âËŕż summary: you never got the chance to tell jin how much he meant to you. he never got the chance to tell you he loved you. instead, you become another thing the season swallows whole, and he becomes the only one willing to dig through the rot to find you.
âËŕżÂ genre: non-idol au ¡ heavy angst ¡ hurt/little comfort ¡ strangers to friends to almost lovers ¡ southern gothic influences ¡ lyrical prose ¡ slight horror ¡ small-town setting ¡ tragedy
âËŕżÂ pairing(s): kim seokjin x female reader [ all members mentioned as side characters ]
âËŕżÂ warnings: mentions of domestic violence + abusive relationship ¡ explicit language ¡ grief ¡ missing person themes
âËŕżÂ word count: 7.7k
a/n: im sorry guys, but this idea came to be randomly and i just had to do it. so hereâs a rushed writing i spent three hours on, inspired by strangers by ethel cain and the fictional story-line behind it. this is little proof read so i need everyone to be open-minded lol
main masterlist | ot7/multi masterlistÂ
âËŕżÂ playlist: strangers - ethel cain (recommend looping it <3)
The gravel driveway crunches beneath the tires like broken bones.
You've been gone for seven months now. Two hundred and eleven days. Five thousand and sixty-four hours. Jin stopped counting at some pointâor rather, he lost the ability to stop counting, because grief carves its own arithmetic into the hollow spaces where hope used to live.
The car stops.
Outside the window, your boyfriend's (well, ex now), Minho house waits.
It's a modest thing. That's what everyone always said, wasn't it? Such a modest little house. Perfect for a young couple starting out. A white siding box with a porch that tilts slightly to the left, a yard that's gone to seed, a front door painted the color of dried blood. There's a rusted lawnmower in the side yard. A birdbath filled with brown water. A garden that's been swallowed by weeds.
Summer has settled over everything like a sickness.
The air is heavy and muggy, the kind of heat that makes you feel like you're breathing through a cloth. The grass is yellow and brittle. The sky is the color of old milk.
Seokjin opens the car door.
A suffocating warmth wraps around him instantlyâthick and wet and smelling of rot. Not the kind of rot that comes from something specific. The kind that hangs in the air like a verdict. The kind that makes you understand why summers in small towns feel like punishment.
He stands in the driveway and stares at the front door.
Behind him, he hears the others gathering: Yoongi's quiet footsteps, Jimin's nervous breathing, the low murmur of Hoseok speaking to one of the officers who accompanied them.
A warrant has been issued. The investigation is finally official. Months of paperwork and dead ends and Namjoon calling in favors have led to this moment, and Seokjin should feel triumphant.
He doesn't feel anything except the heat.
And the memory of your voice saying, "It's not that bad. The house, I mean. It's not that bad once you get used to it."
But you never got used to it. He knows that now. He should have known it then.
Almost two years ago.
You met Seokjin at a gas station off Route 9, just outside of town, where the highway narrowed into two lanes and the only lights came from the convenience store and the occasional pair of headlights cutting through the dark.
You were sitting on the curb near the air pump, your car door open, your face buried in your hands.
He almost didn't stop.
He was driving home from a late shift at the university library, exhausted and hungry and thinking only about the leftover japchae in his refrigerator. But something made him slow downâmaybe the way your shoulders shook, maybe the way your car's hazard lights blinked uselessly in the dark, maybe something quieter and more inevitable that he wouldn't understand until much later.
He parked. He walked over. He crouched in front of you like you were something fragile and easily startled.
"Hey," he said. "You okay?"
You looked up.
Even with your eyes red and swollen, even with mascara smudged beneath your lower lashes, even with your entire face crumpled with the effort of holding tears backâyou were beautiful.
Not the kind of beautiful that demands attention. It was the kind that sneaks up on you. The kind you don't notice until it's too late, until you've already memorized the curve of someone's jaw and the way their mouth moves when they're trying not to cry.
"I'm fine," you said, and your voice cracked on the word "fine" like it always did, like "fine" was a lie you'd told so many times it had become a reflex.
Seokjin didn't believe you. But he didn't push.
Instead, he sat down beside you on the curb, ignoring the way the concrete bit through his jeans, and he said, "My name's Seokjin. I'm not a serial killer, I promise."
You laughedâa fleeting, quiet sound, but it left its mark. "That's exactly what a serial killer would say."
"Fair point." He smiled, and something in your expression softened. "Car trouble?"
You shook your head. "I just needed to get out of the house for a while."
He didn't ask why. He didn't ask whose house. He just sat with you in the dark, watching the occasional car pass, listening to the cicadas scream their endless song, and he thought: You look like someone waiting for permission to leave.
He didn't say it out loud.
But he wished he had.
The front door opens before anyone can knock.
Minho stands in the doorway, squinting against the sun, his expression shifting from confusion to recognition to something sharp and unforgiving when he sees the officers flanking Namjoon. He's wearing a stained t-shirt and jeans, his hair unwashed, his jaw shadowed with stubble.
"You're kidding me," he says. "You actually got a warrant."
Namjoon steps forward, holding up the folded document. "We have reasonable grounds to search the property. You'll need to step aside."
"Reasonable grounds." His laugh is quip and humorless. "Based on what? She left. She packed her shit and left. That's not a crime."
Seokjin watches his face. He watches the way his eyes dartâtoo fast, too deliberateâtoward the interior of the house. He watches the way his hands curl into fists at his sides, then force themselves open. He watches the way his mouth twists when he says she left, like the words taste bad.
You never left.
The thought arrives without warning, without mercy, and Seokjin has to press his palm against the nearest post to keep himself upright.
You never left. You never left.
"Open the door." Seokjin's own voice surprises him. It's steady. Calm. He sounds like someone else, someone who hasn't spent two hundred and eleven days dreaming of this moment, someone who hasn't memorized the sound of your laughter until it haunts his every quiet hour.
Minho's eyes meet his.
Something passes between them. Something dark and knowing. Something that makes Seokjin's stomach drop like a stone into cold water.
"She never liked you, you know." His voice dips, becomes almost intimate. "She told me once. Said you were too soft. Too gentle. Said you wouldn't last five minutes in the real world."
The words land like small, precise cuts. Because Seokjin knowsâhas always knownâthat you said this. You told him once, late at night in the diner parking lot, your voice small and ashamed.
"Sometimes I say things about you. To make him happy. I hate it. I hate myself for it."
And Seokjin had smiled, had reached across the center console to let his thumb graze the slope of your knuckles:Â "Do whatever you need to stay safe. I can take it."
He can still feel the ghost of that touch.
"That's funny," Seokjin says, and his voice doesn't waver. "Because she told me you never loved her at all. She told me she stayed because she was afraid of what you'd do if she left."
Your ex-boyfriend's face goes gray.
Jimin steps forward, his voice gentle in that way Jimin's voice always isâlike honey over broken glass. "Please step aside. We don't want this to be harder than it already is."
For a long moment, no one moves.
The cicadas scream.
The heat presses down like a hand.
Then Minho finally steps aside, and the door swings open, and the officers enter first, their footsteps heavy on the warped porch boards. He follows, still arguing, still deflecting, his voice rising and falling in waves of indignation and false cooperation. Seokjin hears the words "waste of time" and "I've got nothing to hide" and "she was unstable, you know, she had problems" and each word lands like a stone in his chest.
You had problems.
The problems of being trapped. The problems of being afraid. The problems of loving someone who hurt you and not knowing how to stop.
The house swallows them one by one and the inside is worse than Seokjin expected.
Not because it's trashedâit's not, not obviously. The living room is ordinary in the way that cheap furniture and beige walls and a television playing static can be ordinary. There's a couch with a stain on one cushion. There's a coffee table covered in beer bottles and takeout containers. There's a photograph on the wall, slightly crooked, of a landscape that might be anywhere.
But there's also a dent in the drywall near the doorway.
A subtle depression. A bitter reminder. The unmistakable imprint of a fist slamming straight into the plaster.
You told him once that you walked into the doorframe in the dark.
"I'm so clumsy," you said, laughing, rubbing your shoulder. "I keep forgetting the hallway is narrow."
Seokjin had laughed with you, because you were laughing, because you always laughed when you talked about your injuries. But later that night, lying in bed, he'd thought about the way you flinched when Minho touched your arm. He'd thought about the way you checked your phone constantly, anxiously, like you were waiting for something bad to happen. He'd thought about the way your smile never quite reached your eyes anymore.
He'd thought: You're lying.
But he didn't say anything, because he didn't know how to ask, and he didn't know if you would tell him the truth even if he did.
He walks past the dent in the wall and doesn't stop.
Nine months before you disappeared.
You and Seokjin had started meeting regularly by then. Every Tuesday and Thursday, at the diner on Main Street, the one with the cracked vinyl booths and the waitress who called everyone "hon." You would order coffee and he would order tea and you would talk for hours about nothing and everythingâyour childhood, his family, the books you were reading, the songs you couldn't stop listening to, the dreams you'd given up on and the ones you still held close to your chest.
He learned that you loved lightning but were terrified of thunderstorms.
He learned that you could recite every line from your favorite movie.
He learned that you slept on the left side of the bed because the right side felt wrong, even though you were right-handed, even though you couldn't explain why.
He learned that you smiled brightest when you talked about leaving.
"Somewhere by the ocean," you said, tracing patterns in the condensation on your glass. "Somewhere far enough that nobody knows my name. I want to wake up and hear the waves."
"What would you do there?" he asked.
"I don't know. Work at a bookstore. Open a small cafĂŠ. Learn to surf and break my ankle on the first day." You laughed, and it was real, and he wanted to bottle the sound and keep it somewhere safe. "Anything. Everything. I just want to feel like my life is mine."
He wanted to say: Then come with me. Let's go together. Let's get in my car right now and drive until we run out of road.
But he didn't.
Instead, he said, "I think you'd be good at anything you tried."
And you looked at him like he'd given you something precious.
The kitchen is where Seokjin finds the first photograph.
It's tucked behind a stack of mail on the counter, partially hidden by an expired coupon and a bill stamped PAST DUE. He almost misses it. But something makes him pick it upâsome instinct, some pull, some thread of the universe that hasn't finished unraveling yet.
It's a picture of you.
You're standing in this kitchen, in front of this sink, wearing a yellow sundress he remembers because you wore it the day you told him about the ocean. You're laughing at something off-camera, your head tilted back, your hair falling across your face, your whole body caught in a moment of joy that looks almost aggressive in its sincerity.
Someone took this picture of you in a good moment.
Someone wanted to remember you like this.
But when Seokjin turns the photograph over, the back is covered in handwriting. Not yours. His. The letters are jagged and angry, pressed hard enough into the paper that they've left indentations on the other side.
Liar. Whore. Leaving me was the best thing you ever did. I hope you're dead.
Seokjin's hands start shaking.
He thinks about the way you always apologized for things that weren't your fault. The way you said "sorry" like it was a reflex, like you expected punishment for existing. The way you flinched when someone raised their voice, even in excitement, even in joy.
He thinks about how someone can smile like that in a kitchen where someone else is writing I hope you're dead on the back of your picture.
Sunshine, he thinks, using the name he called you only once, in the dark, when you were both too tired to pretend. What did he do to you?
You showed it to him once, over the phone, during one of your late-night conversations. You'd been texting for so many weeks by then, the way strangers who don't know they're becoming friends do. Small exchanges. A shared joke. A photograph of a particularly ugly dog. A voice message that Seokjin listened to more times than he'd ever admit.
"This was from his company picnic," you said, pointing to the screen. "His boss took it. He said I looked pretty."
"You do look pretty."
You giggled. The sound warmed him instantly, hitting him just how much he loved hearing it. "You have to say that. You're contractually obligated."
"I'm serious."
Your smile faded. You looked at the photograph again. "He doesn't like it when I dress up. He says it draws attention. He says people will get the wrong idea."
Seokjin didn't know what to say to that. He was still learning the contours of your life, still mapping the borders of what was safe to discuss and what wasn't. He chose his words carefully. "What do you think?"
You were quiet for a long moment. Then: "I think I like the way I look in this dress. I think I spent an hour picking it out. I think I felt pretty until he told me I shouldn't."
"Then you were right the first time."
You looked at him. Really looked at him. In the stillness, the heavy boundaries keeping you apart quietly dissolved.
"Thank you," you said.
And Seokjin wanted to tell you that you didn't need to thank him for telling the truth. He wanted to tell you that you deserved someone who would tell you you were beautiful every single day, not someone who made you feel like beauty was a crime. He wanted to tell you so many things.
Instead, he said: "Anytime."
Jungkook finds him. "Hyung." He speaks in a soft exhale, unsure of himself. "They're searching the bedrooms."
Seokjin nods. He's still standing at the entrance to the kitchen, his feet rooted to the floor. He can't make himself move.
"⌠Are you okay?" The younger steps closer, reaching out his hand as if to offer a grounding touch for Seokjin.
The question is absurd.
Of course he's not okay.
He hasn't been okay since the night you didn't show up. Since the night he waited at the gas station, his car running, his phone in his hand, watching the clock tick past midnight, past one, past two. Since the night he drove past your house and saw the lights off, the driveway empty, and told himself you had changed your mind.
He told himself you had decided to stay.
He told himself you had chosen Minho.
He told himself you were happy.
He told himself so many lies, because the truth was too terrible to consider.
"I'm fine," he says, and the lie tastes like ash.
One of the officers tries the bedroom handle and notices something, then turns to the group with a strange expression. "There's a padlock on the door."
Padlock.
Seokjin's stomach drops.
Minho's voice rises from the living room, where another officer is keeping him seated on the couch. "That's for storage. I keep valuables in there. It's got nothing to do with her."
Valuables, sure.
Seokjin thinks of you sleeping in a room you couldn't lock from the inside.
He thinks of you trapped.
He thinks of you lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to footsteps in the hallway, knowing you couldn't keep anyone out.
The officer produces bolt cutters from somewhere, and the lock snaps open with a sound like a bone breaking.
The moment the door gives way, Seokjin steps inside and immediately feels like he's trespassing.
The room is a mess. Clothes are scattered across the floor. The sheets are tangled on the bed. There's an ashtray on the nightstand, overflowing with cigarette butts. The curtains are drawn tight, blocking out the daylight, making the room feel small and suffocating.
And there, on the wall beside the closet, is a crack in the drywall.
Its a shallow concave. A sickening, rounded fracture. But Seokjin's eyes find it immediately, because heâs spent months cataloging the architecture of your absence.
A head-shaped dent.
Someone hit this wall hard enough to damage it.
