddenly become fancier? The chandeliers were different, the area was quieter, and the people around looked like they’ve never seen anything less than a billion won.

He hears it. That sound. One of his favorite sounds in the world. Your laugh. Your laugh that he loves so much. Your laugh that lets him know that everything is okay.

Jungkook visibly relaxes as you come into view. You’re wearing the same outfit from this morning only now you’re wearing a hoodie. You had decided to wear Jungkook’s sweater that he had left in your room a couple nights ago. Noticing that the day was cloudy you decided to be warm and wear his sweater that was too big but comfortable.

“Guys, this is Hyeonjae, Tag, Jungwon, and…uhm I’m sorry what was your name again?” Areum says looking directly at Jungkook. From the corner of his eye he sees you smile, “Jungkook,”

“Right! Jungkook! Oh and these are my friends Eunwoo, Jimin, and Y/N,”

“Will you guys be joining us?”

Hyeonjae says a simple yes and Eunwoo nods, “I’ll go request a bigger table,” he stands up and walks to an employee.

“I should go inform them we switched tables,” Jungwon says and goes up to the same server Eunwoo was speaking to.

The server is quick in telling the group to follow her and lead them to a much bigger table, enough to fit 10 guests.

Your friends on one side and Jungkook’s on the other. This…was weird.

“So how do you two know each other?” you ask pointing to your friend and Hyeonjae. Jungkook feels comfort in your voice.

“We’re partners in digital art class,” Hyeonjae says.

“Yeah Hyeonjae is really funny. Sometimes we get in trouble,” Areum says and you smile but miss the slight pink pigment in her cheeks.

Eunwoo and Jimin conversate with Jungwon and Tag leaving you and Jungkook sat in front of each other, slightly confused of how you two should act right now.

Jungkook decides to take his phone out.

Me: that’s the fourth hoodie you’ve stolen from me pretty

Your phone dings and you smile.

Y/N🎀💓: Stolen? You left this on my bedroom floor 🙄❤️

Me: it’s not my fault i’m always distracted when i go over

Y/N🎀💓: So it’s mine?

Me: when a pretty girl starts kissing my neck and talking about how bad she wants me i just can’t resist 😞

“Jungkook,” Tag nudges his shoulder and he looks up, putting his phone away and aware that the food is being served and his plate was in the server’s hand.

“Oh yeah that’s mine,” the plate is placed in front of him and the server tells them if they need anything to call her over before leaving them to enjoy their meal.

“Sorry about him, he’s been distracted lately,” Tag apologizes.

“Everything okay?” Eunwoo asks and Jungkook nods.

“Our theory is that he’s love sick,” Jungwon says and everyone at the table is quick to ask who it is like they were life long friends. You sit in your seat with your cheeks feeling warm knowing that he’s being like this because of you.

“Is it somebody we would know?” Jimin says genuinely intrigued.

“It’s nothing really,” no matter how badly Jungkook wants to gloat about you, he decides to hold back.

“He says it’s nothing but I found a pink camera in his car earlier,” Hyeonjae says and you audibly gasp.

Areum turns to you and you quickly make an excuse, “Sorry I thought I saw someone I knew,” and you grab your chopsticks and spoon to eat. Jungkook wants to kiss you so bad. You’re so cute.

“So, Jungkook?” Jimin says and Jungkook lets out a chuckle, “This food looks really good,” he starts to grab his utensils and the group lets out a disappointed sigh. You let out a small laugh and his friends make comments like ‘I bet she’s so out of his league and that’s why he won’t tell us’ that make your friends laugh.

Your group surprisingly got along with his very well. There was a couple jokes here and there but overall a ton of laughs. Jungkook always making sure to watch you every time because he loved it. You’d kick his leg gently under the table and he’d do the same. He was just ready to get out of here. It’s been a long hour of you being near him and not kissing you.

Eunwoo and Hyeonjae ended up splitting the tab afterwards and now you were all stood outside the restaurant.

“That was fun! We should do it again,” Areum says and Hyeonjae is quick to answer, “Yeah sure!” Tag laughs.

“Well I hope you guys have a good rest of your days. I’ll see you guys around campus,” Jimin comments and the rest bid their goodbyes. You making sure to subtly send a kiss to Jungkook in which he pretends to catch it and place it on his cheek.

Your group walks in the opposite direction from his and Jungkook can only smile. He’s defiantly going to kiss you nonstop later tonight.

“So Hyeonjae…when are you going to ask Areum out?” Jungwon teases as the four get in the car.

Tag laughs, “Yeah Hyeonjae. Oh Areum of course I’ll eat with you and my friends because you’re so pretty and I can’t help but blush and-” Tag is smacked by Hyeonjae but it only makes him laugh more.

“You guys are idiots,” he says but you can clearly tell his face was flushed.

“You were blushing like crazy every time she talked to you,” Jungkook says driving out of the parking lot.

“Really?” he didn’t even try to deny it this time. Hyeonjae wondered if Areum took notice.

“Yeah but she was blushing a lot too,” and this eases his nerves.

“Anyways I’ll RSVP to the wedding now to save time,” Jungwon jokes and the three laugh as Hyeonjae sighs staring out the car window.

“Hi baby-”

Jungkook couldn’t help it. He needed to kiss you. Without breaking the kiss, he closes the door behind you two and walks you two to your living room couch.

You’re straddling him as the kiss shows no sign of stopping anytime soon. His tongue slipping into your mouth and you follow suite. The kiss getting messy very quick but you couldn’t care less.

After both of your lips were swollen you pull away, intending to remove his jacket when you feel something in his pocket.

“What’s this-oh,” you take out the item from his pocket. It was your camera.

“I brought it so you could transfer the pictures and videos to your computer and send them to me,” Jungkook says trying to even out his breath. His gaze still on your wet pink lips. His fingers touch your lips innocently before they move to your jaw. He lets his arm fall to your waist to hold you on his lap securely.

“Sure we can do that,” you say and put the camera aside before leaning into him for a warm embrace.

“You looked so handsome today,”

“You look so gorgeous all the time,”

You giggle and look at him before pressing a kiss on his nose and going back to your position from before and loving the warmth, “That was weird right? My friends and yours just randomly eating together,”

“I think it was mostly because Areum and Hyeonjae like each other,”

“What?!”

“You didn’t notice?” Jungkook asks. You’re now sat properly on his lap again.

“I was too focused on my boyfriend to notice anybody else,” you says and run your hands through his hair. Jungkook closes his eyes at the nice feeling of your manicured hand just running through his hair.

“Yeah the guys were teasing Hyeonjae the entire car ride,”

“That’s mean. Hyeonjae’s cute,” you say absentmindedly and Jungkook opens an eye.

“Cute?”

“You know what I mean, baby,” you smile and he closes his eye again.

“They’d be cute together,” you note and Jungkook hums in agreement.

“By the way…Hyeonjae said he found the camera…he didn’t happen to look at the last video on it, right?” you ask grabbing the camera and turning it on.

“He turned on the camera but I grabbed it before he could do anything else,” you hum at his response.

“Okay. Good,”

“Why?” ”Did you forget what we last recorded on this?”

“Oh,”

It almost slipped his mind. Last time he filmed something. He couldn’t help it. Your moans were so pretty and his phone was too far. The camera lay on the center console as Jungkook’s dick slid in and out of you with ease. You just sounded so angelic and he wanted to capture it so bad.

“Koo please-” you were close and Jungkook knew it so he said fuck it and grabbed your pink camera you decorated in cute stickers before turning it on and pressing record with flash immediately. It’s not like anyone would see you either. Jungkook made sure to park far from others. He captured your sweet expressions and your angelic begs for him.

“Cum for me baby-fuck. Cum for me darling,” and for the second time that night you felt the warm feeling in your tummy before your release. That was enough for Jungkook to quickly feel the tight feeling and release his warm cum into you.

Your chest heaving up and down trying to regain your breathing as Jungkook, still recording, moved the camera to where his dick was slowly pulling out and his cum spilled down your ass and onto the sweater laid under you.

“Fuck darling,” he pressed the record button again to stop the video, “You’re gonna need to send me that so I could jack off to something when you’re not around,” he joked.

“Koo you have hundreds of pictures and videos of us already,” you say in between breaths.

“Yeah but this one might be my favorite,” he winks.

#jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #jungkook x yn #jungkook smut

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sonrium · 1 day ago

Text

That second point yanked Batman instantly and unwillingly by the throat to Phantom's side.

He couldn't speak out knowing the rest of the League wouldn't approve, so he let the discussion run its course, and Phantom was naturally denied.

But Batman is nothing if not thorough, and compiling DNA profiles would also help with contingencies. So Batman discretely reaches out after the meeting to give Phantom his personal permission as long as he provides the DNA samples and that Phantom understands that Batman cannot publicly defend him, but he will mitigate the consequences behind the scenes.

After another biting incident when Phantom is getting lectured by Superman:

"Phantom, you can't keep doing this. This is your last warning. Criminals or not, it's never okay to bite people just because you want to. Control yourself, or you might have to rethink your place in the Justice League."

Phantom staring at his feet and genuinely worried that he might get kicked out. He didn't think it was that big a deal.

Batman walks up and simply states. "He is controlling himself."

"Batman, you call that control? I'm trying to be understanding, but Phantom is biting criminals more than ever."

"Are they still breathing?"

"I don't see how-"

"Are their limbs still attached?"

"What are you-?"

Batman gives Superman a hard look to stop him mid question. "Acording to Constantine, ghosts from the Infinite Realms are creatures that should be avoided at all costs due to their extremely volatile nature. Generally, it's a death sentence to ever encounter one."

Superman turned to the child he'd been scolding, shocked that any of that could possibly be true about his colleague. The same colleague, who was so gentle he almost cried when he accidently killed a spider in the dining hall. "Is that true?"

Danny, glancing up but unable to meet Superman's eyes, "Yea-yeah. Intense violence is actually how most ghosts socialize. Regrowing limbs isn't a big deal for ghosts, so they tend to forget how fragile humans are."

Batman continues with his explanation, "In the Infinite Realms, ghosts have evolved to attack anything that moves as a defense due to how hostile the environment is. Everything from the plants to the very ground could attack at any moment. Their version of compassion is controlling their instincts before the killing blow. The fact that Phantom rarely attacks anybody is a testament to his constant and vigillent self-control."

Danny finally meets Superman's eyes and they are nothing but pools of liquid innocence and shame about his very being. "I'm sorry... I'm doing my best, but my ghost instincts are really hard to control, especially when emotions are high and we are carching bad guys, and I can't help but bite. But I promise, I will never let it go any farther than that."

Intense guilt washes over Superman. He knew how seriously Phantom took his promises. He had no idea he was asking Phantom to go against his very nature. Did Phantom have to hold himself back right now? Superman knew a thing or two about how scarily fragile human bodies were to someone like him. He couldn't imagine having instincts that screamed at him to attack anything that moved on top of that.

Batman turned to his old friend with a disapproving stare. "Maybe learn a thing or two before you judge our nonhuman members. I expected better from you."

Superman placed his hands on Phantom's shoulders. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea. Do the best you can. We can figure out the rest together. Please forget everything I said earlier."

Danny with hope sparking in his eyes, "Are you sure? I know im not perfect, but I want to stay. I really like it here, and I really like helping people."

"Of course. I'll let the others know." Superman walks away down the hall, and out of sight.

Danny grinned, lifted his eyebrows, and nodded toward where Superman ran off to convey his thanks for the save.

Batman gave a quick nod and a tiny, barely there smile of his own. He spoke aloud for the one with superhearing that was definitely still listening, "I apologize for any offense you may have taken. Know that the sentiments of Superman are not shared by the rest of us."

