#this part2 is mostly about them

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being the non-mc significant other of lead guitarist! Sylus. part2

Imagine the night was going well, last set of play and they were done for the day until that damn request card came. The way he stared at it under the stage light, jaw ticking, heart twisting in quiet dread. Lips of an Angel. He didn’t need to flip it over. He already knew who it was from.

Imagine the way he gripped the card tighter, wishing it would dissolve in his fist. A request like this wasn’t just a song. It was a test. A fucking ghost tapping on his shoulder. He looked over at the frontman, already nodding, already smiling that smug smile that said "Just do it. One more time won’t kill you."

Imagine he wanted to say no. He should have said no. He almost did. But the crowd was waiting, and when he glanced out across the sea of dim faces, he didn’t see you. If he had, he wouldn’t have done it. Maybe.

Imagine the way the first chord came like muscle memory to him. The way his fingers danced a familiar pattern of pain. He hadn’t played this song for years. Had not sung it in longer. There was no reason for that. He never sings, only does on occasional day but mostly because nowadays, he only sing for you and only you.

Imagine the way he knew this song isn't just music. It was a confession with a melody. And tonight, he was about to lie to the only person who really mattered.

"Honey, why you calling me so late?" The words sat like broken glass in his mouth. They didn’t belong to him anymore. But she was out there.

Imagine the way her eyes, not as sweet and shiny as yours, locked on him. Like he was still that boy who used to write songs about her and pretend it didn’t hurt. Thag made something unspoken twist inside his chest. Not love. Not anymore. It was just unfinished business. The kind that rots if you never open the box.

"I gotta whisper cause I can’t be too loud." He used to believe that. Used to think love had to hide in shadows and stolen glances. But you, you showed him difference. You were sunlight and stability. You laughed at his shitty guitar riffs, kissed the calluses on his fingers, and loved him on the quiet days. You were never a secret.

"Well, my girl’s in the next room" He cringed on the inside. His stomach turned with every lyric. Because you weren't in the next room. You were probably at home, curled up with one of his old hoodies, reading the same damn novel you've been teasing him with for weeks. Or maybe out with friends, texting him when you got home safe. You were his now. And he was yours, only yours. And yet, the song came out like a betrayal he didn't mean to sing.

Imagine he looked at her, MC, only once. Just for a second. She smiled like the world hadn't moved on. Like she still owned a part of him. Maybe she did. Maybe she always would. But what he had with her was then. What he had with you was real. It was now.

Imagine the way he finished the song on autopilot. The way no amount of applause could cut through the guilt already pounding on his chest. The band moved into the next song, but he barely played. His fingers hit strings without hearing them. His mind was somewhere else. Somewhere he couldn't follow.

Imagine he didn't know you were in the crowd. He didn't know you'd planned this as a surprise. He didn't even notice the shift in the crowd. Didn't see you leave. Didn't see your face. Didn't see the hurt. Not yet. Later, when he got backstage, there was a note waiting on him. No name. No message. Just a guitar pick.

Imagine the way his heart dropped. The way he picked up the guitar pick. Custom-made. His initials engraved in your handwriting. He stared at it like it had teeth. Every second he was touching it felt like it burns him. And then it hit him. You were here.

Imagine the way he ran out of the back door. Searched the alley. The parking lot. The street. But you were long gone. The night had swallowed you whole, and it didn't even leave a single echo behind.

Imagine he went home that night and stared at the ceiling in silence. He tried calling. No answer. Tried texting. Left on read. He couldn't sleep. He could not breathe right. Every minute that passed was a beat he felt like he doesn't deserve.

Imagine, the worst part wasn't that he sang to someone he didn't love anymore. It was that he did it thinking you will never know. But you did, and what was the cause?

Imagine he never told anyone what happened that night. Not even the band. He kept it all to himself. And the pick. He kept the pick. Carried it with him like a secret punishment. You were his home. And now, he was just another man who sang the wrong song to the right person who didn’t stay long enough to hear him say sorry.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: part 4 u : imma bake some brownies rq. Bye.

[nekonaps0]

No kisses!? Pt3

✦part1 part2

✦fem!reader

✦characters: second year (except Riddle, Azul and Jamil)

✦how would the boys react to a minor silly argument that leads to their partner refusing to kiss them for days

Ruggie Bucchi

The Argument:

It all started when he made a joke while you were fixing your hair in front of the mirror.

You had been fussing over your reflection, adjusting things for the third time. Ruggie, lying back on your bed and munching chips, said with a teasing smirk

“Y’know, for someone who looks cute already, you sure spend a lot of time getting ready. When will you be ready?”

You paused. “Are you saying I spend too long getting ready?” You raised an eyebrow.

He blinked, suddenly realizing what was coming. “Wha—no, no, I meant you look good already! Just that! y’know… it’s kinda funny—HEY WAIT! DONT TWIST MY WORDS!!!”

You stood, arms crossed. “Fine. I will be ready soon and you don’t get kisses until you learn how to compliment someone without making it sound like a complain.”

He sat up, eyes wide. “No kisses?! Just for that?! C’mon, that was barely even an insult—!”

You grabbed your bag. “See you, hyena boy.”

“WAIT—!”

Day 1:

Ruggie wandered around pouting like someone stole his wallet. He sulked into lunch beside Leona, grumbling into his sandwich.

Leona gave him a side glance. “You’re twitchier than usual. What, your girlfriend finally dumped you?”

“…She said I don’t get kisses ‘til I learn manners.”

“…Pfff...”

“IT’S NOT FUNNY, DUDE!”

Day 2:

Ruggie showed up to your class with a paper bag of your favorite snacks, a can of your favorite drink, and the guiltiest grin on his face.

“Heyyy, best girlfriend in the world. Missed ya. These just… fell into my bag. Weird, huh?”

You took the bag but didn’t kiss his cheek like you usually did. You just smiled sweetly. “Thanks. Still not kissing you, though.”

He fake staggered like you’d stabbed him. “You’re killing me here, babe…”

Day 3:

You walked into your dorm to find Ruggie waiting for you. He was holding a wrinkled piece of paper and looked like he was fighting off second hand embarrassment.

“…Okay. You want compliments? Fine.”

He cleared his throat.

“Your hair is shinier than a fresh donut glaze. Your eyes sparkle like the school store vending machine lights. Your laugh makes me feel like I didn’t grow up poor.”

You blinked.

He continued, dramatically. “And your kisses are a national treasure, which is why I’m in mourning. Now please, for the love of all things good and sugary, kiss me before I die of emotional malnutrition.”

You laughed…hard. “I can’t believe you wrote that.”

“I was desperate…”

You reached forward and cupped his cheek. “Okay, okay. Desperation looks good on you.” And finally, you kissed him.

He instantly lit up, tail wagging, grinning ear to ear. “See? I knew flattery would work. Who says I can’t learn?”

You smirked. “Next time, just try being nice or just shut up.”

He winked. “This was nice. Mostly. Ninety percent. Maybe eighty-five.”

Floyd Leech

The Argument:

It started when you two were hanging out by the Mostro Lounge. Floyd had draped himself over your shoulders like a weighted blanket while you were talking with Jade and Azul. You were mid sentence, explaining something you were excited about, some new club project, and Floyd kept poking your cheek. Over and over.

You gave him a look.

“Floyd. Stop.”

He grinned lazily. “But you’re so squishy~ Shrimpy’s got a blobfish face today!”

Azul and Jade exchanged a glance as you blinked, stunned. “A… blobfish?! That’s not even a compliment!”

Floyd chuckled. “It is in my book~ I like blobfish!”

You turned, swatting his hand away. Eyes twitching. “Well this blobfish is swimming away. No kisses for you until you learn how to compliment your girlfriend!”

He watched you walk away with a visible pout forming.

“…Wait—huh?! What did I do?!”

Day 1:

Floyd made it exactly four hours before declaring a full blown personal crisis.

He burst into the Monstro Lounge’s kitchen, throwing himself dramatically over a prep counter.

“I’m dying. Shrimpy won’t kiss me. This is emotional neglect. This is ABANDONMENT.”

Azul rubbed his temples. “Floyd, I am working. Could you—?”

“NO. I’m going to wither and shrivel up like a sad little sea cucumber.”

Jade, calmly dicing herbs “Perhaps you should reflect on why she might be upset.”

“…Because she’s too cute and sensitive for this cruel world? And she don’t think blobfish is cute?”

Day 2:

You got a surprise visit during break. Floyd barged in… yes, barged… with a bouquet of lollipops tied together with glitter ribbon and an “I’m Sorry My Mouth is Dumb” note stuck in the middle.

You burst into laughter immediately.

But still… no kiss.

Floyd stared at you in horror. “…Still no smoochies?! Not even a tiny one?!”

You patted his head. “You gotta mean it, Floyd. Not just distract me with candy.”

He groaned. “This is torture. Do I have to write a tragic love song. It’ll be called ‘My girlfriend breaking my heart’…”

Day 2… after school:

You were walking back to your dorm when Floyd suddenly grabbed your hand and tugged you behind a tree on campus. His mismatched eyes were weirdly serious.

“Okay. Real talk time.” He held your face gently between his hands and leaned in close. “I don’t like when you’re mad at me, y’know. Even when it’s just a little bit. It’s… too quiet. So listen here. I think you’re the most attractive person I ever met, and I love how soft you are and I love squeezing your because I like to feel you close…”

You blinked. His tone was different, more grounded, more vulnerable. “You really mean that?”

He nodded, lips quirking up slightly. “Yeah. And I really miss you and your kisses. Like, seriously. My heart’s all pouty.”

You laughed softly. “You’re such a menace.”

“Yup,” he grinned. “But I’m your menace.”

You kissed him then, long and warm and maybe a little dramatic.

He pulled back with a huge grin. “Ooooh, there it is! I’m cured~!”

Then he tried to lift you up off the ground in a victory spin. “Let’s make up properly now, eh~?”

You shrieked between giggles.

“Floyd, put me down!”

“Not until I get at least three more!”

Jade Leech

The Argument:

The two of you were in the botanical gardens, your favorite place to spend time together. You were excitedly talking about a new rare plant the science club was cultivating a vine that changed colors depending on mood.

Jade had been mostly quiet, smiling with that usual composed expression, until he made a small comment

"Hm… It's quite fascinating. Although, I imagine it would be difficult for someone like you to manage. You’re quite emotional, after all."

You froze. “Excuse me?”

He tilted his head, completely unbothered. “I didn’t mean it negatively, of course. Just an observation. I find your… expressive nature very entertaining.”

“Entertaining?” You glared. “Wow. Glad I could amuse you.”

And you stormed off. No kiss goodbye. No soft look back. Just cold silence.

(That’s prove point…)

Day 1:

Jade was… intrigued.

He didn’t expect you to take it that personally but now that you were ignoring him, refusing even a peck on the cheek?

Fascinating.

He cornered you after class. “My, still avoiding me? You must truly be upset.”

You didn’t answer. Just lifted your chin and walked past him.

He blinked. Then smiled slowly to himself.

“How adorable.”

Day 2:

He tried subtlety first. Helping carry your books. Offering you tea. Sending you your favorite dessert.

Still no kisses.

He upped the game.

“Did you know,” he said, leaning beside you in the library, “there’s a rare sea slug that, when rejected by its mate, releases a cloud of toxic ink and sulks for a week?”

You gave him a look.

“I am that sea slug,” he said smoothly.

You stifled a laugh. But still… no kiss.

Day 3:

Jade finally gave in to sincerity.

You were watering the plants in the botanical gardens when he approached, holding a small, potted cutting of the mood changing vine. It was blooming, its petals a soft shade of blue green.

"I’ve been observing this one," he said, offering it to you. "It turns this color when surrounded by someone it’s… fond of."

You blinked at him.

He added, quieter this time, “I may have let my curiosity go a little too far. I didn’t mean to make you feel like a specimen. You’re… far more than that.”

You sighed. “You’re a smug eel.”

“Yes, yes I am.” he agreed easily.

You smiled finally and leaned in kissed him gently on the cheek.

He smiled, eyes gleaming. “Mmm… I’ll take that. But I was aiming for the lips.”

You laughed. “Earn it.”

“Oh,” he purred, “with pleasure.”

Kalim Al-Asim

The Argument:

It started when Kalim casually mentioned during lunch that he might let Jamil pick out your next date location because "he’s really good at planning things."

You blinked. “You’d let Jamil pick our date?”

Kalim laughed brightly. “Why not? He always knows what I forget, like sunscreen, or forks, or where we’re even supposed to go! It’d be great!”

You crossed your arms. “So… you don’t remember our dates?”

He paused, mid bite of his mango. “Huh? No! I didn’t mean—wait, is that what I said?”

You stood up from the table, expression flat. “Great. Then Jamil can go on the date too. Maybe he’ll kiss you.”

And you walked off.

Day 1:

Kalim sprinted after you but tripped over his own feet. (Classic.)

“Wait! I didn’t mean it that way! I love your dates! And your kisses! Especially your kisses!”

You didn’t look back.

He turned to Jamil, panicked. “I messed up! I really messed up! She’s not kissing me anymore! WHAT IF SHE DONT LOVE ME ANYMORE?!?”

Jamil sighed, rubbing his temples. “Maybe let me plan your apology too...”

Day 2:

Kalim overcompensated.

Your dorm room door opened to reveal twenty seven heart shaped balloons floating inside and a trail of golden flower petals spelling out: “I MISS YOUR LIPS”

You slammed the door…

Five minutes later, he knocked again. “Okay! Okay! Maybe that was too much! But can you at least take the mango cupcakes I made?! I even piped little heart shaped sprinkles on them!!”

No answer.

He whimpered. “I’m wilting without your love…”

Day 3:

He found you alone in the courtyard and finally approached without a smile, just soft, sincere eyes.

“I didn’t think before I spoke,” he said. “I never wanted you to think that I wasn’t care about our dates. I love our dates! And every time when we plan one I can’t wait for the day come because I know I will get to spend the whole day with you! You make everything magical just by being you. I don’t need Jamil to remind me or plan my happiness. That’s always been you.”

You glanced at him.

He lowered his head. “I’ll stop being annoying now. I just… miss you…”

You sighed, walking up to him, and tugged on his shirt to pull him closer. “Idiot.”

You kissed him, soft, warm, long enough for him to stumble backward in joy.

Kalim gasped like he’d just been resuscitated. “I’m alive again!”

You laughed into his chest. “Don’t let Jamil pick the next date. And use your brain to remember it.”

“I won’t! I swear! I won’t let him help!” he shouted, spinning you around with a huge grin. “You’ll plan it, and I’ll love it, and you can kiss me before, during, and after!”

Silver

The Argument:

It started with you teasing him after he fell asleep mid date…again.

You’d been talking about your favorite childhood memory, and halfway through your story, Silver’s head drooped, his breathing evened out, and he slumped softly against the park bench.

You stopped talking, and you just sighed. You were not mad, you were aware of his condition, so you just let him rest on your shoulder.

When he woke up ten minutes later, he looked confused and adorable, rubbing his eyes with a soft, “Mmh… did I miss something?”

You folded your arms. “Just everything I said. Again.” You giggled.

He blinked, still half-asleep. “Oh. Sorry. I guess your story was little tiring…” he said half asleep.

Your jaw dropped. “Seriously? So I’m boring?”

“I didn’t mean—wait, that’s not—!”

You stood and walked away without another word.

Day 1:

Silver panicked.

He followed you for half the day, yawning, stumbling, trying to apologize in a million different awkward ways.

“I wasn’t saying you’re boring,” he mumbled while handing you a apology letter. “You have the most calming voice in the world. It’s like… rain on the rooftop. Or a lullaby. That’s not a bad thing, is it?”

You took the letter but said nothing. And you didn’t kiss him goodbye that night.

He didn’t sleep well.

Day 2:

He asked Lilia for advice.

“Make a grand gesture,” Lilia said, gleeful. “Sing beneath her balcony! Climb a tower! Challenge a suitor to a duel!”

“…She’s not seeing anyone else.”

“Well, pretend she is! That’ll wake you up!”

Silver groaned and decided to go with his instincts instead…

That night, he visited your room. Quiet. Nervous. Holding something in his hands.

“I made this for you,” he said, handing you a carved wooden hairpin shaped like a bunny. It was… surprisingly delicate. “I couldn’t sleep. So I stayed up. Thought about how I made you feel. I didn’t listen properly. That was wrong.”

You softened but still raised an

eyebrow. “And you think one bunny hairpin fixes it?”

He looked down. “No. I don’t think anything fixes it… except you forgiving me.”

You studied him, how his lashes dipped low, how his hands stayed behind his back, like a knight awaiting judgment.

Then you leaned forward, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “ha… I’m not mad… I know it’s not your fault. Maybe I overreacted.”

His breath hitched. “So… then… maybe I deserve a full kiss?”

You pressed a kiss to his lips this time, soft, lingering, like a secret. “I’ll finish my story later. You better stay awake.”

He smiled into your mouth. “I will. Even if I have to tie my eyelids open.”

..............................................................................................................................

[xichilie]

Mydei x (fem) reader (3)

Mydei’s secret friend

Part1 Part2 Part3

Y/N moved around the kitchen with quiet efficiency, setting out ingredients and lighting the stove. The warm glow of the flames flickered against the walls, casting a cozy light over the small home. As she worked, the scent of sizzling meat, fresh herbs, and fragrant spices gradually filled the air, wrapping around them like an inviting embrace.

Phainon sat at the table at first, lazily leaning back in his chair. Mydei, meanwhile, remained as he always did—silent and observing, arms crossed as if he had no interest in anything happening around him.

But after a few minutes, Phainon’s fingers started tapping against the table. Then his legs bounced a little. He glanced around, looked at the food, looked at Mydei, then back at the food. Finally, with a groan of impatience, he stood up.

“Alright, I cannot just sit here doing nothing,” he declared, rolling up his sleeves. “Let me help.”

Y/N raised an amused eyebrow. “You cook?”

Phainon scoffed, placing a hand on his chest as if deeply offended. “Of course I do! I’m a man of many talents.”

Mydei snorted. “I’ve seen you cook. It was a disaster.”

Phainon shot him an unamused look. “That was one time.”

“You nearly burned down the barracks.”

“The fire wasn’t my fault,” Phainon huffed. “It was the stove! Clearly defective.”

Y/N chuckled, handing him a knife and a bundle of vegetables. “Alright, let’s see if you’re as good as you claim.”

Phainon grinned and got to work, chopping away with enthusiasm. His technique was... passable at best. His slices were uneven, and his movements a little reckless, but at least he wasn’t entirely useless.

“So,” he started, casually sliding some diced onions into a bowl, “since Mydei is acting all mysterious about you, maybe you can tell me—what’s your story?”

Y/N stirred the pot on the stove, adding spices as she considered her answer. “That’s a broad question.”

“Fine, I’ll make it simpler,” Phainon said, pausing to dramatically wipe his imaginary sweat. “Where are you from?”

Y/N hesitated for only a fraction of a second before replying, “Here and there.”

Phainon stopped chopping. Squinted at her. “That’s not an answer.”

She smirked. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes! It’s exactly the kind of vague nonsense Mydei would say.” He groaned, running a hand through his white hair. “You two really are alike.”

“Maybe that’s why we’re friends.”

Phainon gasped, dramatically clutching his chest. “You admit it!”

“I never denied it.”

Mydei, still seated, smirked slightly. Finally, someone who could match Phainon’s energy.

Phainon, recovering quickly, grinned. “Alright, fine. If you won’t tell me that, then how about—”

“Don’t,” Mydei cut in, already seeing where this was headed.

Phainon turned to him with an innocent look. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t start prying into things that aren’t your business.”

“Oh, please, Mydei.” Phainon rolled his eyes. “I’m just trying to get to know our dear new friend.”

Mydei narrowed his eyes. “You’re trying to interrogate her.”

Phainon smirked but didn’t deny it. He turned back to Y/N and leaned against the counter. “I mean, you do have this whole ‘mysterious traveler’ thing going on. You can’t blame me for being curious.”

Y/N chuckled, flipping a piece of meat in the pan. “I don’t mind a little curiosity.”

Phainon shot Mydei a smug look. “See? She’s fine with it.”

“But I mind,” Mydei muttered.

Phainon sighed dramatically but didn’t push further—for now. Instead, he focused on helping with the cooking, sneaking in smaller, more casual questions whenever he could.

“So, what are we making?” he asked, watching as Y/N mixed ingredients together.

“A little of everything,” she replied. “Braised meat, some roasted vegetables, stew on the side.”

Phainon whistled. “You really know how to cook.”

Y/N shrugged, stirring the stew pot. “I like good food.”

Phainon nodded approvingly. “I respect that.”

The meal came together quickly, the flavors blending into something rich and savory. Mydei had remained mostly quiet, watching from his seat. But even he had to admit—the smell of the food was tempting.

Eventually, Y/N turned around, wiping her hands on a cloth. “Alright. Let’s eat.”

Phainon grinned. “Best thing I’ve heard all day.”

And as they sat down to share the meal,

The meal was nothing short of a success.

The rich aroma of the braised meat mixed with the savory warmth of the stew, perfectly complemented by the crisp, roasted vegetables. The food was flavorful, well-seasoned, and filling—something Phainon had no problem voicing.

“This—” Phainon took another bite, nearly humming in satisfaction, “—this is amazing. Y/N, you might just be my new favorite person.”

Y/N chuckled, sipping from her bowl. “Glad you like it.”

Phainon turned to Mydei, jabbing his spoon at him. “How come you never told me she could cook like this?”

Mydei sighed. “Because it’s not relevant.”

Phainon gaped. “Not relevant? Mydei, this is incredibly relevant.” He turned back to Y/N with a pleading expression. “If you ever need someone to taste-test your dishes, I volunteer.”

Y/N smirked. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Phainon took another bite, visibly savoring it before looking at Y/N again. “Alright, alright, I’ll admit defeat. You’ve won me over with food.” He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Now, let’s get back to the important part—you and Mydei.”

Mydei groaned, already regretting staying.

Phainon grinned. “Come on, Y/N. You can’t keep dodging forever. You’ve already fed us, so why not throw in a little storytelling?”

Y/N tapped her fingers against her bowl, pretending to consider it. Mydei, sitting across from her, narrowed his eyes slightly. He knew she was enjoying this more than she let on.

After a few moments, she sighed in mock defeat. “Fine. Since you’re so curious.”

Phainon beamed, leaning in. “I am.”

Y/N placed her bowl down, glancing between the two men. “It happened at the ruins of Kremnos.”

Silence settled over the table as she began.

“I was exploring the area out of curiosity,” she explained. “The ruins are fascinating—old, crumbling, but still standing. I wanted to see what secrets they held.”

Mydei huffed. “Reckless.”

Y/N smirked. “Says the man who practically lives in battle.”

Phainon snickered. “She’s got a point.”

Y/N continued. “Along the way, I ran into some Titankin. Nothing I couldn’t handle. A few fights here and there.”

Phainon raised an eyebrow. “You took on Titankin alone?”

Y/N shrugged. “It wasn’t the first time.”

Phainon let out a low whistle. “Alright, impressive.”

Y/N nodded. “But then I spotted him.” She tilted her head toward Mydei. “At first, I wasn’t sure what I was looking at. He was moving through the ruins like a ghost—silent, purposeful. He didn’t seem like the usual treasure hunters or ruin explorers. There was something… different about the way he carried himself.”

Phainon grinned. “Creepy.”

“Focused,” Mydei corrected, rolling his eyes.

Y/N smirked. “Creepy and focused.”

Phainon burst out laughing. “I like you.”

Y/N chuckled before continuing. “I didn’t approach him at first. Instead, I watched from the shadows, keeping my distance. I wasn’t sure if he was a threat or not. But then…” She glanced at Mydei. “He noticed me.”

Mydei crossed his arms. “Of course I did.”

Y/N hummed. “But you didn’t know who I was. I had my hood and mask on, after all.”

Phainon’s eyes widened with amusement. “Wait, so Mydei was paranoid?”

“Agitated, more like,” Y/N corrected. “Neither of us knew who the other was, but we both assumed the worst. One wrong move, and suddenly—”

“A fight broke out,” Mydei finished, smirking slightly.

Y/N nodded. “And it wasn’t a small one, either.”

Phainon leaned forward, very invested now. “Tell me everything.”

Y/N took a sip of water before speaking again. “He was fast. Strong. He fought like he owned the battlefield, like nothing could stop him. I held my own, matching his attacks, dodging when I could. But Mydei…” She exhaled. “He doesn’t go down easily.”

Phainon grinned. “Trust me, I know.”

Mydei remained silent, simply listening.

“I realized something was off about him as the fight dragged on,” Y/N continued. “Most people—no matter how skilled—slow down eventually. Their stamina wears out. They make mistakes.”

“But he didn’t.”

She turned to Mydei. “You didn’t falter. Not even once. You just kept going.”

Phainon smirked. “Yeah, that’s the annoying part.”

Mydei rolled his eyes. “You sound bitter.”

“I am bitter.”

Y/N chuckled. “Eventually, I reached my limit. I wasn’t exhausted yet, but I could tell if the fight kept going, I’d lose. And then—” She glanced at Mydei again. “You won.”

Phainon clicked his tongue. “Of course he did.”

Y/N smirked. “You say that like it bothers you.”

“It does.”

Y/N laughed softly before continuing. “After that, I expected him to finish me off. Or demand to know who I was. But instead… he just stood there, looking at me. Studying me.”

Phainon turned to Mydei. “So? What were you thinking?”

Mydei shrugged. “I was curious.”