He turns slowly, his eyes scanning the room, taking in the details he didn't notice at first. The way the lamp is unplugged, its cord coiled neatly. The way the closet door is slightly ajar, revealing darkness inside. The way there's a patch of carpet near the bed that's darker than the rest, like it's been cleaned too many times.
He kneels down.
His fingers touch the carpet.
It's stiff. Crusty. The fibers are matted together, and when he rubs them between his fingers, they flake apart.
Four months before you disappeared.
You showed up at the diner with a bruise on your jaw.
It was smallâfading, actually, yellow-green at the edges, almost invisible in the dim light. But Seokjin saw it. He saw it the moment you walked through the door, the way you held your head slightly turned, the way your hair fell forward to hide the evidence.
He didn't say anything at first.
He waited until you'd ordered your coffee, until you'd made the obligatory small talk, until you'd laughed at something stupid he said. Then he reached across the table and very gently touched your chin, tilting your face toward the light.
"What happened?"
You pulled away. Too fast. "I fell."
"Where?"
"Down the stairs. I'm so clumsy, you know that."
"Sunshine."
The word slipped out before he could stop it. He'd never called you that before, never called anyone that, but in that moment it felt like the only word that existed. "Please don't lie to me."
You stared at him.
For a long moment, he thought you were going to leave. He thought you were going to stand up and walk out and never speak to him again, and he would deserve it, because he'd pushed too hard, because he'd broken the unspoken agreement that allowed you to pretend everything was fine.
But you didn't leave.
You sat there, frozen, your coffee growing cold between your hands, and you whispered:
"He doesn't mean to hurt me."
Seokjin felt a physical weight press down on his lungs, a suffocating grief he couldn't fight off.
"I'm sorry," you said, and the apology shattered whatever composure he had left. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have told you. I shouldn't haveâ"
"No." He reached across the table, took your hand. His thumb traced over your knuckles, feather-light. "No. Don't apologize for telling me the truth. Don't ever apologize for that."
"He says he loves me."
"That's not love."
"He says he can't help it. That I make him angry. That if I just tried harder, if I just did things right, he wouldn'tâ"
"That's not love."
You started crying. Silent tears, sliding down your cheeks, dropping onto the table. You didn't wipe them away. You just sat there, holding his hand, letting him watch you fall apart.
"I don't know what love is anymore," you said.
Seokjin squeezed your hand.
"I'll show you," he said. "If you let me. I'll show you what it's supposed to look like."
"Seokjin."
It's Namjoon's voice now, coming from the doorway. Seokjin doesn't look up.
"There's blood here," he says. A flat, empty murmur.
A long pause.
"We know," Namjoon says quietly. "They found more in the living room."
Seokjin closes his eyes.
He thinks about the way you used to hold his hand, your fingers cold, your grip tight. He thinks about the way you used to laugh, rare and precious, like a gift you didn't know you were giving. He thinks about the way you said his name, soft and careful, like you were afraid of breaking it.
He thinks about all the times he almost told you he loved you.
All the times he almost said it.
It was two months before you disappeared.
Something changed between the both of you.
It happened slowly, then all at onceâthe way summer turns to autumn, the way water boils, the way two people can orbit each other for months and then suddenly collapse into the same gravity.
It happened in his car, on a back road, with the windows down a crack due to the light rainfall and the stereo playing something sad and acoustic. You were lost in your own joyâhe couldn't remember the causeâand he watched you intently, completely overwhelmed by the fact that he had already mapped out everything you were.
The way you drank coffee: three sips, then a pause, then two more, then forgotten.
The way you laughed: head thrown back, hand over your mouth, eyes crinkling at the corners.
The way you tucked your hair behind your ear: left side first, then right, then left again, a ritual repeated so often it had become invisible.
The way you looked at highways: like they were promises you hadn't earned yet.
He loved you.
The realization hit him with the force of something long-denied finally being admitted. He loved you, and it terrified him, because you were not his to love. You belonged to someone else, someone who didn't deserve you, someone who hurt you, and Seokjin had no right to want what he wanted.
But he wanted it anyway.
"I've been thinking about leaving," you said, so quietly he almost didn't hear you. "I've been thinking about it for months. But I don't have anywhere to go. I don't have any money. He checks my phone, he tracks my location, heâ" You paused, voice cracking. "I'm so tired, Jin. I'm so tired of being afraid."
He didn't think. He just moved.
His hand found yours. His fingers laced through yours. And when you looked at him, tears streaming down your face, he pulled you into his arms. You fit against his chest like you'd been made to be there. You buried your face in his shoulder, and you cried, and he held you, and he didn't let go.
"I'll help you," he said into your hair. "Whatever you need. I'll help you get out."
"Why?" The question was so small, so fragile. As if you couldn't understand why anyone would want to save you.
He pulled back, just enough to look at you. Your face was blotchy, your eyes red, your nose running. Yet you were still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"Because you deserve better," he said.
And something in your eyes changed. Something cracked open. Something that had been locked away for so long it had forgotten what light felt like.
"You really believe that?"
"I know it."
He kisses you then.
It was clumsy, desperate. It tasted like salt and the end of something and the beginning of something else. He shifts without thinking, his hand coming up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, his mouth moving against yours like he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment.
You don't ask.
You kiss him back.
And for one perfect, terrible moment, the rain stops mattering. The bruises stop mattering. The fear stops mattering. All that matters is his mouth on yours, his hands in your hair, the way he says your name like a prayer.
When you finally pull apart, you're both shaking.
"I should go," you say.
"Stay."
"I can't."
"Just a little longer."
And so, you did stay. Then, you kissed him again, slower this time, and Seokjin thought that if he died right now, if the world ended in this moment, he would die happy.
You stay until the rain stops, until the sky clears, until the stars come out. You stay until his hand is in yours, until your head is on his shoulder, until you've memorized the sound of his breathing.
The haze of the memories clears as he thinks back at all the times he held back because he was afraid of pushing too fast, of scaring you away, of losing the only good thing in his life.
If he had said it sooner, would you still be here?
If he had found the courage to tell you how he felt, would you have left earlier? Would you have asked him to take you away before that night? Would you have been safe?
"I'm going to kill him," he says, and he doesn't know if he's speaking to Namjoon or to himself or to the ghost of you that still haunts this room.
It wasn't a threat.
It was a statement. A fact. Something that had been true for months, lurking beneath the surface of his grief, waiting for the moment when he would finally admit it out loud.
"No, you're not," Namjoon said. His voice was calm, steady, the voice of someone who had been holding himself together for everyone else's sake. "You're going to find her. You're going to bring her home. And then you're going to let the law do what it does."
"The law let him do this," Seokjin said. "The law didn't believe her. Nobody believed her. She told meâshe told me she tried to get help, and nobody listened."
"Jin-hyung." Hoseok's voice, soft and shaking, from the doorway. "You should see this."
He doesn't want to see anything else, but he stands anyway and he walks out of the bedroom.
The basement stairs are behind a door in the kitchen.
Something Seokjin didn't notice before. The door is painted the same color as the wall, indistinguishable unless you're looking for it, and the handle is hidden behind a stack of old newspapers. But Yoongi notices. Yoongi notices everything.
"There's a basement," he says disquietingly, in the way it makes Seokjin's blood run cold.
It's closed, and Minho is standing in front of it with a look on his face that Seokjin has never seen before.
"You can't go down there," he says. His voice is high, tight, cracking at the edges. "There's nothing down there. It's just storage. I haven't gone down there in years."
"Then you won't mind if we check." Yoongi quips at him with a disdain look in his eyes, pushing him aside and crossing the threshold with the Seokjin and the others following him.
The stairs creak beneath their weight, loose boards shifting with each step, and the air grows cooler and damper and heavier with every foot they descend. The smell hits them firstâsomething metallic, something organic, something that doesn't belong in a basement.
Bleach.
Lots of bleach.
The basement is unfinished. Concrete floors, exposed beams, a single bare bulb casting harsh shadows across the space. There's a workbench against one wall, covered in tools. There's a drain in the center of the floor. There's a tarp folded in the corner, and Seokjin doesn't want to think about why a tarp would be folded in the corner of a basement.
But it's the freezer that stops him.
A chest freezer, the kind people use to store bulk meat, pushed against the far wall. It's unremarkable in every way except one: it's new. New enough that the plastic wrap is still partially attached to the lid. New enough that it looks displaced in this room full of old things.
"Why," Yoongi says slowly, "would someone buy a new freezer and put it in an unfinished basement?"
Seokjin doesn't answer.
He can't.
Because he knows. He knows in the way you know things before you're ready to know them, in the way your body understands danger before your mind catches up, in the way the hair on the back of your neck rises and your stomach drops and every instinct you have screams run even though there's nowhere to go.
He knows.
But he needs to confirm it himself.
It was a week before you disappeared.
You had been quiet all night. Quieter than usual. Seokjin could feel the tension radiating off you, could see the way your hands kept clenching and unclenching in your lap, could hear the way your breath hitched whenever you tried to speak.
"What's wrong?" he asked, for the fifth time.
You shook your head.
"Sunshine. Talk to me."
You turned to face him, and your eyes were lined with unshed tears, and your lip was trembling, and you looked so small and so scared and so desperately tired that Seokjin's heart broke into pieces he would spend the rest of his life trying to put back together.
"Is it wrong," you whispered, "that when I imagine my future, you're in it?"
The words hung in the air between you two, and Seokjin felt like he couldn't breathe.
"Is it wrong," you continued, your voice breaking, "that I think about you all the time? That I wish I had met you first? That I wishâ" You stopped. Pressed your hand to your mouth. "I wish I was yours."
"I wish you were mine too."
The confession came out before he could stop it. Before he could think about the implications, about the consequences, about the fact that you were still with someone else, someone who had hurt you, someone who would destroy you if he knew what was happening in this car right now.
But you didn't look scared.
You looked relieved.
"I have a plan," you said.
He waited.
"Next Friday. He works late on Fridays. He has a meeting that usually goes until at least eleven. I can pack while he's gone, and I can leave before he gets back."
"Where do you wanna go?"
"I don't know. Anywhere. Somewhere far away." You looked at him, and there was hope in your eyesâfragile, tentative hope, like a bird that had learned to be afraid of landing. "Will you come with me?"
The question hit him like a physical blow.
"Yes," he said, without hesitation. "Of course."
You laughed. It was a wet laugh, a little broken, but it was real. "Really?"
"Really. I'll take you anywhere you want to go. We'll find a place. We'll start over."
You reached across the center console and took his hand. Your fingers were cold, but it didn't bother him, instead he gladly warmed them between his own.
"Next Friday," you said. "Midnight. I'll meet you here."
"I'll be waiting."
You were finally leaving.
You were going to be free.
"Seokjin." Yoongi speaks in a low, guarded tone. "There's something in the air. I noticed it when I walked inside, but I couldn't place it until now."
Seokjin looks at him. "What?"
"Rot."
The word hangs between them.
"Rot," Yoongi repeats. "Underneath all the bleach. Underneath the cleaning products and the air freshener and everything he's used to cover it up. There's rot."
Seokjin's eyes drift back to the freezer.
"Don't," Yoongi says, but Seokjin is already walking.
He doesn't know why he's walking toward the freezer. He doesn't know what he expects to find. He only knows that the smell is getting stronger, and his heart is pounding, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice is screaming at him to stop, to turn around, to leave this house and never come back.
But he can't stop.
He reaches the freezer.
He puts his hand on the handle.
The metal is cold beneath his palm. The humming vibrates through his fingers. The smell is everywhere now, thick and sweet and terrible, and Seokjin knows, he knows, but he opens the lid anyway.
The night you disappeared.
Seokjin sat in his car at the gas station on the edge of town, watching the clock on the dashboard tick past midnight.
He had arrived early. Too early, probablyâhe was supposed to meet you at midnight, but he'd been too anxious to stay at home, too excited, too terrified that something would go wrong. So he'd driven to the gas station at eleven-thirty, parked in the corner of the lot, and waited.
He checked his phone.
No messages.
He checked his phone again.
Still nothing.
He told himself not to worry. You were probably just running late. You had to pack, had to make sure you didn't forget anything. These things took time.
He waited.
Twelve-fifteen.
Twelve-thirty.
One o'clock.
He sent you a text: "Everything okay?"
No response.
He sent another: "I'm here. Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."
No response.
At two in the morning, he drove past your house.
Your boyfriend's truck was in the driveway.
Your bedroom light was off.
Seokjin sat in his car across the street, staring at the dark window, and he told himself you had changed your mind. You had gotten scared. You had decided to stay, and you were too ashamed to tell him, and tomorrow you would call and explain and everything would be fine.
He drove home.
He didn't sleep.
Unaware he'd never see you again.
The smell hits him immediatelyânot the smell of expired food, not the smell of forgotten leftovers, but the smell of something that has been dead for a very long time. Something that should have been buried. Something that was never meant to be preserved.
Seokjin's vision goes white at the edges.
He knows what he's seeing, but his brain refuses to process it. Refuses to make sense of the shapes, the colors, the way the light of freezer hits against the skin. He knows, but he doesn't know, and the gap between understanding and acceptance is the longest distance he has ever traveled.
The first thing he notices is the bracelet.
A thin silver chain, delicate, almost invisible against the skin it's wrapped around. The same bracelet he gave you for your birthday, the one with the small charm shaped like a star, the one you promised you would never take off.
"I'll wear it forever," you said, and you kissed his cheek, and you smiled at him like he was the sun.
The bracelet is still on your wrist.
Your wrist, which is attached to your arm, which is deattached to the rest of you, which is folded into the freezer like something that was placed there carefully, deliberately, with the same attention someone might give to packing a suitcase.
You are in pieces, arranged on the shelves like cuts of meat, and your eyes are closed, and your mouth is slightly open, and you look like you're sleeping except for the way your neck ends in a clean line above the collar of your collarbone.
Seokjin screams.
He doesn't realize he's screaming until he feels hands on his shoulders, pulling him back, and he realizes the sound coming out of his throat doesn't sound human. It sounds like an animal caught in a trap. It sounds like something dying.
"Seokjinâ"
He can't hear anything over the sound of his own voice.
He can't see anything except the bracelet.
The star charm glints in the light. The silver catches the reflection of the kitchen, distorting it, warping it into shapes that don't make sense. He stares at the bracelet and remembers the way you laughed when he gave it to you, the way you held his hand and said I'll wear it forever, the way you promised him a future you never got to have.
Forever turned out to be a lot shorter than either of us thought.
He collapses.