Danny pulled the zip lock baggie out of his pocket and silently handed it to Batman with a grin. It had a napkin smeared with the blood of Danny's most recent biting victim labeled in Sharpie. Danny responded in a wobbly voice that did not match his mischivous grin, "Thanks." He added a sniffle for effect. "I needed to hear that. I'm really doing the best I can, but i guess people dont see it that way."

After this incident, Superman became Danny's biggest defender against the biting accusations.

Danny Phantom, who as far as the Justice League knew was a normal ghost, was presenting a pointpoint in front of the rest of the League. The presentation says, "Why I should be allowed to bite criminals: 1, because I am not human and cannot catch any of your filthy human diseases. 2, because it would allow us to compile DNA samples from the criminals of the world to compare with during crime scene investigation. 3, Fuck you."

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dpxdc #justice league #danny phantom #dc x dp crossover #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc crossover

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sserpente · 3 days ago

Text

S T R A Y

Synopsis: The streets are not safe at night, not in the N109 zone, and even less so for a woman. When you realise you are being followed one night, panic surges through you, your heart pounding in your chest. You have to come up with a plan, fast. Hardly anyone still mingles at this time of day, yet there is a club nearby whose lights are still lit. A group of men are chattering just outside. One of them, you recognise. It is Sylus, the leader of Onychinus himself. Discarding all rational thinking, you throw yourself into his arms, hoping that he will play along and help you. It’s an encounter you’re certain you will never forget. So when you meet again a few weeks later during a fateful business meeting and your own father offers you up to him as payment to settle a dispute, only one question remains—did you get unlucky…or lucky?

Words: 5434 Warnings: bad parenting, being followed

Life in the N109 zone was…different. More than the booming trade of vitamin D pills and weaponry, there was a certain beauty to it. One that I had come to appreciate. The glooming lights, the abrasive darkness, and that mysterious aura were a balm to the soul that most people failed to appreciate.

It was life. Life was rough. This dream of Linkon City, an escape most people here longed for, was as unreachable as the sunlight.

As for me, my father made sure of that. I was all he had—and he wouldn’t let me leave to find joy elsewhere. Not unless he could draw an advantage from it himself.

I sighed, clutching the pile of neatly stacked documents tighter to my body. Confidential documents, retrieved illegally, of course, that were too precious to entrust anyone else with. It was already past midnight and the cold had crept in without mercy, crawling further and further into the heart of the N109 zone and freezing up its streets and alleys.

I breathed out through my mouth only to watch it mix with the crisp winter air. I wasn’t dressed warmly enough but there had been no time to put on several layers of clothing before my father sent me out with urgency in his voice.

He was mad. I could consider myself lucky if I made it home safely—without any vicious Wanderer attacks or thugs who wanted my father’s head as much as they wanted the pile of documents I realised now would be better off in my bag.

Perhaps it was a coincidence that I did. Or perhaps it was some sort of divine intervention because the very moment I closed the zip, I spotted a man wearing a black beanie from the corner of my eye. It was too dark to make out his face, only that he had stopped walking…and stepped forward again as soon as I did.

Shit. Don’t panic. It could just be a coincidence. Just change the side of the road and it’ll be fine. I drew in another deep breath, bracing myself. I took a sharp turn right, crossing the street over cracked asphalt and a discarded car tire only to watch the stranger do the same.

Perhaps now it was time to panic. There was no doubt about it. My gun was in my bag. Would I be fast enough to pull it out, cock it and aim before he realised what I was doing? Possibly not. He was getting closer already. I had to act fast.

The main road was the only one fairly lit in the N109 zone. I had to disappear out of sight if I wanted to gain an advantage and in order to do that, I had to merge with the shadows. I took another sharp turn, slipping into a side alley.

Old cardboard boxes and bins lined the narrow pathway, and the pavement was still glistening with the tears the sky had cried throughout the day in the artificial light of a shady poker club that was still open.

An opportunity, perhaps? I quickened my steps, heading straight towards it. Voices accompanied the weak source of light—cheerful chatter by men and women alike. Normally, I’d stay miles away from these places. But right now, it may be my only lifeline.

Another inconspicuous glance back proved the stranger was indeed still following me.

Ten more steps. Ten more steps and I could…could do what? I bit my lower lip. I hadn’t thought this through at all. People who visited these clubs were hardly of the trustworthy sort. If anything, there was a chance they were even deadlier than the man behind me.

Still, I had no choice, perhaps I would…

My heart skipped a beat when my eyes fell on one of the men facing the open door of the building. His hands were buried in his pockets as if he didn’t have a care in the world, a nonchalance unusual to the N109 zone. But it was his appearance that made my breath hitch.

White hair, red eyes…this…this was Sylus. I’d only seen him once before. As a real estate agent on the dodgier and more exploiting side, my father liked picking fights over property he believed he was entitled to—it got him on Onychinus’s bad side quickly, and onto their long list of enemies they were happy to strangle on sight.

My instincts should be telling me to run. I could only imagine the pure horrors they’d inflict on me if they knew I was his daughter. But I was also running short on options. Sylus was the most powerful man in the N109 zone. And as of right now, he was the only one I would trust to be capable of helping me out of my predicament.

He heard me approach before he turned his head to face me. One of his perfectly shaped eyebrows rose slightly when my eyes locked with his, yet before he could utter even a single word, I threw myself into his arms as if he was my boyfriend and I hadn’t seen him all week. He placed his hands on my waist presumably by reflex, a barely audible gasp escaping his lips in the process.

“A little stray kitten is seeking the protection of a lion. How…adorable,” he purred. Mockery swung in his dark voice. It sent pleasant shivers up and down my spine, reminding me of how dangerous this man was, and yet…I felt safe in his arms. Protected. With a shaky breath, I nuzzled up to his neck even closer.

“Please…I’m being followed. Help me. C-can you pretend we know each other?”

Sylus stiffened in my arms. For a brief moment, I worried he’d push me away and tell me to deal with this myself but instead…instead he tightened his grip around me with a start. I let out a sigh of relief before I could stop myself.

“Who? The guy right behind you?” he asked, his tone low and stern.

“Yes,” I whispered into his ear. “He’s wearing a black beanie.”

Sylus hummed, looking up when the strange man reached us at last. “Can I help you?” he growled.

I swallowed thickly, pressing my face against Sylus’s chest. Heavens, he smelled…good. His masculine scent calmed my nerves in an instant, my trembling ceasing a little.

“N-no…” I heard the man stutter behind me.

“Then what do you want from my girlfriend? You don’t strike me as the poker type,” Sylus continued, his voice carrying just a hint of a threat. My girlfriend… Why did I like the sound of that so much? I suppressed a scoff. I’d been reading too many mafia romance novels, that was for sure.

“Your girlfriend, huh? I’m just taking a walk. Enjoying the fresh air, taking in the night breeze.”

Clearly, he was not convinced. Yet it appeared he did not realise who Sylus was either—and that as of right now, he was playing not only with fire but death itself.

“Then keep on walking and don’t look back,” Sylus said. He leaned back a little, hooking his index finger under my chin to force me to look at him. His crimson gaze went soft, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Did you have a good day at work, kitten?”

I nodded, too stunned to speak. Studying him up close, he…he was attractive. Very attractive. Shit, what was wrong with me? This wasn’t just anyone, this was…this was the leader of Onychinus himself! Sylus is dangerous, I scolded myself. Your father’s arch enemy, your...oh please, don’t develop a crush on him!

“How can I be sure you really know the lady, huh? You could be blackmailing her, making her work for you, or some shit like that. She might need my help.”

Sylus growled. I was unprepared for the jolt of electricity rippling through me when he did. But what had me at his mercy was his following action. Without showing any signs of hesitation, Sylus leaned down and pressed his lips against mine, claiming my mouth in a kiss full of longing and the promise of more.

I froze. Panicked and melting into him both at the same time. By the time he released me, his hot breath ghosting over my face, the stranger scoffed and then, finally, took off.

Butterflies exploded in my belly, my heart fluttering in my chest to the point I was worried he could hear it.

I should thank Sylus. Show him my appreciation, shower him with grateful words, and yet…my throat remained paralysed as if his kiss had awakened something in me my body was yet to come to terms with.

“You are reckless wandering around the N109 zone unarmed at this time of night, kitten,” he said once the man was out of sight.

Damn it. I shook myself. Pull yourself together!

“I’m not unarmed. I have a gun in my bag, I just…I panicked. He would have reached me by the time I got my weapon out.”

“Then carry it on your hip next time. How far are you from home?”

“About a mile. That way.” I pointed down the alley—the exact same direction the stranger had disappeared into.

I only realised now that Sylus was still holding me. I cleared my throat, peeling myself out of his embrace.

And whoever he had been conversing with, they were all gawking and had been following the spectacle as if I was the main character of a reality TV show. Oh, how lovely.

“Luke, Kieran!”

“Yes, boss?” Two young men dressed entirely in black, their faces hidden by eerie masks stepped into view, answering Sylus in unison. I blinked. Where had they come from?

“Take my car and bring this lady home safe.” His tone allowed no contradiction—not from me and certainly not from the twins. Not that they were not inclined to read every wish from his lips anyway.

“Sure thing, boss,” one of them said.

“Follow us!” the other one added.

Expecting me to do as I was told, they disappeared around the corner, the way I came from, before I could protest.

I took a step back. “Uh… Sylus?”

His crimson eyes locked with mine. A mute invitation to continue speaking.

“Thank you.”

He nodded. “Good night, kitten.”

I did not look back when I took off. I couldn’t. I could still taste him on my lips along with the lingering aroma of expensive whiskey…

“In you go, miss!”

“Yeah, just tell us where you live and we’ll get you home in no time!”

Unable to tell who was who, I merely recited my address to them before I climbed into the back of the car hoping that this wasn’t a trick and they would indeed take me home.

Studying the interior as well as the exterior and taking into consideration that I didn’t know a lot about cars; even I knew that this one was expensive. Very expensive, surpassing the wealth of my father by far.

As soon as the engine was started and the twins stirred the vehicle further and further away from the poker club, my mind drifted off to Sylus and the way those stunning red eyes had softened with compassion upon learning of my precarious situation. A man with such a look in his gaze couldn’t possibly be a villain…right?

“Wait…this is where you live? This is the real estate agent’s mansion.”

“Are you his daughter?”

They both leaned back, staring at me through their expressionless masks. I swallowed thickly. Shit. I should have given them a different address. One that was right around the corner or something. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

“I…I…”

“Explains why you’re sneaking around at night. That real estate agent is shady.”

“I was just trying to get home. I’m not up to anything. And I certainly don’t want any trouble.” Plus, I wouldn’t have thrown myself into the arms of my father’s greatest enemy, your boss, if I did.

“Ah, don’t worry, we won’t tell Boss about your dad.”

“Yet.”

The car doors unlocked, prompting me to breathe out audibly. “T-Thank you.”

“Good night!” they called out in unison when I got out of the car as quickly as I could muster. I’d barely closed the door again before they drove off already, leaving me behind confused and speechless. Yet? What was that supposed to mean?

It was a few weeks after this incident that my father announced I was to attend a highly important business meeting with him. So far, Onychinus had been silent. No surprise attacks, no kidnappings. I should have felt at ease that Sylus had acted like a true gentleman that night, ensuring I got home safe without expecting anything in return.

Luke and Kieran must have kept their mouth shut about my identity. And if they hadn’t, and Sylus already knew who I was and where I lived…

It should have been concern or even fear pumping through my veins. Instead, my thoughts kept circling back to the very moment the infamous leader of Onychinus had kissed me as if we were in love.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” My father stepped behind me, meeting my gaze in the mirror.