Phainon blinked. “That’s it?”

“There aren’t many who can match my strength,” Mydei said simply. “Besides the Chrysos heirs, most people don’t last long against me.” He glanced at Y/N. “But she did.”

Y/N smirked. “And so, instead of enemies, we became…”

“Rivals?” Phainon suggested.

“Friends,” Y/N corrected.

Phainon raised an eyebrow. “That’s a weird way to make friends.”

Y/N chuckled. “Maybe. But it worked.”

Phainon leaned back, arms crossed, clearly intrigued. “Huh. And here I thought Mydei was incapable of making friends on his own.”

Mydei groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“I try.”

Y/N laughed softly, enjoying the banter between them. The conversation continued, shifting between jokes, light teasing, and small stories.

For once, Mydei didn’t mind the company.

And maybe—just maybe—he didn’t mind sharing this story either.

The meal was nearly finished, but the conversation carried on, the air warm with lingering laughter and the scent of spices still thick in the air. Phainon, still savoring the last bites of his meal, leaned forward with his usual mischievous grin.

“So,” he drawled, tapping his fingers against the table, “you and Mydei. Fighting, exploring, being all mysterious together. That’s nice and all—but surely, surely there’s more.”

Y/N tilted her head. “More?”

“Oh, don’t play coy now,” Phainon said, grinning. “You must have some good stories about our ever-serious prince here.”

Mydei sighed, already regretting not leaving earlier.

Y/N tapped her chin, as if considering it. “Well… there is one thing.”

Phainon perked up immediately. “Yes. Spill.”

Y/N smirked, casting Mydei a glance. “Did you know he likes baking?”

The room fell silent.

Phainon stared. Then he slowly turned to Mydei. “What?”

Mydei, who had been drinking water, exhaled sharply through his nose and set his cup down hard. “Y/N.” His voice held a clear warning.

But Y/N only smiled, resting her chin in her hand. “Oh, did I say something I shouldn’t have?”

Phainon blinked, as if trying to process what he just heard. Then, a slow, delighted grin spread across his face. “No. No way.”

Y/N nodded. “It’s true.”

Phainon pointed at Mydei, barely holding back his laughter. “You—you bake?”

Mydei scowled. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Phainon let out a short laugh. “You, the Mydei, Crown Prince of Kremnos, warrior of Okhema, immortal being rejected by death itself—stand in a kitchen and bake?”

Y/N chuckled. “And he’s good at it too, i love his honey cakes.”

Phainon gasped, pressing a hand to his chest in exaggerated shock. “I—I don’t even know what to say.” He turned to Mydei, eyes practically sparkling. “Why have you never told me this?”

“Because it’s not your business,” Mydei grumbled, shooting Y/N a look.

Y/N just smiled innocently. “You never told me to not mention it.”

Phainon was clearly enjoying this revelation far too much. “What do you even bake?”

“Does it matter?” Mydei snapped.

Y/N, still unbothered, answered for him. “Mostly cake. Sometimes pastries or bread.”

Phainon’s mouth fell open. “You bake pastries?”

“… Occasionally.”

Phainon nearly collapsed in his seat. “This is the best thing I’ve ever learned.”

Mydei groaned, rubbing his temples. “I should’ve left when I had the chance.”

"can I try some...." phainon ask but mydei cut him off "NO!"

Phainon ignored him, still grinning. “So, what else? What other hidden talents does our dear prince have?”

Y/N hummed. “Let’s see… Oh, sometimes we go on walks together.”

Phainon blinked. “Walks.”

“Mmhm.”

“You mean like, patrolling ruins? Training?”

“No,” Y/N said casually, “just strolling around.”

Phainon looked between the two of them. Then, with an absolutely incredulous expression, he burst into laughter. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” Y/N replied, still amused.

Phainon turned to Mydei, who looked deeply, deeply (very deeply) unamused. “You—you take walks?”

Mydei scowled. “I don’t see the issue.”

“The issue is that you don’t even like talking to most people, let alone casually strolling with them!” Phainon exclaimed, still grinning. “Yet here you are, taking relaxing little walks like you don’t have the reputation of a battle-hardened warrior prince.”

Mydei exhaled through his nose, clearly trying to contain his irritation. “Are you done?”

Phainon smirked. “Not even close.”

Y/N chuckled, continuing, “Sometimes he even accompanies me when I explore ruins.”

Phainon shook his head, feigning shock. “Mydei? Voluntarily exploring with someone else?”

Y/N nodded. “He’s surprisingly good company.”

Phainon raised an eyebrow. “Surprisingly?”

“Well, he still complains sometimes,” Y/N admitted.

Mydei huffed. “Because you get distracted.”

“It’s called curiosity,” Y/N said with a smirk.

“It’s called reckless wandering.”

Phainon was absolutely thriving in this conversation. “Wow, this is so much better than I expected.” He grinned at Mydei. “And you always act like you prefer being alone.”

Mydei shot him a glare. “I still do.”

Phainon just grinned wider. “Sure, buddy.”

Y/N, watching the exchange, only smiled. She had no regrets about letting a few things slip.

If anything, she was enjoying it as much as Phainon was.

Phainon sat back in his chair, rubbing his temples dramatically, as if he were trying to process something impossible. He sighed, shaking his head in disbelief before turning his sharp blue eyes back to Y/N.

“I just… I don’t get it,” he said, voice laced with genuine confusion. “You. Friends. With him.” He gestured toward Mydei like he was pointing at a wild animal rather than a person.

Mydei narrowed his eyes. “Watch it.”

Phainon ignored him completely, leaning toward Y/N. “You do know who you’re talking about, right? Mydei? Crown Prince of Kremnos? The guy who treats most people like an inconvenience? The same Mydei who barely tolerates me—and I’m fantastic!”

Y/N simply chuckled, amused by his reaction. “And?”

Phainon threw up his hands. “And—how did this happen? How are you still here? Why haven’t you run off like every other sane person he’s scared away?”

Y/N only smiled before turning toward Mydei, her expression warm. Then, without hesitation, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a gentle, familiar embrace.

Mydei froze.

Phainon’s jaw dropped.

Y/N didn’t seem to notice their reactions—or if she did, she didn’t care. She rested her head lightly against Mydei’s shoulder, speaking softly. “Because Mydei is an amazing friend.”

Mydei remained stiff, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. His mind immediately jumped to retreating—he wasn’t used to people being this open with him. But Y/N’s embrace was warm, steady, completely unafraid.

Phainon, meanwhile, looked like he had just witnessed a divine revelation. He pointed at Mydei in stunned disbelief. “What. The. Hell.”

Y/N pulled back just enough to meet Mydei’s gaze, her eyes filled with warmth. “I mean it,” she said gently. “I wouldn’t trade him for anything.”

Phainon gawked. Mydei stared.

The room was completely silent.

Y/N, as if unaware of the sheer shock she had just sent through them, continued smiling. “Sure, he can be a little grumpy, and he acts like he doesn’t care—but he does.” Her voice was soft but firm. “He always has my back. He listens, even when he pretends not to. He’s reliable, strong, and even if he won’t say it outright… he’s someone you can always count on.”

Mydei swallowed, his jaw tightening slightly. There was something unfamiliar twisting in his chest—something he didn’t quite know how to handle.

Phainon finally found his voice, pointing at Mydei in absolute astonishment. “Who are you and what have you done with the real Mydei?”

Y/N laughed. “Oh, he’s still the same Mydei.”

Phainon shook his head, still completely thrown. “I refuse to believe this. You like him?”

“Of course.” Y/N gave Mydei a small squeeze before pulling away fully. “He’s my friend.”

Phainon dragged a hand down his face, muttering to himself, “This is insane.”

Y/N chuckled, watching as Mydei exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face like he was trying to shake off whatever strange emotions had settled over him.

“…You’re both insufferable,” Mydei muttered at last.

Y/N just smiled, her expression knowing. “Sure, Mydei.”

Phainon slumped in his chair, still staring at them like he had seen a ghost. “I think I need to lie down.”

Y/N laughed again, and just for a brief moment—so brief it was almost imperceptible—Mydei’s lips twitched upward, barely a ghost of a smirk.

For once, he didn’t entirely mind the company. (Except for phainons)

Phainon stood in the doorway, arms crossed, staring at Mydei like he was trying to solve some impossible puzzle. His blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, darting between him and Y/N.

“I’m leaving,” he finally announced, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself that this was real life.

“Good,” Mydei muttered.

Phainon ignored him. Instead, he pointed dramatically at Y/N. “But you. You’re strange.”

She simply smiled. “I’ve been told.”

Phainon exhaled heavily, raking a hand through his white hair. “I need—” he paused, shaking his head. “I don’t even know what I need. To think maybe. To lie down. To question reality.” He took a step back. “This isn’t over.”

And with that, he finally left, muttering something under his breath about "needing a drink" and "Mydei being secretly replaced by a doppelgänger."

Silence filled the room.

Mydei let out a deep exhale, rubbing his temple. “Finally.”

Y/N chuckled softly. “You say that, but you know he’s going to be losing his mind over this for weeks.”

Mydei just grunted. “Not my problem.”

They sat in a comfortable quiet, the golden evening light filtering through the window, casting a warm glow over them. For a while, there was nothing but the soft sounds of the city outside, the occasional distant chatter from passersby.

Then, Mydei spoke, his voice quieter than usual.

“…You meant all of that?”

Y/N turned her head slightly to look at him. “Of course.”

His crimson eyes flickered with something unreadable. He stared at the floor, his fingers idly tapping against his knee. “…Even the part where you said you wouldn’t trade me for anything?”

She smiled. “Especially that part.”

His jaw tightened slightly, as if the words were settling somewhere deep in his chest, somewhere unfamiliar.

Y/N shifted closer, resting her head gently on his shoulder.

Mydei immediately stiffened. His entire body went rigid, like someone had just dropped a battleaxe in his lap. His first instinct was to move away—space, he always needed space—but… he didn’t.

He let out a slow breath.

“You don’t have to overthink it,” Y/N murmured, voice soft and reassuring. “I like you just the way you are, Mydei.”

His breath hitched.

“I adore you,” she added. “Grumpiness, sharp edges, and all.”

Heat crawled up his neck. He knew it. He felt it. His entire face was burning.

“…You say ridiculous things,” he muttered.

“And yet,” Y/N teased, “you’re still listening.”

He huffed, scowling slightly. But he didn’t move.

He let her stay, resting against him, her warmth a quiet comfort.

For once, he didn’t feel the need to push it away.

Meanwhile, outside, Phainon had barely made it five steps before stopping in his tracks. He placed his hands on his head, eyes wide, staring at nothing in particular.

“This—this doesn’t make sense.” His voice was hoarse, as if the very fabric of reality had just been torn apart before him.

He turned toward the nearest street vendor. “Hey, hey, quick question—what do you do when you see something so impossible, so unbelievable that your brain refuses to accept it?”

The vendor blinked. “…Uh.”

Phainon grabbed his shoulders. “Do you—do you just pretend it didn’t happen? Do you try to rationalize it? Or do you just—accept it?”

The vendor nervously handed him a roasted skewer of meat. “Uh… here. Have this. You seem… unwell.”

Phainon took it but barely noticed. He turned back toward Y/N’s house, eyes still wide in disbelief.

“I need to sit down.”

And with that, he promptly collapsed onto a bench, skewer still in hand, questioning every life decision that had led him to this moment.

_______________________________________

Well here's the 3rd part XD

If u have any wishes or scenarios u wanna see, feel free to ask XD

[fredswrite]

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY PEEPAW HAYDEN!! Omg he’s turning 44 can’t believe it. So this is part 1 of this little fics I’m making for his bday. Part 1 is cute fluff and part 2 is slightttt smut.

WC: 1.2k

SUMMARY: Celebrating your husband birthday with a surprise party was something your daughter loved doing. // Reader is in her 30’s and for the sake of it the daughter doesn’t have a name.

MLST // PART2

BIRTHDAY PARTY

Hayden was always a "Birthdays aren’t important" guy. So when your 8-year-old daughter told you she wanted to do something for her father, who could have told her no?

It started with subtitles question now and then coming from the two most important women in his life.

"What is your favorite color?"

"What is your favorite sport?"

"Chocolate or Vanilla?"

You figured out how to get the answer by the giggle of your daughter. And as the little spy that she was, she got everything noted down in the notebook you gave her a few months ago.

So when Hayden was out to buy farm groceries, she sat down on your lap and began reciting all the important details she wanted to put on the party.

"Daddy likes blue, hockey and vanilla!" She explained with excitement.

"Do you know what hockey team? We could buy him a hat if you’d like?" You already knew the answer, your husband only ever had one team on his mind, the one he grew up in.

"Maple leaf!" She said all smiling. "Can we go now?"

"He’s going to come back soon. We can go buy everything tomorrow after school if you’d like." You chuckled, softly drawing patterns in her hair.

She quickly agreed and ranted about her days and the work she had to do. From the math homework to her friend breaking an arm, you looked at her face, the same one you fell in love with.

When the door opened, she shushed her voice and ran to the entryway, waiting for her father.

"Daddy!" She exclaimed and jumped in a hug. Hayden let the bags down to catch her up.

Her smaller arms wrapped around his chest while he supported her waist, she wasn’t 3 anymore and he wasn’t 20 either.

"Hey love, how was your day?" He groaned softly as he pulled her down again. He smiled softly at you in the living room when he spotted you.

"It was good, work was great."

He walked to the chair you were sitting on, enveloping your lips in a tender kiss as you raised your head toward him.

"I bought food for the pigs and fertilizer." Hayden added, going after the bags he left in front of the door. He then took them to the garage that lead outside.

Once he came back, you were already getting the ingredients out for a home taco night. Tortillas, minced steak, cheese, tomato, lettuce, pepper and onion.

He wrapped his hand from behind you, resting his head in the crook of your neck, giving you gentle kisses.

"You might need to help her, I don’t think her math assignments are gonna do themselves alone."

He let out one of his usual deep chuckles; "Yeah, I’ll do that."

So here you two where, going from one shop to another to get him the best gifts. To make sure you didn’t forget anything, you had a list with everything you were planning to buy.

• A Toronto Maple Leaf cap.

• A big blue cake written on it "Happy Birthday Daddy."

• Different types of spices for meat seasoning.

• A gift card for his favorite golf shop.

• A new watch.

• Blue and white balloon.

• Bright coloring pen mostly for your daughter

(And a red lingerie set you wouldn’t buy with her around.)

After what seemed like hours of research, you both found everything you wanted. Lucky you, Hayden was out for a Comicon in the state, which gave you two days to prepare before he came back.

Your child had it all planned, you would hide when you heard the sound of the door opening and scream "Surprise!" when he walked inside the living room with the gifts displayed and the balloon holding onto it.

"Not this one mom! This one!" She pointed to another shade of blue as she drew the card for Hayden. A truly beautiful drawing of the house they lived in with leaves in the bottom.

"See now the sky is different than from the lake." She smiled proudly at her work, she was quite talented for an eight-year-old.

"I see honey." A grain displayed on your face as you wrapped different gifts in a again blue and gray paper wrapper.

"Do you want to sign too?" She questioned, raising the handmade card to your face. Her little eyes sparkled with joy and excitement.

You opened the letter and wrote a little sentence under her lovely paragraph. "Another year of love with you, couldn’t be more grateful. Happy birthday, I love you Hay xx."

You let go of the gifts when you heard your phone ringing with a notification. Taking it out of your pocket, you noticed it came from the man himself.

Hey love, how are you two doing?

You smiled as you read. You could never get rid of his sweet gesture.

Doing great, missing you though :)

Three small dots appeared as you waited for his text.

I’ll be back soon xx

"Mom, what are you doing?" A little voice stirred you back to reality. You showed her the text before asking playfully;

"Do you want to send Daddy a pic? Make a grimace."

You both stuck your tongues out, before laughing at the result. Clicking on the sent button in the bottom corner, It wasn’t long before you could read at the bottom of the screen that he saved it to his phone and replied with a smiling emoji.

Two days later, a cake was in the living room, gifts and balloons were all over the place, and all that was missing was your husband. You couldn’t deny it; you were just as excited as your child was.

She was jumping all over the house, stumbling on her feet as she waited for Hayden to cross the door. Every five minutes, she would ask you when was he getting there.

"Be patient honey, you don’t wanna ruin the surprise before he even gets here." You giggled, and she responded with a groan.

Barely fifty minutes later, you heard his car pull up in the entry. It was your cue to go to your hiding spot. Step by step, he got closer to you, until he reached the door and opened it gently. He knew you were in since the door was unlocked.

"I’m home!" He said, hoping to hear the familiar voices he loved, but he heard nothing.

"Someone’s here?" He questioned again, no responses. He would lie if he said he wasn't worried.

But all the worries of the world disappeared when he saw the blue decorations and heard both of your voices yell surprise in unison.

"Happy birthday Daddy!" As usual, she ran to his arms with the brightest smile on her face. She hugged him hard enough to make up for the two days he spent without her.

Once he let go of her, you made your way to him, enveloping him in your warm embrace.

"Happy birthday honey."

He kissed you, his hand rubbing gently at your cheeks. "Thank you love." He mumbled in your ear.

Your loving moment was stopped by a hand gripping your two hands apart. "Dad! Come open your presents, mine first!!"

And with that, he opened the cards followed by the maple leaf cap you bought in her name. He smiled before putting it on.

"Wow, that’s so cool. But you know you’re my best birthday present." He gently tapped on her nose with a grin.

And your heart melted at the sight of the two most beautiful people in your world.

[bridgertonnteas]

I have gotten a lot of anons about Bridgeton season 3 & the Polin "deleted scenes", so let me make things clear!

I said it again & again there aren't many deleted scenes, it was only one scene in the end of ep8 a lot of people telling me that on reddit someone is saying that 2 long deleted sex scenes were cut, but that isn't true at all & the same person is saying that people who got early screenings of 1-6 episodes had extra scenes, but again that's false

There wasn't any other mirror scene in ep7 & There wasn't any angry sex scene in ep7 either. There was however a different version of when Colin argued with Pen in the streets at night, instead of him just making her get into the carriage, he gets inside as well & makes her go home

By the way in the version that we got of that scene, he just doesn't leave her in a carriage. I have seen some people misunderstanding it, but he has been following her with another carriage and left after the carriage she took with his own carriage still following her, it was his way of protecting her from afar, the other version might be clearer, but both have the same outcome

As for ep8, there was a montage at the end that was mostly Polin making out/kissing fully clothed, & few seconds of them doing more like him going down on her, him kissing her neck and smiling playfully at their reflection in the mirror, them doing it in bed & her riding him at the end ( the few seconds we got of that was from that montage). In those scenes of them doing more during the montage; she was either wearing a nightgown or a robe, she was never naked in those scenes & he was shirtless or covered from the waist down, but the state of their undress was never like ep5 first-time scene

Nicola didn't have other scenes of her being naked or almost naked, that only happened in ep5 & the furniture-breaking scene was the first time scene in ep5, both Nicola & Luke confirmed that and even posted a picture of it, so why doubt what they said!

Even the showrunner & writer of the show addressed that in a recent interview that was released after part2 was released

In the early script draft, there was indeed a scene that wasn't filmed as far as I know of Polin in bed talking about his journals & her editing them, but again as far as I know it was never filmed. if it was filmed then it never made the cut

There were different takes on the epilogue, but all of them had a similar outcome

And by the way, deleted scenes or different takes of some scenes someone either shondaland or the main show account one day, or someone from the cast & crew could post them in the future, but who knows. It's possible, but at the same time don't get your hopes up

That's all I wanted to say because there's a lot of misinformation around and some people sadly built their idea & image of this season based on fake spoilers and got disappointed when those spoilers didn't come true and I think they should let go of those fake spoilers already & rewatch the season & part2 with a clearer mind because it's rather obvious how those fake spoilers are clouding how they think about the season!....

[desire4ella]

𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞 𝐅𝐮𝐧

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 @codyswhitebelt ✰ part2 of the Gif euphoria series

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: You and Roman stumble across a lingerie shop,but he can’t seem to contain himself

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Daddy!Roman x Sub!Reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 590

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: Bent over, Sir k*nk , THIS IS NOT PROOF READ !!( so sorry for any mistakes )

You always love going on shopping trips with your man Roman, mostly because he spoils your ass and gets you anything your little heart desires. Holding hands you both stroll around the mall . “ Where do wanna go now baby ?” he asks while he briefly checks the time on his phone. Looking up at him you smile “ I don’t knowwwww , how about you choose this time ?” looking up from his phone he gives you a smirk “whatever you say princess”.Picking up his pace , you both walk futher down until you stop at a shop called “𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐍”. Gasping you walk up to the glass window and peer inside , looking at all the beautiful sets that were put on display. Letting out a laugh he wraps his arms around your waist “ I know you would’ve liked this ” turning your head slightly you said “Of course , i would like this baby!”.

Grabbing his hand you pull him inside the “ Victoria secret” like shop , ready to see all the beautiful sets waiting to be tried on. “So which ones you wanna try on baby ?” he asks as he also browses through the lingerie , taking notes of the pink ones , since he knows it’s your favourite colour ( Totally not protecting my interests in the character LOL.) “Hmmmm how bout this?” you questioned and grabbed a random set from the rack , displaying the parts on your body so Roman could have a basic layout on how it would look like on you. Licking his lips slowly he looks you up and down ; eyes hooded and low “Ooooo I say,me and you go into the changing room so I can really go into detail bout my opinion” giggling in excitement you make your way to the nearest changing room with roman prowling behind you.

As soon as the “ Click” sound echoed the compacted stall, Roman began to attack your lips like it was his last feast. Moaning in between the kiss he pulls away and turns you over so that you’re facing the wall “ You dirty girl , look at you…your panties are already soaking wet”he mockingly says as he flips up your skirt and you examines the damp spot between your legs. Moaning in desperation you began hastily taking of your panties yourself, chuckling at your neediness he pulls down his boxers and watches as his dick springs up , slapping against his abdomen. Lining up his tip against your folds he slowly pushes in groaning at how your pussy invites him so comfortingly and snug.

“ That’s it baby , take this dick ”. You moan out loudly ,your hands quickly fly to your mouth to muffle your pathetic voice. He quickens his pace,his hips clashing into your ass repeatedly going deeper with each stroke “Nahhh don’t cover your mouth baby, I want them to hear how much of a slut you are, fucking inna public store? you should be ashamed of yourself” he whispered in your ear to taunt you. Eyes rolling at you back of your head,you clench around him signifying that you were about to cum, noticing this he takes one of his hands and begin to run your swollen clit. Breathless and fucked out you bounce your ass back on him faster, ready to get you high��� Daddy i’m gonna-”

* BANG * * BANG* Roman halted his movements. You both stare at the door….

𝐘𝐮𝐩𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐟 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 🤷🏾‍♀️

@trc-punzel 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 💋

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐢𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐮𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 , 𝐬𝐨 𝐢 𝐟𝐫 𝐟𝐫 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐬𝐞 ( 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬𝐬𝐬 🤧)

[zombiecowboy65]

WIP ASK GAME

thank u @300foxholecourtt ♥️

rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have wips

I usually only work on one or two things at a time if I can help it so I do not have many wips 😭 l this is mostly a list of things I need to write (but some do have paragraphs)

(All of these are jerejean bc that’s all I care 2 write if I am honest)

-I know the end (part2)

-unnamed 911 au

-omegaverse FWB

-mermaid ?

-French smut

-engagement ring debacle

-Leo post

-Knoxed up pt2

-werewolf jean

Tagging! @hells-okayest-dad @centaur-dreaming @rederiss @wherethemothsgrow @booksmood

[thegreatirene]

Traveling Witch (Adrian Tempes x witch!reader) Part 3

Rated: Mature

Warnings: language

Sorry for taking long on this chapter😅 having writers block is the worst but this one I was able to finish it in like two days. I’m not sure if this is considered fluff? But if it is then let the fluff commence. Hope you guys like it!

Part 1. Part2. Part4. Part5. Part6

“I really think you’d like my time period. You seem like you’d be a big foodie. Ooo no I can see you making YouTube videos of like the different art stuff and what you got from so high end clothing stores.” Adrian rolled his eyes at what he thinks might be the 20th time that day. He didn’t think you’d be this talkative if went on your little adventure.

*thud*

He turned back to see that you fell on the ground and got back up.

“I’m fine, so like I was saying” you continue to walk and talk as you told him about the things you had back in your timeline. He doesn’t think he’s ever met someone quite like you…well Belmont sorta comes to mind but still. He ponders for a moment and then stops in his tracks.

“Y/n what was your family name again?” He aske. You couldn’t be, right?

“I don’t think I told you,” you turned to look at him and found him a little closer than you thought. You could really see the glow of his beautiful golden eyes and the sharpness of his nose. The way his hair glittered in the sun as a soft breeze dance through each strand of hair. He really pisses you off with how beautiful he is.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He questioned.

“I hate how beautiful you look” you hissed as you stepped back. Your eyebrows frowned as you cursed at him under your breath.

“You don’t happen to have any blood ties to Belmont do you?”

“Who?” This time you looked at him with confusion.

“Belmont is one of my friends that traveled with me a while ago. You remind me of him”

“I don’t know if I should be offended that you said I remind you of a man or be touched cause it’s one of your friends”

“I think it would be the former if you knew who he is” Adrian said as he walked past you.

“What was that?”

“I said I think I’ve seen one of those rocks you were talking about running that way”

“No you didn’t!” You jogged after him as he continued walking.