His knees hit the floor, and the impact jars through his entire body, and he doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything except the impossible, unbearable fact that you are in that freezer, that you have been in there for months, that he was sitting in his car at a gas station while you were beingâ
While he wasâ
The moment before you disappeared died, you packed a bag.
You had done so the way you had practiced in your mind a hundred times. Folded clothes. Keepsakes. The bracelet he gave you, still warm against your wrist. Your phone, charged and ready, with his last message glowing on the screen: "Midnight. I'll be waiting."
You smiled.
You were going to make it.
You were going to leave this house, this town, this life that had never been yours. You were going to meet him at the gas station, and you were going to get in his car, and you were going to drive until the sun came up, and you were never going to look back.
You then walked past the living room, approaching the front door.
Your hand was on the handle.
But then the door swings open.
Your blood turned to ice.
He was home early.
"Y/N?" He was standing in the doorway, looking at the bag in your hand.
Minho began to understand. "What is this?"
His voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that came before a storm.
"I'm leaving," you said, and your voice was steady, even though your heart was pounding. "I'm not coming back."
He laughed, it was a horrible sound. Hollow. Broken.
"You think you can leave me?" he asked. "You think you can just walk out that door and never come back?"
"Yes."
"After everything I've done for you?"
"You haven't done anything for me." Your voice cracked. "You've hurt me. You've controlled me. You've made me feel like I'm nothing. And I'm done."
His face contorted. "I love you," he said, and the words were wrong, twisted, like he didn't understand what they meant. "I love you, and you're going to leave me?"
"You don't love me."
"I do. I love you so much it makes me sick."
"That's not love."
"Then what is it?" He stepped closer, and you stepped back. "Tell me. Tell me what it is."
"It's possession. It's control. It's fear."
"I'm not afraid of anything."
"You're afraid of losing me."
Miho stopped. And for a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Something that looked like sadness. Like regret.
Then it was gone.
"You're right," he said quietly. "I am afraid of losing you."
"Then let me go."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because if I can't have you, no one can."
He moved faster than you expected.
His hand grabbed your wrist, wrenching you away from the door. The bag fell from your grip, spilling its contents across the floor. You screamed, but his hand was already covering your mouth, muffling the sound.
"Shh," he whispered in your ear. "Shh. It's okay. Everything's going to be okay."
It wasn't okay.
It would never be okay again.
He dragged you back to the bedroom.
He threw you on the bed.
He hit you. Not once. Not twice. Over and over, until your face was a ruin of blood and bruises. Until your ribs cracked. Until you couldn't scream anymore, couldn't cry, couldn't beg.
You tried to fight back.
You scratched his face, kicked his shins, bit his hand when it came near your mouth. You fought like an animal, desperate and wild.
It wasn't enough.
He was stronger.
He was always stronger.
"You were supposed to love me," he sobbed, even as his fists connected with your body. "You were supposed to stay. You promised."
You didn't remember making that promise.
You didn't remember making any promises.
You only remembered Seokjin.
You remembered his hands, gentle and safe. You remembered his voice, soft and warm. You remembered the way he said your name, like it was something precious, something worth protecting.
You remembered the kiss.
The plan.
The promise of a future.
And then⌠You thought of nothing at all.
"Where is the rest?" Yoongi asked cutting through the chaos. "We have the torso. We have the upper limbs. Where is the rest?"
Seokjin looks up.
Minho is standing at the bottom of the staircase, his face white, his hands cuffed behind his back, his eyes fixed on the floor. He looks like a man who has been waiting for this moment for a very long time.
He looks like a man who has been holding his breath, and now that the air is gone, he doesn't know how to breathe.
Your ex-boyfriend doesn't answer.
"I saidâ"
"She was going to leave me." His voice is quiet. Broken. Almost pathetic.
"She was going to leave me," Minho repeats, and when he looks up, his eyes are wet. "She packed her bags. She was going to leave in the middle of the night, like a thief, like I meant nothing to her."
"You killed her."
"I loved her."
"You killed her."
"I loved her, and she was going to leave me, and I couldn'tâ" He pauses, swallowing. "I couldn't let her go."
"What did you do?"
Minho's eyes meet Seokjin's rageful ones.
"She stayed with me," he whispers. "S-she became part of me. I couldn't let her leave twice. So, I-I kept what I loved."
The words sink in slowly.
They sink in like poison, spreading through Seokjin's veins, reaching his heart, stopping it cold.
I kept what I loved.
"What the fuckâŚ" Yoongi says, his tone fracturing completely, taking a step back, while Namjoon has to look away, gripping the wall next to him.
"I'm going to be sick." Jimin forces the words out on a ragged, breathless exhale. Taehyung and Jungkook's faces turn grey as Hoseok starts retching in the corner of the basement.
The freezer is still open. You're still there. Your face, preserved in cold, peaceful and dead and gone.
And the rest of youâ
The rest of youâ
Seokjin's body moves before his mind catches up.
He's on Minho before anyone can stop him. His fist connects with bone. Once. Twice. Three times. He feels cartilage crunch, feels blood spray across his knuckles, feels the sick satisfaction of pain being returned in kind.
"How could you?!" He screamed, and his voice was raw, broken, inhuman. "You fucking monsterâ!"
Hands grabbed him, pulling him away, but he fought them, fought against the arms that wrapped around his chest, fought against the voices that told him to stop, fought against everything except the grief that was consuming him from the inside out.
Namjoon was in his ear, steady and calm. "Jin-hyung, stop. He's not worth it."
"She was going to leave with me," Seokjin sobbed. "She was going to meet me. She was going to be safe."
"I know."
"She was supposed to be safe."
"I know."
"She was supposed to live."
Yoongi didn't answer. Because there was nothing left to say.
You're dead.
You're dead.
Seokjin collapses.
He falls to the floor, and he stays there, and he cries. He cries for you. He cries for the future you almost had. He cries for the kiss that never got to become a lifetime. He cries for the gas station parking lot, where he waited while you were being dismembered. He cries for the bracelet that was supposed to be a promise, that was supposed to be a beginning.
He cries for everything that was taken from you.
From him.
From the world that will never get to know you.
Shortly after, they find the rest of you later.
In the freezer. In containers that were once labeled for soup. In portions that were measured and portioned and saved, like leftovers.
Seokjin doesn't see it. He's outside by then, sitting on the front steps, staring at the overgrown yard.
Seven months.
He searched for seven months.
And you were here the whole time.
In the place you were trying to leave.
The sun is finally setting. The sky is orange and pink and gold, beautiful in a way that feels obscene. How can the sky be beautiful when you're dead? How can the world keep turning when you're gone?
He's holding the bracelet.
The star pendant is warm in his palm, still carrying the cold from the freezer. He curls his fingers around it, pressing it against his chest, trying to feel close to you.
He doesn't.
He just feels empty.
"She was going to leave with me." He doesn't realize he's speaking until the words are out.
"We had a plan. We were going to meet at midnight. I waited for her. I waited for hours." His voice breaks. "I thought she changed her mind. I thought she chose him. I thought-"
He stops, and tears are streaming down his face. "I thought she was happy."
A hand touches his shoulderâTaehyung.
"She loved you," Taehyung murmurs. "She told me once. She said you were the first person who ever made her feel safe."
"Then why didn't she leave sooner?"
"Because she was scared. Because he made her feel like she couldn't. Because sometimes love isn't enough to overcome fear."
Seokjin looks down at the bracelet.
Sunshine. He used to call you that because you smiled like the sun. Bright. Warm. Capable of lighting up the darkest room.
Now the sun has set.
And it's never coming back.
"I'm sorry," he whispers to the necklace, to the memory of you, to the ghost that still haunts this place. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you."
The house creaks behind him, settling into the evening.
âËŕż summary: you never got the chance to tell jin how much he meant to you. he never got the chance to tell you he loved you. instead, you become another thing the season swallows whole, and he becomes the only one willing to dig through the rot to find you.
âËŕżÂ genre: non-idol au ¡ heavy angst ¡ hurt/little comfort ¡ strangers to friends to almost lovers ¡ southern gothic influences ¡ lyrical prose ¡ slight horror ¡ small-town setting ¡ tragedy
âËŕżÂ pairing(s): kim seokjin x female reader [ all members mentioned as side characters ]
âËŕżÂ warnings: mentions of domestic violence + abusive relationship ¡ explicit language ¡ grief ¡ missing person themes
âËŕżÂ word count: 7.7k
a/n: im sorry guys, but this idea came to be randomly and i just had to do it. so hereâs a rushed writing i spent three hours on, inspired by strangers by ethel cain and the fictional story-line behind it. this is little proof read so i need everyone to be open-minded lol
main masterlist | ot7/multi masterlistÂ
âËŕżÂ playlist: strangers - ethel cain (recommend looping it <3)
The gravel driveway crunches beneath the tires like broken bones.
You've been gone for seven months now. Two hundred and eleven days. Five thousand and sixty-four hours. Jin stopped counting at some pointâor rather, he lost the ability to stop counting, because grief carves its own arithmetic into the hollow spaces where hope used to live.
The car stops.
Outside the window, your boyfriend's (well, ex now), Minho house waits.
It's a modest thing. That's what everyone always said, wasn't it? Such a modest little house. Perfect for a young couple starting out. A white siding box with a porch that tilts slightly to the left, a yard that's gone to seed, a front door painted the color of dried blood. There's a rusted lawnmower in the side yard. A birdbath filled with brown water. A garden that's been swallowed by weeds.
Summer has settled over everything like a sickness.
The air is heavy and muggy, the kind of heat that makes you feel like you're breathing through a cloth. The grass is yellow and brittle. The sky is the color of old milk.
Seokjin opens the car door.
A suffocating warmth wraps around him instantlyâthick and wet and smelling of rot. Not the kind of rot that comes from something specific. The kind that hangs in the air like a verdict. The kind that makes you understand why summers in small towns feel like punishment.
He stands in the driveway and stares at the front door.
Behind him, he hears the others gathering: Yoongi's quiet footsteps, Jimin's nervous breathing, the low murmur of Hoseok speaking to one of the officers who accompanied them.
A warrant has been issued. The investigation is finally official. Months of paperwork and dead ends and Namjoon calling in favors have led to this moment, and Seokjin should feel triumphant.
He doesn't feel anything except the heat.
And the memory of your voice saying, "It's not that bad. The house, I mean. It's not that bad once you get used to it."
But you never got used to it. He knows that now. He should have known it then.
Almost two years ago.
You met Seokjin at a gas station off Route 9, just outside of town, where the highway narrowed into two lanes and the only lights came from the convenience store and the occasional pair of headlights cutting through the dark.
You were sitting on the curb near the air pump, your car door open, your face buried in your hands.
He almost didn't stop.
He was driving home from a late shift at the university library, exhausted and hungry and thinking only about the leftover japchae in his refrigerator. But something made him slow downâmaybe the way your shoulders shook, maybe the way your car's hazard lights blinked uselessly in the dark, maybe something quieter and more inevitable that he wouldn't understand until much later.
He parked. He walked over. He crouched in front of you like you were something fragile and easily startled.
"Hey," he said. "You okay?"
You looked up.
Even with your eyes red and swollen, even with mascara smudged beneath your lower lashes, even with your entire face crumpled with the effort of holding tears backâyou were beautiful.
Not the kind of beautiful that demands attention. It was the kind that sneaks up on you. The kind you don't notice until it's too late, until you've already memorized the curve of someone's jaw and the way their mouth moves when they're trying not to cry.
"I'm fine," you said, and your voice cracked on the word "fine" like it always did, like "fine" was a lie you'd told so many times it had become a reflex.
Seokjin didn't believe you. But he didn't push.
Instead, he sat down beside you on the curb, ignoring the way the concrete bit through his jeans, and he said, "My name's Seokjin. I'm not a serial killer, I promise."
You laughedâa fleeting, quiet sound, but it left its mark. "That's exactly what a serial killer would say."
"Fair point." He smiled, and something in your expression softened. "Car trouble?"
You shook your head. "I just needed to get out of the house for a while."
He didn't ask why. He didn't ask whose house. He just sat with you in the dark, watching the occasional car pass, listening to the cicadas scream their endless song, and he thought: You look like someone waiting for permission to leave.
He didn't say it out loud.
But he wished he had.
The front door opens before anyone can knock.
Minho stands in the doorway, squinting against the sun, his expression shifting from confusion to recognition to something sharp and unforgiving when he sees the officers flanking Namjoon. He's wearing a stained t-shirt and jeans, his hair unwashed, his jaw shadowed with stubble.
"You're kidding me," he says. "You actually got a warrant."
Namjoon steps forward, holding up the folded document. "We have reasonable grounds to search the property. You'll need to step aside."
"Reasonable grounds." His laugh is quip and humorless. "Based on what? She left. She packed her shit and left. That's not a crime."
Seokjin watches his face. He watches the way his eyes dartâtoo fast, too deliberateâtoward the interior of the house. He watches the way his hands curl into fists at his sides, then force themselves open. He watches the way his mouth twists when he says she left, like the words taste bad.
You never left.
The thought arrives without warning, without mercy, and Seokjin has to press his palm against the nearest post to keep himself upright.
You never left. You never left.
"Open the door." Seokjin's own voice surprises him. It's steady. Calm. He sounds like someone else, someone who hasn't spent two hundred and eleven days dreaming of this moment, someone who hasn't memorized the sound of your laughter until it haunts his every quiet hour.
Minho's eyes meet his.
Something passes between them. Something dark and knowing. Something that makes Seokjin's stomach drop like a stone into cold water.
"She never liked you, you know." His voice dips, becomes almost intimate. "She told me once. Said you were too soft. Too gentle. Said you wouldn't last five minutes in the real world."
The words land like small, precise cuts. Because Seokjin knowsâhas always knownâthat you said this. You told him once, late at night in the diner parking lot, your voice small and ashamed.
"Sometimes I say things about you. To make him happy. I hate it. I hate myself for it."
And Seokjin had smiled, had reached across the center console to let his thumb graze the slope of your knuckles:Â "Do whatever you need to stay safe. I can take it."
He can still feel the ghost of that touch.
"That's funny," Seokjin says, and his voice doesn't waver. "Because she told me you never loved her at all. She told me she stayed because she was afraid of what you'd do if she left."
Your ex-boyfriend's face goes gray.
Jimin steps forward, his voice gentle in that way Jimin's voice always isâlike honey over broken glass. "Please step aside. We don't want this to be harder than it already is."
For a long moment, no one moves.
The cicadas scream.
The heat presses down like a hand.