I took a deep breath and straightened my suit. “Ready, Dad. So…who are we meeting tonight? And where?”

“Place is a shady poker club about a mile from here. We won’t stay there any longer than necessary.”

Shady poker club? I swallowed thickly. He couldn’t possibly mean…

“Dad, who are we meeting up with?”

“The less you know, the better, sweetheart. Now let’s go. We’re gonna be late. He doesn’t like it when you’re late.”

He. Who was he?

My father ushered me outside and into his car before I could pry any further. We soared through the streets ignoring speed limits and the occasional obstacle. He was nervous. The way his fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white had me shift back and forth on the passenger seat all restless and uneasy myself.

He hadn’t even told me why he wanted me there in the first place. Not knowing what to expect at all threatened to have me decorate the dashboard with my dinner.

But perhaps that was a lie. Part of me did know, precisely, what to expect. I realised that the very moment the car came to a stop.

Sylus’s crimson eyes locked with mine when I entered the poker club a few steps behind my father and his men, his brows furrowed ever so slightly. If Luke and Kieran had indeed revealed my identity to him, he did not show it. His demeanour was calm. Collected.

“Mr. Sylus… Thank you for your time,” my father said.

“Don’t thank me before you have made it worth my while.” He paused and my heart skipped a beat when he stepped towards me and raised my hand to his face, pressing a tender kiss to my knuckles. “We meet again, kitten.”

It lingered on my skin even after he let go, like the gentle wings of a butterfly caressing the back of my hand. I was on fire, my face and ears so warm I could practically feel the blood pumping through them. Airplanes took off in my body, making me nauseous for different reasons entirely now. Damn it.

“Good evening, Sylus,” I pressed out at last.

My father’s eyes widened. “You know each other?”

Sylus looked at me expectantly.

“Uh… Sylus helped me out of an iffy situation the night you sent me to retrieve those documents for you. He ensured I returned home safely,” I said.

It was a challenge to hide the trembling in my voice. I’d had good reason not to tell my father about my encounter with Sylus. I suppressed a gasp when he grabbed my upper arm.

“Are you kidding me, child? You’re telling me you put yourself in the leader of Onychinus’s debt?” he hissed.

And this was exactly why.

I spotted the twins, standing guard on either side of Sylus’s chair, their masks void of any emotion as usual. Sylus himself had sat down already in the meantime, an untouched glass of whiskey on the stained poker table in front of him. The place was deserted. Neither customers nor staff filled the place with life, leading me to believe that Sylus had made sure there wouldn’t be any unwanted eyes and ears present.

“I don’t have all day,” he called over. He almost sounded…bored.

“Mr. Sylus… Of course. Excuse me. Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

My father’s men scattered across the room, taking position in every corner with one hand on the handle of their guns. I swallowed, relieved when my father finally let go of me and sat down opposite Sylus. I took a seat next to him, unsure of what he expected me to do next.

Already I was hardly looking forward to the ride back home. My father would give me hell for getting involved with Onychinus on my own terms. Shit. Shit, shit, shit!

“So…Mr. Sylus. I heard you are currently investigating Mr. Edward Geoffrey’s efforts to create Evol serums?”

I frowned. Of course, Onychinus would be interested in Geoffrey’s Evol serums too. My father had always had an eye for opportunity. He surpassed himself, however, with this. Willingly setting up a meeting with the enemy was not only reckless, it was suicide.

“You heard correctly.” Sylus took out a coin from his pocket and began flicking it between his fingers.

I bit my lower lip, fighting for composure. The tension in the room was palpable. One wrong word and it would blow, causing a deadly explosion.

“I may be able to help.”

Sylus huffed a laugh. “Is that so?”

“Mr. Geoffrey is an old acquaintance of mine, you see.”

“And why would that information be relevant to me?” he replied, clearly unimpressed.

Hypnotised, I watched him play with the coin.

“Because I sold a property to him. I have access to the floor plans…and skilled men who know how to bypass the security system I set up for him.”

My father pulled out a small package and slid it across the table. Sylus looked up. Now he was interested.

“You stole a sample of one of his serums? Why?”

“Consider it a peace offering.”

“You are a fool if you think all will be forgiven because of this.” Sylus nodded at the package with his chin, then gestured for Luke and Kieran to take it. One of them snatched it off the table before my father could change his mind.

“Mr. Sylus… Let me be frank with you. I made myself very vulnerable by meeting up with you and I have no ill intentions, not tonight. I did this in good faith. My investors are not happy with me. My involvement with Onychinus has made them…wary of future collaborations.”

Sylus huffed another laugh. “That merely sounds like you are facing the consequences of your own actions. Were you expecting pity? Compassion?”

Compassion. He’d shown me compassion that night. But I was not my father. I was not here to strike a business deal. I was, apparently, here to look pretty and keep my mouth shut. It was in moments like this I resented the crudeness of my own flesh and blood.

My father shot me a brief look. He was desperate, I could see it glistening in his eyes. “Alright. I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this but…how about we raise the stakes then?”

The stakes?

“An addition to your workforce, perhaps?” he went on. “My daughter is an excellent assistant to me. I’ve tasked her with many important missions in the past. She is reliable, resilient, and obedient.”

My heart skipped a beat, my stomach churning. Nausea crept its way up my throat, my limbs tensing. My own father…meant to sell me to Sylus? To Onychinus?

The shock and hurt must have been visible on my face. It was ironic, really, that my ability to keep a poker face was remarkably pathetic given the very place of this meeting.

Sylus’s crimson eyes flickered over to me before they focused on my father again. My own gaze followed him. There was no way he would agree to this. Sylus had shown himself to be nothing but a gentleman the last time we met. He’d respect my autonomy, he’d—

“Hmm. That does sound like a fair enough deal. I accept.”

What? My head whipped back in his direction, my eyes widening in pure horror. He…he couldn’t be serious now, could he? He wouldn’t let my father sell me to him like cattle…right? Right?

The man who was supposed to love and protect me turned to me. His hand felt heavy and sweaty when he put it on mine. “Go with him, sweetheart. Make me proud.”

“You’ve planned this all along.”

He nodded.

“How could you?” I choked out.

“Sweetheart…this is the N109 zone. It’s to kill or be killed. And you working for Onychinus? It will lift my reputation and respect tenfold. It won’t be too different from working for me, hmm?”

I should be surprised. Hurt. Heartbroken. And perhaps I was all of these things but instead, all I was able to feel was an uncomfortable numbness revealing to me what I had known for years without wanting to realise. My father had never truly loved me. I was a tool. A means to an end. Another mouth to feed that he was now finally rid of.

Sylus rose from his chair, flinging the coin in the air before catching it and letting it disappear in his pocket again.

“Come on, kitten. It’s getting late. Consider your name off my list. For now,” he added, addressing my father.

The twins approached me when I made no move to follow Sylus back outside and to his car. Their touch on my shoulders was surprisingly gentle. I wanted to cry. Wanted to ruin the makeup I had applied so meticulously only an hour before in order to please my father. Not a single tear was willing to escape my eyes though, not even when Sylus opened the door to the passenger seat for me and the all too familiar scent of his expensive car filled my nostrils. Moments later, we rushed through the streets as if we owned the place. In a way we did. Well, Sylus did.

I refused to take in the beauty and vastness of his home when we arrived. It reminded me of a gothic novel, one with mysterious counts and vampires luring in young women to keep them as playthings and living blood bags. Expensive art and antique furniture filled the place, our steps echoing all the way up to the high ceiling. I followed Sylus and the twins into what I assumed was both a lounge and a dining room.

Luke and Kieran placed the mysterious serum my father had retrieved on the table, removed the stopper, and gave it a little sniff before popping it back on.

“Now what?” I spat.

“Is it a fake, what do you think?” Sylus asked nonchalantly, ignoring my question entirely.

He… I gnashed my teeth. Why was he acting like I wasn’t even in the room?

“Looks genuine, Boss. We should have it checked though, just to be sure.”

Sylus nodded. “Leave it here for now. I’ll deal with it later.”

Three…two…one. I waited until Luke and Kieran had left the room before I all but threw myself at Sylus. This time, however, it was not to seek comfort and aid. This time, I was out for blood.

“You bastard!” I lashed out at him. “Why did you agree to this? Accepting me as a prize like I’m some sort of slave! I thought…I thought you were…”

Sylus’s reflexes were downright terrifying. He snatched my wrist before my palm got even close to his cheek, his red eyes darkening.

I gasped for air when he pushed me against the nearest wall and my back hit the golden frame of a painting, his large body pressed up against me and nullifying any chance at escape. Heavens, he was strong. I was well trained in martial arts, my father had insisted I learned to defend myself since my early childhood, but Sylus? Sylus could crush me. He wouldn’t even need to use his Evol for it.

“I agreed to your father’s proposal for your sake, kitten,” he growled. “Not for mine.”

“My sake? My sake? Am I supposed to believe that?”

“What kind of father bargains his own daughter away, kitten? You’re better off without him.” He paused, closing his eyes for a moment as if my behaviour was sawing on his nerves. “I have half a mind to send you back. You are acting obnoxiously ungrateful.” I…I couldn’t even tell if he was joking or not.

“How dare you?” I spat.

“Am I wrong? Your father doesn’t strike me as the type you say no to. What was your life like, I wonder? Running errands for him? Constantly putting yourself in danger like that first night we met, disregarding your own dreams, your own needs, all in order to earn the love of a man who was never willing to grant it to you in the first place?”

“Shut up! Just shut up!” I struggled against his steel grip, hot and salty tears now finally threatening to spill and stain my flushed cheeks. Sylus was right. He was right about everything and hearing him speak it all out loud was so painful my knees gave up on me. It all came crashing down on me like a landmine. My father’s betrayal, my services being sold like a pint of milk in the supermarket, Sylus…Sylus.

My attempt to shove him away caught him off guard long enough for me to slide to the floor the very moment he reached for the next best thing to steady himself—it was the dining table, the small bottle containing the mysterious Evol serum an inch too close to the edge.

Sylus cursed when it tipped over. The twins must not have stuffed the stopper back in properly, for when it did, its liquid contents spilled all over the smooth surface of his mahogany table and his long fingers. It sizzled when it made contact with his skin, throwing bubbles and emitting smoke before eventually drying into his pores in the blinking of an eye.

“What happened? What did it do? Are you hurt?” I didn’t want to show concern for this man. I ought to hate him, despise him, loathe him… I blinked my tears away. I just…I couldn’t. There was anger, yes. But…there was something else too. It was that feeling again. That very same feeling that had already filled me from head to toe the very night I had wrapped my arms around him begging for his help. It was security. Security and…protection. Like I could put my life in his hands and he would cherish it.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled. Sylus shook his hand out as if that would help remove whatever substance had crawled under his skin, salvaged what was left of the serum, and then, finally, sank to the floor so we were eye to eye again, propping one knee up and resting his underarm on it. His dark red gaze met mine. He appeared to be…fine. Perhaps my father had lied and the serum was a fake after all.

“I suggest…a ceasefire for now.”

I sucked my lower lip between my teeth, wiping my eyes. My palms came back bearing black streaks from my makeup but I couldn’t care less. Nevertheless…I nodded.

“If you don’t want me as your assistant…does that mean…I’m free to go?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

“You are not a prisoner here. Although, I would prefer to keep you around for a while longer. Your father will notice if you go straying again too soon, kitten.”

It took me a sharp inhale to process his words. Safe, a treacherous voice in my head whispered. You are safe with him.