—

You made it to a clearing of the forest and looked around at the ground. Just grass and pretty looking flowers everywhere you looked. No trovants but the flowers make up for the lack of stones. You made your way to the middle of the field and sat down.

“This is nice” you sighed as you laid back in the tall grass and watched the clouds pass by. You would think you were in heaven if you didn’t remember the monsters that lurk around.

“You don’t want to continue to look around?”

You looked to Adrian as he stood to the side of you and then back to the sky. You shrugged your shoulders as you laid your hands over your stomach.

“I’ll happen upon them sooner than later. I got time so I’m not much in a hurry”

Adrian looked at you for a moment and looked around the field. Nothing was around besides the deers that came and ate. He couldn’t hear or smell anything dangerous close by. So he sat down next to you.

“You would have to go into the country side to get this kind of quiet where I’m from” Adrian looked towards you.

“I live in the city for work. I guess for you is like a village but with like a lot of people. There’s like loud noises everywhere not just from the people. So it’s countless of noises. You get used to it but come out to a place like this is a luxury” you looked at him with a small smile and then back at the sky.

“Do you travel a lot?” Adrian asked.

“Mm every now and then. I mostly do it for my own benefits”

“What do you do for work?”

“I guess you could say I’m a witch. Well it runs in the family. We all practice it so we work with it to make money. Nothing bad mostly selling crystals and potions for people to use.” You looked over at him and could see how shocked he was.

“I know about your mom…she would be loved in my time. Shit a lot of people like to pretend they come from a line of witches but it’s so small” you sat up and turned to sit facing him.

“….”

“You ok?” You want to reach over and take his hand but the way he’s been you don’t know if you should. Instead you let him sit in the silence as you picked at some flowers and start to braid them together.

Adrian thinks about all things his mother has done for her people. The countless lives she’s helped to improve. Her life taken from her because they didn’t know better. Yet here sat someone who is like his mother. Helping others and educating them in the art that she does. He’s happy that at least in hundreds of years from now people are more welcoming. There’s hope.

You placed the braided flowers in Adrian hands once you were done. He looked at them and twirled them around. He wasn’t wrong about humans but he was wrong about this one. He smiled at you as he reached over and placed the flowers behind your ears.

—

The walk back to the castle wasn’t so bad. The air between the two of you was light and whatever resentment Adrian held was gone. He walked a little closer to you and even walked at the same pace as you. His energy was soft and more relaxed. You don’t think you said much back in the fields but maybe you did. Adrian once again cooked dinner for the both of you. But this time he started up the conversation. He mostly talked about where he got the ingredients for the foods and the village that is nearby. It was still nice that he was opening up to you. What really surprised you was when he showed you his parent’s laboratory.

“Holy shit” you marveled at the whole room. It shined so beautifully you could live here forever.

“Adrian this is so cool! Is that the solar system! Holy shit this place is so huge!!” You ran around the place looking at everything. You went over to the gigantic telescope that was pointed towards the night sky. The lights went out and you turned to look at Adrian but he was already at your side. He gestured towards the telescope as permission for you to use.

Excited you behind the telescope and looked through the lens. You could see the many stars and galaxies. You gushed about the many stars and colors.

“This is amazing Adrian,” you looked towards him, “thank you for showing me.”

“You can come here when you’re bored. You can probably find books on the rocks you’re looking for as well.” He melted into the darkness and the lights flickered back on.

“Thanks Adrian” you turned to see him sitting in one of the chairs with a book in hand. He smiled at you as he opened the book and started to read.

[luluthespectator]

Dinner between Supervillain and Hero (Cosy and Fancy part2)

The moon shone in the dark sky. Supervillain were waiting in front of the restaurant, where the light coming from the windows didn’t touch them. Upon seeing a familiar silhouette, they readjusted their suit and tie.

The sight delighted them. Hero came with the cosiest clothes and it suited him. He had a large brown coat, the one he particularly liked because “the pockets are so big!”. He had a green checkered scarf on top of it. His face was adorned with his peaceful smile he almost always wore.

He stopped right in front of them. He was admiring Supervillain too. He didn’t look at them when he said:

-I know you told me to wear whatever I wanted, but now I kind of feel bad for coming like this.

-No one will say anything about it. Except me, and I love seeing you like that.

Supervillain wanted to take Hero closer to them, to keep him tightly in their arms. They knew he wouldn’t like that, not like this. So, they held up their hand, palm towards Hero. 

He was flustered. But, he did a great job at staying composed. He didn’t lose his overall peaceful and laid-back expression even for a second, but Supervillain was good at seeing the little details.

They also knew Hero was mostly disconnected from his feelings, it didn’t mean he couldn’t feel anything deep down. It was a shame he only had a shallow understanding of his emotions, perhaps it was also a blessing.

Hero put his hand in theirs. He had mittens too. He said embarrassed:

-Yeah, I know it’s not ideal for kisses like this. I should have…

Supervillain kissed the tip of all his fingers, one by one. From the corner of their eyes they could see his other hand ever so slightly twitch from the surprise and delight. He said satisfied:

-…nevermind I guess. That works too.

Supervillain let go of his hand to open the door for him. Hero’s eyes widened slightly as Supervillain showed the inside of the room with their hand. As Hero entered he said with a tone that betrayed how flustered he was:

-You’re a real gentleman, you know that?

-I believe I do.

When they entered, the waiter was quick to show them the way. They opened another door which led to a dimly lit place. They were welcomed by jazzy music and the sound of conversations. Supervillain told Hero:

-I changed the place a little.

Supervillain observed Hero’s reaction carefully. His smile was bright and he had stars in his eyes. He had his mouth opened in awe as his gaze traveled through the room. This is the reaction Supervillain wanted to see. They adored what Hero had to say about it:

-I love it.

-Thank you, I thought you would like it better.

They followed the waiter who was guiding them between the tables. Hero was looking at Supervillain. His smile betrayed how flustered he was. 

-You did that for me?

-Yes.

They stopped in the middle of the room. A wooden table was placed there, it was already dressed with two sets of red handkerchiefs. Music filled the air, the beat enveloped them, it was accompanied by a saxophone and clarinet. The melody was mesmerising like it was promising riches and good times.

-You didn’t have to. 

-I believe I did.

Supervillain made a subtle movement with their hand. The waiter took this cue to leave. Supervillain offered a seat to Hero. He sat down with his head low, his face betrayed his racing thoughts. Supervillain sat down beside him.

A voice rose above the crowd. It was low and soothing, it was both authentic and hypnotic. The lyrics went well with the ambience. It asked what kind of happiness would be the happiest and spoke of a place where you could find just that. 

Hero didn’t need to raise their voice to be heard though.

-I really like the singer too. 

-The singer is one of my henchmen. He probably thinks I don't recognise him but I do. I bet he recognises me too.

-Well, it’s your gaze. I could recognise it in a crowd, because it’s so…

He blushed after having spoken those last words. It was the first time he did so tonight. Supervillain knew exactly why he was like this. This could have been a simple statement but Hero attempted flirting. 

-…beautiful?

This made them smile, how they wished to swoop Hero from his seat and make him comfortable on their laps and kiss him mercilessly. But Supervillain couldn’t do that, so they settled for the next best thing: to congratulate these bold words, especially since they were few and far between. 

-Thank you very much Hero. 

At those words, he wound up even more embarrassed. Supervillain didn’t like seeing him nervous and fidgeting with his handkerchief. They decided to take their gaze upwards to a mezzanine floor above them. 

-I put some tables above. I like being among the people, but most of my henchmen like being on top, they like to see everything that is going on from afar.

The menus were handed to them. Hero whispered a small “thank you”. This distraction was enough for him to have his emotions under control again.

-You really care about your henchmen.

-Of course I do. They are the pillars, the foundation of my power. Without them, everything collapses on itself.

-And you take care of them. 

Supervillain simply nodded. Hero opened the menu to a random page. He had something on his mind, they would soon know what that is. Supervillain already knew what they were going to order so they observed. Hero’s statement would probably sound bitter.

-I guess, this is why so many people decided to join you.

Their prediction didn’t miss.

-Perhaps.

He flipped through a couple of pages. Supervillain knew this wasn’t the end of his reasoning. Hero was just buying time. He opened his mouth for a moment seemingly thinking. 

Supervillain saw in his eyes the moment he decided to change the subject.

-Who’s going to pay?

-You don’t have to worry about money tonight.

-Thank you.

He stayed silent for a moment, his eyes weren’t reading anything. Supervillain waited. Hero was struggling to come up with a good way to formulate his thoughts, they were racing in his mind. Supervillain found it endearing.

Then he looked up from his menu, staring right in Supervillain’s eyes.

-What if they betray you, you can’t have only loyal people, can you?

-Well, some people have lives. Most people aren’t like us, they have a family, children, they can’t afford to resist during interrogations. I know that, and I accept it. By doing so, hopefully, they’ll at least try to defend me.

That seemed to ease Hero’s mind. Supervillain noticed the waiter in the distance. Supervillain invited them to come. This would make a good distraction for Hero. They ordered their food. 

Hero had his way of talking to the waiters like he didn’t want to bother them. It always amused Supervillain, they agreed that you had to be polite, but it was their job to serve food people wanted to eat.

———

Hero found his peaceful smile again. He was looking at Supervillain with a light of admiration. He claimed boldly:

-When you talk about your henchmen like you did earlier, it feels like the Agency is so cold in comparison.

-Does it now? Are you saying you would rather be on the side of darkness.

Hero responded with a hint of confidence:

-I have learnt with you that it is not always that bad.

-You were scared the first time I showed you this.

Supervillain could vividly remember his face. Panic had made his whole body tremble. He could barely breathe. Torture was nothing compared to the shattering realisation that had crashed down upon him that fateful day.

-My world views were crumbling. I was terrified. 

His desperate expression overlapped with his current self. He was calm and at peace with what he knew and who he was. Those two images were so different and yet they came from the same person. Hero continued:

-But now, I know it made me a better person.

Supervillain scoffed.

-Ironic, isn’t it?

Hero flashed a bright smile at Supervillain. They felt their heart flutter. He showed Supervillain with his hand. His eyes closed. His voice was soothing with genuine happiness.

-All the more power to you I guess.

-Speaking about power. What happened with the Agency? You told me you still had links with them. What does it mean exactly?

-After I spared you, they claimed I became too vulnerable to be a hero.

Supervillain didn’t like those words. The Agency had a way of making their own people feel disposable. It disgusted them. They grumbled on a somber tone:

-You were starting to be merciful.

-Being merciful works only with people like you. I still work there, I train the young ones. I taught them some of the lessons I learnt with you.

Supervillain raised their eyebrows, stunned, their anger vanished. They blinked at Hero without a sound. What? They managed to compose themselves to ask:

-Is that so?

-Yes. There is one apprentice I particularly like. 

And Hero was about to brush over the fact that he taught trainees lessons about morality he has learnt with Supervillain? Just like that?

-We have a lot in common I guess. Besides, he is very sweet and talented. A little shy maybe? He is not going to be a hero who fights just to be in front of the cameras, that’s for sure. Maybe he’ll even flee from them. Heroes like that exist, it doesn’t necessarily mean the public doesn’t like them. I’m not too worried about my little protege. 

He was about to continue before being interrupted by another thought. He grew more still and took a laid-back expression again.

-But I don’t want to say more, just in case. 

Supervillain nodded. They knew it was nothing personal. Everyone had secrets, this wasn’t new. The food was served at their table. Hero took a bite of his food and seemed to genuinely like it. Supervillain was still trying to get over the fact that Hero taught trainees about their worldview.

-The food is delicious.

Hero’s smile and voice made his statement all the more true. He was so precious. The warmth in their chest brushed away their astonishment. This time, it was Supervillain who had to look away. Hero didn’t seem to notice that movement and asked:

-What are you planning for later?

Supervillain couldn’t help but take a suave tone. They knew it would ring in Hero’s ears like honey. They wanted to lead Hero to the outcome they wanted to get.

-Well, I was planning to go home, with or without you. This is your choice to make.

-I like the first option better. 

They smiled, satisfied. It didn’t fail this time either. Supervillain knew Hero had no reasons to turn off the invitation but they still needed to operate that little push just in case.

-Then let’s finish this dinner. You can take your time. Enjoy your food, the night is young.

Continuation part 3

Back to part 1

Back to master list

[ateezlover8fiction]

Ateez headcanons part 3!!

part2

Most likely to feel jealous of.

San~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Seonghwa)

•San is a really sweet and soft man. The same goes for Seonghwa too. So it gets challenging for him when his partner gets close to his member Seonghwa. He’ll not like that the two got close easily because of the similar personalities he has with the older. He’ll try more to take his partner’s attention and not let them spend time together alone. He’ll get very stressed out and afraid of the thought that his hyung will take what’s his from him.

Mingi~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Yeosang)

•Mingi is a T so that means he’s very emotional and likes to be the center of the attention of his partner that he loves. It’ll get more difficult for him when they start to be friends with Yeosang. Mingi loves his members but something about Yeosang it nags him. Yeosang is not a very emotional man and very quiet, similar to his partner’s personality. So he’ll start to feel alarmed, like if they got too close he’ll lose them. He’ll become very sensitive (respectfully) and he’ll start to avoid Yeosang and even start a few arguments with him, until his partner talks with him about that and figured things out.

Wooyoung~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Seonghwa/hongjoong)

•Wooyoung is a playful man and sometimes a trouble maker. He loves his partner and makes sure that they’re safe and entertained. But when he started to notice that his hyungs Seonghwa or Hongjoong got closer to them he’ll activated possessive mode on. He’s not a jealous man, he’s confident enough to know that his partner is stuck with him. But he couldn’t shake the feeling of possessiveness he has. He’ll considerate Hongjoong or Seonghwa his enemies now (Not actually). He’ll think that he’s partner got close to one of them because they more into mature, organized and older men, the opposite of his spontaneity and his playful personality. He’ll get more offended every time his hyungs make his partner laugh even the slightest and he’ll pull them away from them. Wooyoung will start to not allow them to be around his hyungs anymore and will get more possessive over them. But he’ll calm down when Seonghwa or Hongjoong talked with him and promised that they won’t think of his partner anything more than a friend.

Jongho~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(San)

•As we all know, Jongho is man who’s not too good at expressing his feelings. He do loves his partner and members dearly. But he doesn’t know how to tell them. So every time he sees San’s way to embrace the members and his partner, he always feels uncomfortable and nervous. He tries to convince himself that his hyung won’t do something like taking his partner, and try to change his quiet self. He’s mostly willing to get jealous of his hyung and try to confront him and makes him know that his partner is someone untouchable and out of limits. Until San understands Jongho’s changed behavior and he’ll make sure to tell him that his partner is just a friend nothing else.

[icequeenliafics]

Jayvik Highschool AU - Part2

Context: Vi and Jayce plan a surprise bd party for Cait and flop HARD. The whole gang helps. JAYVIK! Chaos!

Jayce parked his car in the open garage of Viktor's house. He pushed the horn twice to let his friend know he had arrived, before killing the engine.

He pushed open the door of his car with a giddy smile on his lips, that tingly sensation buzzing in his stomach again. He was about to see Viktor and his body knew it.

Jayce didn't bother to shut the door when he climbed out of the car, instead walking to the little side-door, connecting the garage to the kitchen.

"I'm here!", he called as he stepped inside.

"So, I figured", Viktor said, standing by the counter, back turned towards Jayce as he studied some papers. "Hello, Jayce."

Jayce's smile only grew as he walked towards his friend with quick steps.

Viktor didn't even flinch when Jayce wrapped his arms around him from behind, gently resting his chin on his shoulder. He made sure to only rest the weight of his head onto Viktor, the rest of his body was carried by Jayce's own legs to not strain his friend's bad leg.

"You're studying?"

"Always", Viktor said, placing one hand on Jayce's arm, leaning into him like it was second nature. "Finals."

He sounded concentrated, his eyes skimming the notes from their last math class.

"You know you're allowed to take a break now and then", Jayce said, also skimming Viktor's notes now.

"Not if I want to score highest in class." Vik turned the paper, revealing his scribbly equations.

Jayce smiled when he found little drawings scattered all over the page. Viktor always let him doodle on his notes when Jayce got bored in class.

"Think you're done soon?", Jayce asked, finger absentmindedly tracing the back of Viktor's hand.

"Two minutes", Vik muttered, not looking up once.

Jayce sighed in defeat. "'Kay", he muttered, settling more comfortably against Vik's shoulder. "Wake me."

"M-hm.

Jayce huffed out a smile and closed his eyes.

This was nice; standing in the warmth of the kitchen with Viktor settled against his chest, a comfortable weight against him.

Jayce could hear Viktor breathing, the rhythm soft and even, and smelling faintly of honey.

Vik was muttering under his breath, repeating the equations on the paper and explaining to himself how he came to the right solutions. Explaining your calculation method was necessary in a test, in order to avoid point deduction.

Jayce felt more than comfortable listening to his friend's soft voice, his stomach filled with raging butterflies. He kinda wished they could just stay here like this.

"I'm done", Viktor said, leaning further back against him. "Wake up now, you are quite heavy."

"Sorry", Jayce muttered, pulling away and settling against the counter to face Viktor. "Did I strain your leg?"

Viktor grabbed his cane, giving him the side eye.

Jayce smiled knowingly. "You're fine, I get it."

"Sharp observation", Viktor said, turning to leave the kitchen, one hand on his cane, the other holding his notes. "Follow me."

"Where?", Jayce asked, pushing off the counter.

"My room", Viktor answered.

"You forgot something?" Jayce paced his steps so they matched Viktor's.

"No, but you came here for the fireworks, did you not?"

"Mostly I came here for you", Jayce said before he could stop himself, ears burning up immediately. "But the fireworks too, sure."

Viktor looked at him with a soft frown, studying his face. Jayce could feel the blood shooting to his face. Why was he so flustered today?!

He quickly averted his eyes, fingers scratching at the back of his neck.

He heard Viktor's gentle chuckle next to him, like he was amused by his weird behavior. Jayce wished for the ground to swallow him up.

The door to Viktor's room stood open, revealing walls cluttered in formulas and all kinds of tinkerings hanging from the ceiling, some of them made by Viktor, but most of them gifts from his parents.

When they were kids, Jayce loved to visit Viktor's home, because it meant they could play with his cool toys. The perks of having toymaker parents.

"They are under the bed", Viktor said, lifting the throw blanket with his cane, revealing the space under the bed stuffed to the brim with firework batteries.

Jayce's eyes grew big. "You slept on those?"

Viktor frowned. "Yes."

"Why?", Jayce asked with an incredulous look on his face. "Why couldn't you just put them into the garage?"

Viktor let the blanket fall down in order to stand more comfortably.

“Good idea”, he mused. “I could have just put the illegal fireworks into the garage, where my parents could have a good, long look at them.”

Jayce blinked. “But wouldn't your mom have seen them anyways? I mean, she was supposed to drive you today.”

Viktor pointed his cane at one corner of the room. “Open the wardrobe”, he said with a smirk.

Jayce frowned, doing as he was told. “What am I supposed to see?”, he asked when all he found inside were ironed shirts and sweaters.

“Behind the clothes”, Viktor said.

So, Jace brushed them aside, finding hidden away behind them almost a dozen rolls of wrapping paper.

He heard the familiar creak of Viktor's bed behind him as his friend sat down with a soft sigh.

“I originally planned to wrap up the batteries, so they would look like a present for Caitlyn”, Viktor explained.

Jayce turned around to look at him.

“What would you've told her if she asked what was inside?”

He didn't say it out loud, but a big present indicated a big price tag. Since Viktor's family wasn't too wealthy, it obviously would have raised questions.

Viktor shrugged, that attractive smirk still on his lips.

“That it was a present from you that you asked me to hide away, so Caitlyn would not find it at your place”, he said.

“That's … clever.”

Jayce's eyes wandered down to the throw blanket covering the fireworks. It made him nervous to know Viktor was sitting on them, but he restrained himself from making a fuss.

“And also kinda diabolical”, Jayce added. “Do you often lie to your parents?”

Viktor raised a brow at him and Jayce quickly lifted his hands. “Not judging, of course!”

Viktor let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “It does not do them any harm in this case, does it?”

Jayce's eyes wandered down to the blanket again, and he squirmed at the thought of half a dozen illegal firework batteries resting right beneath his best friend's butt.

“I guess not?” He was still staring at the blanket, switching from one foot to another.

“Just as it does not hurt them when I keep quiet about your occasional nightly visits through my window, right?”, Viktor asked, causing Jayce to look back up at him.

There was that smirk again, the slight quirk of his brow. Jayce felt his ears burn up, his body tingling with heat.

“Right”, he rasped, quickly averting his eyes.

And then, because he really wanted to change the subject and it was the only other thing he could think of: “Could you please not sit there? You’re freaking me out.”

Viktor frowned. “I should not sit on my own bed because it freaks you out?”

“Fireworks”, Jayce added quickly. “The illegal batteries under your bed?”

Viktor looked at him like he was speaking a foreign language.

“What, are you afraid my butt could light them up?”

Jayce refrained from answering that Viktor indeed had a really hot behind, but he managed to do so barely, his brain firing neurons too quickly to keep up.

“Please?”, he asked instead.

Viktor still didn't seem too worried about the potential explosions beneath him, but with a roll of his eyes and a soft sigh, he heaved himself up onto his cane.

“There, happy?”

“Very”, Jayce said with a grin that hopefully didn't look as nervous as he felt.

He forced himself to get past himself, walking towards his friend.

“Now move, so I can put these into the - what are you doing?”

Jayce's confused frown turned into a blush very quickly when Viktor lifted a hand to his face.

“Hold still”, Vik said unnecessarily.

Jayce was frozen on the spot.

He felt heat shoot into his cheeks at the gentle touch of Viktor's fingers against his brow, pressing down ever so softly as if to wipe something away.

When he pulled back, he kept standing right there in front of Jayce - When had he come this close? - inspecting the purple smudge on the tip of his finger.

“What is it?”, Viktor asked, looking up at Jayce with his beautiful amber eyes.

Air. What was air?

“Cake frosting”, he rasped, his lungs denying him.

His heart - oh god, his heart! Jayce could feel it pounding against his ribcage. Could Viktor hear it too? Oh no, could he?

If yes, he didn't show it, simply looking back down at the frosting and then -

Jayce's mind blanked for the fracture of a second.

Why? Because he was a teenage boy and as such he was only so strong, okay?

He watched in slow motion as Viktor lifted his finger to his mouth, lips wrapping around its tip, cheeks hollowing out the slightest bit as he sucked off the frosting.

Jayce's ears were buzzing as his heart picked up its rhythm again, pumping blood through his system.

Somewhere in the back of his brain Jayce had the decency to feel ashamed. That still didn't keep him from staring when the tip of Viktor's tongue darted out to chase the taste off his lips.

“Blueberry?”

Viktor looked up at him and Jayce's brain came back online.

“Huh?”

“The cake”, Viktor said, one corner of his mouth wandering up. “Is it blueberry?”

Jayce swallowed, still very captured by his best friend's lips.

“M-hm.” He tore his eyes away with quite some force. “Cupcakes, actually.”

His voice sounded way too thin. Jayce cleared his throat, his heart still beating up to his chin.

“Well, they are quite tasty”, Viktor said, and there was still that smirk. “Now the question is, how did they get onto your face?”

Jayce forced himself to look him in the eyes, those burning amber eyes.

“Accident”, he said, his voice more firm this time. “You’ll see what I mean.”

Viktor raised a brow.

+

Part1

Another snippet of the Oneshot. Hope you had fun reading!✨

[hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall]

The story untold no more - Bucky x Reader (NSFW) - part2

Summary: New house, new life, new feelings

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Journalist!Reader

Warnings for the whole story: English isn't my first language, so apologies for any mistakes. Reader has some descriptions. Angst, fluff, SMUT So please do not interract if you're under 18, idiots in love. Not proof-read yet, so apologies...

A/N: There's the second part :) Apologies for the mix up - we have SMUT here so, yeah ;)

Words for the chapter: 25 035 (even bigger oopsies)

Part 1

On your first morning at the house, you arrived armed with food—breakfast sandwiches, packed lunches, and a box of pastries. You remembered Bucky mentioning in passing that neither he nor Steve had much talent in the kitchen, and you figured feeding them was the least you could do.

When you walked through the door, the smell of coffee and eggs wafting in with you, both men lit up like kids on Christmas morning.

“This smells amazing,” Steve said, his eyes wide as he peeked into the bags.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Bucky said, though the grateful smile on his face said otherwise.

“Consider it fuel for the day,” you said with a laugh. “And if you’re nice, I might even teach you how to make some of this stuff yourselves.”

Steve grinned, already unwrapping a sandwich. “You’d be doing humanity a favor. Bucky burns toast.”

“I do not,” Bucky protested, though the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed him.

After breakfast, Steve clapped Bucky on the back and gave you a small wave. “Alright, I’m leaving you two to it. This is your project, Buck. Don’t mess it up.”

Bucky rolled his eyes but smiled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

As Steve left, munching on a chocolate chip cookie you’d packed, Bucky turned to you, his expression somewhere between excitement and uncertainty.

“Alright,” he said, holding out his hand. “Let me show you around.”

You took his hand without hesitation, the gesture feeling as natural as breathing.

---

Bucky’s plans for the house were detailed and thoughtful, and as he walked you through each room, his enthusiasm was infectious.

“I want to keep the brick,” he said, running his hand along the living room wall. “It’s part of what makes this place feel like home. But the floors… those need replacing.”

“That makes sense,” you said, nodding. “What about your room?”