Then Minho finally steps aside, and the door swings open, and the officers enter first, their footsteps heavy on the warped porch boards. He follows, still arguing, still deflecting, his voice rising and falling in waves of indignation and false cooperation. Seokjin hears the words "waste of time" and "I've got nothing to hide" and "she was unstable, you know, she had problems" and each word lands like a stone in his chest.
You had problems.
The problems of being trapped. The problems of being afraid. The problems of loving someone who hurt you and not knowing how to stop.
The house swallows them one by one and the inside is worse than Seokjin expected.
Not because it's trashedâit's not, not obviously. The living room is ordinary in the way that cheap furniture and beige walls and a television playing static can be ordinary. There's a couch with a stain on one cushion. There's a coffee table covered in beer bottles and takeout containers. There's a photograph on the wall, slightly crooked, of a landscape that might be anywhere.
But there's also a dent in the drywall near the doorway.
A subtle depression. A bitter reminder. The unmistakable imprint of a fist slamming straight into the plaster.
You told him once that you walked into the doorframe in the dark.
"I'm so clumsy," you said, laughing, rubbing your shoulder. "I keep forgetting the hallway is narrow."
Seokjin had laughed with you, because you were laughing, because you always laughed when you talked about your injuries. But later that night, lying in bed, he'd thought about the way you flinched when Minho touched your arm. He'd thought about the way you checked your phone constantly, anxiously, like you were waiting for something bad to happen. He'd thought about the way your smile never quite reached your eyes anymore.
He'd thought: You're lying.
But he didn't say anything, because he didn't know how to ask, and he didn't know if you would tell him the truth even if he did.
He walks past the dent in the wall and doesn't stop.
Nine months before you disappeared.
You and Seokjin had started meeting regularly by then. Every Tuesday and Thursday, at the diner on Main Street, the one with the cracked vinyl booths and the waitress who called everyone "hon." You would order coffee and he would order tea and you would talk for hours about nothing and everythingâyour childhood, his family, the books you were reading, the songs you couldn't stop listening to, the dreams you'd given up on and the ones you still held close to your chest.
He learned that you loved lightning but were terrified of thunderstorms.
He learned that you could recite every line from your favorite movie.
He learned that you slept on the left side of the bed because the right side felt wrong, even though you were right-handed, even though you couldn't explain why.
He learned that you smiled brightest when you talked about leaving.
"Somewhere by the ocean," you said, tracing patterns in the condensation on your glass. "Somewhere far enough that nobody knows my name. I want to wake up and hear the waves."
"What would you do there?" he asked.
"I don't know. Work at a bookstore. Open a small cafĂŠ. Learn to surf and break my ankle on the first day." You laughed, and it was real, and he wanted to bottle the sound and keep it somewhere safe. "Anything. Everything. I just want to feel like my life is mine."
He wanted to say: Then come with me. Let's go together. Let's get in my car right now and drive until we run out of road.
But he didn't.
Instead, he said, "I think you'd be good at anything you tried."
And you looked at him like he'd given you something precious.
The kitchen is where Seokjin finds the first photograph.
It's tucked behind a stack of mail on the counter, partially hidden by an expired coupon and a bill stamped PAST DUE. He almost misses it. But something makes him pick it upâsome instinct, some pull, some thread of the universe that hasn't finished unraveling yet.
It's a picture of you.
You're standing in this kitchen, in front of this sink, wearing a yellow sundress he remembers because you wore it the day you told him about the ocean. You're laughing at something off-camera, your head tilted back, your hair falling across your face, your whole body caught in a moment of joy that looks almost aggressive in its sincerity.
Someone took this picture of you in a good moment.
Someone wanted to remember you like this.
But when Seokjin turns the photograph over, the back is covered in handwriting. Not yours. His. The letters are jagged and angry, pressed hard enough into the paper that they've left indentations on the other side.
Liar. Whore. Leaving me was the best thing you ever did. I hope you're dead.
Seokjin's hands start shaking.
He thinks about the way you always apologized for things that weren't your fault. The way you said "sorry" like it was a reflex, like you expected punishment for existing. The way you flinched when someone raised their voice, even in excitement, even in joy.
He thinks about how someone can smile like that in a kitchen where someone else is writing I hope you're dead on the back of your picture.
Sunshine, he thinks, using the name he called you only once, in the dark, when you were both too tired to pretend. What did he do to you?
You showed it to him once, over the phone, during one of your late-night conversations. You'd been texting for so many weeks by then, the way strangers who don't know they're becoming friends do. Small exchanges. A shared joke. A photograph of a particularly ugly dog. A voice message that Seokjin listened to more times than he'd ever admit.
"This was from his company picnic," you said, pointing to the screen. "His boss took it. He said I looked pretty."
"You do look pretty."
You giggled. The sound warmed him instantly, hitting him just how much he loved hearing it. "You have to say that. You're contractually obligated."
"I'm serious."
Your smile faded. You looked at the photograph again. "He doesn't like it when I dress up. He says it draws attention. He says people will get the wrong idea."
Seokjin didn't know what to say to that. He was still learning the contours of your life, still mapping the borders of what was safe to discuss and what wasn't. He chose his words carefully. "What do you think?"
You were quiet for a long moment. Then: "I think I like the way I look in this dress. I think I spent an hour picking it out. I think I felt pretty until he told me I shouldn't."
"Then you were right the first time."
You looked at him. Really looked at him. In the stillness, the heavy boundaries keeping you apart quietly dissolved.
"Thank you," you said.
And Seokjin wanted to tell you that you didn't need to thank him for telling the truth. He wanted to tell you that you deserved someone who would tell you you were beautiful every single day, not someone who made you feel like beauty was a crime. He wanted to tell you so many things.
Instead, he said: "Anytime."
Jungkook finds him. "Hyung." He speaks in a soft exhale, unsure of himself. "They're searching the bedrooms."
Seokjin nods. He's still standing at the entrance to the kitchen, his feet rooted to the floor. He can't make himself move.
"⌠Are you okay?" The younger steps closer, reaching out his hand as if to offer a grounding touch for Seokjin.
The question is absurd.
Of course he's not okay.
He hasn't been okay since the night you didn't show up. Since the night he waited at the gas station, his car running, his phone in his hand, watching the clock tick past midnight, past one, past two. Since the night he drove past your house and saw the lights off, the driveway empty, and told himself you had changed your mind.
He told himself you had decided to stay.
He told himself you had chosen Minho.
He told himself you were happy.
He told himself so many lies, because the truth was too terrible to consider.
"I'm fine," he says, and the lie tastes like ash.
One of the officers tries the bedroom handle and notices something, then turns to the group with a strange expression. "There's a padlock on the door."
Padlock.
Seokjin's stomach drops.
Minho's voice rises from the living room, where another officer is keeping him seated on the couch. "That's for storage. I keep valuables in there. It's got nothing to do with her."
Valuables, sure.
Seokjin thinks of you sleeping in a room you couldn't lock from the inside.
He thinks of you trapped.
He thinks of you lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to footsteps in the hallway, knowing you couldn't keep anyone out.
The officer produces bolt cutters from somewhere, and the lock snaps open with a sound like a bone breaking.
The moment the door gives way, Seokjin steps inside and immediately feels like he's trespassing.
The room is a mess. Clothes are scattered across the floor. The sheets are tangled on the bed. There's an ashtray on the nightstand, overflowing with cigarette butts. The curtains are drawn tight, blocking out the daylight, making the room feel small and suffocating.
And there, on the wall beside the closet, is a crack in the drywall.
Its a shallow concave. A sickening, rounded fracture. But Seokjin's eyes find it immediately, because heâs spent months cataloging the architecture of your absence.
A head-shaped dent.
Someone hit this wall hard enough to damage it.
He turns slowly, his eyes scanning the room, taking in the details he didn't notice at first. The way the lamp is unplugged, its cord coiled neatly. The way the closet door is slightly ajar, revealing darkness inside. The way there's a patch of carpet near the bed that's darker than the rest, like it's been cleaned too many times.
He kneels down.
His fingers touch the carpet.
It's stiff. Crusty. The fibers are matted together, and when he rubs them between his fingers, they flake apart.
Four months before you disappeared.
You showed up at the diner with a bruise on your jaw.
It was smallâfading, actually, yellow-green at the edges, almost invisible in the dim light. But Seokjin saw it. He saw it the moment you walked through the door, the way you held your head slightly turned, the way your hair fell forward to hide the evidence.
He didn't say anything at first.
He waited until you'd ordered your coffee, until you'd made the obligatory small talk, until you'd laughed at something stupid he said. Then he reached across the table and very gently touched your chin, tilting your face toward the light.
"What happened?"
You pulled away. Too fast. "I fell."
"Where?"
"Down the stairs. I'm so clumsy, you know that."
"Sunshine."
The word slipped out before he could stop it. He'd never called you that before, never called anyone that, but in that moment it felt like the only word that existed. "Please don't lie to me."
You stared at him.
For a long moment, he thought you were going to leave. He thought you were going to stand up and walk out and never speak to him again, and he would deserve it, because he'd pushed too hard, because he'd broken the unspoken agreement that allowed you to pretend everything was fine.
But you didn't leave.
You sat there, frozen, your coffee growing cold between your hands, and you whispered:
"He doesn't mean to hurt me."
Seokjin felt a physical weight press down on his lungs, a suffocating grief he couldn't fight off.
"I'm sorry," you said, and the apology shattered whatever composure he had left. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have told you. I shouldn't haveâ"
"No." He reached across the table, took your hand. His thumb traced over your knuckles, feather-light. "No. Don't apologize for telling me the truth. Don't ever apologize for that."
"He says he loves me."
"That's not love."
"He says he can't help it. That I make him angry. That if I just tried harder, if I just did things right, he wouldn'tâ"
"That's not love."
You started crying. Silent tears, sliding down your cheeks, dropping onto the table. You didn't wipe them away. You just sat there, holding his hand, letting him watch you fall apart.
"I don't know what love is anymore," you said.
Seokjin squeezed your hand.
"I'll show you," he said. "If you let me. I'll show you what it's supposed to look like."
"Seokjin."
It's Namjoon's voice now, coming from the doorway. Seokjin doesn't look up.
"There's blood here," he says. A flat, empty murmur.
A long pause.
"We know," Namjoon says quietly. "They found more in the living room."
Seokjin closes his eyes.
He thinks about the way you used to hold his hand, your fingers cold, your grip tight. He thinks about the way you used to laugh, rare and precious, like a gift you didn't know you were giving. He thinks about the way you said his name, soft and careful, like you were afraid of breaking it.
He thinks about all the times he almost told you he loved you.
All the times he almost said it.
It was two months before you disappeared.
Something changed between the both of you.
It happened slowly, then all at onceâthe way summer turns to autumn, the way water boils, the way two people can orbit each other for months and then suddenly collapse into the same gravity.
It happened in his car, on a back road, with the windows down a crack due to the light rainfall and the stereo playing something sad and acoustic. You were lost in your own joyâhe couldn't remember the causeâand he watched you intently, completely overwhelmed by the fact that he had already mapped out everything you were.
The way you drank coffee: three sips, then a pause, then two more, then forgotten.
The way you laughed: head thrown back, hand over your mouth, eyes crinkling at the corners.
The way you tucked your hair behind your ear: left side first, then right, then left again, a ritual repeated so often it had become invisible.
The way you looked at highways: like they were promises you hadn't earned yet.
He loved you.
The realization hit him with the force of something long-denied finally being admitted. He loved you, and it terrified him, because you were not his to love. You belonged to someone else, someone who didn't deserve you, someone who hurt you, and Seokjin had no right to want what he wanted.
But he wanted it anyway.
"I've been thinking about leaving," you said, so quietly he almost didn't hear you. "I've been thinking about it for months. But I don't have anywhere to go. I don't have any money. He checks my phone, he tracks my location, heâ" You paused, voice cracking. "I'm so tired, Jin. I'm so tired of being afraid."
He didn't think. He just moved.
His hand found yours. His fingers laced through yours. And when you looked at him, tears streaming down your face, he pulled you into his arms. You fit against his chest like you'd been made to be there. You buried your face in his shoulder, and you cried, and he held you, and he didn't let go.
"I'll help you," he said into your hair. "Whatever you need. I'll help you get out."
"Why?" The question was so small, so fragile. As if you couldn't understand why anyone would want to save you.
He pulled back, just enough to look at you. Your face was blotchy, your eyes red, your nose running. Yet you were still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"Because you deserve better," he said.
And something in your eyes changed. Something cracked open. Something that had been locked away for so long it had forgotten what light felt like.
"You really believe that?"
"I know it."
He kisses you then.
It was clumsy, desperate. It tasted like salt and the end of something and the beginning of something else. He shifts without thinking, his hand coming up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, his mouth moving against yours like he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment.
You don't ask.
You kiss him back.
And for one perfect, terrible moment, the rain stops mattering. The bruises stop mattering. The fear stops mattering. All that matters is his mouth on yours, his hands in your hair, the way he says your name like a prayer.
When you finally pull apart, you're both shaking.
"I should go," you say.
"Stay."
"I can't."
"Just a little longer."
And so, you did stay. Then, you kissed him again, slower this time, and Seokjin thought that if he died right now, if the world ended in this moment, he would die happy.
You stay until the rain stops, until the sky clears, until the stars come out. You stay until his hand is in yours, until your head is on his shoulder, until you've memorized the sound of his breathing.
The haze of the memories clears as he thinks back at all the times he held back because he was afraid of pushing too fast, of scaring you away, of losing the only good thing in his life.
If he had said it sooner, would you still be here?
If he had found the courage to tell you how he felt, would you have left earlier? Would you have asked him to take you away before that night? Would you have been safe?
"I'm going to kill him," he says, and he doesn't know if he's speaking to Namjoon or to himself or to the ghost of you that still haunts this room.
It wasn't a threat.
It was a statement. A fact. Something that had been true for months, lurking beneath the surface of his grief, waiting for the moment when he would finally admit it out loud.
"No, you're not," Namjoon said. His voice was calm, steady, the voice of someone who had been holding himself together for everyone else's sake. "You're going to find her. You're going to bring her home. And then you're going to let the law do what it does."
"The law let him do this," Seokjin said. "The law didn't believe her. Nobody believed her. She told meâshe told me she tried to get help, and nobody listened."
"Jin-hyung." Hoseok's voice, soft and shaking, from the doorway. "You should see this."
He doesn't want to see anything else, but he stands anyway and he walks out of the bedroom.
The basement stairs are behind a door in the kitchen.