“I wish you’d stop calling me that.” I wish you’d never stop calling me that. My heart skipped a beat whenever he did.

Sylus chuckled. “Don’t act like you hate it. You are…” He did not finish his sentence. My jaw dropped to the floor when he was suddenly stopped by a pair of fluffy brown cat ears springing from his white hair. They were quickly followed by a long tail of the same fur colour. Sylus tensed and gasped audibly.

“W-what is happening?” I choked out.

With one hand, he reached up to feel his ears, flinching when he realised that they were part of his body and…assumingly sensitive.

“So that’s what the serum does…” Sylus mumbled.

I gasped, covering my mouth with my palm to stifle a hysteric laugh.

“Who’s the kitten now, Sylus?”

Shit, this… This was all so…so absurd! All of it! This whole evening, me being here, Sylus turning into an Evol cat…could anything else go horribly wrong at this point?

My emotions turned into a bubbling cauldron full of uncertainty. It was overwhelming, to say the least. And I was getting tired of trying to figure out which feeling I wanted to give in to. Wiping the wet tears from my cheeks one last time, I sniffled and sat up, determined to not let fate get the better of me. I’d get through this. Somehow.

“I’m glad you’re amused.”

“You…you have no idea how much I needed this. You…you’re going to be okay though, right?”

“Of course I will. I just need to find out how to reverse the effects.”

“Why were you interested in this serum anyway? My father’s motivations I can understand, he’s in it for the money but you are…you are filthy rich already.” And the more I’m speaking to you, the more I’m realising you’re not the brutal and cold criminal I thought you were.

“There may be links to the usage of an Aether Core. That is all you need to know, kitten.”

I raised an eyebrow, half a smirk battling the sternness on my face. Truly, I couldn’t care less about Protocores. “I think you lost the right to call me that when you grew a pair of cat ears and a wagging tail, Sylus,” I said instead.

I paused, biting my lower lip. I made my decision there and then. I was safe. For now. And…I trusted him. I trusted Sylus enough to keep me alive and well and that had to suffice for now. I could deal with those strange butterflies awakening in my belly whenever he was near me tomorrow.

“I…I want to stay. And help you fix…whatever this is.” I reached up, scratching his left ear. My eyes widened when a little moan escaped his lips.

“That…is sensitive.”

Oh. Did…did he just growl?!

“You are welcome to stay, kitten. Nothing will happen to you here. Besides…I could use another assistant once I’ve sent Luke and Kieran off to find an antidote for…this.”

He whipped his tail in my direction where it wrapped around my waist. I cleared my throat. I was starting to feel a little cheeky now that I was certain that Sylus would keep his promise. Banter helped. Banter kept me distracted.

“I could be of great assistance indeed. I’ll clean your litter box every day, buy you fresh milk, brush your tail…and I’m more than happy to take you to the vet to get you checked for fleas.”

His gaze darkened. Evidently, my joke was not lost on him. Nor was the playfulness.

“You’re dancing on very thin ice, sweetie.” Sweetie? Now that was a new nickname. I decided I liked it just as much.

“I like to live on the edge. I… I hope you’ll compensate me adequately for my services though.”

Sylus crawled forward and pressed me closer against the wall with a start, almost as if his newly won feral instincts had taken over, ushering him into showing his affection by rubbing against me. I suppressed a moan. Being so close to him had my mind wander off into dangerous territory I was certain there was no coming back from. And to make matters even worse… Sylus’s crimson gaze now dropped to my slightly parted lips.

“Generously…” he whispered.

I’d gotten unlucky before. All my life, to be precise. Maybe today, the tables had finally turned.

#sylus #sylus imagine #sylus x you #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus lads #sylus lads imagine #sylus lads x you #sylus lads x reader #sylus lads x mc #love and deepspace #lads

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skeltnwrites · 3 days ago

Text

The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

As a single dad, Steve’s world revolves around school drop-offs, bedtime rituals, and tee-ball practices—and he's struggling to keep up. But you're always there, happily lending a hand when he needs it most. / masterlist

part three - you help steve and penelope look for cinderella 11k

a/n - this actually took me ages oh my god. but to those asking about cinderella here you go! CW lost pet (happy ending i promise)

── .✦

The clock hanging in the hall clicks annoyingly loud. Tick, tick, tick, like a bad song stuck in your head. You watch the minute hand cross another line. It hasn’t been adjusted since the time changed last week. Similarly, the calendar below it has yet to be flipped.

It’s November now, but more importantly, it’s Friday. It’s quickly cementing itself as your favorite day of the week. Friday’s mean lunch in Steve’s office and trading weekend plans and hearing about the kind of mischief Penelope’s been up to at home.

But it’s a quarter past eight and Steve hasn’t arrived yet. He’s never been late, or even absent since you started volunteering. It’s odd, but everyone has their days you suppose. Still, a dull twinge blooms in your chest. Working without him might as well be a form of punishment.

Someone had shoved a vacuum in your hands while they try and figure out if he’s coming. It’s boring work, not the kind Steve would give you. And when he has to give you boring work, he at least makes it fun. Turns most things into games or competitions. Like last week, he bet you any candy from the vending machine that he could sort donations faster than you. You bought him a Reeses, of course, but if anyone asks, you let him win on purpose.

You hear Steve before you see him. He’s not loud, but his voice is distinct against any others. By now, you could pick him from a crowd by voice alone. You find him in the threshold between his supervisor's office and the hall. He lingers halfway out, toying with the door handle like he can’t decide if he should go inside.

“Ah, look who finally decided to show up,” you overhear. “Was about to send a search party for you, Harrington.” The man cackles at his own joke, tone devoid of any edge.

Steve laughs strangely. A laugh you aren’t sure you’ve ever heard from him before. He spills a string of apologies for his tardiness, but his boss waves him off and sends him to work.

When he backpedals out of the doorway, you chide, “Tsk. Tsk. You’re late, Harrington.”

Steve spooks easily. He hates to admit it but it makes him an easy target for office pranks which you do take full advantage of now that you’re friends. But you aren’t even trying to scare him this time.

He visibly tenses at your voice, eyes snapping to yours. They’re as intense as you’ve ever seen the lovely shade of brown, yet dulled with the toll of exhaustion. The next thing you notice is his hair. It’s combed back behind his ears and by the looks of it has no product.

“Hey,” he tries, stopping halfway to clear his throat.

As if his appearance isn’t alarming enough, the lack of a comeback is triple worrisome. You try– and fail– to contain your concern. “What happened?”

He deflates in one big sigh. Any attempt at a facade vanished. It’s impossible to lie to you when you look so concerned.

“I’m the worst dad ever,” he declares, skimming your arm as he sidesteps past you.

You catch up to his long stride with practiced eloquence. “Uh-oh. What’d you do?”

“Cinderella’s gone missing.”

“Missing?”

He nods.

“But she’s an outside cat, right? She’s probably, I dunno, chasing birds or slumped over a can of tuna at a neighbor's house.”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek. “It’s been four days. Four. She’s usually around at least once a day, if not, every other. I can’t even remember the last time–”

“Wait, wait. This makes you the worst dad, how exactly?”

He forces his key into the lock of his office door, jostling the handle in frustration. “Because Penelope’s begged me since forever to let her be an inside cat and I always say no. She wouldn’t have got lost if she was inside.”

You flick on the light and hum, understanding more than agreeing. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Steve, but I think you’re exaggerating.”

He plants his bag on the desk and unzips it. “This is serious. She loves that cat more than me, I swear.”

“Okay, first of all, not true. Second of all, this is serious and it sucks but it doesn’t make you a bad dad. You know that right?”

“Besides the point,” he passes you a heavy pile of paper. “Will you help me hang these up?”

You don’t answer because you don’t need to. He already knows you’ll say yes.

Black ink across the top page reads, “MISSING CAT”. There are two patchy images of Cinderella, one of which you’ve never seen and the other underexposed beyond recognition. Steve’s name, phone number, and address are listed at the bottom too. You flick through the stack, finding each version of Cinderella has been coated in a thick layer of brown crayon.

“Penelope insisted on coloring all of them so people know what color she is.”

Steve doesn’t have time for the pity party of a look you show him. If you cry, he’ll cry. And he’s cried enough in the last few days.

You accompany Steve to the bulletin board outside his office. Unspokenly, you accept the very important job of paper-passer while he’s in charge of the stapler.

“Thanks,” he says flatly, thumb catching on yours as he takes the page you’re holding out.

“Don’t worry, Steve. She’ll come home. Cats just like their space sometimes.” You aren’t totally sure if that’s true about cats, but it sounds like the right thing to say.

He mutters something under his breath. Not mean, just doubtful.

It’s unusual to be the one filling the conversation. Steve’s good at talking, a Chatty Cathy as he often calls Penelope. But you try your best to fill his shoes.

“How’s Penelope dealing with it?”

“Awfully.” He chuckles dryly. “She’s on strike for just about everything right now. Refused to go to sleep, refused to eat breakfast, refused to get in the car this morning.”

You nod and hand him another sheet.

“I’d bet by lunch I’ll have to go pick her up. She was hysterical at drop-off.”

“I’m sorry, Steve.” You have a funny urge to tack on something other than his name. Dummy or boss are typical but ill-fitting. And honey or sweetheart would probably cross a line, though, they’re nice to consider.

He sighs, kneading his eye sockets. “I’m sorry. I’m being… I know you’re trying to help.”

“You’re allowed to feel frustrated you know.”

“I know. You’re just– thanks.”

“I’m banning that word from our conversations. You say it too much,” you tease.

He gives you a look, neither happy nor sad. “Cause you’re always helping me, dummy.”

You grin, largely at the nickname.

Every board in the building is covered with posters and every person is notified of Cinderella’s disappearance in half the time it would normally take you and Steve. He’s not in any rush, just in his head. And after that, you dissolve into separate work, never far but still apart.

By noon Steve’s on his third cup of coffee. But no amount of caffeine or sugar will erase the heavy bags under his eyes. Finding Cinderella might be the only cure.

So there’s no debate in your mind when you offer, “I can come over and help look tonight?”

Steve holds a finger up, gaze trained on an address book with his phone clamped between his ear and shoulder. “Hi, Miss Crawford?” He pushes the bridge of his glasses further up his nose. It’s rare that he wears them in front of you. Cute, nonetheless. “Yes, it’s Steve,” he says.

There’s high-pitched rambling on the other end, not clear enough to discern anything other than an old-timey affection for Steve. You aren’t sure of the nature of Steve’s relationship with the woman, but he appears equally fond, even through the somber hues of his story.

She offers no valuable insight as to Cinderella’s whereabouts but promises to keep an eye out, making her… strike seven. Steve’s determined to phone every person he knows and then every local in the phone book in the span of his thirty-minute lunch break. You joked about stealing his office neighbor’s phone to help, but Steve insisted you didn’t.

When he docks the receiver you repeat yourself.

“Sorry. You really don’t have to.”

“I know, but I can… If you want. It’s up to you.”

“I– okay,” he sighs. “Only if you really don’t mind. It would be really helpful honestly.”

“After work then?”

“Uhh, sure. I just have to pick up Penelope when I get off.”

“Sounds good.” You grin and stir your food idly with a fork. It eventually goes cold in your lap. You’re more preoccupied with what you’ll wear tonight and what to bring Penelope to cheer her up. Candy’s probably your best bet. You know she’s already run out of Skittles from Halloween.

Steve’s lips twitch happily as he dials another number.

That’s about the happiest you see him. The rest of the day is a blur, mostly busywork as Steve is consistently ushered away by someone for something not even in his job description. For the first time possibly ever, he leaves on time. And he doesn’t say goodbye. He’s clearly having an awful day so you pretend it doesn’t sting, but the walk to your car is painfully silent.