He smiled, the kind of smile that lit up his whole face. “I’m thinking I’ll keep it mostly the same. Just a new coat of paint, maybe some better lighting.”

As he spoke, his voice grew steadier, more confident. It was clear he’d been thinking about this for a while, and the fact that he trusted you enough to share it all made your chest ache with warmth.

“And the kitchen,” he continued, pulling you into the next room. “It needs a lot of work, but I think I can—”

“Hold on,” you interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “You’re doing this all yourself?”

Bucky shrugged, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Steve offered to help, but… I want to do as much of it as I can. This place is mine. It’s my responsibility.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “Well, I’m here now. So if you need an extra set of hands—two left ones, mind you—I’m your girl.”

He laughed, the sound warm and rich, and it was the happiest you’d ever seen him.

---

Later that afternoon, the two of you sat on the living room floor, eating sandwiches from the bag you’d brought. The sun poured through the dusty windows, painting the room in golden light.

Bucky pulled out a small stack of old photos from a box he’d found in the corner.

“These survived the move?” you asked, surprised as you sifted through the images.

“Not all of them,” he said softly. “But a few. Steve kept some, too. He said they were part of my past, and he couldn’t let them go.”

One photo in particular caught your eye—a sketch of a young Bucky, done in soft, careful lines.

“Steve did this?” you asked, your voice filled with awe.

Bucky nodded, chuckling. “Yeah, back when he thought he was gonna be an artist. I was more of the fixer, though—wiring, mechanics, stuff like that. His drawings were always better than mine.”

“You’re kidding, right?” you said, holding up a different sketch Bucky had done of a car. “My dad would’ve loved this. He used to tinker with cars all the time.”

Bucky laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “He sounds like a good guy.”

“He is,” you said, smiling fondly.

---

By the time the day wound down, the two of you stood in the front yard, the sun dipping below the horizon and casting the house in soft, amber hues.

“Thank you for today,” Bucky said, his voice low and steady. His hand rested lightly on your elbow, grounding you in the moment.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you replied, smiling up at him. “I’m just happy to see you like this. Happy.”

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze lingering on yours. Then, with a soft, deliberate motion, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“See you tomorrow,” he murmured, his voice warm.

As you drove home, your hand brushed the spot where his lips had been, and you couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face. You felt like the luckiest person in the world.

---

The days that followed were filled with laughter, lighthearted teasing, and steady progress. You might not have been the most skilled handyman, but you’d never felt more content.

And every time Bucky smiled at you—those soft, unguarded smiles that made your heart stutter—you felt like maybe, just maybe, you were helping rebuild more than just a house.

---

The week had been a whirlwind of rebuilding, sanding, painting, and—if you were honest with yourself—Bucky trying very hard to keep you from hurting yourself.

“You weren’t kidding about those two left hands,” he teased one morning, watching as you struggled to keep a nail steady with the hammer. “Are you trying to hit your thumb?”

You huffed, glaring at him as he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, that mischievous smirk playing on his lips. “I’m just getting the hang of it,” you grumbled.

Bucky chuckled, stepping forward and gently taking the hammer from your hand. “No offense, doll, but I think we’ll keep you away from sharp tools and anything with too much weight. I’d like to get through this project without a trip to the ER.”

You pouted for the rest of the morning, folding your arms dramatically every time he looked your way. But your resolve didn’t last long.

Later that day, as you were reorganizing paint samples on the table, he approached you, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “Hey, uh… I was wondering. Would you want to plan the kitchen?”

You blinked, turning to him in surprise. “Me? Really?”

He nodded, his gaze shy but steady. “I don’t really know what I’m doing with it, and… I trust you. You’ve got good taste, and I think you’d make it feel like home.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, and before you knew it, tears were welling up in your eyes.

“Whoa, hey,” Bucky said, his brows knitting together in concern. “What’s wrong? Did I say something—”

“No,” you interrupted, laughing softly as you wiped at your cheeks. “It’s just… you trust me. That means more to me than I can put into words.”

Bucky’s expression softened, and he stepped closer, brushing a thumb gently across your cheek. “Of course I trust you,” he murmured. Then, leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, the gesture so tender it made your heart ache.

You’d noticed it more and more lately—how it was always him who reached for your hand, him who initiated those little touches. It was as if he was finally letting himself believe he deserved that closeness, that warmth. And you were more than happy to give it to him.

---

The week had been smooth, almost idyllic. Days of working on the house blurred into a rhythm of shared laughs, small victories, and the comforting sound of progress. It felt like you and Bucky had carved out a world of your own—a pocket of peace that existed solely within the walls of that house.

But peace is fragile, and the world outside has a way of creeping in.

The errand was supposed to be simple—a quick trip to the hardware store to pick up extra nails and browse paint colors for the kitchen. Bucky had seemed more relaxed than you’d ever seen him, even leaving his cap behind. His bare head caught the sunlight as you walked side by side, his shoulders loose and his posture easy.

“I think we should go with something light for the walls,” you said as you pulled open the door to the hardware store. “Maybe a soft blue or cream? Something bright to—”

The words froze in your throat the moment you stepped inside.

The shop owner, a man in his sixties with a stern expression and deep lines etched into his face, had been wiping down the counter. His gaze lifted as the bell above the door chimed, and his eyes locked onto Bucky.

For a long moment, there was silence.

Then the man’s face twisted into something ugly.

“You,” he said, his voice low and sharp, like the crack of a whip. “Get out.”

Bucky froze beside you, his body going rigid. The relaxed man who had walked in just moments ago was gone, replaced by someone you barely recognized. His jaw tightened, his eyes darkened, and his hands curled into fists at his sides.

“Excuse me?” Bucky’s voice was quiet, controlled, but there was an edge to it that sent a chill down your spine.

“I said, get out,” the man repeated, louder this time. His voice carried across the store, drawing the attention of a few customers browsing nearby. “I’m not selling anything to a murderer.”

The words hung in the air like a slap, cold and cutting. For a second, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t process what had just been said.

But then you looked at Bucky—at the way his shoulders sagged ever so slightly, at the way he dropped his gaze to the floor—and something inside you snapped.

Without thinking, you stepped forward, putting yourself between Bucky and the shop owner.

“You listen to me,” you said sharply, your voice trembling with rage. “Do you even know who you’re talking to?”

The man’s scowl deepened, but you pressed on, your words gaining momentum like a freight train.

“This is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes,” you said, your voice rising with each word. “He’s a national hero. A victim of war. A man who was tortured, brainwashed, and used as a weapon against his will. He has spent every day since then trying to atone for things he wasn’t even responsible for. So don’t you dare stand there and call him a murderer.”

The man blinked, but you weren’t done.

“What the hell do you know about war?” you demanded, your words trembling with fury. “About what it’s like to have your choices ripped away from you? To lose yourself and still have the strength to fight your way back?”

“Ma’am, I—”

“No,” you snapped, cutting him off. “You don’t get to justify this. You don’t know anything about him. You don’t know the first damn thing about the kind of person he is. He’s a survivor. He’s a good man. A better man than you’ll ever be.”

The shop had gone eerily quiet. Customers had stopped what they were doing to watch, their curious and wary gazes bouncing between you and the shop owner.

“You’re just a bitter, ignorant old man,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “And honestly? I feel sorry for you. Because you’ll never know what it’s like to stand beside someone like him—someone who’s been through hell and still finds a way to be kind. Someone who’s—”

“Hey.”

Bucky’s voice was soft, his hand light on your arm, but it was enough to stop you mid-sentence.

You turned to him, your breath coming in uneven gasps, your eyes still blazing with anger. “What?”

“Let’s go,” he said gently. His voice was calm, but his eyes—the deep blue-gray of a stormy sea—held a quiet resolve that cut through your rage.

“But he—”

“Please,” Bucky murmured. There was no anger in his voice, only a quiet weariness that made your heart ache.

The fight drained out of you in an instant. Your shoulders slumped as you let out a shaky breath, and with one last glare at the shop owner, you turned and followed Bucky out of the store

---

The walk back to the house was heavy with silence. The usual rhythm of your steps, once comfortable and in sync, felt disjointed. Bucky’s shoulders were hunched, his hands buried deep in his pockets as he stared down at the sidewalk. His jaw was set, but the tension around his eyes betrayed him.

You wanted to say something—anything—to break the quiet, to ease the weight that had fallen between you since leaving the hardware store. But every time you opened your mouth, the memory of the shop owner’s words slammed into you like a wall.

By the time you reached the house, your anger was boiling over again.

“Unbelievable,” you snapped as you stormed through the door. “The nerve of that guy. To say something like that to you! Who does he think he is?”

Bucky followed you inside, his steps deliberate but unhurried, and leaned against the wall. He watched quietly as you paced back and forth, gesturing animatedly as you vented.

“He doesn’t even know you,” you continued, your voice rising as the anger clawed its way out of your chest. “And he thinks he can just… just—ugh! What an absolute—”

Bucky called your name softly, but you were too worked up to notice.

“And another thing,” you went on, throwing your hands up in frustration. “If I ever see him again—”

Two long strides, and Bucky was in front of you. His hands came up, cupping your face with a gentleness that caught you off guard, and before you could finish your sentence, his lips were on yours.

The world tilted.

Your anger dissolved in an instant, melting into the warmth of his touch, the softness of his mouth moving against yours. Time seemed to stretch, the pounding of your heart filling the silence as his thumbs brushed lightly against your skin.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His lips quirked into a small, lopsided smile that made your chest ache.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with quiet gratitude.

“For what?” you managed to ask, still breathless.

“For standing up for me,” he said. “For… being you.”

Your chest tightened, a wave of emotion crashing over you. “Always,” you whispered, reaching up to rest your hands over his.

He kissed you again, slower this time, as though savoring the moment. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was deliberate, grounding. It felt like an anchor, steadying both of you.

---

The kiss didn’t happen again. Not the next day, or the one after that.

You hadn’t realized how much you would miss it—the warmth of his lips, the quiet intensity of the moment—but you told yourself it was fine.

Because nothing had changed between you.

Bucky was still Bucky, still teasing you about your clumsiness one moment and thanking you softly the next. He still held your hand when you walked through the house together, still kissed your forehead like it was second nature.

And as much as you wanted more, as much as you missed the feel of his lips on yours, you decided you could survive. As long as he was happy, so were you.

---

Two days after he’d asked you to plan the kitchen, you approached him nervously with a set of technical drawings. They weren’t perfect—lines overlapped in places, smudges from an eraser dotted the corners—but you’d poured your heart into them.

“Hey,” you began, holding out the papers as you stepped into the living room where Bucky was sanding down an old chair. “I, uh, have something for you.”

He looked up, brushing sawdust from his hands before taking the drawings. “What’s this?”

“Kitchen plans,” you said, your voice a little too high-pitched. “I, um, asked my dad for help. He’s the one who actually drew them—I just told him what I had in mind. I didn’t tell him who it was for, though,” you added quickly, biting your lip. “I just wanted to make sure it looked good.”

Bucky studied the papers in silence, his brow furrowing slightly as he took in the details. You watched him anxiously, your heart pounding in your chest.

When he finally looked up, his expression softened. A small, warm smile tugged at his lips.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said quietly.

“I wanted to,” you replied, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal even though your cheeks burned under his gaze. “I didn’t want to mess it up. So… yeah.”

Bucky shook his head fondly, stepping closer. He set the drawings aside and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Warmth flooded through you, the gesture as tender as it was unexpected. You smiled shyly, looking down at your feet to hide the blush spreading across your face.

“You’re amazing,” he added, his voice soft.

You glanced up at him, your breath catching at the sincerity in his eyes. “So are you,” you whispered.

The moment lingered, charged with an unspoken connection that neither of you seemed ready to break.

---

Later that evening, as you sat on the porch with Bucky, the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. The day’s work had left your hands sore and your muscles aching, but you felt lighter than you had in weeks.

Bucky leaned back in his chair, a rare look of contentment on his face as he gazed out at the street.

“Hey,” you said softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

He turned to you, his expression curious.

“I just wanted to say…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “You’ve been through so much, and I know it’s not easy. But I’m proud of you. For everything. For trying. For rebuilding. For… letting me be part of it.”

His gaze softened, and he reached out, his hand brushing lightly against yours.

“You’re part of it because you matter,” he said simply.

The words settled over you like a blanket, warm and grounding.

And as the night wrapped around you, you realized that whatever came next—whatever challenges or triumphs lay ahead—you wouldn’t trade this for anything. Because here, in this moment, with him by your side, you felt like you’d found something you hadn’t known you were searching for.

Home.

---

You spent the next hour going over the plans together, seated side by side at the dining table with the house’s blueprints spread out in front of you. The late afternoon sun filtered through the windows, casting golden light across the room and bathing Bucky’s face in warmth.

“I think this setup should have everything you need for cooking,” you said, tapping your pen against the placement of the appliances. “The oven and stovetop here, fridge there—it keeps everything within reach. And since Tony’s footing the bill, you should absolutely go for top-of-the-line equipment.”

Bucky chuckled, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “You’re really trying to turn me into a chef, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” you teased, grinning at him. “I promised, didn’t I? And trust me, once you get the hang of it, you’ll love it. Cooking can be… therapeutic.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical but amused. “Therapeutic, huh? We’ll see about that. But alright, doll, I’m holding you to it.”

You laughed, nudging his arm with your elbow. “Good. We’ll start simple—no soufflés or flambéed anything until you’ve mastered scrambled eggs.”

As the conversation went on, Bucky’s posture shifted, his body leaning closer as he grew more engaged. His eyes softened as he listened to your ideas, and every so often, he’d chime in with a small adjustment or suggestion. You could feel the weight of his attention, the quiet steadiness of him beside you, and it sent a warmth blooming in your chest.

Finally, after a moment of silence, Bucky stood, his chair scraping softly against the floor. He held out a hand toward you, his expression thoughtful.

“Come with me,” he said, his voice low and steady.

You blinked up at him, surprised. “Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer right away, his lips curving into a faint, almost shy smile. “Just trust me.”

Without hesitation, you slid your hand into his, letting him pull you to your feet. His grip was firm yet gentle, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles as he led you upstairs.

He stopped outside a room you hadn’t paid much attention to before—a smaller space tucked toward the back of the house. He pushed the door open, revealing a cozy room with soft light spilling in through a single window that overlooked the backyard. The walls were bare, the wooden floor scuffed in places, and a faint scent of dust lingered in the air.

Bucky stepped inside, his movements slower now, as though he were treading carefully through the weight of his thoughts. He turned to face you, his hand still holding yours, his thumb tracing idle circles against your skin.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen when you finish your articles,” he began, his voice quiet but steady, his gaze unwavering. “But for me… you’ve become someone so important. So precious.”

Your breath caught, your heart hammering against your ribs as his words settled into the quiet of the room.

“And I was thinking,” he continued, glancing around the room before meeting your gaze again, “if you’re okay with it… I’d like you to have this room. A place that’s yours. A place in my house.”

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your lips parting in surprise.

“It’s not much,” he added quickly, a hint of nervousness creeping into his tone. His free hand rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture you’d come to recognize as one he made when he wasn’t sure of himself. “But… I want you to feel like this is your home, too. If you want it to be.”

The tears came before you could stop them, welling up and spilling down your cheeks as you clapped a hand over your mouth.

“Hey,” Bucky said softly, his brows knitting together in concern as he stepped closer. His hand came up, his thumb brushing under your eye to catch the tears. “What’s wrong? Did I say something—”

“No,” you interrupted, laughing shakily as you lowered your hand. “No, it’s just… you have this habit of making me cry happy tears, you know that?”

A slow, relieved smile spread across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You nodded, blinking back more tears. Your voice trembled as you said, “It’s perfect, Bucky. I’d love to make this my room.”

He let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing as though a weight had been lifted. “Good,” he said simply, the word carrying more emotion than you thought possible.

Before you could say anything else, he pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you with a quiet certainty that made you feel like nothing in the world could touch you. His chin rested lightly on the top of your head, and you let yourself melt into the warmth of him, your own arms circling his waist.

As he held you, the room seemed to shift. It wasn’t just an empty space anymore. It wasn’t just walls and floors waiting to be filled. It was a promise.

And as you closed your eyes, you realized that this wasn’t just his house or his project. It wasn’t just a place to rebuild his past.

It was home. For both of you.

---

Two weeks in, the house had begun its metamorphosis. Once a husk of memories and neglect, it now breathed new life with every passing day. Fresh paint imbued the walls with a crisp brightness, floors gleamed after hours of sanding and polishing, and furniture, though sparse, stood proud in its newfound home. The air smelled of sawdust and paint, a strange mix of effort and hope.

The to-do list was still long, but you were ahead of schedule—thanks mostly to Bucky’s tireless determination. He had a knack for wrangling stubborn beams into place, coaxing even the most unwilling pieces of wood and stone to bend to his will. You admired that about him. Of course, admiration came with its own challenges.

Working with Bucky wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. It wasn’t his teasing, though he was infuriatingly good at it. Nor was it his occasional bossiness, which, if you were being honest, was often justified. No, the real problem was simpler. It was him. Just... him.

Bucky Barnes was handsome—ridiculously so. You’d always known that. But knowing and enduring it on a daily basis were two very different things. Spending every waking moment with him, watching the way his muscles flexed under strain, the easy confidence in his movements—it was maddening. And then there was his arm.

You hadn’t been prepared for how mesmerizing that sleek vibranium arm would be, how the sunlight glinted off it like molten silver. It moved with such precision, every motion fluid and deliberate, as if it were an extension of his will. Your mind betrayed you far too often, conjuring scenarios you had no business entertaining: the feel of that arm pinning you to a wall, the chill of the metal against your skin, the impossible strength that could pull you closer with a single motion.

You scolded yourself endlessly. But no amount of internal reprimands could keep your traitorous gaze from wandering. Especially not today.

The weather had turned. The suffocating heat clung to the air, thick and relentless. Naturally, Bucky decided this was the perfect day to forego his usual work shirt in favor of a gray tank top. It clung to him in ways that felt unfair, accentuating the broadness of his shoulders, the hard planes of his chest, the way his biceps flexed with every movement. A faint sheen of sweat glistened on his skin, tracing lines down his neck and arms, and it was impossible to look away.

You tried to focus. You really did. But the more you sanded, painted, or hammered, the more your gaze drifted, stealing glances when you thought he wasn’t looking.

You were wrong.

---

It started innocently enough—or so you told yourself. You were sanding the edges of a wooden shelf, the rhythmic back-and-forth motion of your hands lulling you into a daze. Bucky was across the room, lifting a heavy plank of wood onto his shoulder. The play of muscle beneath his skin was mesmerizing, a symphony of strength and precision that left you momentarily breathless.

You didn’t realize you were staring until you caught the smirk tugging at his lips.

“See something you like?” His voice was low, rich with amusement, and it jolted you back to reality.

Your cheeks burned as you scrambled for a response. “What? No! I—I wasn’t—”

“Sure, doll,” he drawled, the smirk widening into a grin. “Whatever you say.”

You ducked your head, returning your focus to the shelf as if it held the answers to the universe. Maybe if you worked hard enough, he’d let it go.

He didn’t.

---

The teasing only escalated.

The next day, you were handing him tools while he worked on the kitchen counter. It should’ve been a simple task, but every time he flexed his biceps or leaned forward, your brain short-circuited. You could feel the heat of him, the faint scent of sawdust and sweat, and it was all too distracting.

“You okay over there?” he asked, his tone casual, though the hint of a grin betrayed him.

“Fine,” you replied, too quickly, snapping your gaze away.

“You sure?” He glanced at you over his shoulder, his grin maddeningly smug. “You’ve been awfully quiet. Not distracted by anything, are you?”

Your scowl was immediate. You shoved a wrench into his hand with a bit more force than necessary. “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, chuckling softly as he turned back to his work. “If you say so.”

---

And then there was the moment that nearly broke you.

He’d been crouched near the floor, adjusting something beneath the kitchen cabinets. You weren’t even sure what he was doing; all you could focus on was the way his jeans hugged his hips, the way his muscles shifted as he moved. Your gaze lingered just a second too long.

“You know,” he said without turning, his tone casual but tinged with mischief, “if you want a better look, you could just ask.”

Your heart stopped. “What?”

Bucky stood slowly, brushing off his hands as he turned to face you. His grin was wicked, the kind that spelled trouble. “Caught you staring again, doll.”

“I wasn’t staring!” you protested, the heat rising to your face faster than you could contain it.

“Oh, you definitely were.” He took a step closer, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “First my arms, now my ass. What’s next?”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, his laughter warm and infuriating. Gently, he pulled your hands away from your face, his touch firm but careful. His gaze softened, a playful tilt to his head as he studied you. “Admit it—you like what you see.”

“I’m not admitting anything,” you muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

His smirk returned, though it was lighter now, almost teasingly affectionate. “Alright, fine. I’ll leave you alone—for now. But if you keep looking at me like that, doll, I might start to think you’ve got a crush.”

You sputtered, torn between laughing and crying, as he stepped back and returned to his work, his chuckle echoing through the room.

“You’re insufferable,” you called after him, though your voice lacked the bite you intended.

“And you’re cute when you’re flustered,” he shot back, his grin audible in his voice.

You hated how much you liked it.

---

For the rest of the day, Bucky cranked up his 1940s charm to a level that was equal parts infuriating and intoxicating. He leaned into his words with a slow, deliberate drawl, his confidence radiating in a way that made your stomach flip—and your patience fray.

"Careful with that hammer, sweetheart," he teased as you struggled with a stubborn nail. The board beneath your hands refused to cooperate, and every tap of the hammer only worsened your frustration. Bucky’s voice, rich with amusement, drifted over your shoulder. "Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself. Not that I’d mind takin’ care of you."

Your hands stilled, the hammer dangling precariously from your grip as you whipped your head around to glare at him. He was leaning casually against the wall, arms folded across his chest, his smile smug and infuriatingly attractive.

“You’re lucky I like you, Barnes,” you snapped, though your voice held none of the heat you intended.

His grin widened. "Like me, huh?" He straightened, taking a step closer, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Is that why you’ve been staring at me all week?"

You fumbled for a retort, your face heating under his gaze. “I hate you,” you muttered instead, but the treacherous smile tugging at the corners of your lips betrayed you.

"Sure you do," he said, his voice dripping with amusement as he returned to his work.

---

By the time the sun dipped low in the sky, painting the room in hues of amber and gold, you were a flustered mess. Every teasing comment, every smug grin, every subtle brush of his hand had worn you down. And Bucky? He looked like he was having the time of his life, his laughter ringing out every time he managed to get a rise out of you.

As you packed up your tools, your mind was racing. You shoved nails and screws into a box with unnecessary force, pointedly avoiding the tall, broad figure moving toward you. But he wasn’t one to be ignored.

“Good work today,” he said, leaning casually against the edge of the table, his tone so smug it made your teeth clench.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, not bothering to look up.

Bucky chuckled, and the sound was warm, a little too soft, and far too dangerous. Before you could move away, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your temple as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re cute when you’re mad, you know that?” His voice was lower now, quieter, and the change made your pulse quicken.

You froze, your breath catching as your eyes darted up to meet his. His gaze was steady, warm, and just a little too intense. And then, before you could say or do anything, he leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“See you tomorrow, doll,” he murmured, his voice like velvet as he pulled away.

You stood there, your heart pounding and your cheeks burning, watching as he walked away with a confident swagger that made you want to scream.

And yet, despite the smugness and the teasing and the way he drove you absolutely insane, you couldn’t help the smile that broke across your face.

Because, damn it, you did like him.

---

James Barnes – Brooklyn’s Son and Brother

There’s something that shifts in James Buchanan Barnes when he talks about his family.

The stoicism he wears like armor—the careful wall that keeps the world at arm’s length—melts away. His sharp features soften, his eyes taking on a warmth that reminds you of a fire burning low on a winter’s night. It’s as though, for a moment, the weight of his past slips away, and he becomes someone else entirely: a boy from Brooklyn, proud and full of love.

When he talks about his mother, his tone is reverent, tender in a way that’s rare for him. “She was the heart of everything,” he says, his voice tinged with quiet nostalgia. His lips curve into a faint smile, as though recalling a memory so vivid he can almost touch it. “She ran the house like clockwork. Always knew exactly what we needed—even when we didn’t.”

His eyes light up as he talks about her cooking. “Best roast chicken in Brooklyn, no contest. And her pies? God, she made this apple pie that’d make you weep.” He chuckles, his voice thick with affection. “She’d always sneak me an extra slice when she thought no one was lookin’. Said I needed it to keep up my strength.”

When the conversation shifts to his father, there’s a quiet respect in his tone, steady and unshakable. “My dad wasn’t a man of many words,” he says, his gaze growing distant. “But when he spoke, you listened. He worked harder than anyone I’ve ever known. Always made sure we had enough, even if it meant he went without.”

His smile grows softer as he talks about his sisters, the faintest edge of brotherly exasperation coloring his words. “Winnie was the quiet one—always had her nose buried in a book. But she was sharp. Smarter than I’ll ever be.” He pauses, shaking his head fondly. “And Rebecca? She was a menace. She’d steal my hat just to see me chase her around the house. She drove me crazy, but I loved her to pieces. Still do.”

When he talks about holidays at the Barnes house, his voice takes on a wistful note. “Ma went all out for Christmas,” he says, his expression softening further. “The whole house smelled like cinnamon and pine. Winnie and Rebecca would string popcorn for the tree, and I’d help Dad chop firewood for the stove. It wasn’t much, but it was home. And it was perfect.”