Something Seokjin didn't notice before. The door is painted the same color as the wall, indistinguishable unless you're looking for it, and the handle is hidden behind a stack of old newspapers. But Yoongi notices. Yoongi notices everything.
"There's a basement," he says disquietingly, in the way it makes Seokjin's blood run cold.
It's closed, and Minho is standing in front of it with a look on his face that Seokjin has never seen before.
"You can't go down there," he says. His voice is high, tight, cracking at the edges. "There's nothing down there. It's just storage. I haven't gone down there in years."
"Then you won't mind if we check." Yoongi quips at him with a disdain look in his eyes, pushing him aside and crossing the threshold with the Seokjin and the others following him.
The stairs creak beneath their weight, loose boards shifting with each step, and the air grows cooler and damper and heavier with every foot they descend. The smell hits them firstâsomething metallic, something organic, something that doesn't belong in a basement.
Bleach.
Lots of bleach.
The basement is unfinished. Concrete floors, exposed beams, a single bare bulb casting harsh shadows across the space. There's a workbench against one wall, covered in tools. There's a drain in the center of the floor. There's a tarp folded in the corner, and Seokjin doesn't want to think about why a tarp would be folded in the corner of a basement.
But it's the freezer that stops him.
A chest freezer, the kind people use to store bulk meat, pushed against the far wall. It's unremarkable in every way except one: it's new. New enough that the plastic wrap is still partially attached to the lid. New enough that it looks displaced in this room full of old things.
"Why," Yoongi says slowly, "would someone buy a new freezer and put it in an unfinished basement?"
Seokjin doesn't answer.
He can't.
Because he knows. He knows in the way you know things before you're ready to know them, in the way your body understands danger before your mind catches up, in the way the hair on the back of your neck rises and your stomach drops and every instinct you have screams run even though there's nowhere to go.
He knows.
But he needs to confirm it himself.
It was a week before you disappeared.
You had been quiet all night. Quieter than usual. Seokjin could feel the tension radiating off you, could see the way your hands kept clenching and unclenching in your lap, could hear the way your breath hitched whenever you tried to speak.
"What's wrong?" he asked, for the fifth time.
You shook your head.
"Sunshine. Talk to me."
You turned to face him, and your eyes were lined with unshed tears, and your lip was trembling, and you looked so small and so scared and so desperately tired that Seokjin's heart broke into pieces he would spend the rest of his life trying to put back together.
"Is it wrong," you whispered, "that when I imagine my future, you're in it?"
The words hung in the air between you two, and Seokjin felt like he couldn't breathe.
"Is it wrong," you continued, your voice breaking, "that I think about you all the time? That I wish I had met you first? That I wishâ" You stopped. Pressed your hand to your mouth. "I wish I was yours."
"I wish you were mine too."
The confession came out before he could stop it. Before he could think about the implications, about the consequences, about the fact that you were still with someone else, someone who had hurt you, someone who would destroy you if he knew what was happening in this car right now.
But you didn't look scared.
You looked relieved.
"I have a plan," you said.
He waited.
"Next Friday. He works late on Fridays. He has a meeting that usually goes until at least eleven. I can pack while he's gone, and I can leave before he gets back."
"Where do you wanna go?"
"I don't know. Anywhere. Somewhere far away." You looked at him, and there was hope in your eyesâfragile, tentative hope, like a bird that had learned to be afraid of landing. "Will you come with me?"
The question hit him like a physical blow.
"Yes," he said, without hesitation. "Of course."
You laughed. It was a wet laugh, a little broken, but it was real. "Really?"
"Really. I'll take you anywhere you want to go. We'll find a place. We'll start over."
You reached across the center console and took his hand. Your fingers were cold, but it didn't bother him, instead he gladly warmed them between his own.
"Next Friday," you said. "Midnight. I'll meet you here."
"I'll be waiting."
You were finally leaving.
You were going to be free.
"Seokjin." Yoongi speaks in a low, guarded tone. "There's something in the air. I noticed it when I walked inside, but I couldn't place it until now."
Seokjin looks at him. "What?"
"Rot."
The word hangs between them.
"Rot," Yoongi repeats. "Underneath all the bleach. Underneath the cleaning products and the air freshener and everything he's used to cover it up. There's rot."
Seokjin's eyes drift back to the freezer.
"Don't," Yoongi says, but Seokjin is already walking.
He doesn't know why he's walking toward the freezer. He doesn't know what he expects to find. He only knows that the smell is getting stronger, and his heart is pounding, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice is screaming at him to stop, to turn around, to leave this house and never come back.
But he can't stop.
He reaches the freezer.
He puts his hand on the handle.
The metal is cold beneath his palm. The humming vibrates through his fingers. The smell is everywhere now, thick and sweet and terrible, and Seokjin knows, he knows, but he opens the lid anyway.
The night you disappeared.
Seokjin sat in his car at the gas station on the edge of town, watching the clock on the dashboard tick past midnight.
He had arrived early. Too early, probablyâhe was supposed to meet you at midnight, but he'd been too anxious to stay at home, too excited, too terrified that something would go wrong. So he'd driven to the gas station at eleven-thirty, parked in the corner of the lot, and waited.
He checked his phone.
No messages.
He checked his phone again.
Still nothing.
He told himself not to worry. You were probably just running late. You had to pack, had to make sure you didn't forget anything. These things took time.
He waited.
Twelve-fifteen.
Twelve-thirty.
One o'clock.
He sent you a text: "Everything okay?"
No response.
He sent another: "I'm here. Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."
No response.
At two in the morning, he drove past your house.
Your boyfriend's truck was in the driveway.
Your bedroom light was off.
Seokjin sat in his car across the street, staring at the dark window, and he told himself you had changed your mind. You had gotten scared. You had decided to stay, and you were too ashamed to tell him, and tomorrow you would call and explain and everything would be fine.
He drove home.
He didn't sleep.
Unaware he'd never see you again.
The smell hits him immediatelyânot the smell of expired food, not the smell of forgotten leftovers, but the smell of something that has been dead for a very long time. Something that should have been buried. Something that was never meant to be preserved.
Seokjin's vision goes white at the edges.
He knows what he's seeing, but his brain refuses to process it. Refuses to make sense of the shapes, the colors, the way the light of freezer hits against the skin. He knows, but he doesn't know, and the gap between understanding and acceptance is the longest distance he has ever traveled.
The first thing he notices is the bracelet.
A thin silver chain, delicate, almost invisible against the skin it's wrapped around. The same bracelet he gave you for your birthday, the one with the small charm shaped like a star, the one you promised you would never take off.
"I'll wear it forever," you said, and you kissed his cheek, and you smiled at him like he was the sun.
The bracelet is still on your wrist.
Your wrist, which is attached to your arm, which is deattached to the rest of you, which is folded into the freezer like something that was placed there carefully, deliberately, with the same attention someone might give to packing a suitcase.
You are in pieces, arranged on the shelves like cuts of meat, and your eyes are closed, and your mouth is slightly open, and you look like you're sleeping except for the way your neck ends in a clean line above the collar of your collarbone.
Seokjin screams.
He doesn't realize he's screaming until he feels hands on his shoulders, pulling him back, and he realizes the sound coming out of his throat doesn't sound human. It sounds like an animal caught in a trap. It sounds like something dying.
"Seokjinâ"
He can't hear anything over the sound of his own voice.
He can't see anything except the bracelet.
The star charm glints in the light. The silver catches the reflection of the kitchen, distorting it, warping it into shapes that don't make sense. He stares at the bracelet and remembers the way you laughed when he gave it to you, the way you held his hand and said I'll wear it forever, the way you promised him a future you never got to have.
Forever turned out to be a lot shorter than either of us thought.
He collapses.
His knees hit the floor, and the impact jars through his entire body, and he doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything except the impossible, unbearable fact that you are in that freezer, that you have been in there for months, that he was sitting in his car at a gas station while you were beingâ
While he wasâ
The moment before you disappeared died, you packed a bag.
You had done so the way you had practiced in your mind a hundred times. Folded clothes. Keepsakes. The bracelet he gave you, still warm against your wrist. Your phone, charged and ready, with his last message glowing on the screen: "Midnight. I'll be waiting."
You smiled.
You were going to make it.
You were going to leave this house, this town, this life that had never been yours. You were going to meet him at the gas station, and you were going to get in his car, and you were going to drive until the sun came up, and you were never going to look back.
You then walked past the living room, approaching the front door.
Your hand was on the handle.
But then the door swings open.
Your blood turned to ice.
He was home early.
"Y/N?" He was standing in the doorway, looking at the bag in your hand.
Minho began to understand. "What is this?"
His voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that came before a storm.
"I'm leaving," you said, and your voice was steady, even though your heart was pounding. "I'm not coming back."
He laughed, it was a horrible sound. Hollow. Broken.
"You think you can leave me?" he asked. "You think you can just walk out that door and never come back?"
"Yes."
"After everything I've done for you?"
"You haven't done anything for me." Your voice cracked. "You've hurt me. You've controlled me. You've made me feel like I'm nothing. And I'm done."
His face contorted. "I love you," he said, and the words were wrong, twisted, like he didn't understand what they meant. "I love you, and you're going to leave me?"
"You don't love me."
"I do. I love you so much it makes me sick."
"That's not love."
"Then what is it?" He stepped closer, and you stepped back. "Tell me. Tell me what it is."
"It's possession. It's control. It's fear."
"I'm not afraid of anything."
"You're afraid of losing me."
Miho stopped. And for a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Something that looked like sadness. Like regret.
Then it was gone.
"You're right," he said quietly. "I am afraid of losing you."
"Then let me go."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because if I can't have you, no one can."
He moved faster than you expected.
His hand grabbed your wrist, wrenching you away from the door. The bag fell from your grip, spilling its contents across the floor. You screamed, but his hand was already covering your mouth, muffling the sound.
"Shh," he whispered in your ear. "Shh. It's okay. Everything's going to be okay."
It wasn't okay.
It would never be okay again.
He dragged you back to the bedroom.
He threw you on the bed.
He hit you. Not once. Not twice. Over and over, until your face was a ruin of blood and bruises. Until your ribs cracked. Until you couldn't scream anymore, couldn't cry, couldn't beg.
You tried to fight back.
You scratched his face, kicked his shins, bit his hand when it came near your mouth. You fought like an animal, desperate and wild.
It wasn't enough.
He was stronger.
He was always stronger.
"You were supposed to love me," he sobbed, even as his fists connected with your body. "You were supposed to stay. You promised."
You didn't remember making that promise.
You didn't remember making any promises.
You only remembered Seokjin.
You remembered his hands, gentle and safe. You remembered his voice, soft and warm. You remembered the way he said your name, like it was something precious, something worth protecting.
You remembered the kiss.
The plan.
The promise of a future.
And then⌠You thought of nothing at all.
"Where is the rest?" Yoongi asked cutting through the chaos. "We have the torso. We have the upper limbs. Where is the rest?"
Seokjin looks up.
Minho is standing at the bottom of the staircase, his face white, his hands cuffed behind his back, his eyes fixed on the floor. He looks like a man who has been waiting for this moment for a very long time.
He looks like a man who has been holding his breath, and now that the air is gone, he doesn't know how to breathe.
Your ex-boyfriend doesn't answer.
"I saidâ"
"She was going to leave me." His voice is quiet. Broken. Almost pathetic.
"She was going to leave me," Minho repeats, and when he looks up, his eyes are wet. "She packed her bags. She was going to leave in the middle of the night, like a thief, like I meant nothing to her."
"You killed her."
"I loved her."
"You killed her."
"I loved her, and she was going to leave me, and I couldn'tâ" He pauses, swallowing. "I couldn't let her go."
"What did you do?"
Minho's eyes meet Seokjin's rageful ones.
"She stayed with me," he whispers. "S-she became part of me. I couldn't let her leave twice. So, I-I kept what I loved."
The words sink in slowly.
They sink in like poison, spreading through Seokjin's veins, reaching his heart, stopping it cold.
I kept what I loved.
"What the fuckâŚ" Yoongi says, his tone fracturing completely, taking a step back, while Namjoon has to look away, gripping the wall next to him.
"I'm going to be sick." Jimin forces the words out on a ragged, breathless exhale. Taehyung and Jungkook's faces turn grey as Hoseok starts retching in the corner of the basement.
The freezer is still open. You're still there. Your face, preserved in cold, peaceful and dead and gone.
And the rest of youâ
The rest of youâ
Seokjin's body moves before his mind catches up.
He's on Minho before anyone can stop him. His fist connects with bone. Once. Twice. Three times. He feels cartilage crunch, feels blood spray across his knuckles, feels the sick satisfaction of pain being returned in kind.
"How could you?!" He screamed, and his voice was raw, broken, inhuman. "You fucking monsterâ!"
Hands grabbed him, pulling him away, but he fought them, fought against the arms that wrapped around his chest, fought against the voices that told him to stop, fought against everything except the grief that was consuming him from the inside out.
Namjoon was in his ear, steady and calm. "Jin-hyung, stop. He's not worth it."
"She was going to leave with me," Seokjin sobbed. "She was going to meet me. She was going to be safe."
"I know."
"She was supposed to be safe."
"I know."
"She was supposed to live."
Yoongi didn't answer. Because there was nothing left to say.
You're dead.
You're dead.
Seokjin collapses.
He falls to the floor, and he stays there, and he cries. He cries for you. He cries for the future you almost had. He cries for the kiss that never got to become a lifetime. He cries for the gas station parking lot, where he waited while you were being dismembered. He cries for the bracelet that was supposed to be a promise, that was supposed to be a beginning.
He cries for everything that was taken from you.
From him.
From the world that will never get to know you.
Shortly after, they find the rest of you later.
In the freezer. In containers that were once labeled for soup. In portions that were measured and portioned and saved, like leftovers.
Seokjin doesn't see it. He's outside by then, sitting on the front steps, staring at the overgrown yard.
Seven months.
He searched for seven months.
And you were here the whole time.
In the place you were trying to leave.
The sun is finally setting. The sky is orange and pink and gold, beautiful in a way that feels obscene. How can the sky be beautiful when you're dead? How can the world keep turning when you're gone?
He's holding the bracelet.
The star pendant is warm in his palm, still carrying the cold from the freezer. He curls his fingers around it, pressing it against his chest, trying to feel close to you.
He doesn't.
He just feels empty.
"She was going to leave with me." He doesn't realize he's speaking until the words are out.
"We had a plan. We were going to meet at midnight. I waited for her. I waited for hours." His voice breaks. "I thought she changed her mind. I thought she chose him. I thought-"
He stops, and tears are streaming down his face. "I thought she was happy."