At home, you change quickly, pop something frozen in the microwave, and retrace your steps back to the car in record time. The drive to Steve’s is unfortunately not very long. It doesn’t give you much time to mull over every possible scenario like your brain desires. But you’ll survive.

It still feels unfamiliar, pulling into his driveway. Less so than the first time, but still. You notice things you hadn’t before. The long crack like lightning in the pavement, the tinkle of a wind chime against the breeze, and the stepping stone with a ‘P’ carved in it. Halloween was the last time you were here. A couple of weeks has never felt like such a lifetime. Steve’s been busy parenting and working late and all. You don’t blame him. Sometimes you wonder how he ever made time for you in the first place with his schedule.

On the front steps, Penelope plucks a weed and adds it to her bouquet. Her cheek is squished against the top of her knee and she’s curled over herself like a pillbug. Brown eyes flick up as you near. One blink, then two. The epitome of indifference.

“Hi, Penelope.”

“Hi,” she says. She sounds uncharacteristically small. And she is small, but her voice is anything but. You know her to be bold, unapologetic. But not today.

You squat, toe to toe with her little Mary Janes, and wave a pack of Skittles. “Look what I brought,” you sing.

The slightest lift of her frown before she restores the pout for good. “For me?”

“All for you.”

She takes the candy and tucks it under her arm.

“Wanna help me look for your dad?”

It’s not a bribe, though her presence does tend to balm your Steve-induced nerves. So you are a little disappointed when she shakes her head. But disappointment wanes into sympathy and sympathy to determination. Determination to help her find Cinderella as soon as possible.

You palm her shoulder as you stand. The front door is ajar, the breeze eating any warmth in the foyer. It’s eerily quiet inside.

“Steve?”

“One second!” he calls back, muffled from upstairs.

The entryway is messier than you remember it. Shoes in a jumbled heap behind the door, Steve’s unzipped backpack slumped against the baseboards, and winter gloves and hats knocked haphazardly onto the tile. You bend to pick up a knit beanie as Steve hurdles down the stairs.

He struggles to squeeze into a raincoat over the thick sweater he wore to work. “Hey,” he smiles softly, gaze sweeping across your clothes. “Thanks for coming.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Do you want a heavier coat? Radio said it’s supposed to storm tonight.”

“Oh,” you peer down at your denim jacket. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Steve tilts his head, passing you a bundle of crumpled pink cloth. “Give this to Penelope? I’ll grab you one.” He doesn’t allow you to argue before turning around, but he stops halfway up the stairs, leaning over the railing to say, “Tell her to grab her boots too.”

You find the boots in the pile by the door and bring them to Penelope outside. She stares at you helplessly with one shoe halfway on the wrong foot.

“Need help?”

“Yes please.”

You take her ankle and prop her foot against yours. It takes a few tries and lots of wiggling but you slide the boot on and lace the purple strings all the way up. The second round is easier but you still wonder whether kids shoes are supposed to be this difficult.

The door groans behind you and a warm hand cups your shoulder. “Did you eat?” Steve asks. “I can make you something before we go.”

You rise to face him. The sky’s overcast, muting his tan complexion, making him look even more spent than he had earlier. “I ate. But thank you,” you smile, hoping to encourage one back.

He doesn’t but he unfolds the coat he’s carrying, shaking the arms free so it’s easier for you to slip on. “See if this fits.”

It’s not your typical size, but the extra weight is nice. Traces of pine and juniper linger, like it’s been taken on a hike recently. And you’re instantly warmer, a comfort that extends beyond the garment alone.

“Nice,” he nods, taking it upon himself to even out the hood strings for you. His fingernail skips across the zipper teeth and for a second, you think he’ll zip it up too.

“Daddy, are we going now?”

Steve spins on his heel, shuffling for his keys at the door. “Yes, baby. What did we talk about?”

Penelope kicks a load of gravel into the grass. “Ummm, I dunno.”

“No running off. If I can’t see you, we go home. Capeesh?”

When he jogs down the steps to her side, she sighs. “Capeesh.”

“Ready?” He pats her head, “Got your detective hat on?”

She peers up then, a flush of fresh purpose, and nods.

“Alright, Detective. Let’s roll.”

Steve’s yard is embraced by dense woods on every side but the road. He leads you to the tree line where a trail has been carved smooth with frequent use. Bark stretches tall and needle branches weave a canopy of orange above.

“Katie said I need to think more like a cat.” Penelope cranes her head up, “Do you think Cinderella went in the trees?”

“Maybe,” Steve mumbles, focused on jamming his nail under the metal tab of a can of cat food.

“So maybe I should climb up to check?”

“Not these ones, babe. Too tall.”

“But what if she’s in one? Like, a really, really tall one.”

“I think she’d pick a shorter one so she could get down,” you supply. “It would probably hurt her nails going all the way up there too.”

She hums. You drift into a steady rhythm of whistling and calling Cinderella’s name. Penelope waves a toy ball with a little bell inside while you rattle the jar of treats.

Penelope orbits off course slowly and when she hops out of sight Steve calls, “What did I say Nell?”

“No running away!”

He shakes his head at you, “This kid’ll be the death of me, I swear.”

You grin, turning back to him when you spot Penelope. Steve has a lovely side profile. You try to memorize the shape without tripping over any twigs as you walk. “How was she at school?”

“Sad, they said. She cried at nap. Refused to sleep at all.”

You coo.

“But she ate all her lunch, so that’s good.”

You hum in agreement.

Penelope crouches to examine the inside of a log. Her pigtails flip as she tips her head upside down.

“Did you find something?” you ask.

Penelope pulls something dark out, a dopey smile rounding her cheeks. “A slug.”

Steve scrunches his nose but quickly slackens it in a poor attempt to conceal his disgust. Thankfully, you don’t have to be a good actor to fool a four-year-old. “Nice, honey.”

“I think he’s dead.”

“Why don’t you put him back? He’s probably hibernating.”

“Hiding? Why?”

“No, hi-ber-nat-ing. It’s when the animals go to sleep during the winter.”

She squints, “For the whole winter?”

“Yeah, think so.”

“How do they do that?”

“Umm, I don’t know.” Steve glances at you for help but you only shrug. “They just do.”

One of the joys of parenthood you’ve discovered through Penelope is the plethora of questions that you have absolutely no idea how to answer.

Penelope replants the slug in its home, making a point to clarify, “Cinderella wasn’t in there.”

The trail dips steadily downward, covered with a mess of broken branches, scattered pinecones, and crunchy leaves that crackle beneath your feet. Steve’s leading the way, rambling about something or other and you’d swear you’re listening if he asked. But truthfully, your eyes trace the fit of his jeans shamelessly. He has a nice ass, it’s hard not to notice!

Your foot snags on something hard– a root, a branch, you aren’t totally sure– and it all happens so fast. You yelp and pitch forward, knees and hands slamming into the dirt with the full force of your weight.

Steve whirls around and assesses the damage, quickly determines there are no injuries severe enough to warrant a hospital visit, and then he fucking cackles.

You scoff, burying your own amusement as Penelope mimics him. Some example Dad is setting. At least he offers to help you up, Penelope just watches your embarrassment unfold.

“Don’t laugh!” You yank his hand, harsh enough that he stumbles forward onto your toe. “Ow– Steve!”

“That’s what you get!” He hauls you up, grip faltering with each peel of laughter.

You twist around yourself, sweeping your backside. “Do I have leaves on my butt?”

He looks for as long as he deems appropriate which is not very long at all. “Just dirt and a ton of bugs.”

“Shut up,” you smack his bicep.

Penelope points, “That is not nice!”

“Yeah, keep your hands to yourself,” Steve teases.

You trap a retort behind clenched teeth and look to Penelope. “Sorry.”

“Uhh. You’re supposed to apologize to me.”

You skip past him to Penelope’s side. “I’m helping Penelope look right now. Maybe later.”

Steve knows you won’t see it but he hopes you feel him sticking up his middle finger.

Penelope trudges along, the corners of her mouth drawn tight in quiet sadness. She fills the silence before you find the words.

“Do you think she’ll come home?” she asks earnestly.

“I do, Pen. I think she’s probably just hiding.”

“Like hide and seek?”

“Yeah.”

She considers your words carefully. “But why?”

“I dunno. Cats are just silly like that.”

She smiles. “Like dinosaurs?”

You smile back. “Exactly.”

The trees taper off, merging with the cracked sidewalk lining a cul de sac. Penelope’s ponytails are swept off her shoulders as a car whizzes by.

You cuff her smaller fingers in your own just as Steve tells her to hold someone’s hand.

He stops at her other side, surveying the neighborhood. It’s the type you’d imagine families live in. Basketball hoops, sidewalk chalk, bikes thrown against the lawns.

“I’m gonna go talk to some neighbors. Will you hang some posters?” Steve asks you. “We should hurry. I think it’s going to rain soon.”

“Can I go?”

Steve’s eyes trail from Penelope back up to you curiously.

“Yeah, I’ve got her.” You squeeze her hand, reassuring yourself more than anyone.

“Okay. Penelope, be a good listener. Don’t go on the road by yourself. I’ll be just over there.” He points to a house with yellow siding and starts across the road.

You turn Penelope by the shoulders and unzip her bag, taking the stapler in one hand and the stack of paper in the other.

“Can you carry these?” you ask, thrusting the posters toward her.

You straighten out the stapler and pick a sheet off the top before she braces them against her chest. “You know, this reminds me of when we first met.”

“Because I helped you hang up stuff?”

“Mhmm.” You line the page up against a tree, nailing each corner to be sure it sticks.

Eventually, you're passed a different poster, a painting. It’s a charming tangle of shapes and a riot of brown and orange. At the top, "MISSING" is written with two backward S’s in a crooked slope.

“Did you paint this?”

“Yes, at school.”

“Wow. Did you write this too?”

“Yep. My teacher helped me.”

“Very good!” You tack it to a telephone pole and pivot to face her, brimming with pride.

She’s not nearly as happy as you are about it. Her lips thin as she stares at her work and she hesitates before asking,“Do you think we’re bad detectives?”

Your chest aches so sudden and fierce like you’ve been punched. You crouch, rubbing the soft fleece at her elbow. “No. No, honey. We aren’t bad detectives. Detective work just takes time. We have a lot of ground to cover.”

Her frown wobbles, lashes shining. “It’s taking so long,” she whines.

“I know, Pen. Cinderella didn’t leave us many clues, huh?” You swipe a tear before it reaches her mouth. You want to promise her that Cinderella will come home but your gut won’t let you. You don’t know if she really will. “Let’s go check on your Dad. See if the neighbors have seen her. Hmm?”

She nods and you give her your best loving squeeze.

Steve’s halfway up the steps of someone’s porch, mid-conversation with a young woman. Her frown deepens as you and Penelope approach, unlike the baby on her hip who smiles at you.

Steve glances over before continuing. “Well, please call, if you do happen to see her.”

“Absolutely. I hope you find her.”

“Thanks,” he waves, descending the stairs to stand beside you.

“No luck?” you ask, peering up at the clouds. They’re getting moodier by the minute and it’s started to sprinkle.

His hand settles around Penelope’s skull like a claw, he shakes her frown away but not easily. “Not yet. We’ll keep looking.”

Penelope walks a few feet ahead of you and Steve. Every few mailboxes you and Steve stick another poster up. Penelope doesn’t stop to wait, but she’s thorough in her searching, checking under cars and in drain pipes. Enough to even out the distance that grows each turn.

You’re faced away, unclogging the jam in the stapler when Penelope gasps.