In these moments, you see the man behind the soldier—the boy who once laughed and loved and dreamed in a small house in Brooklyn. You see the brother, the son, the protector.

James Barnes isn’t just the Winter Soldier. He isn’t just a man haunted by shadows and ghosts.

He’s James Buchanan Barnes, and he’s extraordinary.

---

When you handed the article to Bucky, his reaction was immediate. His lips quirked into a soft smile as he read the first few lines, his blue eyes scanning the page with quiet intensity. You watched him carefully, your heart thudding in your chest. There was something about seeing him so focused, the way his brow furrowed slightly, the way his thumb brushed absently against the edge of the paper, that made it impossible to look away.

By the time he finished, his expression had shifted into something deeper, more contemplative. He set the pages down gently, almost reverently, as if they were something precious.

“This is… really good,” he said finally, his voice low and sincere.

Relief flooded through you, and you leaned back against the table, your shoulders relaxing. “I’m glad you think so. I was a little nervous about this one.”

His brows knit together slightly as he tilted his head. “Why?”

You shrugged, feeling the weight of your own words before you spoke them. “It’s personal. I wanted to do it justice.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze meeting yours, steady and unwavering. “You did,” he said, and the quiet conviction in his voice made your chest tighten.

There was a pause, a moment that stretched between you like a taut thread. Then his expression shifted, a flicker of concern crossing his face. “But you’ve been working on these articles nonstop,” he said, his tone gentler now. “Helping me with the house all day, then staying up late to write… You’re going to burn yourself out.”

You waved him off with a small laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m fine, Bucky. Really. I write when I feel like it—it’s not as bad as you think.”

He didn’t look convinced. His jaw tightened slightly, and his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than they should have. But he let it go. For now.

---

That evening, you lost track of time.

The house had gone quiet, the sounds of hammering and sanding replaced by the hum of cicadas outside the window. The soft golden glow of the desk lamp illuminated the pages scattered in front of you, and you worked in a steady rhythm, the scratching of your pen the only sound in the room.

When you finally glanced at the clock, the numbers seemed to blur in front of your tired eyes. You groaned, leaning back in your chair and rubbing the back of your neck. The ache in your shoulders reminded you of how long you’d been sitting there, hunched over your work.

“I guess I should head home,” you murmured, more to yourself than to anyone else, as you began to gather your things. But when your gaze flicked to the window and you saw just how dark it was outside, you hesitated. The shadows were deep, the kind that made the quiet countryside feel a little too still, a little too lonely.

“Actually…” you said, trailing off as you glanced over at Bucky. He was across the room, carefully organizing the tools you’d both been using earlier, his broad shoulders silhouetted by the faint glow of the kitchen light. “It’s kind of late. Maybe I’ll just stay here tonight.”

He froze, his movements halting for just a fraction of a second before he straightened and turned to look at you. “You, uh… you sure about that?”

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug, your tone casual even as your heart began to pick up speed. “It’s not like I haven’t crashed here before.”

“Right,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, his gaze darting to the floor. “It’s just… there’s only one bed right now. The other beds and couches don’t come until the end of the week. We threw the old ones out, remember?”

You blinked, the realization hitting you like a freight train. “Oh.”

“I can sleep on the floor,” he offered quickly, his words tumbling out like they’d been waiting on the tip of his tongue.

“No way,” you said, shaking your head firmly. “This is your house. If anyone’s sleeping on the floor, it’s me.”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” he said, his voice taking on that low, commanding tone that always made your breath catch.

“Well, neither are you,” you shot back, crossing your arms and glaring at him.

The two of you stood there, locked in a silent standoff. His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were weighing his next move. Finally, you sighed, rolling your eyes. “We’re both adults, right? We can share the bed. It’s not a big deal.”

Bucky looked like he was about to argue, his mouth opening slightly before he shut it again. He hesitated, his gaze flickering between you and the door to the bedroom. Then, to your utter disbelief, the corner of his mouth quirked up into a crooked grin.

“You sure you’ll be able to keep your hands off me, doll?” he teased, though there was a faint edge of uncertainty in his voice that made your stomach flutter.

You rolled your eyes, determined not to let him see the heat rising to your cheeks. “Get over yourself, Barnes. Let’s go.”

---

The bedroom was dimly lit, the soft glow of the moon filtering through the thin curtains and casting silver shadows across the walls. The bed—just a simple mattress on a sturdy frame—sat in the center of the room, looking both impossibly large and far too small at the same time.

Bucky lingered by the doorway, his hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders tense. He glanced at you, his expression unreadable in the faint light.

“You take the left side,” you said, breaking the silence as you dropped your bag onto the floor. “I’m a right-side sleeper anyway.”

“Alright,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

The mattress dipped slightly under his weight as he settled on his side, his movements careful, as if he were afraid of breaking something. You slid in on the other side, keeping a respectful distance between you, though the proximity still felt electric.

The room fell silent, the kind of quiet that makes you hyper-aware of every sound: the rustle of the sheets, the soft inhale and exhale of breath, the faint creak of the floorboards as the house settled around you.

“You comfortable?” he asked after a moment, his voice low and rough, the sound of it cutting through the stillness like a blade.

“Yeah,” you murmured, though your heart was racing in your chest.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You stared up at the ceiling, the faint outline of the beams above blending into the shadows, your mind racing with thoughts you couldn’t quite pin down.

And then, just as your eyes began to grow heavy, his voice broke the silence again, softer this time. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for… y’know. Everything. The article, the house… putting up with me.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to catch the outline of his profile in the moonlight. There was something vulnerable about the way he lay there, his face turned toward the ceiling, his expression open in a way you rarely saw.

“You don’t have to thank me, Bucky,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t respond right away, and you thought maybe he’d fallen asleep. But then he turned his head, his gaze meeting yours, and the weight of it made your breath catch.

“Goodnight, doll,” he said softly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you replied, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

And as you lay there, the warmth of him just a few inches away, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—you wouldn’t mind losing a little sleep tonight.

---

You fell asleep quickly, the exhaustion of the long day pulling you under like a heavy tide. The bed was warm, and Bucky’s steady breathing beside you was oddly comforting, a quiet rhythm that soothed the tension in your muscles. But sometime in the night, a faint sound stirred you from sleep.

It started as a murmur, low and unintelligible, growing into fragmented whispers and uneven breaths. You blinked into the darkness, the moonlight casting faint silver shadows across the room. Turning your head, you saw him.

Bucky was restless, his brow furrowed, his lips moving soundlessly. His fists clenched the sheets, the vibranium arm flexing with a metallic whir as his body jerked suddenly, a soft, strangled sound escaping his throat.

“Bucky,” you whispered, reaching out instinctively to shake his shoulder. “Bucky, wake up.”

Before you could process what was happening, his body moved on instinct. His hand shot out, pinning you to the bed with a grip that was firm but not painful. The weight of him hovered over you, his metal hand curling around your throat—not tight, but enough to send a shiver of fear and adrenaline rushing through your veins.

“Bucky,” you said again, louder this time, your voice steady despite the hammering of your heart.

His eyes snapped open, wild and unfocused, his chest heaving as if he’d just surfaced from drowning. For a moment, he didn’t seem to see you, his grip faltering as panic overtook him. Then recognition dawned, and he scrambled away from you, his breathing ragged and uneven.

“Oh God,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he pressed himself against the far wall. His hands trembled, one flesh, one metal, both visibly shaking as he looked at you in horror. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—I would never—”

“Bucky,” you interrupted softly, sitting up and rubbing your neck where his hand had rested. There was no pain, only the lingering ghost of his touch. You moved toward him cautiously, like approaching a frightened animal. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“It’s not okay,” he said, his voice sharp and raw. His shoulders hunched as though he were bracing for a blow, and his eyes were glassy with shame. “I could’ve hurt you. I—”

“You didn’t,” you said firmly, cutting him off before he could spiral further. Crawling across the bed, you reached for him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. His muscles tensed under your touch, but he didn’t pull away. “Look at me, Bucky. I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me.”

His head shook, his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might crack. “You don’t understand,” he said hoarsely, his voice barely audible. “I could’ve killed you. In my sleep. Like it was nothing. I—”

“Stop,” you said, your voice soft but commanding. Carefully, you slid your arms around him, pulling him into a hug. He stiffened at first, but you didn’t let go, pressing your cheek against his shoulder and squeezing just a little tighter. “You didn’t. You won’t. Do you know why?”

He didn’t respond, his body still rigid beneath your touch.

“Because you’re a good man, Bucky Barnes,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his shoulder. “Even in your worst nightmares, you didn’t hurt me. That’s who you are.”

For a moment, he was silent, his breathing slowing just enough to let you know he was listening. Then, without thinking, you pressed a kiss to the cool vibranium of his arm, tracing the etched lines with your fingers. The metal was cold against your skin, but somehow, it felt warm beneath your touch.

“Honestly,” you said suddenly, the words slipping out before you could stop them, “it was kind of hot.”

His head jerked up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “What?”

You slapped a hand over your mouth, mortified. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. And then, to your utter shock, he laughed—a soft, breathless sound that was almost foreign coming from him. It was rough, unpracticed, like he hadn’t done it in years, but it was real.

“You’re something else,” he said finally, shaking his head as a faint smile tugged at his lips.

Before you could respond, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered, and then, in one smooth motion, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was soft, tender, full of unspoken apologies and quiet gratitude. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, and for the first time that night, you saw something like peace in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t need to. Instead, you pulled him back to bed, wrapping your arms around him as he rested his head on your shoulder. His body was still tense, but as the minutes passed, he began to relax, his breathing evening out until it matched yours.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Bucky slept through the night.

---

When morning came, something was different.

Bucky wasn’t distant, exactly, but the teasing remarks, the soft smiles, the casual touches—all of it was gone. He worked in silence, his shoulders hunched as though carrying an invisible weight. His eyes, usually so sharp and alert, were distant, staring past you to something only he could see.

You tried everything to bring him back. You cracked jokes, deliberately messed up measurements just to hear him scold you in that exasperated tone, and even ordered pizza from that questionable hole-in-the-wall place he loved. The grease-stained box sat untouched on the table, and the half-hearted smile he gave you didn’t reach his eyes.

By evening, your patience had worn thin.

When Steve stopped by to check on the house, you pulled him aside, your voice low and urgent. “Steve, what do you do when Bucky gets like this?”

Steve’s expression softened, a familiar sadness flashing across his face. “I leave him alone,” he said quietly. “Sometimes he just needs space to work through it.”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “That’s it? You just let him sit there and brood until he feels better?”

“It’s not about letting him brood,” Steve said gently. “It’s about giving him time. He’s been through more than anyone should ever have to endure. Sometimes space is the best thing you can give him.”

You nodded reluctantly, though the answer didn’t sit right with you. Giving him space might work for Steve, but it wasn’t going to work for you. You cared too much to sit idly by.

---

That evening, an idea struck you. It was impulsive, maybe even a little absurd, but you didn’t care. Pulling out your phone, you made a quick call, cashing in a favor with a contact from your journalism days.

A private cinema room. Short notice. But it was perfect.

By the time you had everything set—junk food packed into a bag, drinks shoved into a cooler—you found Bucky sitting on the porch, his arms resting on his knees as he stared at the horizon. The fading light painted his face in soft oranges and golds, but the shadows under his eyes told a different story.

“Come with me,” you said, holding out your hand.

He looked up at you, his brow furrowing. “Where?”

You smiled, refusing to let him shut himself off again. “You’ll see. Just trust me.”

For a moment, he hesitated, his eyes searching yours. Then, with a soft sigh, he stood, slipping his hands into his pockets as he followed you to the car.

---

Bucky didn’t say much during the drive. He sat quietly, his gaze fixed out the window as the twilight deepened into night, the city lights painting faint streaks of gold and white across his face. Every so often, his brow furrowed slightly, as if he were trying to piece together where you were taking him, but he didn’t ask.

Still, you could feel his curiosity growing the closer you got to your destination. When you finally pulled up outside the private cinema, his head tilted slightly, his lips parting in faint confusion.

“What is this?” he asked, his voice low and cautious.

“Come on,” you said, grabbing the bag of snacks from the backseat and gesturing for him to follow.

The small building was unassuming from the outside, but as you led him through the door, the cozy warmth of the space unfolded. Soft, ambient lighting illuminated the intimate room, which held just a handful of plush seats and a screen that stretched across the far wall. The faint smell of popcorn lingered in the air, a comforting reminder of countless movie nights past.

A staff member greeted you quietly, handing over a sleek remote for the projector before slipping away, leaving the two of you alone in the private space.

Bucky lingered by the doorway, his eyes sweeping over the room. His confusion melted into something softer, something almost vulnerable.

“You did this?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course,” you said, setting the bag of snacks on the small table near the seats. “You’ve been a little… off today, and I thought this might cheer you up.”

He blinked, his expression unreadable at first. But then, slowly, the faintest smile tugged at the corners of his lips—the first real one you’d seen all day. “What movie?”

“One from your list,” you replied, grinning as you sank into one of the seats and patted the spot beside you. “It wasn’t easy to track down, but thankfully, they had it.”

Bucky hesitated for a moment, his fingers brushing against the back of the nearest chair as he stared at you. Finally, he sat down beside you, his posture stiff at first but gradually relaxing as the lights dimmed and the screen flickered to life.

When the opening credits began to roll, something shifted. He leaned back into his seat, his shoulders losing some of their tension as his gaze fixed on the screen.

---

Halfway through the movie, the quiet settled comfortably around you, broken only by the occasional sound of a chip crunching or a faint laugh from the film. It was nice, easy in a way you hadn’t felt all day.

But then Bucky’s voice cut through the silence, low and raw.

“Last night scared me.”

The words were soft, almost hesitant, but they struck like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples through the calm. You turned to him, your chest tightening at the vulnerability etched into his face.

“I was so close to hurting you,” he continued, his eyes fixed on the screen but unfocused, as if he were looking straight through it. “So close to losing you. And I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop… going over it in my head.”

“Bucky,” you said gently, reaching out to touch his arm. His vibranium fingers twitched slightly, but he didn’t pull away.

“I shouldn’t have put you in that position,” he said, his voice cracking. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this. You shouldn’t have to wake up wondering if I’m going to—”

“Hey,” you interrupted firmly, squeezing his arm to draw his attention. His head turned toward you, and the anguish in his eyes made your heart ache. “You didn’t hurt me. Even in the middle of a nightmare, you didn’t hurt me. Do you know what that says about you?”

He shook his head, his jaw tight as if he were trying to hold something back. His fists clenched on his lap, the metal hand gleaming faintly in the light from the screen.

“It says you’re an incredible man,” you continued, your voice steady and sure. “A man who’s been through hell and still manages to be kind and thoughtful and good. You’re allowed to have nightmares, Bucky. Everyone does. It doesn’t make you a bad person.”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. The silence stretched between you, heavy and full of unspoken words. Then, slowly, his hands relaxed, his fingers uncurling as his breathing evened out.

“I don’t know what I’d do if you left,” he said finally, his voice quiet, almost fragile. “You make everything feel… normal. Easy. And I don’t deserve that.”

The pain in his voice made your throat tighten, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you reached up, cupping his face in your hands and forcing him to look at you.

“You deserve all of it, Bucky,” you said firmly. “And more.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his eyes searching yours for something you weren’t sure he even knew he was looking for. Then, as if a dam had broken, he leaned in, his hand lifting to cradle the back of your head.

When his lips met yours, it wasn’t soft or tentative like before. It was fierce, desperate, full of all the emotions he couldn’t put into words. His fingers tangled in your hair, his other hand settling on your waist as he pulled you closer, as if afraid you might slip away.

You kissed him back just as fervently, your hands sliding into his hair, your heart pounding as the rest of the world faded into nothing.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads resting against each other. His lips curved into a small, genuine smile—the kind that made your chest ache in the best way.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek.

You smiled back, threading your fingers through his. “Come on. Let’s finish the movie.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, as he leaned back in his seat. His hand stayed in yours, his fingers laced with yours as the movie continued to play.

And as you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, you couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride at the faint, contented smile on his face. The weight that had pressed on him all day seemed lighter now, the shadows in his eyes not quite as dark.

In that moment, you made a silent promise to yourself. Whatever it took—whatever he needed—you would do it.

Because seeing him like this, peaceful and at ease, was worth everything.

---

The Heart of a Soldier

James Buchanan Barnes is a man of contrasts.

He is strength and vulnerability woven together into something impossibly complex. A ghost of the past, trying to carve a future out of the rubble. A man who carries more pain than most of us could imagine, yet still somehow puts others before himself, time and time again.

When you first meet him, you see the strength. It’s impossible not to. The broad shoulders, the quiet intensity of his gaze, the vibranium arm that gleams like a badge of survival and sacrifice. He moves with a deliberate grace, each step purposeful, every motion controlled. Even when he says nothing, his presence commands the room.

But if you spend enough time with him, you’ll start to notice the cracks. The subtle moments that betray the weight he carries. The slight tremor in his hands as he reaches for his morning coffee. The way his jaw tightens at the mention of the Winter Soldier, like the very name wraps around his throat and squeezes. The distant look in his eyes when the room gets too quiet, too still—when the ghosts of his past come creeping in to haunt him.

James Barnes is a man haunted. By memories that feel stolen. By faces he can never forget. By a ledger he believes can never be wiped clean, no matter how many lives he saves or how much good he does.

And yet, despite everything, he cares.

He cares with a fierceness that is both breathtaking and heartbreaking.

I’ve seen it in the way his blue-gray eyes scan a room, always vigilant, always watching for potential dangers that no one else has even considered. I’ve seen it in the way he talks about his past—not with bitterness, but with guilt so heavy it weighs down his every word, as if the things done to him were somehow his fault. And I’ve seen it in the way he puts everyone else before himself, even when he’s quietly falling apart.

There’s a fragility to James Barnes, but it’s not the kind born of weakness. It’s the fragility of a man who has been shattered and pieced back together more times than he can count. It’s the fragility of someone who knows exactly how easily those cracks can form again.

But there’s also a resilience in him that takes your breath away.

Because no matter how many times he’s been broken, no matter how often he’s been knocked down, he gets back up. He keeps fighting—not just for himself, but for everyone who needs him. For his friends. For the world. For people who will never know his name or what he’s sacrificed for them.

James Barnes doesn’t see himself the way others do. He doesn’t see the incredible strength it takes to wake up every morning and choose to keep going. He doesn’t see the courage it takes to face a world that has judged him unfairly and still stand tall.

But I see it.

I see it in the way he carries his pain like a shield, always trying to protect the people he loves from the weight of it. I see it in the way he clings to his humanity, even when the world tried to rip it away from him. I see it in the way he cares—so deeply, so unconditionally—even when he believes he doesn’t deserve to.

James Barnes is not perfect. He’s messy, flawed, and so deeply, painfully human. But that’s what makes him extraordinary.

He is proof that even in the face of unimaginable pain, there is still room for love. For kindness. For hope.

And that is the heart of James Barnes—the soldier, the survivor, the man who refuses to give up.

---

The next morning, you handed the article to Bucky, your heart pounding as he took the carefully printed pages from your hands.

He didn’t say anything at first. His blue-gray eyes moved steadily over the words, his expression unreadable but intensely focused. You watched him carefully, noting the way his brow furrowed, then smoothed, then furrowed again. The faint twitch of his lips hinted at something—whether a smile or a grimace, you couldn’t tell.

When he finally set the paper down, his hand lingered on it for a moment, his thumb brushing against the edge as though he wasn’t quite ready to let it go.

“This is…” he began, his voice low and a little unsteady. “It’s beautiful. But…”

“But you’re not ready for it to be out there,” you finished for him, your voice calm and understanding.

Bucky nodded, his gaze dropping to the table. “I don’t think I ever will be. Not with this one.”

You smiled softly, reaching out to place your hand over his. The warmth of his touch felt steady, grounding. “What I said the first day still stands, Bucky. You’re in control of this. If you want me to burn it, I’ll burn it. If you want to keep it for yourself, I’ll hand it over, and the world will never know.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. The silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. Then he reached for the pages again, folding them carefully with the precision of someone handling something precious. Without a word, he tucked them into the inside pocket of his jacket, patting the fabric lightly as if to reassure himself they were safe.

“I think I’ll keep it,” he said quietly. “At least for now.”

“Take all the time you need,” you said gently, your smile never faltering.

His eyes lifted to meet yours then, and the weight of his gaze made your breath catch. There was something in his expression you couldn’t quite name—gratitude, certainly, but something deeper too. Affection? Trust? Whatever it was, it made your chest ache in the best way.

“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Always,” you replied.

And as the morning sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a soft golden glow across the room, you felt the weight of his trust settle over you like a promise. It was fragile and precious, something you would protect with everything you had.

Because James Buchanan Barnes deserved that. And so much more.

---

Bucky Barnes was a tease.

Not the innocent kind, either. No, this man had decades of charm sharpened by a 1940s sense of confidence and an uncanny ability to get under your skin. And the more comfortable he got around you, the more his teasing side seemed to flourish.

It started subtly—offhand comments, little smirks whenever he caught you staring too long. But lately, it had escalated to a level you could only describe as weaponized flirtation.

And you were not okay.

The sweltering summer heat wasn’t helping. On the hottest days, Bucky had taken to ditching his shirts altogether while he worked on the house renovations. He’d claim it was a practical choice, muttering something about how it was “too damn hot for anything else,” but the smug look he wore every time he caught you sneaking a glance told a very different story.

“Enjoying the view, doll?” he’d ask, his voice dripping with amusement, lips curling into that maddeningly perfect smirk.

You’d roll your eyes, muttering something about how he needed to get over himself. But the truth was, you were enjoying the view. How could you not? The man looked like he belonged in a sculpture gallery, every muscle flexing with purpose as he lifted beams, sanded down furniture, or hammered nails into place.

And Bucky knew it.

It wasn’t just the shirtlessness, either. Oh no, he liked to test your patience in other, more creative ways.

One afternoon, you were in the makeshift kitchen—a chaotic but functional space you’d thrown together while waiting for the new appliances to arrive—stirring a pot of sauce. Bucky sauntered in, his presence so effortless it sent a ripple of awareness through you.

“Excuse me, doll,” he murmured, leaning over you to grab something from the shelf above your head.

His chest brushed against your back, the cool vibranium of his arm resting lightly on the counter for balance.

Your breath hitched. You froze, spoon suspended mid-stir, as his warmth pressed against you. “You, uh… you need something?”

“Just the pepper,” he said, his voice casual as he reached for the container and stepped back.

When you turned, his grin was positively wicked.

“You’re insufferable,” you grumbled, glaring at him as the heat rose to your cheeks.

“And you’re adorable when you blush,” he shot back, winking before strolling out of the kitchen like he hadn’t just stolen the air from your lungs.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. The man was going to be the death of you.

---

One evening, after a particularly grueling day of work, you decided you both deserved a break. The house renovations had consumed your lives for weeks, and the weariness clung to your body like an old coat you couldn’t shake off. On your way over to the house, you grabbed a bottle of wine, figuring it would be the perfect way to unwind and steal back a moment of normalcy.

“I brought reinforcements,” you announced as you stepped through the door, holding up the bottle with a triumphant grin.

Bucky looked up from where he was crouched on the living room floor, fiddling with the legs of a coffee table he’d been assembling. His hair was tousled, a few stubborn strands sticking to his forehead, and his hands were smudged with wood stain. When his eyes landed on the bottle, one brow arched in curiosity.

“Wine, huh?” he said, rising to his full height and wiping his hands on a rag. “What’s the occasion?”

“Surviving another week,” you quipped, kicking off your shoes. “And I don’t feel like writing tonight, so I figured we could celebrate.”

His lips curved into that warm, easy smile that never failed to make your stomach flip. He tossed the rag onto a nearby chair and walked toward you, his movements unhurried but deliberate.

“You know what?” he said, his voice softening. “I like the way you think.”

---

A few minutes later, you were both settled on the worn but comfortable couch, two glasses of wine in hand, a classic movie flickering on the new TV in the background. The first glass went down smoothly, the wine melting the tension from your shoulders and loosening the knots in your mind. Conversation flowed easily between you, punctuated by bursts of laughter and playful jabs as you recounted the day’s mishaps.

It was the second glass, however, that emboldened you.

You weren’t sure exactly when it started—maybe it was the way his arm brushed against yours as he reached for his glass, the heat of his skin lingering longer than it should have. Or maybe it was the way his smile lingered too, his gaze dipping to your lips before flicking back up to your eyes. Whatever it was, the subtle shift in the air between you was impossible to ignore.

Your hand drifted to his thigh, resting there lightly as you turned to ask him a question about the movie. The warmth of his leg seeped into your palm, grounding you, and though he didn’t say a word, you caught the flicker of amusement in his eyes as he glanced down at your hand. A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips, but he didn’t move to stop you.

A few minutes later, you found yourself leaning into him, your head resting against his shoulder. The scent of him—wood shavings, a hint of sweat, and something that was purely Bucky—filled your senses, wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

“You comfortable there, doll?” he teased, though his voice had softened, the usual edge replaced with something gentler, more affectionate.

“Very,” you replied, your fingers absently tracing small, lazy circles on his thigh.

His breath hitched almost imperceptibly, but the tension in his body shifted, a subtle crackling like static electricity sparking in the air between you.

When he turned his head to look at you, his blue-gray eyes were darker than usual, the light from the TV casting soft shadows across his face. His gaze dropped to your lips for the briefest of moments before flicking back up to meet yours.