A hand touches his shoulderâTaehyung.
"She loved you," Taehyung murmurs. "She told me once. She said you were the first person who ever made her feel safe."
"Then why didn't she leave sooner?"
"Because she was scared. Because he made her feel like she couldn't. Because sometimes love isn't enough to overcome fear."
Seokjin looks down at the bracelet.
Sunshine. He used to call you that because you smiled like the sun. Bright. Warm. Capable of lighting up the darkest room.
Now the sun has set.
And it's never coming back.
"I'm sorry," he whispers to the necklace, to the memory of you, to the ghost that still haunts this place. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you."
The house creaks behind him, settling into the evening.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, pwp, straight porn, missionary, d/s dynamics, softdom!bucky, sub!reader, slight brat!reader, slight dumbification, oral fixation, sweat/spit/teeth kink (idk maybe lol), the aftercare is fucking again, creampie, bucky has a bush . . .
word count: 1.8k
a/n: this is me trying to get some requests finished :") i have a whole bunch, some of which i accidentally turned into long fics, some i hate the things i wrote and am trying to start again and some im figuring out, but this one came to me when i woke up horny for bucky barnes lol
thank you anon for the request !! <3
masterlist || navigation
The mattress creaks and the frame knocks into the wall, chipping the paint, denting the wood where the two meet.
Forehead to forehead, sweat accumulating with torrid breaths and aching muscles, Bucky's hips caught to yours. Pressing, slamming, holding down as he clenches his glutes and humps, elongating the pleasure, taunting.
But the light chime of his tags kept ringing. They keep batting across your chest, cold and moist, patting your chin and dragging across your skin when you were right there.
It was just as your legs fell open, knees laying up as his dick dragged in and out, and he willed his noises to stay at a minimum, when the tags flittered to the dip of your neck. Your lips parted, sighing, rolling your eyes as it tap tap tap's and sings against your hot skin. You move, careful not to ruin the precision, pressing the chain against his peck, holding them firm to his chest.
At first, Bucky almost sat up, almost paused to ask if you were okay â pushing at his sternum, brows taut and eyes glassy, whining with every breath. Instead he pushed deeper, metal fingers drawing up your body until they held your jaw, squeezing your cheeks, making you look into his eyes.
"What's the matter?" His breath sticks to your face, bumping his nose to yours. "Pushin' me away? C'mon, speak to me."
You can't. That's the problem. It feels like with each pull and push, each pulse around his cock, and every kiss his tip grants your cervix, he drives all linguistic knowledge out of your brain, spilling it from your lips in garbled nonsense and breathy moans.
A whiney hum spills out as you tighten your lips into a line, keeping your jaw firm. You lean back into the pillow, shutting your eyes trying to find any semblance of words, but his hips keep moving. Slower now, yet still as effective, still holding you rigid and perfectly, and tauntingly precise. Rutting the length of himself inside of you while the fuzz of hair that littered the base kept grazing your clit. It isn't until one hand claws at the meat of his shoulder, and the other, the hand that pushed at the chain, leaving tiny dents in it's wake, fisted at the metal.
It clinks as the tags stay dangling from your palm, bumping to and fro.
"Oh, sweetheart," Bucky soothes, the warm metal of his thumb strokes against your bottom lip, slicked with spit and salty with sweat. "We're they botherin' you?"
You nod quickly, leaving a sharp smile on his face, dipping down to leave gentle kisses against your jaw.
"My smart girl," you keen into the praise, leaning deeper into his hand, letting his voice rasp and vibrate into your skin, leaving more room for him to lick and kiss. "Thought you wanted me to stop."
Ardently, you shake your head, ruffling your hair into the pillow behind you.
"No, no stopping. 'M not gonna stop." And he doesn't. His flesh hand replaces your own around the tags and he slots them between his teeth.
Salt and iron cover his tongue, sweat that had dripped from his down body, and your own that had mixed in as it had laid against your own skin, or tapped annoyingly your neck. It makes a dull sound as they sat firmly between his teeth, braced to the side, just where his molars start and his canines dig into the printed letters of his name.
It shouldn't be hot.
The sight of his mouth full, his teeth bared, carrying something precious with an iron grip of his jaw, made your walls pulse. You almost wanted to swap it out, to reach up and take the tags in your own mouth, enveloped in the debauched taste of century old metal, skin and spit.
But its hedonic. You love how he looks. Skin slick, chest heaving, drool already pooling at the edges of the tags, at the corner of his mouth right where his lips met. Animalistic in a way.
"There we go, there we go," his speech muffled, yet still affirmative and firm as he brings back the pace. Making your head drop back and mouth hang open on a gasp, arching your back. The warmth of his palm glides up your torso, leaving goosebumps as he drags up and down, before pulling your leg up by the thigh to latch onto his waist and holding you firmly at the hip. All while holding himself up on his forearm, vibranium fingers holding the top of your head reassuringly, grazing his thumb on your hairline.
He hums, unable to speak with his mouth full, unable to gather the spit about to fall. Your hands claw at the contorting muscles of his shoulder blades, moving to capture his hair between your fingers.
The tug you force has him stuttering, hips pressing to your own, the hair surrounding his base tickles again, right against your nub.
"Ohâfuck," you breathe out, jaw slack and tight all at once, the light feeling of release easing up your back as your thighs begin to tingle and tremble around his torso. "Bucky⌠Bucky, please."
The rivulets of spit drop, coating your neck and chin, and he follows them down until his hot, wet breath finds your temple. His chest caves with each inhale, keeping his hips up, holding down the pace that has you throbbing up his shaft, your nails digging into his shoulder and thighs shaking. He can feel the ring around the root of him, creamy and white, mixed in with the dark patch of hair.
The tags tinkle dully, let go from the cell of his teeth to lay wet next to your neck. You pay no mind to the slurping sound of him gathering spit from his lips; only staying in the blissed out haze of Bucky's body atop of yours and his pretty cock slapping in and out of you.
"C'mon, c'monâŚ" he repeats like a mantra, whispering under his breath, heated on the shell of your ear. "You got it, fuck, you feel so good. Wanna cumâcum inside of you, wanna push it in deep, n'keep fuckin' it in⌠Please, please, pleaseâŚ"
As your nails print crescents into his skin, your mouth holds a jumble of 'yes's to his shoulder. Balm and torrid to the meat of his shoulder, your body locks and a sweet ache begins to release around the stretch of him. Your lips press to his collarbone, muffling the shudders and whines and gasps that release as he fucks you through it, wet slaps and mumbled grunts chorusing together while you jolt and pulse.
It isn't long until he follows through, finishing deep inside, pressing and holding himself as his cock twitches with each spurt of cum. As if awoken from his daze, he keeps his hips moving.
Splatterings of white coat both of your pelvises and thighs, shuddering with overstimulation, muscles limp from overexertion, eyes half lidded and lips parted and red.
Bucky slowed himself as your jerking lessened and your teeth bared to hiss at the mild pain, and his dick softened. He watched, holding himself up with his knuckles to the pillow, guiding the softer limb to stay inside of your full warmth, uncaring about the mess that now coats his fingers â absentmindedly licking them off like candy residue.
Sighs and soft groans alike leave you both as he slips out. Your nails caress his torso, gliding gently up the red marks you printed on his back, down to the sensitive muscles of his ass, making him twitch and press his hips to yours again with a stifled laugh to your jaw.
"Careful, might get hard again before I can clean you up." He kisses and breathes you in, holding you into his body as your fingers hold their gentle rhythm.
You huff a lazy version of a laugh, nosing against the sweet smell of sweat where his neck meets his shoulder.
"Oh no, how awful," You croak sarcastically. The weakness in your voice makes you both laugh fully, rumbling chests pressed against one another, cheeks tight with smiles, and eyes watching with warm fragments. After a short moment of silence, of lungs catching up, you follow down the column of his neck to where his dog tags laid lopsided on your chest, and hummed. "I liked that thing you did."
"'That thing'?" He pressed, smirking, lowering his voice. "I've got many things goin' for me, sweetheart, be specific."
Another laugh breaks, crinkling your eyes at the corners, playfully pushing at his chest.
"That dog tag thing, you know, putting them in your mouth."
"You liked that?"
You nodded, fervently. "Uh-huh. Very much."
His lips move into a soft smile, catching the slick metal cards between his fingers to bring them up.
"That so?" He teases quietly, dragging them across your bottom lip, leaving the dewy residue to sit, sliding them just between the seam of your lips only to jut it out with a pop. "Maybe next time you can hold them for me?"
With your tongue poking out, you get a taste of the flavour that pooled alongside Bucky's own tongue. Musky and sour, tangy with body heat. And with a soft press on your thigh, you know that you're under a limit.
"Next time meaning five minutes?" You prod, tilting your head innocently. "Haven't even gotten cleaned up and it seems like little Sergeant Barnes is reporting for duty."
With a tut, he holds your chin, shaking his head. "Nuh-uh, fuck that and your smart mouth. Open wide, hold tight."
You obey and bite down as he slots the tags between your teeth, tugging at the chain twice to test out your grip. You scrunch your nose and furrow your brows, playfully pulling back at the chain. The grotesque brackishness of the tester you got grips you fully and drips down your throat.
"'Little Sergeant Barnes'," he repeats, sitting up as far as he could to grab ahold on himself. Sticky, wet and just as hard as before. He strokes himself, groaning as he fists tighter at his ruddy tip, coaxing a pearl of precum. Defiantly, he taps his heaviness on your clit. "Keep that up and making sure every inch of you aches with me the next day, understood?"
A giggle bubbles up before you could force it down. He slaps his cock against your clit again, holding and coating it down and between your lips, still creamy and dripping his own release, bullying your button with his tip. Your whine is muffled between your teeth as you bear them down.
"Understood?" He pushes, voice firmer, harsher, and you nod, heart racing, ribs already quivering. The sounds of your joint bodies squelch louder and louder, as your head lays dizzier and dizzier, but his voice whispers so soft and the way he terrorises and hounds your insides brings stars to the corners of your eyes.
summary: it was unrequited love at first sight when you met bucky barnes. having a crush on himâyour roommateâis hard enough, but hearing him fuck through your shared wall? that almost kills you.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, modern au, lots of plot, fluff, angst, sloooow burn, anxious!reader, kinda insecure!reader, reader works at a bar, capâs quartet roommates (romanogers !!), swearing, drinking, weed mentions, idiots in love they just don't know it, oblivious!reader (i love her your honour), yearningggg, jealousy, reader crashes tf outttt, miscommunication, one (1) argument, love confessions, pet names (sweetheart, angel, doll, pretty girl), detailed explicit smut, slight dom!bucky, dirty talk, teasingggg, grinding, munch!bucky, oral (f!receiving), fingering, dacryphilia, pussy pronouns, small inspection kink, praise kink, unprotected pnv (donât do this, friends), missionary, mating press, multiple orgasms, brief sub space, mention of f & m masturbation, happy ending, no use of y/n, reader wears a dress, no physical descriptions of reader, reader's pov, kinda dramatic, briefly proofread, this is not your typical roommate!bucky fic !!
word count: 20.6k (apparently i have this condition where i can't write a short fic)
authors note: i am actually the leader of the 'having debilitating crushes on your roommate' club so... thank you to my gorgeous, stunning, one of a kind beta reader @phoenix-in-writing 𫶠yes, i did use some off campus characters as reader's coworkers - there's no subplot with them, they just suited the vibe đ likes, reblogs, and comments are very much appreciated (and feed my validation kink)
you are responsible for your own media consumption. donât like? donât read
song inspo: crushcrushcrush - paramore & boyfriend - best coast
divider credits: line dividers by @/omi-resources, heart divider by @/strangergraphics
masterlist
Nothing compares to a quiet evening alone
Just the one, two, I was just counting on
That never happens, I guess I'm dreaming again
Let's be more than, more than this
You knew from the moment you stepped into the Brooklyn brownstone that you were royally fucked.Â
Ruffled, sleep mussed, dark brown hair. Slightly squinted, soft, deep blue eyes. A white sleep shirt that loosely clung to the hard ridges of a muscled body. Grey sweatpants that hung dangerously low and showed the shape of him if you stared longer than was appropriate.
And, god, the low, husky voice that you could feel rumble through your body from metres away. The slender, strong, veiny hands that didn't hesitate to grab the box slipping from yours. The pink lips that stretched into an easy smile, pearly white teeth dazzling and rendering you speechless for a minute.
The heat that crawled up your back was instantâyour body reacting to your new roommate before you even knew his name.
Attractive men existed, you knew that. The bar you worked at had handfuls of them come in every night, some that even flashed you a flirty smile with interest in their eyes. But you didn't live with any of themâyou didn't see them when they were half-awake, their rough edges softened by sleep and early morning light.
He introduced himself as James Barnes, but he requested you call him Buckyâ"only my ma calls me James"â, and mentioned he worked as a physiotherapist at the VA.
He was quick to put the box in your new room, running out to the curb to grab the rest of your belongings from the rental van. You stood near the entrance, frozen in shock. Words failed you, your brain failed youâthe only thing you could think about was the shift of his back muscles beneath his shirt as he hauled boxes through the door. It was an intoxicating sight, one you didn't even know would affect you.
You quickly came to learn that the problem was Buckyâeverything he did had an intoxicating effect on you.
The smile he flashed you as he handed you your morning coffee, the wink he tossed your way when he took your side in your weekly movie night debate with Sam, his laughs that you could hear through your shared wall when he gamed with his friends.
His laughter was one of the most intoxicating things about him. There were the low, deep huffs when he was tired. The louder, harsher ones when he was caught by surprise. Then your favouriteâthe long, slightly breathless giggles that crinkled the corner of his eyes and had his nose scrunching. Every time you were blessed with them, you could only think about how cute he looked. It made him even more attractive, and you even more infatuated.
When your friend and roommate said that she was going to move into her partner's apartment once your lease was up, the first thing you felt was dread. You didn't know anyone who was looking for a room, nor did you know anyone who was looking for a roommate. The last thing you wanted was to move in with a strangerâhaving already lived with complete strangers in the past you could not say it was a pleasant experience. Your friendâan absolute angelâwas quick to tell you that a coworker at her law firm was looking for a roommate, and she assured you that Nat would not break into your room and steal your jewellery like your first ever roommate did.