“Nell! Wait!” Steve shouts as you turn. By then she’s already halfway up someone’s lawn.

Steve jogs after her and you jog after Steve. Penelope’s made it to the sideyard when you catch up, stretching onto tiptoes and squinting through a rotted hole in the fence.

“Penelope,” Steve sighs.

“I saw her Daddy! She jumped over the fence!”

“Are you sure?” His hand curls over the top of the fence but his eyes can’t reach.

“Yes, I promise! We have to go over!”

He scrapes through his hair, judging the wood planks. They’re at least a head taller than Steve, but there’s a thin lip dividing each in half. If he angles his foot right, he could use it to boost himself over.

He shakes his head. He might've hopped a fence or two as a teenager, but he's grown now. “We have to ask. It’s someone’s yard.”

Penelope wails, yanking his arm repeatedly. “No! Daddy! What if she’s gone? We have to hurry!”

“Just go,” you wave, already backing up toward the house. “I’ll go knock. See if they’re home.”

Steve winces at himself for what he’s about to do. But one glance at Penelope’s worried little face is all the courage he needs. He tests his grip, the sole of a shoe scraping wood for a scary second before catching on the trim. With one leg on either side, he pauses to look at Penelope. “Stay there,” he says, before leaping into the grass.

He scans the backyard. There’s a swing set, a raised garden bed, a kiddie pool, and lots and lots of toys. It reminds him of his own yard. Steve takes a handful of hesitant steps, gaze flicking across each window for any horrified faces. He’s thankful not to see any.

Then, a meow—faint, but unmistakable. His heart lurches, his head whipping up to the nearest tree even faster. His eyes comb through branch after branch, then again when he comes up empty. But a second meow and he’s never been more sure. He wedges his heel into a groove, hugging the trunk for balance. His nails dig uncomfortably into the bark as he pulls himself up.

And there! Right where he swears he looked, a strip of golden-orange fur, blending seamlessly with the leaves… Except, Cinderella isn’t orange, she’s brown. Steve’s shoe slips, sending his chin hard into a thick branch on his way to the ground. The cat hisses equally if not more upset than Steve about the situation. He groans, glaring at the tree as he picks himself up.

“Did you find her? Was it her?” Penelope yells, still peeping through the hole in the fence.

Steve waits until he vaults back over to answer. “No, princess. Not her.”

“Your chin,” you point out, but your words are eaten by Penelope’s shouting.

“It was her! I know it was! I saw!”

“It wasn’t, Nell. Promise. That cat was orange.”

“But it was! I saw her!” Penelope crumbles into hysterics, batting her fists against Steve’s thighs like they’re punching bags.

Steve scoops her up, clamping her arms between their chests.

“Daddy, we have to go back! I saw her!” Several gasps slice through her sentence and tears pour down her face in even streams.

Steve shushes her gently, fanning her hood across her head as it starts to rain. You follow him up to the road and then down the street. Penelope’s relentless, squirming and screaming in his ear. It’s the first of her temper tantrums you’ve seen in person, though you’ve heard plenty about them, and you caught the beginning of one once through the phone. Steve’s more composed than you thought possible, waiting patiently until her sobs have dwindled into teary hiccups to set her down.

“It’s not nice to hit. Even when we’re mad, you know that.”

She glares at him, more serious than you’ve ever seen.

“Are you ready to go home?”

Penelope’s face starts to wilt. She nearly cries again.

“It’s too rainy. We have to go home soon or we’ll get sick.”

“Five more minutes,” she begs.

“Okay.” He buttons her coat up to her chin. “Are you tired?”

She shakes her head, though her eyes say otherwise.

“Do you want me to carry you?”

Penelope thinks long and hard. It’s a trick question. Of course she wants to be carried but God forbid Steve finds out she’s tired.

He picks her up anyway. “You can still look from up here.”

Penelope hooks her chin over his shoulder, cheek tipping to kiss the pad of his jacket. So much worry and too many days of poor sleep etched into each flap of her lashes. She looks utterly exhausted. And she really tries to stay awake– she needs to find Cinderella– but she lost that battle before it even started. The hiss of rain and the warm swing of Steve’s embrace send her straight to dreamland.

Steve feels her arms slacken and slide down his back. He chances a glimpse at you to ask what he already knows but can’t. Not when you’re already watching Penelope with a type of love he believed was his alone to give.

Alarm pulses when he registers the weight of your stare has shifted to him. The same velvet endearment skips across every feature on your face. It’s lovely and adorable but it terrifies the hell out of Steve.

His cheeks burn and he smiles like a madman. He can’t help it. It sticks long after his eyes dart away.

You drift into a comfortable quiet. The spray of rain is like white noise, making even you drowsy. Maybe Steve could carry you back too. It’s an amusing idea, enough to make you grin to yourself. You’re glad he doesn’t notice. He couldn't torture that information out of you.

Halfway home, you hit a particularly steep incline in the forest, slick with the beginning sludge of mud.

“Here,” Steve calls, boosting Penelope higher up his chest before casting his arm at you.

You accept his hand, grateful for more reasons than one, and trace the wet shoeprints he leaves behind with your own. It’s a slow journey. Steve strains with the added weight on his front, but he doesn’t let go of you until you reach the top of the hill.

You cross the threshold back into Steve’s yard as a bout of thunder splits the sky above. Penelope shakes awake and peels herself off Steve. She blinks unhappily, cheeks stamped with red lines mirroring his coat folds.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, fixing her hood after it falls.

“Cinderella,” she whimpers.

“We’ll look again tomorrow.”

She sniffles, voice so frail, hollow with sleep. “No. I–”

Another wave of thunder startles her to panicked tears. Steve picks up the pace to the front door, shuffling through his pocket for the keys. He’s well-versed in unlocking the door one-handed– between groceries, backpacks, Penelope– he always has something to carry. But he’s thankful when you take the keys and do it for him.

You scoot inside last, joining the choir of shoe squealing on the tile.

Steve sets Penelope on the floor and kneels to unlace her boots. She wrestles with her coat zipper until Steve intervenes with much gentler hands.

“We looked really good while you were asleep,” you promise while shedding your own coat.

Her miserable expression doesn’t falter.

Steve smears her tear tracks one cheek at a time. “Stay for a bit? Until the storm passes.”

You bend to collect Penelope’s coat off the floor and hang it next to yours. “Okay,” you say when you realize his words were directed at you.

“I’m gonna give her a quick bath. Do you need anything? Water? Towel?”

“Oh, no. I’m good. Thanks.”

“Okay. We’ll be upstairs. Please, help yourself to whatever. Seriously.”

When Steve disappears from view, you mosey into the living room, searching for something to keep your hands busy. And it’s not hard to find. There’s a pile of laundry that looks like it’s been trampled through more than a few times. Clothes stretch from one end of the couch to the other. You push them into a pile and get comfortable, folding each item with more care than you would your own.

Four neat stacks later and Steve spots you from the stairs. “Please don’t do that,” he says.

You clear your smirk as he nears. “Do what?”

“You know what,” he snatches a sock from your grasp. It’s one of his, longer and duller than the others. “Sorry, I know it’s a mess.”

“You know I don’t care, Steve.”

He gazes down at you in pretend petulance. “Well, I do.” With a dramatic flick of his finger, he sends the sock sailing back into the hamper on the floor.

“If it makes you feel better, I have a pile of clothes covering half my bed right now.”

“Mmm. It doesn’t,” he decides. “But I came down because Penelope’s very kindly requested that you come read to her before she goes to bed. If you want to.”

“Of course I want to.” Your lips bend into a funny little line, happy and curious and doubtful all dressed in one. “She really asked for me?”

“Yeah,” he says in the same cadence he would duh. He offers his palm, drags you up easily. “Why’s that so hard to believe?”

“I dunno.” A toothy smile slips onto your face before you can stop it. But your lips close as soon as you stand, pressed closer to him than you expected to be.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, breaking away. “Come on.”

He seemed nervous– the way he laughed, how his hands retracted like he was burned– but maybe you’re overthinking it. You forget about the interaction by the time you reach Penelope’s room.

Several books are fanned around Penelope where she stands, like fallen petals from the stem of a flower. Her shelf has been mostly stripped. What isn’t on the floor has been scooped into a flimsy stack in her arms.

Steve knocks on the door frame, “Ready?”

Penelope turns and two books slide off the top of her tower. You can’t see her mouth but you can tell by her eyes that there’s a smile behind that copy of Goodnight Moon.

“You can pick three, missy,” he says.

“Five?”

“Four.”

“Four and a half?”

“Three.”

“No,” she giggles, definitely delirious. “Four.”

“Okay.” He kneels at her feet, reshelving unchosen books two or three at a time.

It’s not an easy decision, but Penelope decides on her four and promptly thrusts them into your hands. You follow her to bed where she packs herself against the wall, politely leaving the rest of the twin mattress for you.

“Wait!” she shouts when you open the first book, “The lights!”

“I’m working on it,” Steve grumbles, standing to flip the light switch by the door. The room is swallowed in black apart from the nightlight glowing to life across the room.

Penelope stretches across you to snatch something off her nightstand. A flashlight, you realize, as she clicks the switch. She trains the light on the page and beams at you with equal vibrance.

The first story is the shortest and the second not much longer, but the third takes time. Time you get to notice the heat of her breath as she yawns into your arm and time to appreciate the weight of her head limp against your shoulder.

You don’t have to look up to know Steve is still tidying. Every second counts when you’re a single parent. But you steal a glance in between each page anyway. Find him chucking clothes in the hamper and dumping an armload of stuffed animals onto the foot of the bed. They’ll be kicked to the floor by morning and yet he straightens them up anyhow.

He concludes his rounds by the final pages of the fourth book, taking a seat on the floor just in time to hear you whisper, “The end.”

Penelope bats her dark eyes up at you. She knows you’ll say yes before she even asks. “One more?”

“No,” Steve interjects. “No more tonight, babe.”

“Pleaseee!”

“No, you already hustled me into four. We usually only read two.”

“Pretty please!” she adds, puppy dog eyes bouncing from Steve to you.

Oh the cruelty. To defy Steve or disappoint Penelope. Both are terrible choices but only one of the pair currently has a heartbreaking little pout.

“I’ll read one more really really short book if you promise to go to sleep after?”

Her head bobs eagerly as she kicks the blankets off, springing to her feet.

Steve’s head flops against the sheets, hair like satin ribbons shining from root to end. You consider if it’s as soft as you assume and if you’ll ever have the chance to find out.

“Supposed to be on my side,” he whispers through a gooey grin.

“Am I?”

He tuts, craning up to find Penelope. “Don’t take all of those back out. I just cleaned them up.”

She exchanges the two in her hand for a thick chapter book.

“No ma’am,” Steve says as she turns. “Short one, ‘member?”

Penelope huffs and lugs herself back to the bookcase. She plucks a thinner paperback and uses Steve’s calf as a stool to launch herself back in bed. He doesn’t complain but he pinches her side in revenge.

The book mirrors the length of tonight’s first, yet it takes double the time for your own selfish reasons. You linger on each word, emphasize each sound, and savor every second. Penelope is nestled against your hip as you read the final sentence, sleepy and oblivious that you’ve turned the last page.

Steve pulls himself up to perch on the edge of the bed, mindful not to sit on anyone’s legs. He runs the back of his hand across her face, giving her nose an extra tap. Enough times and it’ll put her to sleep.

“Can you say thanks, Nell? And goodnight.”

She squirms away from his touch, pushing into your thigh. “I don’t wanna go to sleep.”

“Pen, remember our deal.” You squeeze her shoulder gently. “You promised, hmm?”