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that started soft, tentative, testing the fragile line between friendship and something far deeper. But the moment he responded—his hand sliding to your waist, his lips pressing more firmly against yours—the kiss deepened, unraveling every ounce of restraint you’d been holding onto.

His vibranium hand found the back of your neck, the coolness of the metal a sharp contrast to the heat of the moment. You shifted, straddling his hips without even realizing you’d done it, your hands moving to his chest, trailing slowly downward as your mind blurred with the feel of him beneath you.

But just as your fingers began to wander lower, he caught your wrist, his grip gentle but firm.

“Not so fast, doll,” he murmured, his voice low and a little breathless.

You blinked at him, your cheeks flushing as you realized what you’d been doing. “Sorry, I—”

He shook his head, a soft smile spreading across his face as he cupped your cheek. “Don’t apologize. Trust me, it’s not that I don’t want to…”

“Then why—”

“Because I’m still a gentleman,” he said, leaning in to kiss you again, this time slower, sweeter, his lips lingering against yours. “And if we’re going to do this, I’d like to take you out first. A proper date.”

His words sent your heart tumbling into a freefall, and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he said, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. His gaze was steady, unwavering, and you felt the sincerity in his words settle warmly in your chest. “What do you say?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Yes. Absolutely, yes.”

His chuckle was soft, almost disbelieving, as though he hadn’t entirely expected you to agree so quickly. He pulled you into another kiss, this one unhurried and tender, the kind that made your toes curl and your pulse race.

When you finally pulled back, you rested against him, your head on his chest as the sound of his heartbeat thrummed steadily beneath your ear. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close as the movie played on, its faint dialogue a distant murmur neither of you paid attention to.

His fingers found yours, lacing them together with a quiet intimacy that made your chest ache in the best way.

And as you lay there, wrapped in his warmth, you couldn’t help but think that this was the start of something wonderful. Something neither of you had planned for but both of you had been waiting for.

Because with Bucky, everything felt right.

---

Bucky couldn’t believe he was actually doing this.

He’d faced Hydra assassins, alien armies, and the demons of his own past. He’d stared death in the face more times than he cared to count. But somehow, planning a date—one simple evening—felt like the most terrifying thing he’d ever done.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. He did. More than he wanted to admit, even to himself. It was just that he had no clue where to start. The world had changed so much since the last time he’d done anything remotely romantic. What did people even do on dates these days?

Dinner and a movie? Too cliché. A trendy rooftop bar? That didn’t feel like him at all. A fancy restaurant? Too formal, too stiff, and way too far outside his comfort zone.

He spent an entire morning agonizing over it, pacing back and forth across the freshly polished floor of the house like a man on trial. By the time lunch rolled around, he admitted defeat: he needed help.

Unfortunately, his options were… limited.

Tony? Absolutely not. The man would never let him live it down. Steve? He considered it for half a second before dismissing the idea. Steve’s idea of romance was still stuck somewhere in 1943, and while the simplicity of “dancing to some old tunes” was charming, it wasn’t the vibe Bucky was going for. Clint? Off the grid with his family, and his only response to Bucky’s text had been: "Figure it out, Barnes. I’m on vacation." Natasha? The thought of asking her for advice was enough to make him shudder. She’d never let him hear the end of it.

That left… Sam.

Bucky grimaced as he picked up his phone. He wasn’t thrilled about the idea, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Sam answered on the second ring, and the teasing began almost immediately.

“You’re asking me for dating advice?” Sam’s grin was audible through the phone. “Man, this is too good. Hold on, let me get my phone. Gotta record this for posterity.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Bucky growled, his tone low and threatening.

“Alright, alright,” Sam said, still laughing. “Look, here’s my advice: don’t overthink it. She likes you, Barnes. You don’t need to impress her with some big, elaborate plan. Just keep it simple, keep it natural.”

“Simple,” Bucky repeated, nodding slowly.

“And don’t forget the flowers,” Sam added, clearly still enjoying himself. “Ladies love flowers. You’re welcome.”

Before Bucky could respond, Sam hung up, leaving him standing there with the distinct feeling that he’d just walked into a trap.

---

Armed with Sam’s advice and a determination to make the evening perfect, Bucky got to work.

The newly finished living room became the centerpiece of his plan. He strung up soft, twinkling lights around the ceiling beams, their golden glow casting a warm, inviting ambiance over the room. He wasn’t exactly an expert decorator, but he knew enough to keep it simple. A small vase of fresh flowers sat in the center of the coffee table—elegant and understated, just like you. Around the vase, he placed a few flickering candles, their soft light dancing across the surface of the polished wood.

He ordered food from a place he knew you loved, something comforting and familiar but still special enough for the occasion. The kind of meal that didn’t scream “fancy” but felt meaningful, thoughtful. There was wine, of course, and though Bucky wasn’t much of a drinker, he figured it would help set the mood.

When he stepped back to survey the room, he felt a strange mix of pride and apprehension. It wasn’t perfect—he’d never been one for frills or extravagance—but it felt like him. Honest. Simple. And, more importantly, it felt like you.

---

By the time you arrived, Bucky was a bundle of nerves, though he did his best to hide it.

The knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts, and he crossed the room in a few long strides, pausing for half a second to take a steadying breath before opening it.

You stood there, smiling, holding a small box of pastries in your hands. “I brought dessert,” you said cheerfully, your eyes lighting up as you looked at him.

Bucky couldn’t help but smile back, his nerves easing just a little. “Good,” he said, stepping aside to let you in. “I’ve got the rest covered.”

When you stepped into the living room, your eyes widened slightly as you took in the scene. The twinkling lights, the candles, the flowers—it wasn’t over-the-top, but it was thoughtful, intimate. Perfect.

“Bucky…” you said softly, turning to look at him. “You did all this?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “Yeah. I, uh… wanted to do something nice. For us.”

Your smile widened, and he felt the last of his nerves melt away.

“It’s perfect,” you said, setting the pastries down on the table and stepping closer to him. “You’re perfect.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I would,” you said, your voice warm and sincere.

The evening unfolded like a dream. You shared the meal on the couch, the plates balanced on your laps as you laughed and talked, the conversation flowing as easily as the wine. The soft glow of the candles bathed the room in warmth, and the tension of the day melted away with every stolen glance, every shared smile.

At some point, the food was forgotten, and the two of you were curled up together on the couch, your head resting on his shoulder as his arm draped loosely around your waist. The warmth of his body against yours felt grounding, steadying, like coming home after a long journey.

“Thank you for this,” you murmured, your voice soft.

He turned his head slightly, his lips brushing against your temple. “Thank you for saying yes,” he replied, his voice low and rough with emotion.

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded away. Slowly, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was soft and unhurried, a promise wrapped in tenderness.

When you pulled back, your smile was radiant, and Bucky couldn’t help but grin in return.

“You know,” he said, his voice teasing, “Sam was right about the flowers.”

You laughed, the sound light and musical, and pressed another kiss to his lips.

And as the evening stretched on, the two of you tangled together on the couch, the twinkling lights casting shadows that danced across the walls, Bucky felt something he hadn’t in a long, long time.

---

You felt nervous. It wasn’t the kind of nervousness born from inexperience—you weren’t a virgin, and this wasn’t your first time exploring intimacy. But something about this—about being with Bucky—felt so different, so intense, that it left you momentarily paralyzed.

Your heart raced as you sat curled up against him on the couch, the movie on the screen now nothing more than a blur of colors and sound. It had been forgotten long ago. All of your focus had shifted to him—to the steady rise and fall of his chest, the faint scent of him—woodsy, clean, and entirely Bucky. The way his arm rested lightly around your shoulders, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm, sent sparks down your spine.

You wanted more.

You wanted to hear his voice, soft and low, saying your name. You wanted to see him lose that careful restraint he always carried. You wanted to feel him—his warmth, his strength, the raw intensity you knew he was holding back.

So lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize your hands had a life of their own.

Your eyes remained blankly fixed on the screen, but your hand drifted downward, almost instinctively. It started small, innocent, just a gentle graze against his stomach through the fabric of his shirt. But the sensation sent a thrill through you, and you didn’t stop there. Slowly, tenderly, your fingers slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, brushing against the bare skin of his abdomen.

His skin was warm, firm, the muscles beneath taut and solid. You let your fingertips trace the faint ridges of his abs, moving lower to the trail of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants. Your touch grew bolder, more deliberate, your movements both curious and deliberate.

You felt his breathing shift before you heard it—a quickened inhale, soft but unmistakable.

Bucky froze for half a second, his chest rising and falling just a bit faster now. At first, it seemed like he was surprised by your touch, caught off guard. But when realization dawned on him, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he stayed still, letting you explore, letting your hands roam freely.

He bit the inside of his cheek, willing himself to stay calm, to not ruin the moment. He wanted this—God, he wanted this—but he was terrified of moving too fast, of scaring you off. So he stayed quiet, curious and eager to see what you would do next.

But you didn’t know that.

When he didn’t react right away, you hesitated, your confidence faltering slightly. Was he not enjoying this? Did he not want you like you wanted him? The thought made a flicker of doubt creep into your mind, and without thinking, you let your nails rake softly across the skin of his stomach, testing his reaction.

The quiet hiss that escaped his lips was all the answer you needed.

A rush of boldness surged through you. You raised your head and kissed the side of his neck, your lips brushing against his skin in soft, feather-light touches. His scent overwhelmed your senses, and you felt a shiver run through him as you trailed your kisses downward.

When you reached his collarbone, you nipped at the sensitive skin there, your teeth grazing just hard enough to leave a faint mark.

“Doll,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a jolt of heat through your body. “You’ll leave a mark.”

You smirked against his skin, your lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Good,” you whispered, your voice low and sultry. “They’ll know you’re mine.”

Your words sent a chill down his spine, a spark of something primal and unrestrained roaring to life within him. His entire demeanor shifted in an instant, the careful control he always held snapping like a rubber band.

Before you could react, he turned, his movements swift and fluid as he pushed you down against the couch. The air left your lungs in a soft gasp as you found yourself beneath him, his body hovering over yours, his hands braced on either side of your head.

Your eyes widened, your pulse racing as you stared up at him. His breathing was heavy now, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he looked down at you. But it was his eyes that made your breath catch.

They were darker than you’d ever seen them, a storm of want and need swirling within their depths. He looked at you like you were his entire world, like nothing else existed except for you in this moment. And there was something else there too, something primal and possessive that sent a thrill through you.

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat pooling low in your belly, the unmistakable ache building between your thighs. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but not afraid. No, fear was the furthest thing from your mind.

What you felt was something entirely different.

“Bucky…” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His gaze flicked to your lips, and for a moment, he hesitated, his breath hitching as if he were holding himself back. But then his resolve broke, and he leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was anything but soft.

It was hungry, desperate, and full of a passion he could no longer contain. His hand cupped your cheek, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing closer to yours.

You arched into him, your hands sliding up his back, feeling the taut muscles flex beneath your touch. His weight pinned you to the couch, grounding you, anchoring you to him as your kisses grew more heated, more frantic.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing ragged as he struggled to regain control. His thumb brushed against your cheek, his touch soft and reverent in stark contrast to the intensity of the kiss.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly.

You smiled, your fingers trailing up his arm to rest against the cool vibranium of his shoulder. “Good,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his in a teasing kiss.

He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “You don’t know what you’ve started, doll.”

“Then show me,” you replied, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart.

And with that, Bucky’s control shattered completely.

With a strong yet tender motion, he pulled you into his arms, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, fitting perfectly against him as though you belonged nowhere else.

“Don’t you dare let me go,” you whispered, your voice soft with laughter, though your words carried a quiet plea.

He kissed your neck, the brush of his lips sending a shiver down your spine. His chuckle was warm, rich, and laced with something deeper. “I’m never letting you go,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, meant only for your ears, like a sacred promise.

The door to his bedroom creaked open, revealing the sanctuary within—a simple space, bare but comforting. The bed, the only real bed in the house now, beckoned like a haven. He lowered you both onto the soft mattress, his movements careful, as if afraid to break the moment. His metal arm supported him as he leaned over you, the faint gleam catching the dim light. His long hair fell in a cascade around you, strands tickling your face like a silken veil.

Then he kissed you.

It wasn’t hurried or ravenous. It was soft, achingly tender, and filled with so much love that your chest tightened, the emotions welling up in your throat. You’d never been kissed like this before, as if every touch of his lips were a vow. His hands began to explore your body, slow and reverent, as if learning every curve by heart.

“Can I?” His voice was hushed, his fingers grazing the edges of your dress, a question lingering in the air. Between his gentle hands and the feather-light kisses he pressed against your throat and lips, you felt utterly unraveled.

Words escaped you, but you managed a nod, giving him the silent permission he craved. Yet that wasn’t enough for him. “I need to hear you say it, sweetheart,” he whispered, his teeth grazing your neck in a way that stole your breath and sent sparks dancing along your skin.

“And who’s leaving marks now?” you teased, your voice breathy as you tugged lightly at his hair.

His lips curved into a smirk against your skin. “I only return what’s given,” he replied, his fingers tracing the hem of your dress, teasing and testing.

“You can, Bucky,” you said, your voice steady despite the rush of heat coursing through you. “You can do anything to me.”

For a moment, he stilled, the weight of your words sinking in. He swallowed hard, his dark eyes softening as if the trust you’d given him meant more than he could express. Then, a slow, confident smirk tugged at his lips.

He kissed you again—brief, a teasing peck that left you wanting. Sitting up slightly, you reached for the hem of your dress, pulling it over your head in one swift motion. It fell to the floor, forgotten. You were left in nothing but your underwear—a dark blue set you’d picked on a whim, something prettier than your usual, though you’d never guessed it would matter so much tonight.

His gaze swept over you, lingering, darkening with desire. His nearly black eyes burned as if memorizing every inch of you. The slight hitch in his breath was all the confirmation you needed.

“You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid my eyes on,” he whispered, his voice thick with awe, his eyes tracing the contours of your body as though committing you to memory. The way he looked at you made you feel like more than beautiful—it made you feel like art, something to be cherished and admired.

His lips traveled down your neck, their warmth leaving a trail of fire that seeped into your skin. Gentle, reverent, and yet charged with an intensity that set your nerves alight, his kisses carried a heat that no blanket could rival. Despite the sweltering summer air pressing against the room, you craved this heat, welcomed it, especially when it came from him.

His hands roamed your body, slow and deliberate, as if savoring every touch. One hand cupped your breast, the other tracing lazy circles along your ribs before his lips replaced his fingers. His thumb grazed your nipple, and you gasped, your body arching instinctively into his touch. Pleasure bloomed under his care, sharp and exquisite, like the first taste of forbidden fruit.

With a deft motion, he pushed the fabric of your bra aside, baring your breast to his hungry gaze. His lips descended, soft yet searing, as his tongue flicked over your nipple, exploring and tasting like a man starved. The sensation sent a shiver through you, your body responding with a quiet moan when his teeth grazed the sensitive peak.

His free hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer as if proximity alone could express what words could not. In a swift, practiced motion, he unhooked your bra and tossed it aside, his movements fluid and precise. On any other night, you might have teased him for his efficiency, but now, all you could do was revel in the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“Oh my God, Bucky, that feels so good,” you breathed, the words tumbling from your lips unbidden. His skilled tongue danced across your nipple, teasing and biting, while his hand lavished attention on your other breast, kneading it with gentle care. The contrast between the sharpness of his teeth and the softness of his touch created a perfect harmony, leaving you gasping.

“I’m not planning to stop,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough with promise. His hand began its descent, trailing down your body with an almost worshipful attention. He didn’t rush, savoring every curve, every hollow, as if memorizing the map of you. His fingers lingered on your waist, your hips, your stomach, their touch igniting sparks that made you squirm beneath him.

As his lips followed the path his hand had taken, his tongue left a scorching trail across your skin. Every kiss, every caress, unraveled you further, leaving you whimpering and gasping for breath. The sounds that escaped you were raw and unfamiliar, born of a pleasure so intense it was almost terrifying—and yet, you craved more.

Your hands found his arms, the corded strength beneath your fingers grounding you even as you floated in a haze of sensation. When you opened your eyes, a pout formed on your lips as you realized he was still fully clothed.

“This feels unfair,” you murmured, pushing him gently away with a playful shove. With a burst of determination, you straddled him, reversing your positions. His brow arched at the shift, an amused smirk tugging at his lips as he allowed you to take control.

“It feels unfair to see you still dressed,” you continued, your voice sultry as you tugged at the hem of his shirt.

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich, as his hands moved to help. But you swatted them away, shaking your head. “That’s my job,” you said, your words teasing but firm.

Slowly, you began unbuttoning his shirt, taking your time with each one. The deliberate pace wasn’t for efficiency—it was for the sheer joy of revealing him inch by inch, watching the way his muscles tensed and relaxed beneath your touch. His skin was warm, taut, and irresistible.

As you worked your way down, you leaned in, pressing soft kisses along his neck, down his collarbone, and across his chest. He let you guide him, his head tilting back, his lips parting in a quiet exhale of pleasure. When the last button was undone, you pushed the fabric aside, baring him completely to you.

For a moment, you just looked at him, marveling at the way he seemed both strong and vulnerable beneath you. And then you leaned down, letting your lips explore his skin, savoring the salt and warmth of him as your fingers traced the hard lines of his body.

Quickly, he shrugged off his shirt, tossing it carelessly in the same direction as your discarded dress and bra. The fabric landed somewhere forgotten, but the man before you was anything but. Though you’d seen him shirtless before, this time it was different. This time, you didn’t have to avert your eyes, pretending you weren’t staring when you were. Now, you could let your gaze roam freely, drinking him in the same way he devoured the sight of you, his eyes lingering on your bare chest.

And there was so much to take in.

He was shaped like a god—broad shoulders that seemed built to bear the weight of the world, a tapered waist most would envy, and muscles that moved beneath his skin like poetry in motion. But it was the scars that captured you. They told a story, a painful testament to everything he had endured. They marked him, not as broken, but as someone who had survived battles most could never comprehend.

Your expression softened as your eyes traveled over him, and you leaned in, pressing your lips gently to the first scar you saw—a smaller one near his collarbone. He sucked in a sharp breath, the sound raw and unguarded, as if no one had ever dared to touch him there, let alone kiss him. He didn’t even remember how he’d gotten that particular scar.

You moved slowly, reverently, your lips tracing each jagged mark, each uneven line etched into his skin. With every soft kiss, you felt the tension in his body begin to melt away. At first, he seemed unsure, his muscles taut beneath your touch, but as you continued, he relaxed bit by bit, surrendering to the tenderness you offered so freely.

To him, those scars had always been grotesque reminders of his past—of pain, loss, and things he’d rather forget. But here, now, with you lavishing them with love, they felt different. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel ugly or ashamed. He felt... cherished.

A single tear slipped down his cheek, but he didn’t bother to wipe it away. He didn’t care if you saw it, because he knew—he knew—you wouldn’t judge him. You’d only love him. You’d love him the same way you always had, patiently, quietly, steadfastly.

And you did.

You hadn’t said the words yet; they felt too monumental for this fragile, burgeoning moment. You understood that Bucky needed to take things one step at a time, and you were okay with that. Because even without the words, he showed you how he felt. In the way he always thought of you, the little things he did. How he ordered from restaurants he didn’t particularly like just because you loved them. How he listened to you ramble about your day or sing off-key to your favorite songs without complaint. How he sat through the “essential” 21st-century movies you made him watch, even the ones he found ridiculous.

Bucky wasn’t a man of words. He was a man of actions.

When your lips found that scar where flesh gave way to metal, his breath hitched again. This scar was different. It was rawer, harsher—a jagged edge where his humanity ended, and the cold, unyielding metal began. It was a scar he hated, one that still ached on bad days, a reminder of what he had lost.

But you kissed it as if it was no different from the rest of him, as if it was just another part of his story, of him. Your lips lingered, pressing warmth into the unfeeling metal, and he closed his eyes. More tears slipped free, unbidden, but they weren’t just tears of sadness. They were something more profound.

It wasn’t just love he felt from you; it was acceptance. Complete, unconditional acceptance. Of who he had been. Of who he was now. And most importantly, of who he was becoming.

“Let me take care of you, James.”

The sound of his given name on your lips made his eyes snap open. The way you said it—softly, reverently, as though it was the only name that mattered—set something off inside him. When he looked at you, he saw the universe in your eyes. No one had ever looked at him like this before, like he was everything. Like he was your everything.

And he couldn’t hold back any longer.

He pulled you to him, his hands firm but trembling with restraint, and kissed you as though the world were ending. As though you were the only thing worth saving in the wreckage. His lips claimed yours with an intensity that spoke of hunger, of longing, of love so raw it scared him. He kissed you like you were the best damn thing to ever happen to him—because you were.

When he finally pulled back, his chest rising and falling heavily, he gave you a smile that nearly undid you. It was soft and full of a vulnerability he rarely let anyone see. His eyes, deep pools of love and trust, held you captive, saying more than words ever could.

That look was all you needed before leaning down, starting your slow, deliberate journey down his body.

Your hands trailed over his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles and scars with a tenderness that made his breath hitch. You scratched lightly around his ribs, your nails dragging in a way that sent shivers through him. Your tongue flicked playfully at his nipple, teasing him with a warm, wet touch before nipping it lightly with your teeth.

He groaned, his body shifting on the bed, a mix of surprise and pleasure flashing across his face. He looked down at you, a half-hearted glare in his darkened eyes, but he didn’t say a word. Deep down, he didn’t want you to stop. The sharp sting of your bite was a pleasure he hadn’t known he could enjoy, because he knew it came from you. And with you, he trusted completely.

His eyes fluttered closed as your hands drifted lower, deftly undoing his belt. Slowly, deliberately, you opened it, savoring the moment while your tongue continued its exploration of his chest, down his stomach, tracing every ridge and hollow. You took your time, drinking him in like a work of art, tasting him as though he were your favorite flavor.

When his hips lifted to help you slide his pants down, your breath caught in your throat. The sight of him, bare and ready for you, made your mouth water. You didn’t bother hiding your hunger. You’d thought about savoring the moment, teasing him, but tonight your patience was nowhere to be found.

“Can I taste you, Sergeant?”

Your voice was sultry, and the smirk that curled your lips was wicked. You watched his cock twitch at the sound of his rank on your tongue, and it thrilled you. His eyes snapped to yours, darker than you’d ever seen them, devoid of the usual gentle blue hues. There was no innocence left in his gaze—just unbridled desire.

“Can I suck this beautiful cock?” you purred, your voice dripping with want.

His breath hitched, and just when he thought you couldn’t surprise him more, you reached for his left arm—the metal one. The arm that had brought so much fear to others and yet made you look at him with awe. Gently, you guided it over your head, locking his gaze.

“Will you show me how you like it?”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Bucky Barnes was speechless. You, with your teasing smirk and bold confidence, had rendered him completely at a loss for words. He stared at you, his lips parting as if to say something, but nothing came out.

Finally, he nodded.

But you weren’t going to let him off that easy. Smirking, you mimicked his earlier words, tilting your head. “I want to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

He groaned, a low, guttural sound that sent heat pooling in your belly. His fingers tightened in your hair, tugging just hard enough to remind you that while you were in control for the moment, he could take it back whenever he wanted. The hold was firm but careful, his touch a perfect blend of dominance and care, leaving you breathless.

When a moan slipped from your lips at the pressure, he nearly lost it. The sound of your pleasure, the sight of you beneath him, drove him to the edge. He swallowed hard, his voice rasping when he finally spoke.

“You can do whatever the fuck you want with me, doll,” he breathed, his words like a prayer offered to a goddess.

Then he pulled you into a kiss—rough, passionate, claiming. His teeth caught your lower lip, biting down just enough to draw a groan from you, the sound vibrating against his mouth. 

You pulled away from him, your hands firm but teasing as you pushed him back onto the bed. His body yielded to you easily, his left hand still tangled in your hair, the grip soft and almost reverent now. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded with desire, stayed locked on yours, watching your every move as if he couldn’t bear to look away.

Settling yourself on the bed between his legs, you leaned in, your lips brushing against the taut muscles of his stomach. Slowly, deliberately, your tongue traced a path downward, tasting the salt of his skin. When you reached his navel, you circled it lazily, savoring the way his body tensed beneath you.

Your hand came to rest on his thigh, steadying yourself as you lowered your head further, your lips skimming along the base of his hardening length. Without breaking eye contact, you nipped at the sensitive skin just beneath his base, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him. His hand twitched in your hair, his grip tightening ever so slightly, but he didn’t stop you. He didn’t pull you away.

He wouldn’t stop you.

He wouldn’t dare.

When you pressed a kiss to the tip of his cock, he twitched again, a low groan rumbling in his chest. It had been a very long time since he’d thought about the ways he might die, but now he was certain of one thing: it would be your tongue that would end him. Definitely your tongue.

That very tongue was now dragging along his length, from tip to base and back again, slow and deliberate, savoring every inch. He was growing harder under your touch, and you relished the way his breath grew ragged with each lick, each kiss. When you lapped up the bead of pre-cum at his tip, you hummed softly, letting the taste linger on your tongue.

“I can’t wait to taste you for real,” you murmured, your voice thick with promise.

He opened his mouth to respond, but whatever words he’d planned to say vanished the moment you lowered your head and took him fully into your mouth. The guttural moan that escaped him sent heat pooling between your thighs, your body responding to the raw, sinful sound of his pleasure. You could have come undone just from his voice alone.

At first, your movements were slow, your head bobbing gently as you adjusted to the weight and feel of him. Your tongue flattened against the underside of his cock, teasing the sensitive ridge as you hollowed your cheeks. His hands tightened in your hair, guiding you without forcing, but when you spoke again, your words set something alight in him.