While you weren't exactly ecstatic to move in with four best friends, Nat had quickly won you over when you met for coffee. You sat down feeling like a complete contrast to herâsporting an old sweatshirt over your sweaty work uniform while she was in a creaseless emerald pantsuit. But she made you feel completely at easeâoffering up embarrassing college stories about her and the guys, asking you about yourself and actually seeming interested, talking about the brownstone with so much adoration in her voice you couldn't help but love it already.
You felt awkward living with the close knit friends at firstâshuffling on your feet as the four of them lounged on the couches, pulling at the loose threads on your sweater as you sat and listened to them bicker.
Fortunately, it didn't take long for you to find your place in the group. Sam played a big partâhis teasing and infectious personality making you feel at home within a week. He didn't let you retreat into yourself; he pestered you with a mix of random and personal questionsâ"what extinct animal do you most identify with" followed by "what was your first heartbreak"â, teased you about your cooking (to which he always stole a mouthful), and was just warmâand yeah, slightly chaotic.
Nat and Steve quickly became one of your favourite couples. They weren't heavy on the PDAâunless red wine was involvedâand they balanced each other out perfectly. She was loud, he was quiet. After a few too many on a night out she was ready to start a fight with any asshole who dared to look her way, and he was there to gently steer her away by the shoulders and remind her it wasn't worth ruining her fresh manicure.
Despite having some opposite traits, they were both incredibly kind and comforting peopleâtruly living up to their titles of being the household's mom and dad. Nat was there for you after your gruelling shifts, holding either a glass of wine or mug of hot chocolate. Steve was the one knocking on your door with a bowl of soup and bag of medicine when you had the flu.
And then there was Bucky. He was just as kind, a good middle between Sam's chaotic nature and Steve's quiet one, and he made you feel seen.
Uncomfortably so.
He was the one next to you during social gatherings, gently nudging his shoulder against yours in a silent check in. He was the one suggesting fresh air when your breathing picked up incrementally. He was the one staring at you like he was captivated, sitting forward as you rambled about your niche interests.
Bucky noticed you, paid attention to you, like no one else had in your life.
He remembered what mugs you liked, making sure to use one of them when he made you both coffeeâhe remembered that too, the way you liked your coffee made. He bought you more body wash when you complained about running out but not having time to go to the shop before your shift. He sat next to you as you rewatched your comfort shows for the fifth time, asking questions like he was genuinely interestedâa welcome contrast to Sam's mocking comments.
Each day he was in your life, looking at you like you were worth knowing, was just another day you fell deeper.
And then there were the moments. There weren't many, only a handful, but they were burned into your memory.
The first was when you came back after brunch with old friends, wearing a white sundress that made you feel pretty.
Bucky was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter while eating an apple. You smiled in greeting as you walked in, grabbing a glass to fill with water. You sneaked a side glance at him like you always do when he's in the same room as you, catching his eyes already on youâdrifting from the bottom of your dress up to your chest. You watched his adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallowed.
"That's a nice dress, sweetheart."
Goosebumps erupted across your skin at his low drawl, a warmth spreading in your core from the pet name. He had never called you that before.
He pushed off the counter and walked out of the kitchen, acting like those five words hadn't changed your whole dayâyour whole life.
Where once you thought the dress was pretty, you now saw it as a lifelineâtethering you to the hope that Bucky might just like you back. You found reasons to wear it more often; making an effort to hang out in the common spaces when you came back home wearing it, delaying changing into your comfortable clothes because Bucky wasn't home yet and you wanted him to see it. To see you.
The second moment was when the five of you were at a birthday party for one of Sam's army buddies.
Nat and Steve had left after only being there for half an hourâNat giggling to you on their way out, telling you and the boys to hold off on coming back home for a couple of hours. Sam was in the lounge with a large crowd hanging on to his every word as he retold his war hero storiesâ to which Bucky was quick to throw you a look, raising his hands to mimic being strangled, making you laugh and receive dagger eyes from Sam.
The two of you made your way outside towards the game of beer pong being set up. Bucky was quick to accept their offer to join in and that's how you found yourself standing opposite him, a sticky fold out table between youâthe ping pong ball in your hand shaking, your breath catching as his lips tilted into a smirk. His eyes were as dark as the sky, the moonlight making them twinkle with their own constellationsâstaring straight into yours with a silent challenge, daring you to miss your next shot. His tongue sweeping over his bottom lip stole your attention and your hand faltered, the ball almost dropping out of your grip.
"You got this, sweetheart."
Time slowed down as the ball left your hand, your eyes watching it sail through the crisp night air while Bucky watched you. It dropped to the table with a pathetic, dull tockâinches away from any of the red solo cups. Bucky's smile grew even more lopsided, his eyes gleaming with mirth.
"Better luck next time, angel."
What the fuck was with him calling you these stupid, heart stuttering, knee trembling pet names?
Your beer pong partner was quick to brush off your missed shot, chuckling at your flustered expression and offering to help you with your stance. The game continued with you almost missing every shot, your partner guiding you with hands on your hips in the hopes of you sinking a cup. His arms wrapped around your waist when you made your first successful shot, but it wasn't his attention that had your mind cloudingâyou couldn't even say it was the alcohol flowing through your veins. No, it was the look of pride on Bucky's face that had you freezing, everything else around you fading away until all that remained was shining midnight eyes and curved pink lips.
God, how you wished the arms around your waist were his.
The guys you were playing with retreated inside after the game ended, with your partner telling you to find him before you left, throwing you an easy smile over his shoulder.
Bucky and you lingered in the fresh air, slowly walking towards the backdoor, your bare arm brushing against his denim jacket with every step. Music and laughter trickled out of the open windows, the noise softening in the cool breeze before it reached you. Despite the calm, you felt your body vibrate with a persistent buzzâBucky's close proximity and the beer you downed making it hard to find the line between your feelings and reality.
"You do realise he was flirting with you, right?" Bucky's voice broke the silence. You turned your head to find him already gazing at youâsoft eyes a contradiction to his clenched jaw.
You scoffed, looking at him like he'd grown another head. "What, no he wasn't."
"Uh yeah, he definitely was. The 'let me fix your stance' play is the oldest trick in the book and has a pretty decent success rate." He chuckled softly, shaking his head with an uptick of a smile. "Not with you, though." He paused, giving you a teasing wink. "I'll keep that in mind."
The wink had your body flushing with heat, the words I'll keep that in mind burrowing into your lovesick heart and amplifying the buzzing. Your words stumbled on their way out."Th-there's no way he was flirting with meâhe's way out of my league."
Bucky stopped in his tracks, turning to face you fully with a deep crease between his eyebrows. The gentle breeze swept a strand of hair over his face, your hand twitching with the need to brush it behind his ear.
His voice dropped low, the teasing tone subduing. "What are you on about? Tell me you know that's not true, doll."
You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling exposed and vulnerable under the intimacy of the dark sky. You shivered, not just from the cooling wind caressing your bare arms. You gave a small shrug in response.
Bucky started to take his jacket off, exposing the black t-shirt that hugged his biceps a little too tight for your sanity. "While I don't believe in the whole people being in different leagues thing, I can confidently say you are so far out of his league you're on a whole nother planet."
"âŚAre you saying I'm an alien?"
"If the shoe fits," Bucky responded, a fraction of his seriousness easing into a cheeky smile. He draped his jacket over your shoulders, his thumbs brushing the sides of your neck as he fixed the collarâanother shiver running down your spine from his faint touch. The warm, rich scent of his cologne and him wrapped around you and dragged you underâthe scent that you now associated with home.
Bucky's eyes met yours, the starlit blue swirling with something you couldn't quite decipher. His hands moved from the collar of his jacket to the hem, fingers toying with the rough fabric. "No, what I'm trying to say is that you'reâ" he licked his lips, trying to find the right words. "Any guy would be lucky to have you, but I don't think anyone is deserving of you."
Your brain short-circuited, the haze of rose coloured glasses starting to fall over your eyesâthreatening to distort the Bucky in front of you with the one you stayed up late daydreaming about.
You found a smaller version of your voice. "IâŚI'm not that special, Buck."
He tugged on the hem, the force pulling the jacket tighter around your shoulders. "No? Then why are you the only personâother than Steveâthat I let call me Buck?"
You stared at him, unblinking. You didn't realise other people didn't call him Buckâthe nickname just slipped from your lips so naturally after the first month of living with him.
"One of these days, I'm going to make you see yourself how I do."
He leaned in, brushing the faintest of kisses on your foreheadâthe mere ghost of his lips burning your skin, eliciting a cascade of sparks to run down your body. He stepped back, stuffing his hands in his pockets and tilted his head towards the door.
"Let's get back inside before Sam tells everyone about the time he had to save you from a raccoon."
"He had very sinister looking eyes!" You cried indignantly. "And I was really stonedâremind me to never have one of Nat's brownies ever again."
The third moment happened during your bar's weekly quiz night.
The four of them were in their usual booth for the nightâthe one Sam demanded you reserve for them ever since you mentioned your work had a quiz night on Tuesdays. Nat and Steve were sitting on one side, each nursing a pint of craft beer, with Sam and Bucky sitting opposite themâthe latter half hanging out of the booth with his hand raised in a beckoning gesture, shooting you one of those irresistible half smiles that made the butterflies in your stomach flutter.
You rolled your eyes at him, knowing exactly what he wantedâbut you couldn't stay away from that smile, even if it was starting to get you in trouble at work.
You walked over to them, pocketing your pen and notepad before stopping next to Bucky, your eyebrows raised and arms folded.
"What do you want now?"
"Can I please place an order for the answer to question five?" Bucky held the quiz sheet up to you, pointing at the blank space next to number five like it was a menu. "Oh, and question eight." His smile evolved into a endearing grin, your heart aching traitorously at the sight.
"No."
The smile dropped a fraction, not expecting you to say no to his charm. "C'mon, you're the one here who knows niche pop culture the bestâeven Sam is stumped. I know you know the answers."
You nodded, looking at the sheet in his hand before his puppy dog eyes made you crumble. "You're right, I do. I'm not giving them to you, though."
"I thought I was your favourite." His voice dropped like he was genuinely upset, but his twitching cheeks gave away the smile he was suppressing. Sam scoffed next to him, Nat and Steve exchanged a knowing look. You ignored them.
Bucky put the sheet on the table, patting it softly like he was about to make a deal. "How 'bout thisâI'll make you dinner for a week." He carefully watched your face, trying to find a crack in your resistance. "Two weeks."
You sighed, dropping your arms to your sides. "Bucky, the prize is only a fifty dollar bar tab."
Bucky shook his head. "It's not about the prize, it's about the glory of winning four weeks in a row." He squinted his eyes, tilting his head in the way you knew meant he was thinkingâprobably something stupid, too. "Waitâis there another prize for that?"
You scoffed, tempted to hit him with your notepad. "Yeah, you get put on the no entry list."
Nat and Steve snickered at Bucky's clearly offended face, and you bit your lip to hold back your smileâhe looked too cute, it was tugging at your heart strings.
"Besides," you continued, "you only won them because you cheated."
He raised his hands in mock defence. "Hey, not my fault the pretty waitress was more than willing."
Sam choked on his beer, spluttering a mouthful onto the table. Your eyebrows skyrocketed, heat rushing to your cheeks and ears at his choice of words.
Bucky's cheeks lit up red and he ran a hand through his hair. "Noâwait, I didn'tâthat wasn't what I meant." He nervously chuckled. "What I meant was that you're more than willing to helpâhelp usâŚ" He trailed off, turning and shooting Steve a look.
Some of the tension left your shoulders, along with some of the hope you always carried that Bucky liked you more than a friend. You cleared your throat, your heart rate struggling to slow down after 'pretty waitress'.
"Maybe I've grown a conscience." You looked slightly to your left, your eyes flicking to your manager standing at the end of the bar, narrowing her eyes at you.
Bucky chuckled softly, his confidence back even with his cheeks still glowing. He crossed his arms on the table, leaning towards you. "Are we gettin' you in trouble, sweetheart?"
"There's no we in this, Barnes. It's all you." Nat interjected, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at him. He gave her a dismissive wave, his eyes still looking at you expectantly.
"She said if you win one more time then she's going to put me on the bar for quiz nightsâsomething about testing a theoryâŚ" You admitted quietly. You watched his blue eyes soften, his previous amusement dissipating.
"Well, we can't have that happening." He said, serious. "I would stop coming to quiz night."
"Yeah, right." Sam muttered into his beer.
"You'd be on the no entry list anyways, Buck." You said to Bucky, your tone lilting jokingly.
He tilted his head, the right side of his mouth twitching, his eyes looking like a sky full of secrets.
"You wouldn't do that to me, doll. You like me too much."
Your stomach dropped at his low voice, his words piercing right into the chamber of your heart he had unknowingly etched his name on. A breath got stuck in your throat, your usual witty banter getting lost in the sea of thoughts that only screamed his name.
Like an angel pulling you from a seizing riptide, your managers voice called out your nameâsaving you from saying something stupid, something that exposed how you had gone past the boundary of like six months ago, stepping into a dangerous territory that could tear you apart.
"Duty calls," you laughed out breathlessly, pointing a thumb over your shoulder. You turned on your heels and walked away like you were on fire.
Sam's low mutter made its way to you through the hum of soft pop music and chatter. "Get a room already, for fuck's sake."
Your shoe scuffed on the hardwood floor, your feet almost tripping over each other. You caught your balanceânarrowly avoiding falling and making a fool of yourself in front of the guy you're hopelessly in love with.
You reached your manager waiting at the end of the bar, overcome with the desire to kiss her in gratitude.
"I need you to cover the bar while Dean has a smoke. He'll be ten minutes, tops."
You nodded your okay, used to covering the bar for your coworkers breaks. "Unless a pretty girl walks past, then he'll be at least thirty."
Your manager hummed in agreement. "Remind me to dock his pay for pulling that shit on Saturday. Boy gets enough tips from his flirting to make up for it."
You exchanged a small laugh, walking around her to go behind the bar. She touched your forearm as you passed, stopping you with a gentle touch.
"Word of advice?" She started, voice a little quieter. "Don't screw the crew."
You stared at her with furrowed brows, confused. "What? I would never sleep with Dean, that's justâew, who knows how many untreated diseases he has." You visibly shuddered your disgust at the idea of hooking up with your coworker who was always chasing tail.
She nodded her head in the direction you came from. "They're your roommates, right?" You nodded slowly. "Hon, you look at him like you can't decide whether you want to run in the opposite direction or get on your knees."
Heat rose beneath your skin, your body freezing in mortification. You gaped at her, your mouth opening and closing until you pushed out a forced laugh.