You swallow the urge to smile when she juts her lip out and frowns. The drama never ends with this one but you love it.

“Goodnight,” you whisper. Your hand glides over the shape of her arm beneath the blanket. “I had fun reading to you.”

She avoids your gaze, picking a loose string from her blanket. If she sees you grinning, she’ll end up grinning too. She can’t have that, she’s protesting. “Night.”

Steve shakes his head dismissively at you, grinning fondly himself. “I’ll be down in a second,” he explains.

You stand, slotting the book back in its home on the shelf and steal one last glimpse of them on your way out. A trail of nightlights guides you to the stairs like beacons. You end up in the kitchen, hands braced on the sink, eyes drifting around the backyard through the window.

There’s a patio with chairs and string lights. In the grass, a trampoline, a sandbox, and a toddler-sized picnic bench, all draped in purple moonlight and sparkling with rain. It’s easy to imagine life here. Birthday parties and cookouts and lazy Sunday afternoons.

The swish of sock against tile knocks you from the fantasy. You locate Steve’s reflection in the glass.

“You better not be doing my dishes.”

Your lips flex instinctually at his voice. “I thought about it.”

He leans back against the counter, hip a hand’s width from yours. Strips of hair sag across his forehead like a botched set of bangs. Your height difference and the angle only accentuate how silly he looks.

“What?” Steve smiles.

You huff through your own. “Nothin’.”

“Why are you laughing then?”

“I’m not. Just…” you reach for his face but the courage fades halfway. You wave obtusely instead. “This hair,” you finish.

He flattens the piece down, then another, combing more and more over his face like a real pair of bangs until the ends graze the ball of his nose. “What? You don’t like it?”

“Oh, it’s awful, Steve. Put it back.”

“I dunno. Thinking of changing it up anyway.”

You shake your head, peeling your eyes away from him. “Stupid.”

Stupidly gorgeous, you decide. He’s a mess, no doubt; rumpled and sweaty, and still, stupidly, impossibly gorgeous.

He rakes his hair back where it belongs, “You’re too good to me, you know.”

“You’re so dramatic.” Your gaze remains on the window but you watch Steve in your peripherals. “I’m the perfect amount of good to you.”

“Well, agree to disagree. But, thank you for coming over to help look. Really I–”

You face him fully then. “Steve, you don’t have to thank me.”

“No, I do. Really, you’re… you’re great and it’s been nice, you know, having help. Even just having company. It hasn't been easy making friends the last few years.”

Your brain stalls at his choice of words. You spout the first thing that comes to mind. “That’s what friends are for, right?” The words sting like acid on your tongue but you smile anyway. You’re pretty sure your heart just split itself in half on the way to the friend zone.

He hums, pushing off the counter toward the fridge. “Let me return the favor, please. I’ll make you whatever you want. Spaghetti, PB ‘n J, uhh, pre-packaged salad?”

“I’m good, Steve. I ate earlier. And you don’t need to return the favor.”

He sets a jar of jelly on the counter. “Your loss. Penelope says I make the best PB ‘n J’s.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do.”

You settle at the kitchen table and watch him work unapologetically. His focus is entirely on a one-sided debate about the perfect peanut butter-to-jelly ratio, leaving him oblivious to your ogling.

He plops down in the chair across from yours when he’s finished. “Sure you don’t want some? You can have half of mine.”

“Steve.”

“Okay,” he sings and takes a bite.

You watch the slow drip of water from the eaves. The rain has subsided enough that you could go, but neither of you suggest it. Your mind is elsewhere. Stuck on friends.

“Hello? Anybody home?” Steve chuckles when you blink back to reality. “Did you hear me? I was–”

The trill of the phone interrupts.

“I’m holding my thought. Don’t go anywhere.” Steve abandons his sandwich and crosses the room, pulling the phone from the counter. “Hello?... Uh-huh… Yes, yes.”

The sudden shift in his tone catches your attention. He sounds borderline ecstatic.

“Okay. I’ll be right over. Thank you!”

“Who was it?” you ask.

He snaps the receiver back into place. “A neighbor saw her just now.”

“Really?”

“Yes! Well, they’re pretty sure it’s her. It sounded like her, how they described. Are you able to stay here while I go check? I don’t wanna wake Penelope up.”

You don’t even think about it when you insist, “Of course. Go!”

“I’ll be right back. Thank you!” He squeezes your shoulder and jogs out of the kitchen. The sound of jangling keys fades with the closing of the front door and before you’ve processed it, you’re alone in Steve’s house.

It’s a strange thing, being in Steve’s house without Steve. You’re not technically alone, Penelope is still tucked in bed upstairs, of course. But the silence is thick, suffocating even. So you’re admittedly glad when you hear tiny footsteps from upstairs.

On the bottom step, Penelope freezes and her hand tightens around the railing, not expecting you to be there. “Where’s Daddy?” she mewls at you, bottom lip quivering against her words.

“It’s okay. He went out to look some more, that’s all.”

“I want Daddy,” she whines, breath hitching in between words.

“He’ll be right back, sweetheart. I promise.”

A sob wracks her chest, tears escaping as she scrunches her eyes. Sniffles cut through a mush of sounds, woven between them, she pleads, “When?”

“Oh, honey. Come here.” You hoist her up against your chest instinctually. It feels like the right thing to do, and it must be– her arms wind underneath yours like puzzle pieces. “Real soon,” you reassure.

You hope so anyway. Half for Penelope’s sake and half for yours. You’re afraid to overstep, to parent her in a way Steve wouldn’t approve of. You feel the echoes of his constant self-doubt in your own mind. But you’ll try your best until he returns.

Penelope’s not heavy, but it is the first time you’ve carried another human down a set of stairs. It’s a slow descent with lots of maneuvering and readjusting limbs so you can see the steps ahead but she doesn’t seem to mind. By the time you make it to the sectional, your arms burn. Still, you’d do it ten times over just so she doesn’t have to walk herself.

She sweeps her runny nose across your sleeve and her knee digs uncomfortably into your ribcage but you can’t find it in yourself to mind. She feels safe enough with you to do so. It’s a compliment more than anything. And the weight of her head against you is a type of soothing you don’t think you’ll ever get used to.

Your fingertips trace the shape of her shoulder blades through her nightgown. “Did you have a bad dream?” you whisper.

She draws similar lazy patterns on your arm, pausing to hum yes.

You hum back. “‘M sorry, Pen. Wanna talk about it? Might help.”

She shakes her head, the slightest movement against your collar.

“Okay, I got you. Don’t have to worry,” you whisper and pat her head. “I won’t let any more bad dreams get in here.”

Steve’s gone long enough to fuel your nerves and keep your mind buzzing, though your eyes beg for the sweet release of sleep. Penelope’s not helping, like a warm, weighted blanket on your chest. She’s barely awake herself when he arrives, but you’re surprised she’s awake at all. You aren’t sure what time it is but it’s definitely late.

Two clicks from the front door’s lock and a Steve-shaped shadow slides inside. He’s being particularly quiet, like when tries to sneak up on you at the rec center. Like a ninja, he always says.

Penelope’s head shoots up to peer over the couch. “Daddy?”

Steve stops in his tracks, but his head snaps in your direction. When his eyes confirm his ears he starts toward the couch, waiting until he can sit to coo, “Hey, baby. Hey.” A hand scoops a piece of hair behind her ear. “What are you doing up sleepyhead?”

Penelope splinters off of your chest but remains situated on your thighs. She offers several half-lidded blinks to Steve. “You didn’t find her?”

He melts like her eyes are made of sunbeams, reaching up to thumb sleep from under her lashes. “No, baby. Someone thought they did but it wasn’t her. I went to make sure.”

“Oh,” she says, not sad, just tired. Penelope slowly leans over to him like a bridge, wrapping her arms around his neck as he tows her into his lap.

He looks at you then. A long look. An expression you're having a hard time untangling. His eyes flutter back down when Penelope yawns. “Have to go to bed, okay?” he whispers into her crown, planting a kiss while he’s there.

“I wanna sleep in your room.”

“That’s fine but I’m not laying down yet. You still have to go to sleep.”

She nods against his chin.

“I’ll carry you up. Can you say goodnight?”

Penelope turns so you can see one side of her face, the other glued to Steve’s sweater.

“Goodnight,” you wave and smile softly.

She only shudders out a sigh but manners aren’t on Steve’s mind, especially when he knows you wouldn’t care about that. His knees crack as he stands, hiking her up higher before he heads upstairs.

You yank a blanket from the arm of the couch, missing the warmth Penelope lent you. It’s a risky move when you’re already fighting to keep your eyes open.

But Steve’s back before you have time to fall asleep. He’s trampling down the steps with a confidence that Penelope’s out for good this time. And he flops onto the couch with the same heaviness, sighing like you’ve never heard. Pure frustration. It’s understandable. But odd off his lips.

“You okay?” you ask, the same syrupy sweetness you’d used with Penelope.

He turns to face you and he looks awfully sad. The rainwater clinging to the ends of his hair doesn’t help. But he nods anyway because he’s Steve. “It was a stupid raccoon.”

“You’re kidding? They thought it was a cat?”

“I should’ve known,” he scrubs his face. “Practically senile that lady.”

“You’ll find her, Steve.”

He takes a deep breath and swallows. “I don’t know anymore. I’m really starting to think worst-case scenarios.”

You press your lips into a firm line. It’s a possibility you don’t want to consider. “Why don’t I go look a little longer? I’m off–”

“No, please,” he leans over to cradle the shell of your knee. “You’ve helped all night. I mean this in the nicest way possible, you look exhausted.”

“Way to treat a guest, Harrington,” you smirk, peeling his pointer finger off your leg to hook it under your own.

He squeezes your finger like a trigger, shifting focus between your hands and face. “Go home, rest, please.”

“You sure?”

“Hundred percent. Rain’s let up so the drive shouldn’t be too bad.”

“Promise you’ll get some rest too?”

He smiles despite the pang in his chest and the ache behind his eyes. You're the first to show him this kind of care in years. “I will. I promise.” He releases your finger, binding your pinky with his instead.

There’s something unreal about the way you smile back at him. Like you’ve entranced him with a spell. Steve believes in a lot of things– superpowers, demogorgans, parallel dimensions– but this is the first time he’s ever believed in pinky promise magic.

He shakes his head, “Come on.”

You take his hand, groaning in sync as he helps you up.

In the foyer, Steve unhooks the coat he’d lent you earlier. “Here.” And before you can contend, he adds, “Keep it. It’s an extra. I don’t need it.”

You let him guide your arms into the sleeves. And the same deliriousness possesses you to spring in for a hug after. “It’ll be okay, Steve,” you murmur, lips skimming the embroidered design across his chest.

He deflates for half a second before reciprocating. “I know,” he says. “Thank you.”

You wait until he softens to pull away and open the door.

The wind whips and howls blowing a wave of mist onto the other end of the porch. Steve scans the yard, then the road, both slick with rain. He asks himself if it’s a good enough reason to ask you to stay. But he decides it isn’t, not yet, at least.

“Call me when you get home?”

A wild smile splits your lips. “Okay,” you blink stupidly, too tired to care.

“Careful!” he shouts as you run to your car. Steve leans against the doorframe, loitering until your headlights flash his house and your car rolls out of the driveway.

It’s only sprinkling but streetlights are scarce near Steve’s place so you turn your high beams on, highlighting lawns on either side of the road. You drive slowly, inspecting one yard, then the one opposite, hopeful that Cinderella’s still out there.

There’s a stop sign at the end of Steve’s street. A landmark you know to make a left at. But you decide to go right. I wanted to take the scenic route, you’ll say if Steve asks. You drive that road and the one beside it and another beside that.