“I want you to show me, Sergeant,” you said, your voice sultry and daring. “Use me however you want.”

His eyes widened, the dark blue of his irises nearly swallowed by black. The sultry tone of your command, paired with the sheer want in your gaze, made something snap in him. He didn’t need to be told twice.

“Good girl,” he breathed, his voice rough as his hands guided your movements, his fingers tightening their hold in your hair. You moaned around him at the praise, and the vibration sent a shudder through his entire body.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmured, his words spilling out between breaths. His head fell back against the pillows, his chest heaving. “Such a good girl for me.”

You whined softly at his praise, the sound muffled but unmistakable. His lips curved into a grin, even as his body betrayed how tightly he was holding onto his control. “Look at that,” he said, his tone both teasing and affectionate. “Someone’s kinky.”

Your hum of affirmation sent another jolt of sensation through him, pulling a ragged moan from his throat. His hips bucked slightly, but he restrained himself, letting you keep the pace. For now.

But as your movements quickened, your enthusiasm matched only by the need burning in your eyes, he realized he wasn’t going to last much longer. 

&&&&&&&

“Sweetheart, I’m not gonna last much longer,” he murmured, voice husky and strained. His head fell back against the pillow, lips parting to say more, but the words died on his tongue when your pace quickened, your determination unwavering. The heat of your mouth, the soft press of your lips, and the way your hand cupped and squeezed him—it was all too much.

A deep, guttural moan tore from his throat. His fingers tightened in your hair, holding you as though letting go would shatter him entirely. His hips lifted instinctively, his body surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure as he spilled into your mouth. "Oh, god, right there, baby," he groaned, the sound rough and unfiltered, pure bliss etched into every syllable.

When the waves of release finally ebbed, his grip lingered in your hair, unaware until your gentle touch coaxed his hand free. "Sorry," he whispered, voice hoarse and apologetic as his fingers brushed over your scalp soothingly.

You leaned up to kiss him, your lips warm and soft against his. But his response surprised you—hungry, fervent, as if tasting you wasn’t enough, as if he needed you closer, deeper. He pulled you into his arms, his hold reverent yet possessive, and the kiss left you breathless.

“You are the most amazing woman ever,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with emotion.

You couldn’t help but laugh, settling yourself over his stomach, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. “You’d tell that to any woman who’d suck you off,” you teased, your smile playful.

His hand cupped your cheek gently, halting your laughter. The tenderness in his eyes was staggering, like he could see through every wall you’d ever built.

“No,” he said, voice low and steady, each word sinking deep into your soul. “I care for you more than I thought I had it in me to care about someone. You’ve become so important to me, so fast, it scares the hell out of me sometimes. Because I can’t imagine my world without you.” His thumb stroked your cheek, his touch grounding. “So, no, doll,” he added, the nickname a soft caress on his lips. “I wouldn’t say that to anyone else. There’s no one but you.”

His kiss was sweet this time, unhurried, filled with a quiet kind of passion that made your heart ache in the best way. But as your hips shifted against him, you felt him stir beneath you, his body reacting with a swiftness that sent heat pooling in your belly.

A moan escaped you when you felt his growing arousal press against your core, his readiness unmistakable. His hands moved to your hips, grounding you as his fingers curled into the waistband of your underwear. You lifted just enough for him to slip the delicate fabric down, tossing it aside without a second thought.

“Today’s about you, Bucky,” you whispered, brushing your lips over his in a feather-light kiss. “I want to show you how amazing you are, how you make me feel, and how much I…” You faltered for a moment, your vulnerability catching up to you. Swallowing, you smiled softly. “How much I care for you.”

Before he could respond, you guided him to your entrance, the heat of him against you making your breath hitch. Slowly, you sank down onto him, a shared moan escaping as he stretched and filled you completely.

“God, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips firmly, though not harshly. His gaze was locked on you, watching the way you moved, the way your body welcomed him. “So perfect. Such a good girl.”

The praise sent a shiver through you, your walls fluttering around him in response. “Bucky,” you gasped, your hands bracing against his chest. “You’re so big… feels so good!”

He grinned, a wicked edge to his smile, and thrust up into you with a controlled strength that stole the air from your lungs. “I’m not stopping, doll,” he rasped, his voice laced with promise.

Before you could fully comprehend, he shifted you effortlessly, rolling you onto your back. Now he towered over you, his body a protective shield, his movements precise and powerful. His lips brushed your ear as his hand trailed down your stomach, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves.

“There she is,” he murmured with a chuckle, his fingers teasing your clit just enough to make your toes curl.

The combination of his cock hitting the perfect spot inside you and the delicious friction of his fingers had you seeing stars. Your cries filled the room, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his movements unrelenting, yet careful in a way that spoke of his care for you. “So perfect for me. God, I could do this forever.”

You couldn’t respond, too lost in the intensity of it all—the connection, the pleasure, the raw intimacy. It wasn’t just sex; it was something deeper, something that felt like home.

As his pace quickened, you felt the tension building within you, every nerve ending alight. “Bucky,” you cried out, clutching at his shoulders.

“I’ve got you, doll,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that felt like a vow. His voice was low, rough with emotion, as he whispered, “I need you to cum for me.”

You opened your mouth to protest, a soft, breathy "Bucky—" on your lips, but then his fingers found your clit again, moving in that maddeningly skilled way that turned your thoughts into static. The tension inside you unraveled with explosive force, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your body trembled, your head falling back, and you felt like you were floating, like he’d untethered you from reality itself.

“God,” you managed to breathe, your eyes fluttering open as you tried to thank him. But before you could form the words, his hips surged forward, and he was moving inside you again, drawing a startled cry from your lips.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath mingling with your own. “So perfect for me.” His mouth descended on yours, capturing your gasp in a kiss so deep it felt like he was stealing the air from your lungs.

“Such a good girl,” he rasped, the praise falling from his lips like a benediction. The way your body responded to his words made him chuckle, a low, wicked sound that sent a thrill down your spine. “You like that, huh? You like being my good girl.”

Before you could reply, his pace quickened, his fingers expertly teasing your clit once more. His mouth traveled down, capturing your nipple between his lips, his tongue and teeth working in tandem to draw soft, helpless moans from you. The warmth of his mouth, the steady thrust of his hips, and the relentless circling of his fingers sent another wave of pleasure building within you.

“I’m close, baby,” he groaned, his voice thick with need. “But I need you to cum for me again. One more time, doll. Just one more.”

No man had ever made you feel the way Bucky did. No one had ever cared to learn your body like this, to make you feel so utterly cherished, so thoroughly undone. You shook your head weakly, overwhelmed. “I can’t, Bucky,” you gasped. “I’m still—”

“Yes, you can, babygirl,” he growled, cutting you off. His hands tightened on your hips, grounding you as he drove into you with a force that left you breathless. “I know you can. You’re my good girl, and you’re gonna cum for me.”

The commanding edge to his voice sent a thrill racing through you, and the coil of pleasure tightened in your belly once more. He shifted slightly, angling his hips to hit that spot inside you that made you see stars.

“Come for me. Now,” he ordered, his voice a low, gravelly demand that sent you spiraling over the edge.

You cried out his name, your body shuddering beneath him as your orgasm tore through you. Your nails dragged down his back, leaving faint, reddened trails, but if he felt the sting, he didn’t care. The moment your walls clenched around him, he let go, his movements turning erratic as he spilled into you with a deep, guttural groan.

For a while, the only sounds in the room were your labored breaths, the quiet hum of the world beyond forgotten in the aftermath of your shared release. Bucky’s body was warm against yours, his weight a comforting presence, though he somehow managed to hold himself up just enough not to crush you.

After a moment, he rolled to the side, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. He turned to you, his eyes wide, his expression suddenly serious.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, propping yourself up on your elbow. His reaction made your stomach twist, but before you could say more, he sat up abruptly, his gaze darting around the room nervously.

“I…” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “I came inside you.” His voice was laced with guilt, and he looked at you as though he’d committed some unforgivable sin. “I’m sorry. I should’ve—”

Realizing what he meant, you reached for him, your hand cupping his cheek gently. “Bucky, it’s okay,” you said, your voice soft and reassuring. You tilted your head toward the small scar on your hip, showing him the faint outline of your IUD. “I’m covered. You don’t need to worry.”

His shoulders sagged with relief, but his brow furrowed again. “Still, I should have asked. I didn’t mean to—”

You cut him off with a kiss, tender and full of affection. “You’re the sweetest man ever,” you murmured, your fingers brushing against his cheek. Your smile was the one you always gave him when you wanted to chase away his doubts. “But you don’t need to worry. I wanted you to.”

His eyes softened, the tension in his jaw easing as he let out a shaky breath. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “In that case,” he said, a hint of his usual playfulness returning, “you were amazing, doll. Absolutely amazing.”

“So were you,” you replied with a grin.

He kissed you again, slow and lingering, before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. “Thank you,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “For going on that date with me.”

Your heart melted at the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing in his world. Was it those old-fashioned 1940s charms, or was it just Bucky? Either way, it made your chest ache with something too big to name.

“The best date of my life,” you told him, meaning every word.

He smiled at that, his hand finding yours. “C’mon, doll,” he said, his tone soft but warm. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

And as he led you to the bathroom, his touch gentle and his eyes full of adoration, you couldn’t help but think that this—this connection, this feeling—was worth everything.

---

After the night you spent together, something shifted between you and Bucky.

It wasn’t dramatic or earth-shattering, but it was there—this quiet, unspoken understanding. It hung in the air between you like the faint scent of rain, subtle but impossible to ignore. You were together now, bound by something deeper, something that needed no words to define. Every teasing glance, every soft touch, every shared smile—they carried a gravity that hadn’t been there before, a kind of sacred weight that made your chest ache with warmth.

The house, too, seemed to reflect this change. In just three weeks, you and Bucky had breathed life into what had once been little more than a forgotten relic. Dusty floorboards now gleamed, rooms once choked with cobwebs now felt open and full of promise. Of course, most of that transformation was thanks to Bucky—his strong hands, his quiet determination, his uncanny ability to make even the most daunting task seem simple. But you liked to think you’d helped in your own way, even if it was just by being there—keeping him company, making sure he didn’t forget to eat, or distracting him with your clumsy attempts at “helping.”

One evening, as you stood in the doorway of the now-finished kitchen, you couldn’t help but marvel at what the two of you had accomplished. The counters sparkled in the golden light of sunset, the new appliances gleamed, and the faint, clean scent of fresh paint lingered in the air.

“This place looks incredible,” you said, your voice soft with awe.

“Not bad for three weeks,” Bucky replied, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. His voice carried a note of pride, though his expression was as relaxed and easy as always.

“Not bad at all,” you agreed, smiling at him. But then you couldn’t resist adding, “Though I think I deserve at least half the credit.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into that irresistible smirk that always made your knees feel just a little weaker. “Half? Doll, you almost took out the drywall with a hammer on day two.”

“Details,” you said with a wave of your hand. “I was the emotional support. That counts for something.”

His laugh was low and rich, the sound wrapping around you like a warm blanket. He crossed the room, his presence filling the space as he stopped in front of you. “Yeah, it does,” he said, his voice softer now, more serious. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

The sincerity in his tone made your heart stutter, and you barely had time to catch your breath before he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead.

---

As amazing as things felt between you, there was still a secretive edge to it all.

The decision to keep your relationship quiet had been mutual, though it wasn’t without its complications. It wasn’t shame or uncertainty that kept you silent—it was the weight of Bucky’s world. His life had always been lived under a microscope, every move dissected and analyzed by those who cared for him. His friends meant well, but they had a way of meddling, of poking and teasing and offering unsolicited advice. And so, for now, you both chose to hold this fragile, perfect thing close, safe from prying eyes.

One evening, as you sat together on the porch, the horizon blazed with the deep oranges and purples of a dying sun. The air was cool and carried the faint scent of pine, and the world felt perfectly still. You were leaning against him, your head resting on his shoulder, when he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, his voice low and tinged with something heavy.

You tilted your head to look up at him, surprised. “For what?”

“For not telling anyone,” he said, his gaze fixed on the horizon. His jaw tightened, the muscles flexing as if he were bracing himself. “For asking you to keep this between us.”

“Bucky…” you began, your heart twisting at the guilt in his voice.

He shook his head, his blue eyes finally meeting yours, filled with a vulnerability that stole your breath. “You deserve better,” he said, the words raw and quiet. “You deserve someone who doesn’t have to hide how they feel about you.”

Your fingers found his, threading together as you held his gaze. “I’m not hiding,” you said softly. “I’m just waiting. And I’m okay with waiting—for you.”

His breath caught, and for a long moment, he just looked at you. The air between you felt charged, every unsaid word passing through that space, heavy with meaning.

“Are you sure?” he asked finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your grip on his hand tightening just slightly. “Whenever you’re ready, we’ll tell them. Until then, I’m not going anywhere.”

The tension in his frame melted away, his shoulders sagging with relief. He pulled you close, his lips brushing against your temple in a kiss that felt like a promise.

“Thank you,” he murmured against your hair, his voice thick with emotion.

“Always,” you replied, letting your eyes slip closed as you leaned into him. Together, you sat in silence, watching as the last rays of sunlight faded into twilight, the stars beginning to blink awake one by one.

In that quiet, sacred moment, you knew without a doubt that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. And that, more than anything, was enough.

---

Keeping your relationship with Bucky a secret had seemed like the right decision.

It wasn’t about hiding. It was about holding onto something precious, something new and fragile, just a little while longer. Bucky needed time to adjust—to let himself believe that happiness wasn’t fleeting, that this bond between you was real and wouldn’t be taken away. You understood that, so waiting felt like a small price to pay.

But there was one thing neither of you had accounted for: Sam Wilson.

Sam had an uncanny ability to read people. He wasn’t nosy, but once he noticed that Bucky had returned from your date with a rare, unguarded smile, the wheels in his head started turning. It was only a matter of time before he connected the dots—and naturally, he spilled the news to Steve Rogers. And the thing about Steve was that while he was the embodiment of loyalty and good intentions, he wasn’t exactly subtle.

---

The celebration started off perfectly.

The small party you and Bucky hosted to mark the near-completion of the house had everything: good food, warm laughter, and a sense of accomplishment that filled the air like the smell of fresh paint. The living room buzzed with chatter as your friends admired the transformation.

“It’s amazing,” Natasha said, her sharp eyes taking in every detail. “Didn’t think Barnes had it in him to pick out curtains.”

“Those were my contributions,” you replied with a grin, earning a small chuckle from her.

In the kitchen, you and Bucky worked together to set up the drinks. He was pouring whiskey into glasses with practiced ease while you arranged a platter of snacks, sneaking a glance at him every so often. The way the soft, golden light from the kitchen window played on his features made your chest tighten. This felt right—building something with him, being part of his life.

And then Sam walked in.

“Well, well, well,” he announced loudly, a grin splitting his face as he leaned against the doorframe. “Look at the happy couple!”

The room fell into a stunned silence, like a record scratching to a halt. For a beat, no one moved. Then, as if a dam had burst, the chatter shifted into excited whispers and laughter.

Steve clapped Bucky on the back with enough force to make him stagger slightly. “Knew you had it in you, pal,” he said, grinning like a proud older brother.

Tony, never one to miss an opportunity to stir the pot, raised his glass in a mock toast. “About damn time, Barnes. I thought you were going to let this one slip through your fingers.”

Natasha smirked from her spot in the corner, her knowing gaze flicking between you and Bucky like she’d figured it out long ago.

Bucky’s reaction was immediate.

You felt it before you saw it—the way his body went rigid beside you. His jaw tightened, and his hand, which had been resting on the counter, curled into a fist. His expression hardened, a storm brewing behind his blue eyes as he turned to face Steve and Sam.

“You told them?” His voice was low, laced with simmering anger.

Steve raised his hands in defense, his wide-eyed expression betraying his guilt. “I didn’t—”

“You did,” Bucky snapped, cutting him off. His words were sharp enough to draw blood. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

Sam, ever the unapologetic instigator, shrugged with an infuriating grin. “Come on, man. It’s not like it was a big secret. We all saw it coming. We’re happy for you.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, his voice turning cold and cutting. “It wasn’t your story to tell. It’s my life. My choice.”

The hum of conversation that had begun to pick back up quickly died again, leaving an uncomfortable, heavy silence in its wake. All eyes turned toward Bucky, the tension in the room palpable.

“Bucky,” you said softly, your hand brushing against his arm, hoping to anchor him.

He glanced at you, and for a fleeting moment, his expression softened. But the hurt and frustration in his eyes didn’t fade. “I need some air,” he muttered, his voice tight and clipped.

Without another word, he turned and walked out of the kitchen, the sound of the back door closing behind him echoing like a final note in an unfinished song.

You stood frozen for a moment, torn between following him and facing the room.

Your gaze landed on Sam and Steve, and a sharp wave of frustration surged through you. They looked guilty enough—Steve with his sheepish frown, Sam with his slightly deflated bravado—but that didn’t stop the words from spilling out.

“What the hell were you thinking?” you demanded, your voice low but firm enough to cut through the awkward silence.

Steve shifted uncomfortably, his hands resting on his hips. “We didn’t mean to upset him,” he said, his tone apologetic. “We’re just… happy for him. For both of you.”

“That’s not the point,” you snapped, your frustration bubbling over. “This isn’t about you. Do you have any idea how hard it was for him to let me in? To trust that this could be something real?”

Sam raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Look, we get it. He’s been through hell. But we’re his friends. We’re on his side.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to decide when he’s ready to share this with the world,” you shot back, your tone sharp. “You might think you were doing him a favor, but all you did was take away his choice.”

Steve’s shoulders sagged, guilt written all over his face. “We were out of line,” he admitted quietly. “We didn’t think about how much this would mean to him.”

“No, you didn’t,” you agreed, your voice softening just slightly. “He’s angry, and he has every right to be.”

Sam sighed, dragging a hand over his face. “Alright, fine. We messed up. I’ll talk to him.”

“No,” you said firmly. “I’ll handle it. Just… give him some space.”

---

You found Bucky on the back porch.

He was leaning against the railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sun was dipping low, painting the sky in soft shades of lavender and gold. His shoulders were tense, his hands gripping the wood so tightly his knuckles were white.

You stepped outside, the cool evening air brushing against your skin as you closed the door behind you. “Hey,” you said softly, not wanting to startle him.

He glanced at you, the tension in his face easing slightly. “You don’t have to be out here,” he muttered. “Go back inside.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said gently, stepping closer. “Bucky, I’m sorry. They shouldn’t have—”

“It’s not your fault,” he interrupted, his voice rough. He turned to face you fully, his blue eyes filled with frustration and hurt. “I just… I wanted this to be ours for a little while longer.”

“It still is,” you said, reaching out to take his hand. “What we have doesn’t change just because they know.”

He looked down at your joined hands, his grip tightening slightly. “It feels like it does,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Like it’s not just ours anymore.”

You stepped closer, resting a hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “Then let’s make them understand. This is your life, Bucky. No one else gets to decide how you live it.”

For a long moment, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he exhaled, his shoulders relaxing as he pulled you into his arms. “I’m lucky to have you,” he murmured into your hair.

“You always will,” you replied, your voice steady and sure.

And in that moment, as the sky darkened and the first stars appeared, you knew you’d face whatever came next—together.

---

Title: Just James

James Buchanan Barnes is not an easy man to define.

For decades, the world has known him by his titles: The Winter Soldier. Hydra’s Ghost. The Soldier with a Shattered Mind. For a long time, those labels seemed to stick, as if they were the only things he’d ever been or could be.

But spend a little time with him, and you’ll find that James Barnes is so much more than his past.

When you meet him, the first thing you notice is his presence. It’s not the commanding kind—it’s quieter, steadier, like the deep roots of an old oak tree. He doesn’t need to say much to make an impression. It’s in the way he moves, the way he listens, the way he watches everything and everyone with a quiet intensity that speaks of someone who has seen too much but still manages to care.

Caring is, in fact, at the heart of who James Barnes is.

He is the kind of friend who will notice when you’re having a bad day and quietly make it better without ever drawing attention to himself. Maybe it’s a warm cup of coffee placed in front of you without a word, or a small fix to something broken that you didn’t even know he’d noticed. He doesn’t make grand gestures; he makes small, thoughtful ones that linger long after they’re done.

James Barnes is also a man who, despite everything, has a surprisingly sharp sense of humor. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it—a dry comment here, a teasing smirk there. He doesn’t laugh often, but when he does, it’s the kind of laugh that makes the room feel warmer.

And then there’s the charm.

He’ll deny it if you ask, but there’s no mistaking the trace of 1940s Brooklyn ladies’ man still lingering in his DNA. It’s in the way he leans against a doorframe, arms crossed, with that faint, lopsided grin that makes your heart skip a beat. It’s in the way he says “doll” like it’s second nature, with a teasing edge that somehow feels both old-fashioned and timeless.

But beneath the charm, beneath the humor, lies a vulnerability that few people get to see. It’s in the way he sometimes hesitates before opening up, the way he gets quiet when the conversation drifts too close to old wounds. James Barnes is a man carrying more weight than most of us could imagine, but what makes him extraordinary is the way he still manages to move forward.

He doesn’t see himself as a hero, but in many ways, that’s exactly what he is.

James Barnes is the friend who will drop everything to help you. He’s the man who will put others’ needs above his own, even when he’s struggling. He’s the kind of person who makes you believe in second chances, not just for him, but for yourself, too.

He’s funny, and thoughtful, and maddeningly stubborn. He’ll tease you relentlessly, but if anyone else dares to so much as look at you wrong, they’ll regret it. He’ll hold your hand when you’re scared, fix things you didn’t know were broken, and somehow make you feel like you’re the only person in the world who truly matters.

James Barnes is not defined by his past. He is not the Winter Soldier. He is not a title or a label or a ghost of what once was.

He is a man. A man who deserves love, happiness, and everything good this world has to offer.

And for those lucky enough to know him, he’s so much more than that.

He’s James.

And that’s enough.

---

Title: A chance to live

James Barnes doesn’t ask for forgiveness.

It’s not because he doesn’t want it or wouldn’t welcome it—it’s because he doesn’t believe he deserves it. For so long, the weight of his past has felt like a life sentence, something permanent and unchangeable. Every scar on his body, every memory forced into his mind, every name he can’t forget—they’ve all told him the same thing: that he is broken, irredeemable, and unworthy of anything good.

But James Barnes doesn’t ask for forgiveness.

What he asks for is something simpler, something quieter, something more human: a chance to live.

When you spend time with Bucky, you see the effort it takes for him to move through the world. The way he still flinches when someone approaches him from behind. The way his hands tremble just slightly when he’s surrounded by too many people. The way he avoids mirrors, as if afraid of who—or what—he might see staring back at him.

But you also see the will.

The will to keep going, even on the days when the past feels too heavy to bear. The will to change, to be better, to be someone he can look in the eye and not hate. The will to laugh, to connect, to open up—even when it scares him.

James Barnes doesn’t want to be a hero. He doesn’t want to be remembered for his deeds or honored for his sacrifices. He doesn’t want a statue or a medal or a parade.

He just wants what so many of us take for granted: a life of his own.

He wants to wake up in the morning and not dread the day ahead. He wants to walk down the street without feeling like a ghost. He wants to sit on the porch of his house—the house he’s worked so hard to rebuild—and feel the warmth of the sun on his face without worrying about what might be lurking in the shadows.

He wants to love and be loved in return.

Bucky Barnes doesn’t expect the world to forgive him. He doesn’t expect to erase the past or undo the harm that was done. But he hopes—quietly, desperately—that the world might let him try. That it might give him the space to rebuild himself, to find something worth holding onto, to create a future that isn’t defined by the horrors of his past.

And maybe, just maybe, if the world can give him that chance, he can begin to forgive himself.

Because beneath the layers of guilt and grief, beneath the scars and the shadows, is a man who wants nothing more than to live.

And James Barnes, for all that he’s been through, for all that he’s endured, deserves that chance.

He deserves to live.

---

The evening was cloaked in a quiet stillness, the kind that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket.

The soft golden glow of a single lamp illuminated the room as you handed Bucky the articles. Your hands trembled slightly, though you tried to mask it, and your heart raced with a nervous anticipation that made your chest ache. He took the papers from you with a small, curious smile, his calloused fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment. Then, he sat down, the weight of the moment settling heavily in the air.

The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the faint rustling of the paper as he turned the pages. Each sound was magnified, echoing in your ears like the ticking of a clock. You watched him closely, trying to gauge his reaction. His brow furrowed slightly as his eyes moved across the words, his expression flickering between concentration and something softer—something almost fragile.

These articles weren’t just words on a page. They were pieces of your heart laid bare, fragments of everything you saw in him: his strength, his resilience, his capacity for love, even after all the pain he had endured. They were a mirror, reflecting the man he had become, not the man he feared he was.

When he finally finished, he placed the papers down on the table with deliberate care. He didn’t look up immediately, and your stomach twisted with doubt. Had you said too much? Was it too personal? Too raw?

But then he looked at you, and the breath caught in your throat. His blue-gray eyes glistened with unshed tears, the kind he rarely let anyone see. The vulnerability in his gaze made your chest tighten, and you suddenly understood that this wasn’t just about the articles. This was about him confronting a version of himself he wasn’t sure he deserved to be.

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. The silence felt like a taut string, ready to snap, and your heart pounded with every passing second.

Then, finally, he broke it.