And it’s only a few turns away when you spot something sort of cat-shaped laid at the end of a driveway.

“Please do not be a raccoon,” you mumble, squinting as you inch the car closer. The longer you look the more it makes sense– two ears, a wavy tail, it’s definitely a cat. “No way.”

You put the car in park across from the house and study it. It bats its tail against the concrete, staring lazily back at your car. There’s just no way, not after all that looking. You find her after what, ten minutes of driving? It just can’t be her.

You push your door open gingerly, slipping onto the asphalt one foot at a time. The cat perks up, ears twitching with each crunch under your shoes. You slink over slowly, crouching into an uncomfortable crab walk when she stands. Brown coat, no collar, just as she’s been described to you. But it’s hard to say. You’ve only seen one picture of her and it was out of focus. There’s no way to really know it’s her.

Honking a few streets away slices the silence and your focus in one go. You flinch back a step which spooks the cat. She scampers up the driveway, weaving underneath a car to the other end of the yard.

You stick as low to the ground as you can while skipping after her. You’d guess you look ridiculous, but at least Steve isn’t here to see. The car blocks the view and you lose her by the time you reach the other side. But there’s a swirl of shrubbery, good for hiding probably. You blindly grapple for branches, blinking rapidly, slowly adjusting to the growing darkness the farther you move from your car’s headlights.

And then the porch light flickers on, spotlighting you digging through a random person’s bushes.

“Shit.” You freeze, hand choking a wreath of leaves, embarrassment flaring hot and red through your entire body. A minute passes, then two. Everything’s still. No cat, no angry homeowners, no police cars. You decide it’s safe. Must’ve been an automatic light. You hope, anyway.

Upon further inspection, the bushes are empty, and from what you can see the porch is too. There are a few trees but it’s difficult to make out any cats through the dark web of branches. A sudden gust of wind shakes a handful of leaves loose. Your eyes track them across the yard as they tumble back toward the driveway. And there’s the damn cat, sitting on the roof of the car like it was there the whole time.

“You better not set that alarm off, dude,” you grumble.

She narrows her eyes and growls as you draw closer. Cinderella is irritable– this makes sense. Or it’s a totally random feral cat who is about to claw your eyes out.

You’re within touching distance when you realize you have no plan. She very likely could claw your eyes out or give you rabies or something else awful. But you're in it now. You’re gonna get Penelope her cat back. So you shrug Steve’s coat off cautiously, eyes never leaving the cats. It’s raining again, you realize as it starts pelting your neck, trickling like ice down your shirt. But that’s the least of your worries right now.

“Nice kitty,” you whisper, unfolding the jacket.

She hisses as you lean in but before she can pounce or swipe you throw the jacket over her and scoop her off her feet. She goes stiff and growls low and throaty.

You speed walk to your car, toeing the cracked door open and maneuvering carefully into your seat. The jacket peels open as you shut the door. She sees an opportunity and takes it, nosing her way through the hole and under your elbow. There’s a shine of teeth as she bats your face, dragging a sharp set of claws against your cheek.

“No, no– shit! I swear if you don’t,” you argue, cramming her arms back in the fabric one at a time, tucking and tightening until she’s secure.

She huffs through her nose, glaring menacingly at you from her swaddle.

“Cinderella– if you’re even Cinderella– which you better be! You’re being a real jerk right now.”

She growls in response. Steve wasn’t lying about her attitude.

You shift the car into gear one-handed and forgo a seatbelt. It’s a short ride and you’ve maxed out your risk-taking meter for the night. While it really is a short drive, it goes dreadfully slow. You’re cold and wet and you feel like you are driving with a bomb strapped to your chest.

Getting out of the car is just as easy, as in not easy at all, as getting in. But you make it to Steve’s porch, surging the cat further up your chest so there are no last-minute getaways. You tap gently on the door with your toe, hoping not to disturb Penelope.

The instant the door opens, you squeeze by Steve and release the cat onto the floor. She scampers ahead a few feet before stopping to turn around. “Tell me this is the right cat and I didn’t just kidnap some other kid’s pet.”

He shoves the door closed. “Oh my God! Where the hell did you find her?”

You exhale with one big slump of your shoulders, all the worry bleeding away. “Like, five minutes down the road. Just hanging out in someone’s driveway.”

Steve gawks, crouching and coaxing her closer with an open palm.

She considers his invitation before striding into his touch.

He strokes her from head to tail and back. “I can’t believe you. I was about to make funeral arrangements.”

Cinderella chirps happily.

Steve twists to look up at you. For a second you think he might cry. Or kiss you.

He promptly stands and cups your jaw and your stomach tumbles because he might actually kiss you. But he aims your cheek against the light instead and whispers, “You’re bleeding.”

“Oh,” you tap around your cheek blindly, “It’s just a scratch.”

“Here. Come here.”

You follow him to the bathroom where he pulls a towel from the closet and drapes it around your shoulders like a shawl.

“You’re wet,” he says like you don’t already know.

You tug the fraying ends taut across your chest and watch him dig through the medicine cabinet. “If only someone let me borrow their coat.”

“If only,” he snickers, dumping the contents of the first aid kit in the sink. “I’m sorry Cinderella beat you up. She really has no manners.” He strips the plastic cover off a Barbie-themed bandaid and lines it up with your scratch, pressing, and smoothing it over your skin gingerly.

“How hideous do I look? Scale of one to ten.”

He shakes his head, smiling at you like an idiot. You make him smile like it’s your only job. And it sends his heart flying every time. He feels out of control around you. He hates feeling that way but somehow you make it easy.

“You could never be hideous.” Steve chuckles, still in disbelief. “You're amazing.”

Any cold lingering on your face evaporates. “Don’t go soft on me, Harrington,” you tease.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline buzz of chasing Cinderella or the high of successfully catching her, but you feel like you could do anything. Like you could say anything to him. Your eyes trickle down to his lips. He’s close enough to kiss. Every nerve in your body dares you to do it. You don’t think he’d reject you. Maybe he’d even meet you halfway.

A high-pitched scream severs the moment.

Steve jerks away, alarmed and then quickly amused. “Penelope,” he grins.

And right on cue, Penelope whizzes by the open door, squeals ricocheting down the hall. She chases Cinderella, who does not look happy to be chased, but Steve allows it.

“Daddy! Cinderella’s back! Look!” She clips her shoulder on the stair post before disappearing into the kitchen

He turns to you, beaming. He hopes you understand how amazing you are. He’d happily tell you again and again.

Penelope races out, heaving through a smile with the jar of treats. She sprays the entire contents of it across the floor. Steve can’t even be mad. In fact, it’s the happiest he’s been all week.

She lies down on her back, eyes skipping between you and Steve. “How did she get here?”

“I saw her on my way home. She was just a few streets away.”

“Wow. She’s really good at hide and seek,” Penelope decides.

Cinderella prances over, using Penelope’s belly as a personal vault. Penelope splays her hand out, patting and petting to her heart's content as Cinderella munches on the treats.

Steve squats, cupping a handful of them back into the jar.

“No, Daddy! It’s her prize.”

“Her prize will make her sick if she eats it all.”

“Okay. I guess.” She giggles as Cinderella pushes a treat with her paw.

Steve squeezes her knee where it wiggles, raising his eyebrows, “What do you say?”

Penelope turns to you with a wicked grin. She practically screams, “Thank you!”

“You're very welcome.”

Penelope pushes herself up and cocks her head. “Will you stay and play with us?”

It’s entirely innocent and equally adorable. You appreciate Steve for being the bad guy.

“Nuh-uh. You’re supposed to be in bed,” he reminds her.

She whines and shoots him a mean look. But it doesn’t last. Cinderella is back. That’s all she really cares about right now.

“You can play with Cinderella in the morning.” His eyes flicker between the two like they’re made of gold. “Maybe she’ll even sleep in your room.”

Penelope’s eyes and mouth widen into three little O’s. “Really!”

“Yes. She can stay inside from now on. But! You have to train her, be a good cat mom to her.”

“I will, I will,” she nods so relentlessly her head might pop off. “I promise I’ll be the bestest cat mom ever in the whole entire world!”

Steve chuckles, gaze dancing over to you. He looks at you like you’re made of gold too. That’s an intense realization.

“I should head home,” you say.

Steve nods, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face.

“Bye, Penelope! Bye, Cinderella!”

Penelope shackles Cinderella’s arm and forces her into a rigid wave. “Bye-bye!”

Steve follows you out to the front porch, snapping the door shut when Cinderella trots after him.

“Good luck keeping her inside.”

“Yeah,” he shakes his head, hand dropping from the door handle. “I’m sure she’ll escape by morning.”

Your gaze sweeps across the lawn. It’s only drizzling now, almost unnoticeably through the overcast veil of moonlight.

“Oh, here,” you tug one end of the towel until it slides off your neck.

Steve accepts it tentatively, “Maybe you should keep it. Case she gets out again.”

“Yeah, guess I’d need something to catch her with, huh?”

His teeth seem to glow in the moonlight when he smiles. He slings the towel back over your head and smooths it across your shoulders. “I know I’ve said this like a million times today,” he trails off, rubbing the fabric up and down your arms. “But I’m gonna say it again.” He looks up, dreadfully serious. Your eyes lock like magnets, like he’s specially polarized yours to stay tethered to his. “First of all, thank you for everything, seriously.”

“It’s no problem, Steve, really.”

“I know, I just,” his attention drifts away, tension seeping in through the silence. “I think you’re like the coolest person ever.”

You shake your head and shift your weight from one foot to the other, desperately trying to shake out the scary feeling in your gut.

A warm hand clasps yours. “I mean it. You’re so amazing and are just a super genuine person and– and I care a lot about you.”

Your pulse hammers so hard you wonder if he can hear it. The icy bite of rain clinging to your clothes turns hot. Hot enough to boil every drop of it off your skin.

“I dunno, it’s just really hard to make friends as a single parent. You’ve been so kind. And I really appreciate that.”

Your heart aches. Your eyes sting. That awful feeling triples. Friends, how could you forget?

He drops your hand, knotting his own fingers together instead. Watching you, waiting for a response.

You smile, brittle but convincing enough that he smiles back. “Well, that’s really sweet. I’m happy to help. And, for the record, I think you’re super cool too.” You punch his shoulder playfully. Because that’s what friends do.

“Phew, that’s a relief. Was starting to think you were getting sick of us.”

You smile genuinely then. You don’t think it’s possible to ever get sick of them. “Ehh, I’m still warming up to Cinderella but Penelope’s my favorite, no offense.”

“No, she’s pretty cool.” He nods, pausing to think. “You can come over tomorrow– if you aren’t busy. If you want to. We’ll probably go buy some cat stuff. I dunno, it’s cool if you can’t.”

“I’d love to, Steve.”

He laughs in soft little layers. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“See you then.”

“See ya.”

You spin on your heel, scurrying down the porch steps faster than you probably should. Forget the rain, Steve’s what you're running from. His laugh and his dopey smile and his overly kind words. You’re too young to die of a heart attack, but surely your heart won’t last much more of this.

When you tug the handle of your car door, he yells, “Don’t forget to call me!”

You bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling and flash him a thumbs-up before getting in. He’s such an idiot. Probably waking his neighbors up yelling like that. It’s probably unhealthy, the amount of emotions you’ve just experienced in the span of a few minutes.

But already all you can think about is tomorrow. It seems like lightyears away, but you’d wait lightyears for Steve– even for just friends Steve– silly as it sounds.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve harrington angst #stranger things #stranger things fic #tsof #skeltnwrites #the shape of family #dad steve harrington

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