“This… this is incredible,” he said, his voice low and steady, though it trembled slightly at the edges.

Your cheeks flushed, and you gave him a small, shy smile. “I’m glad you think so. I just… I wanted people to see you the way I see you.”

He stared at you as if he couldn’t quite believe the words you’d spoken. His expression was raw and unguarded, the kind of openness he rarely allowed himself.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “How you make me feel like this—like I’m more than what I’ve done. Like I’m worth something.”

“Because you are,” you said simply, your voice soft but firm. You reached out, taking his hand in yours.

The warmth of his touch, the way his fingers instinctively tightened around yours, felt like an unspoken promise. He held your gaze, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in the quiet glow of the room.

Then, he spoke again, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

“I love you.”

The words hung in the air between you, fragile and beautiful. He said them as if he was testing their weight, as if he wasn’t entirely sure they would hold. But the way his hand tightened around yours, the way his eyes searched yours, told you he meant them.

“I love you,” he said again, more certain this time, his voice steady. “I didn’t think I’d ever be able to say that again. But I do. I love you.”

Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision as you leaned forward. You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing lightly over the faint stubble on his jaw. “I love you, too,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

He pulled you into his arms then, his hold firm but gentle, as if he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. His lips found yours, and the kiss was slow, tender, and filled with all the things he couldn’t put into words. It wasn’t just an expression of love—it was an affirmation, a quiet acknowledgment of everything you had built together.

When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His hands stayed on your waist, anchoring you to him, as if he needed the physical connection to keep himself grounded.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice soft and sincere.

“For what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“For giving me this,” he said simply. “For giving me a chance.”

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “You gave yourself that chance, Bucky. I just helped you see it.”

He held your gaze for a long moment, his expression shifting to something resolute, something stronger.

“I wasn’t sure before,” he said quietly. “But… I think I’m ready. If you want to publish this—if you think the world should see it—then let’s do it. Let’s tell them.”

Your heart swelled with pride and love, and you leaned forward to kiss him again, your hands still cradling his face. The kiss was softer this time, but no less meaningful.

When you pulled back, you searched his eyes for any hint of doubt, but all you saw was determination. “Are you sure?” you asked, your voice trembling with emotion.

He nodded, his expression steady and sure. “Yeah. I’m sure. I want them to know the truth—not just about what I was, but about who I am now. About the people who’ve helped me get here.”

A lump formed in your throat as you cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing gently over his skin. “Okay,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “We’ll do this together.”

He smiled then, a small but genuine smile that lit up his face in a way that made your heart ache. “Together,” he echoed, his voice carrying the weight of a promise.

And as you sat there, holding each other in the quiet glow of the room, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. Whatever challenges lay ahead, whatever storms you had to weather, you knew you’d face them side by side. Together, you were unstoppable.

---

Over the next week, your series of articles began to roll out, one by one, like chapters in a story that needed to be told.

Each piece was a love letter to James Buchanan Barnes—not just the man you loved, but the many versions of him that had existed before. Each article revealed a different facet of his life, weaving together a tapestry of pain, perseverance, and quiet triumph.

The first article painted a picture of a boy from Brooklyn, a boy who loved fiercely and laughed loudly. You wrote about the way Bucky had adored his mother’s homemade meals, the nights spent teasing his sisters, and the way his father’s old stories had sparked his sense of adventure.

The next article delved into his role as a best friend. You described the steadfast loyalty he’d shown Steve Rogers, the skinny kid from Brooklyn who had a fire too big for his frame. Bucky had been his anchor, his protector, and his brother in every way that mattered.

Then came the soldier. You recounted his bravery in the field, the unwavering courage with which he faced danger, not for glory but for the men standing beside him. But you didn’t shy away from the darkness. You wrote about his fall, the horrors inflicted upon him, and the years he spent as a ghost—a weapon, stripped of identity and choice.

Yet, you balanced the shadows with light.

You wrote about the man you knew now: the way his lips curved in a rare, genuine smile when he found a stray cat or fixed a squeaky hinge; the way he cared for his friends with an understated tenderness, always putting others first even when it cost him. You wrote about his quiet resilience, his determination to rebuild his life, and his courage in confronting his demons.

And above all, you wrote about his humanity—the small, everyday moments that revealed his heart. How he’d pick up your favorite snacks without being asked. How he could spend hours tinkering with a broken toaster just because it mattered to someone. How he was learning, slowly but surely, to let himself be loved in return.

---

The response was immediate and overwhelming.

Emails, comments, and messages poured in from readers around the world.

People who had felt unseen, misunderstood, or broken wrote to say they saw themselves in his story. Veterans shared their own struggles with identity and purpose, thanking him for his honesty. Survivors of trauma found hope in his resilience. And countless others simply marveled at the raw courage it took to lay his soul bare for the world to see.

One letter, in particular, stood out. It was from a young woman in Kansas who wrote:

"I’ve never known how to tell my family about my struggles, about the things that haunt me. But reading about Bucky—about how he faces his past with so much strength—it’s inspired me to try. Thank you for showing me that it’s okay to ask for help, that it’s okay to keep trying even when it feels impossible."

You read her words aloud to Bucky one night as the two of you sat together in the quiet comfort of your living room. He listened in silence, his hand resting over yours, his thumb brushing against your knuckles.

“Do you see now?” you asked softly, your voice thick with emotion. “Do you see what you mean to people?”

He didn’t reply right away. His gaze was fixed on the letter in your hands, his expression a mix of wonder and disbelief.

---

For Bucky, the most profound response came from within.

Each evening, he would sit quietly and read your articles. At first, it was difficult. The words felt too raw, too vulnerable, like staring at an unflinching mirror. But as the week went on, something began to shift.

The boy who loved fiercely, the best friend who stood unwavering, the soldier who fought bravely, the man who was shattered and rebuilt piece by piece—they were all him. Not ghosts. Not shadows.

Him.

And for the first time in a long time, he began to believe it.

He no longer felt like a relic of the past, a man defined only by his mistakes and the damage done to him. He began to feel whole, as if the fragments of his life were finally coming together to form something stronger, something true.

One evening, as he finished the last article, he closed his laptop and turned to you. His blue-gray eyes were clear, steady, but there was a softness there too—a quiet peace you hadn’t seen before.

“Thank you,” he said simply, his voice filled with a sincerity that made your chest ache.

You smiled, leaning into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “For what?”

“For showing me the parts of myself I couldn’t see,” he murmured, his arm wrapping around you. “For believing in me when I couldn’t. For reminding me that I’m more than what I’ve done.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you held them back, your voice steady. “You’ve always been more, Bucky. You just needed to see it for yourself.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering there as if drawing strength from your presence. “I see it now,” he said quietly. “For the first time, I really see it.”

And in that moment, as the soft hum of the world outside faded into the background, you knew that he wasn’t just healing—he was becoming. Not the Winter Soldier. Not a hero or a villain. Just Bucky.

James Buchanan Barnes.

A man who was no longer defined by his past but by the love and resilience that would carry him into the future.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt like he deserved it.

[deblklesb]

[I Want You So Bad — Ellie x Reader, Pt. 1]

[AFAB!reader, friends to lovers, fluff MDNI] (part 2 here)

Summary: Ellie likes you so much, and it's crazy how you don't even notice it.

a/n: omg i finally did it!!!! it took me too long, so sorry anon, but it's finally here!! its a two part thing, I'll post part2 soon! hope you enjoy it, please let me know if you do!

cw: fluff and pining. as always i don't want minors interacting.

not proof read | reblogs are highly appreciated

It's a painfully hot day in Jackson, Ellie is wondering how Shimmer is doing down in the barn and contemplating about going there to spend some time with her beloved horse. The sun gives everything an extra glimmer and the roads hold small puddles of fata morganas, amusing her as always - astronomy it's her main target of curiosity but physics it's there too.

While she fixes her shoelaces and checks her pockets for the keys, she also looks at the small handmade candy wrapped in a simple paper, standing on the bench next to her door. The grocery brings back delightful memories of when you runned up to her with the cutest smile, a hand in her direction.

"Ellie, I made this candy from a recipe I found in one of those books, took some for you", you had no idea how that gesture reached the Williams girl right into the heart.

"Oh, thanks…!" She looked down at the brownish treat. It seemed to be so tasteful and you were known amongst your friends to be a very talented cook.

"So, are you coming to the Tipsy Bison tonight?" You put your hands in your back pockets. Ellie could only see a part of your tattoo coming out of your short sleeve, wondering what the entirety of it would look like.

"Uh, yeah, I guess. If I can finish all my tasks", she would definitely drop them if that meant to see you.

"Okay, cool! See ya later, then", and just like that you left with a small wave and a sweet smile.

Inside, Ellie beat herself up for not asking something like "oh do you want me there?" to slightly make a move and test the waters. You would always leave her speechless, lagging, absolutely fumbling on her words to even put a goof full sentence out.

On this incredibly hot day, she thinks it's finally the time to maybe taste your candy. She hasn't done it yet because… Maybe because she was holding onto the mere fact that you thought about her and went out of your way to give her some handmade candy. It was such a sweet act, it made her daydream for days and literally kick her feet when laying on her bed that night, thinking about your pretty eyes and cute lips.

Deciding to save for that night, she finally heads out to the hot weather and bright sun. The sunglasses she found on a supply run unfortunately were broken, she could make good use of them now.

It didn't take long to reach the barns, the shadow of the roof presenting a hope to cool down. The horses seemed to not mind the heat that much, and today was bathing day.

"Morning, Els", Pedro, a 15 year-old boy waved at her. She smiled back, finally facing Shimmer on her usual spot. But the horse wasn't alone.

In the barn, a brush in hand, stands you. Mindlessly stroking Shimmer's fur in circles, your back is not fully out since you're still with a tank on but Ellie can finally see the rest of your tattoo; it's a big tiger, an image mostly on your back with just a paw sticking on your front, under the clavicle - the part Ellie could always see. Today, it moves as your muscles do the same and you murmur a random melody, eyes careful to put the attention on the horse's fur.

The brunette has to take a deep breath before proceeding into the barn, trying to pull out that chill, laid back facade to hide the way you make her almost melt into a puddle.

"Hey, see you got up early today" She has you stopping on your tracks to look over your shoulder, immediately smiling fondly when seeing her.

"Yeah, I got the bathing job today so I didn't want to leave it until later", dirt falls from Shimmer's fur as you brush it. She's not the dirtiest one usually, but after some runs between the last bath and this one a significant amount of dirt is coming off. "Where have you been putting her to, by the way?"

"Oh, we found an old ranch somewhere west and I decided to let her run around a bit. It made a big cloud of dirt around her", Ellie chuckles as she gets closer from the horse, patting her neck. "This big girl enjoyed herself very much"

"Well, that's good, though", you go back into looking straight to your front, oblivious to how Ellie's gaze falls on your tranquil figure.

She captures the bridge of your nose and your adorable cheeks, the ones she just wanna kiss all the time so badly. Your hair, away from your face today, your attractive lips and the prettiest eyes she has ever seen. With your back to the barn's door, you almost glow in front of the light coming from outside. Like a divine vision, straight out of a fantasy book, demanding to be worshiped by the auburn haired girl. She feels her chest tightening and that feeling spreading to her arms and stomach, like it always does when she's around you; a visceral need to touch you in any possible way.

Shimmer ruffs and bumps her snout into Ellie's face, almost like she's calling her back to Earth.

"Easy", Ellie chuckles again, now trying to hide the last moment. From who? She doesn't know, there's just you, her and the horses here, but she feels so exposed whenever she's around you.

"It might sound crazy, but I do believe these horses have personality", you suddenly comment, turning to grab a comb.

"Right?! Oh, Jesse keeps saying I am crazy, that they're just horses, but I do feel this too! One time Shimmer laughed when she saw me fall. Like, a horse laugh, but I swear it was a laugh", and just like that, Ellie's loosening up.

Your laugh fills the space as you stand next to Shimmer to comb her black tail. Now facing your back again, Ellie takes in how your back muscles press your dark tank top and how your waist seems to call her hands to grab it, hold you from behind close to her chest. The desire to have your scent consuming her mind is so strong, she thinks she might actually pass out.

This is getting so out of hand.

"So", she clears her throat, looking around for another comb to work on Shimmer's mane. "Are you going to be here all day?"

"Tipsy Bison at six", you don't even care to look back at her, focused on the tail.

"Do you ever sleep?"

"Yeah, very well, actually", you chuckle. "Tomorrow I have nothing in the morning, so I can compensate"

"Oh… I thought we could, y'know…", she's trying to collect the millions of thoughts running around her mind at the same time, trying to not fuck this up. "Have a sleepover one of those nights… When you're free, I mean… But we don't have to if you don't want it- it was just an idea"

"It's a great idea!" The way you smile, turning to look at her, has her heart clenching. It's so genuine and sweet, just like you always do whenever you see her coming around and go compliment her. Do you even know the way she loses balance at each one of those acts? "The last sleepover was so long ago. We should call Dina and Jesse too"

"Yeah, absolutely", she rests her head on Shimmer's neck when you turn your attention to the tail again, cursing silently.

The rest of Shimmer's bath was calm, you both kept talking about whatever. At one point, when Ellie was rinsing the horse's back legs, Shimmer just threw her tail on the girl's face, making you laugh out loud and the auburn haired girl look stunned.

In the end you both got out a little cooled down due to splashes of water, past midday after bathing all horses. It was easier with two people, after all.

"So, I guess I'll let you get going to change and go to work…"

"Aren't you coming to the Bison tonight?"

"Oh, yeah, I guess I'll pass by", she tried to sound chill and nonchalant, not revealing how she always planned to go there as long as she wasn't patrolling.

"Okay, see you there then!" And you fucking leaned to kiss her on the cheek, smiling while you waved goodbye and turned in your street, leaving Ellie dumbfounded.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

If a stare could create holes, Jesse and Dina would cause trypophobia in anyone. Ellie was sitting across from them on the table, holding a beer bottle so tightly that it could break at any giving moment. Standing next to the table was you, listening to their shitty excuses about not being able to attend to the sleepover, oblivious to their real intentions.

"Oh, I get it, it's fine. Guess it'll be just me and Ellie then", you shrug, smiling to the auburn haired girl. She smiles back immediately under your gaze. "We'll, I have to go back to behind the counter, go talk to me if y'all need anything"

And she stares at your back while you walk away, always looking so fine while handling the objects behind the long wooden table.

"You're welcome, by the way", it's Jesse who says it, smirking.

"I'd beat the shit out of you if we weren't in public", she groans, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, come on! It will be nice having her all by yourself for a night, uh? Then you can silently pin over her while pretending to pay attention to some random ass movie", Dina is looking up like she's pondering the scenario.

"Shut up", her hands start to sweat with anticipation, all the possibilities running through her mind.

What you'll be wearing, what you both will watch, if you are going to sleep next to her, if she'll be able to hold you close absolutely in a friendly way, if you'll laugh and have a good time with her. Ellie thinks about the tragedies implicated in being alone with you for the whole night, how embarrassing it can be, how she'll combust just by looking at you so closely, yet, so far.

"Stop overthinking. Just wear those flannels, she likes it"

"No, she does not!" Her face warms up, because of the alcohol, of course.

"She already complimented you ten times about that shirt", Jesse points out.

It was true, though. And each and every time, Ellie almost melted into a puddle in front of your chaste gaze. If you only knew what ran through her mind when she looked at you…

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

This was messy, and Ellie didn't know what to do anymore.

At some point of the night, you decided to play a game and Ellie just agreed - because what could go wrong? Not going far from the known route, you opted for a Q&A game in which each one asked a question and the other one had to answer it or respond with another question. It would be nice and silly, if the given situation wasn't hard enough for Ellie.

You were sitting in front of her, legs crossed on the couch, in a tank top and the smallest shorts Ellie has ever seen you on - which was cool, it was okay, she could manage that because she was already used to holding her shit together next to you. But everytime you moved around, for some reason, that night, she just wanted to pull you close once and for all. An inexplicable energy was emerging from the whole situation and she couldn't grasp it properly, but it made her restless.

Her hands tingle whenever you lightly hold her arm or her leg, she starts to wonder why you were so touchy generally, but tonight more than ever. An indescribable feeling comes from her guts each time you laugh and lean on. She might as well be going crazy.

So, it was already hard enough. But then you asked her if she was currently into some girl around town and that was the first time Ellie responded with another question.

"Why do you wanna know?" It sounded like she was caught off guard, and that bought your attention.

"I was just curious… But your answer makes me think that you actually are", you smirk, playful.

"I didn't say I was"

"Didn't say you weren't either", damn you for being clever.

"But that doesn't mean anything…" The auburn haired girl looked away, resting her arm on the back of the couch.

"Is it Dana?"

"No" Dana was another woman that regularly worked on the Tipsy Bison. She was pretty and polite, but Ellie wasn't interested in her - not with you around. And she was so desperate to direct the conversation somewhere else that she missed the way your voice changed.

"So there is someone, it's just not Dana?"

"Why are you so interested?"

Why were you so interested? It was because of the game, right? Your only concern now was the fact that Ellie didn't answer your initial question, so you had to dig to the bottom of this topic. That sudden sting on your stomach when thinking about Ellie pining over Dana was just the prospect of your close friend having a crush on your coworker and not telling you. Absolutely.

It probably had nothing to do with the way you were weirdly infatuated by Ellie tonight, with her hair on a bun and a halfway buttoned up flannel - with nothing but a top underneath it. Or how she seemed to glow under the warm light of her room and her presence brought the biggest comfort you've ever felt in weeks. Or how her lips seemed so attractive right now, calling for your sight when she nervously bit the bottom one. Little scars were splared around her face amongst the freckles, gifts from a bunch of branches that accidentally crashed into her face once, during a patrol.

"Because… I'm your friend and I would like to know when you're interested in someone. I mean, we tell this type of stuff to each other, right?"

Not all the stuff, Ellie thought.

"Yeah, I guess. Well, you actually have never told me something like that"

"That, my beloved, is because I have nothing to tell. You know it, I'm not interested in anybody as for now"

"Or for any other time on this town"

"Ouch!" You chuckled, lightly punching her shoulder. "You're not getting away from this topic. I'll name every woman our age and you'll tell me when it's the one"

The auburn haired girl tried very hard not to express any compromising expressions, especially after the list ended and you didn't say your own name.

You couldn't think of any other person that fit into the category, and that was odd. Because if there was someone, then it should be one of those.

"Oh, you're lying!"

"I'm not!"

"You just said 'no' to every single name"

"That's the reality of the situation"

"But there is someone?!"

"You said that, not me", she shrugged.

"Alright", you seemed resigned, looking away from her green eyes. "If you don't want to tell me, that's fine"

A sting got it right into Ellie's chest. She liked you too much to let you be this way, but at the same time she didn't want to tell you. The amount of terrible things that could happen; losing you and your friendship was at the top of this list, and it was bad enough.

"It's not it, I swear", Ellie collected all the strength to softly hold your face; now she was doing it as your friend who didn't want to see you sad. She turned it so you could face her, stare at her eyes full of vivid green. "I swear, you didn't say the name"

"Okay", you sigh, trying to understand what was that feeling on your stomach that grew while her fingers still supported your chin.

"Now… Wanna watch another movie?" Her thumb caressed your face with tenderness, inside she hoped this made you less uneasy.

"Yeah", it got cold when she retracted her hands to reach for the DVD options you both picked for tonight. "You can chose it now"

[dividers by @cafekitsune]

[miss0atae]

Random Thoughts about Gelboys EP2 (PART2) : the art of making a playlist, the digital letter.

This episode was centered around the ups and downs of Fou4Mod and Chian's relationship. Their different interactions are moving the heart and reactions of Fou4Mod who tries to keep Chian's interest on him. However, many elements make the courtship relatively difficult as Fou4Mod is getting mixed signals from Chian. The episode ends with them moving on a casual relationship with more intimacy, but no commitment and no status.

I'm here with a second part of my random thoughts about Gelboys episode 2. I always get super fixated on one or two details in an episode and sometimes it's eating my brain up until I can't stop thinking about it. I thought this time I should do something about it, so here is my take on one tiny detail in the episode. Chain texted Fou4Mod at one point and tells him they should share a playlist where they can add music to listen when they are waiting for their nails to be done. Fou4Mod is puzzled and asked his sister about the hidden reason why Chain offered to make this playlist. Of course, there must be a hidden reason as he believe they are flirting. This idea gets encouraged as his sister reveals to him that a classmate also created “a playlist for her to join only with him”. She adds it allows them to “extend their moment together” and also “when you add more songs, the duration is longer”. It means that the more songs you have in your shared playlist, the more “digital time” you've spend together. It is a testimony of the interest you give to the relationship. The more, the better.

Creating a playlist is just a more “modern” way of creating a mixtape or burning CDs. This is nothing new. The process is the only difference, now it is digitized and it can be shared, so it's not only a testimony of your taste in music, but a testimony of your shared interest in music. Making a playlist is not insignificant. You are creating a form of letter to express your feelings: it can shows who you are, what you like or how you care about someone else. I would also say the music chosen reflects the history of the person who makes it: what music you've been exposed when you were young, your current favorite artists or the trendy songs that made in impact where you live (I recommend you these two great posts, Here and Here, from @clairedaring where you can see how it is visible in the series) There is a song for every mood. The more time you take to curate a playlist, the more you show the care you put on the person you're designing the playlist for (it can also be a form of self-love expression if you are curating them for yourself). If you have trouble putting words into your feelings, it can be easier to use the lyrics of someone else to express your inner thoughts.

As the streaming music services became accessible by everyone who owns an internet connection and their updates tends to put the emphasize on “social media” characteristics, it makes senses that it can be used to do everything you can usually find in these interactive technologies. I've read that there is a term used about Spotify (the music app they are mostly using in the series) called the Spotify-stalking. I would say Fou4Mod has been doing it in the episode as he is seen checking Chain and Bua's personal playlist several time to make a comparison with the one he also shares with Chain. It was probably to show the act of making a playlist holds a lot of emotional weight. You can see that this act of choosing the right songs, but also the playlist name is a testimony of the link you share with the person you're creating the playlist. When we look at Fou4Mod and Chain's playlist's name “There's no full-filled love. Full-filled love is a person's name”, it gives hint about where they are in their relationship: not a couple, but more than friends… It feels like Fou4Mod is back into the “fouble” step he tried to avoid in his previous relationship.

Let's not talk about the playlist he shared with his friend Baabin to try to incite jealousy from Chain and he ended up deleting it… If the act of creating a playlist holds such a deep meaning, the act of deleting it is also quite significant. The playlist created is a reminder of a shared connection and a way of keeping someone close to you, so if you're deleting it does it mean this connection isn't there anymore? How will Baabin react? That's what I'm very curious about. Will he feel betrayed by the sudden interest Fou4Mod had for his favorite girl band that only ended up into nothing as there is no trace anymore of this and what impact will it have on their relationship?

I really like how the series portrayed the simple act of making a playlist as some kind of a love letter to put a light on its characters' feelings and the turmoil of teenager's love.

PART 1: Here

[tanatos018]

OK so I try follow what japanes fandom said about Dr. Stone S4 part2 advance screening. I find that it interesting and maybe for Xeno fan (that also me lol) we're in for a treat.

More part is a bit spoiler and I rely many thing from machine translation and my basic Japan. So take it with a grain of salt.

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So most part of first 3 episode is mostly accurate to the Manga but there a scene with young Xeno appear. I remember no such scene in manga and he has seperate VA from his adult self.

Another thing that I get from some people is that Xeno's VA give a bit of spoiler that there'll maybe a part of Stan&Xeno childhood in anime. Many suspect it might be in that episode where they're reunion and a second petrification. It just speculate though, but I remember Inagaki Sensei say something similar too, that if there any part about them he'll be the one write or approve it, so we'll see.

For manga reader that know everything what in store for future episode this info is very exciting, can't wait for actual screening next month.

[tired-kitten]

-What would haikyuu characters dream of?(part2)

+Did they ever had a wet dream? (NSFW feel free to skip those parts)

Hinata:

- Different stuffs. They do vary a lot but mostly he would even question his own sanity himself. For example he once dreamed he was playing volleyball against seijouh in a bride gown as he was marrying Nekomata. But he also has those kind of dreams which they're about his goals.

P.S : His sleeping positions are questionable as well.

+ Hinata doesn't remember what his first wet dream was about but he remembers his waking up process and being panicked. He also remembers when his crush on Kageyama started to grow he dreamed of him "making hinata feel good". He was also panicked in that statement that he had to call Suga.

Oikawa:

- Oikawa has a pretty messed up sleep schedule and he rathers to get as tired as possible to not dream at all in order to not see his team losing against either Shiratorizawa or Karasuno again. But let's say he also has those kind of dreams he favours. Like him winning or being the king he always wanted.

+ Oikawa is horny as hell so him seeing wet dreams more that actual ones is not surprising. Actually there was one of his dreams which he had a great time in those with his lovely "Iwa-chan", so he was acting awkward the day after. Then he found out his lovely "Iwa-chan" had the same one.

Atsumu:

- Atsumu is also one of those nightmare people who wakes up in the middle of the night panting heavily. Most of those dreams are about him not being loved or noticed or even losing a loved one. But when 'Tsumu is hella tired he dreams nicely. Let me say the person sleeping right next to him is also effective. That's why he doesn't mind Sakusa's calm vibe being around his sleep body.

+ Don't even let me start on that. Well he had those which he would always talk about them with only his brother and Suna. They did involve his crushes most of the time. Until he got into MSBY and they were all about a specific curly hair boy.