"Whatâyou'reâthat's ridiculous. You should get your eyes checked because that's, like," you laughed nervously, panic starting to burn through your rib cage, "he's likeâŚa brother to me?" You phrased it like a question, your voice rising uncharacteristically high at the end.
She gave you a deadpan look, not buying a lick of your bullshit. Your shoulders dropped in defeat, your teeth starting to tear at your inner cheek.
"Is itâŚam I really that obvious?"
She sighed, her hand on your arm giving a reassuring squeeze. "I've worked with you long enough to know when someone is making you uncomfortable, when you're seconds away from exploding at a condescending customer, or when you want to jump over the bar and climb a guy like a tree." She paused for a second, pursuing her lips in thought. "Funnily enough, they all looked like him."
She let go of your arm, nodding towards the bar. "Now, stop thinking about fucking your roommate and get to work. I'm pretty sure table seven just ordered six espresso martini's." She gave your ass a friendly swat, pushing you behind the bar and making you throw your head back with a startled laugh.
You grabbed the docket from the POS printer, seeing an order for five espresso martini's and one spicy mango margarita. You walked down to the cocktail section, hands moving on autopilot as you prepared the margarita first.
Your eyes flicked up out of habit, your attention drawing towards the booth your roommates had practically scratched their names intoâfinding a pair of piercing blue eyes already gazing at you. The tequila bottle in your hand shook.
Don't screw the crew.
The last moment occurred during a typical movie night, where yours and Sam's raised voices warranted a domestic disturbance call from your neighbours.
"Oh my god, we are not watching Top Gun for the third time this month!" You exclaimed exasperatedly, throwing your head back against the couch with a groan.
Sam scoffed from his spot sprawled on his stupidly large beanbagâthe one you're fairly certain is a dog bed for a Great Dane. "Oh, like your suggestions are any better? You made us sit through a fucking Twilight marathon a couple weeks ago! That's precious time I'll never get back."
You glared at him. "That's bullshit, WilsonâI didn't make you do anything. You chose to sit in that exact same spot and watch all five movies." A mocking smile twitched your lips. "And, if I remember correctly, you were the one asking me to pause the movie while you went to get more snacks."
Sam shook his head adamantly. "No, what's bullshit is your taste in moviesâI only sat through it so you wouldn't feel bad!"
Nat and Steve were cuddled up on the couch perpendicular to you, their eyes darting back and forth between you and Sam like they were watching a tennis match. Bucky was sitting on the other end of the couch you were on, legs spread wide with a soda in one handâhis eyes shooting daggers at Sam.
You let out a harsh laugh. "Oh, really? So you crying when you thought Carlisle was dead was just you not wanting me to feel bad?"
"Yes!" Sam yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. Then he paused, processing what you just said. "Wait, noâthere was no crying! I just acted sad for your benefit."
You opened your mouth to refute his statement when a deep, husky voice rumbled out from next to you.
"Sam," Bucky started, tone low and final, "stop lying, I saw you wiping your eyes." He continued glaring at Sam, his shoulders more tense than they were a minute ago. "Apologise to her so we can move on."
Sam looked at him like he had lost his mind. "Apologise? What the fuck do I have to apologise for?"
Bucky nodded towards you, darkened blue eyes still narrowed at Sam menacingly. "You said her taste in movies was bullshit. Apologise."
You were suddenly speechlessânot sure how your usual movie night bickering with Sam led to Bucky being soâŚcommanding. Protective.
You looked over to the other couch, catching Nat's eyeâher mouth overtaken by a knowing smile. Your eyes darted to Steve next to her, his cheeks tinted pink and eyes squinted as he looked at his best friendâa sly smile partially hidden by the can he brought to his lips.
Sam shook his head with a disbelieving laugh, grabbing the TV remote off the coffee table.
Bucky reached out a long leg, giving Sam's beanbag a firm kick. "Now."
"Jesus," Sam dragged out, "chill out, man." He turned to you with a sigh, brown eyes glinting as he gave you his best puppy dog expression. "I am truly sorry for calling your movie taste bullshit. I will gladly sit through ten Twilight marathons if that's what you want."
He turned to Bucky with a smug grin. "There, I apologised to your girl. You happy now?"
A breath hitched in your throat, your brain freezing and going offline.
Your girl.
Said so easily, so naturally. Like it was a fact and not a mocking taunt.
Goosebumps prickled across your skin, a pleased shiver running through you at the thought of being Bucky's girl.
Bucky glared at Sam, the apples of his cheeks dusting pink. "Very." He said before leaning forward and snatching the remote out of Sam's hand. He turned to you, cheeks still flushed but eyes considerably softer. "What do you want to watch, doll?"
"âŚShrek 2."
Groans erupted from three of your roommates, the fourth keeping his eyes on you while he shook his head with a fond laughâthe one that showed his pearlescent teeth and crinkled his eyes. The one that was your damnation, sentencing you to a life of yearning and false hope.
"It's the soundtrack, right?"
You nodded eagerly, a bright smile making your cheeks ache. "I knew you would get me, Buck."
You faintly heard a fake gagging sound come from the nuisance being swallowed by a beanbag, but you couldn't care less. Not when Bucky was looking at you like you were an astronomical phenomenon.
Condensation beaded glasses stained the wooden tabletop, chewed paper straws slowly disintegrating in melted ice. A half eaten bowl of fries grew stale in the middle of the tableâyour manager's attempt to get some food in her staff while they abused the (prepaid) leftover function alcohol, yourself included. The disco ball was still spinning, sending a thousand shards of light dancing throughout the empty bar, while an ABBA track murmured softly beneath laughter and gossip.
"I'm telling you," Dean said, spreading his arms over the back of the booth, "the ladies can't get enough of me."
The booth packed full of your coworkers vibrated with long groans, someone to your left loudly booing and your manager threatening to throw her gin and tonic in his face. You shoved his arm off the seat behind you, earning yourself a pinch to your cheek as his arm retreated.
"I'm serious!" Dean continued, pulling his phone out of his jean's pocket. "One of them even left a review about me last weekâhold up, I'll get it." He squinted against the glowing light from his screen, bringing up the bar's google page to show everyone.
"Here it isâlast Saturday: bartender was cute, would drink here again. Five stars." He leaned back in the booth with a smug smile, barely reacting when your manager ripped his phone out of his hand.
"Did you see who left the review, dingus?" She asked him, her mocking smirk overpowering his. "I don't know about you, but I don't know any ladies who go by the name James." She waved the phone in his face before going back to reading the review.
Dean recovered quickly, holding his hands up with a shrug. "I'm not opposed to having male admirersâthey're some of my biggest tips."
You snorted a laugh. "Oh, I bet they are."
The table dissolved into laughter around you, the liquor and line cook's joint lowering everyone's inhibitions.
Your manager looked up from the phone at you, her eyes lighting up. "Weren't you also working on the bar last Saturday?"
You took a sip of your drink, lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug. "I think so? Was that the night we had two bachelorette parties come in?"
"Yeah, we ran out of cold brew because of them." Dean said. "I set a new record for how many numbers I could get in one night."
You rolled your eyes, choosing to ignore him like everyone else at the table. "Yeah, I was definitely on the barâmy arms are still aching from shaking espresso martini's all night."
Your manager leaned forward, her glassy eyes glinting at you teasingly. "I think this review is about you," she said in a sing-song tone.
You couldn't help but feel a little giddy at someone leaving you a review calling you cute, even if they were most likely stumbling drunk.
Allieâyour fellow waitress who was sitting on the other side of Deanâgrabbed the phone and read the review herself, scrolling on the screen with her eyes growing wider until a delighted gasp left her.
She looked at you with a beaming smile. "This James guy has been leaving reviews about you for months."
"What?"
She nodded eagerly, a small squeal leaving her. "This is so good, nothing this exciting ever happens here!" She was almost bouncing in her seat as she looked back at the phone, her excitement shaking the booth. "Okay, this one is from Valentines Day: waitress's frown is cute, I still should've bought her flowers." She fell back against the booth seat, clutching the phone to her chest with a dreamy sigh.
Your heart stuttered, the tipsy fog in your head clouding further. "That'sâit doesn't say my nameâŚ" you trailed off with a nervous laugh. "It could be about any of the waitresses."
Your manager snorted. "We called you sourpuss the whole shift, you wouldn't stop frowning."
Before you could start your rant about how Valentine's Day is just another highly commercialised holiday and people shouldn't need a specific day of the year to celebrate love, Allie started reading out another review.
"This one is from four months ago: come to this bar if you want to see a real-life angel."
Dean groaned, "that's so fucking cheesy." He turned to look at you, "I hope you're not falling for this shit."
"We don't even know if it's about me!"
"I think it's cute," the new waitress piped in from the other end of the booth. "You've got a secret admirer."
"More like a stalker." One of the line cooks mumbled.
"Oh," Allie gasped, "this man has it bad. These are borderline love confessions." She reached past Dean, handing you his phone with the review page still open.
You hesitantly grabbed the phone from her, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. There's no way some guy was leaving these reviews about youâŚright? That just seems insane, like something out of a romcom. Or something that will end with a restraining order and you moving states away.
The phone faintly trembled in your unsteady hands, your eyes narrowing against the screen's bright glare.
James B.
â â â â â a month ago
Wars were started over smiles less beautiful than hers.
Oh.
That's maybe the most romantic thing anyone has ever said about you.
You don't know if it's about you.
You exhaled shakily, shrugging nonchalantly as you handed the phone back to Dean. "He could be talking about any of the waitresses." You repeated your earlier statement. And then for good measureâ"It's hardly a complimentâwars are started over literally anything."
Allie looked at you with wide eyes, bringing her hands up and shaking them in a strangling motion.
"Do you know anyone called James?" Your manager probed, clearly invested.
"No." You answered, ignoring the dull, tingling sensation at the back of your head. "No one significant."
"Well, even if he does turn out to be a stalker, at least he boosted our ratings."
Over the next few weeks, your coworkers had made it their personal mission to find out the identity of James B. Your manager had the brilliant idea to set up a weekly bar tab giveawayâfor people to be in the draw they just needed to put their business card in a jar on the bar. What your customers didn't know was that every Friday after close, Allie and Dean were emptying the jar not to find a lucky winner but to look for any cards with the name James B.
It turned out there were a few more James B.'s than they were expecting, and there were no other parameters to narrow down their search. And much to their chagrin, you didn't recognise any of their names.
"Wait!" Dean exclaimed, holding a finger in the air. "Why don't we just reply to one of his reviews?"
"Oh," Allie said, leaning forward in her chair, "that's actually kind of smart. Maybe we could say we have a thank you gift for our number one fan?"
"Or we could just ask who he is."
Something about that made you uneasy.
After the night you all first discovered the reviews, Allie had drawn up a timeline of them which revealed this James guy had been leaving reviews for a year. And while they never mentioned your name, everyone knew they were about youâbut you didn't want to believe that; it felt absolutely insane.
Majority of the reviews were brief and mundane, similar to the first one Dean saw. But a few of themâŚthey read like poetry, like the pages out of someone's journal. They mentioned your smile, how your laugh could cure any ailment, that being in your presence was like witnessing a supernova.
It was beautiful and terrifying.
And every day it was looking more like a stalker than someone you knewâyou didn't want to give him attention in fear that it could evolve from something harmless to dangerous.
"Already tried that," your manager sighed next to you. "He didn't reply."
Something in the atmosphere felt off when you shouldered the brownstone's front door open with a heavy sigh. It was well past midnight on a Saturday, and the soft murmuring you would usually hear coming from the loungeâSam had a habit of passing out in front of the TV on Saturday night'sâwas nonexistent. You didn't think much of it, your mind single-focused on needing a scolding hot shower to wash away the ten hour bar shift.
Your work uniform was drenched and sticking to you uncomfortably, a crust of sugary cocktails and beer lining your skin. It had been one disaster after anotherâthe beer keg soaking you as you tried to tap it, the cocktail shaker exploding in your hands, the new waitress who failed to call out "behind" and you ended up covered in a customers chili cheese fries.
You welcomed the boiling water, scrubbing your skin until it was red and raw. Visible steam swirled from your body even after you retreated into your room, and only then did some of the tension ease from your shoulders. Your fatigue ran bone deepâit felt like you were dragging your feet through mud as you slowly started your nighttime routine.
A noise cut through the eerily silent night, soft and faint, but an unmistakable echo from the room next to yours. It made you pause, your eyebrows drawing together. Then more noise followed, three breathy high pitched moans that the wall separating your rooms failed to drown out. A hot realisation curdled your stomach, rising through your body until it settled in your chest and throatâa tight, unrelenting fist clenching and making it harder to breathe.
Bucky had company.
Your ears zeroed in on the noises against your wishes. The last thing you wanted was to hear the guy you had a debilitating crush on fuck someone else. And yet, you stood frozenâyour towel still wrapped around you, water dripping onto the floor, heart trying to beat out of your chest. Your nervous system had entered fight or flight mode, triggered by the sounds of another woman's pleasure.
Sweat started to line your back, your hands trembling where they were clutching the towel, chest stuttering as your breaths turned sharp and quick.
The moans grew in volume and soft thuds reverberated against the wallâthen, a faint low murmuring graced your ears. A deep voice you would recognise anywhere, that you had heard through the wall plenty of times during your one year living there.
You snapped out of your shock, ripping open your work bag to find your headphones. Your phone shook in your hands as you searched for 'calming' playlists, your thumb jabbing violently at the first result. You turned the volume up loud enough to vibrate your eardrums, but the damage was already done.
You paced the length of your room, clenching and unclenching your fists in an effort to calm downâto will your racing heartbeat to slow, to tamp down the spiralling thoughts that made you feel like you were drowning.
You got ready for bed in a blur, trying to stay as quiet as possible with your heart beating wildly in your throat. The exhaustion that had your bones aching after your shift was lingering, but had been overwhelmed by the adrenaline surging through your veins. You laid in your bed, trying to concentrate on your breathing.
Inhale. One, two, three, four.
Hold. One, twoâ
It didn't sound like she was faking it.
The breath rushed out of you quickly.
You squeezed your eyes shut tight, clenching your fists and trying to focus on the sensation.
Inhale. One, two, threeâ
Bucky's bed is pressed up against your shared wall.
You grabbed the pillow next to you and pressed it against your face, something between a pained whimper and frustrated groan leaving your throat.
Did he like to talk? Was he whispering dirty things in her ear, telling her how good she felt, how much he wanted her? Did she get to hear him moan and whimper?
The music in your ears had become irritating, overstimulating you even more. But there was no way in hell you were taking your headphones offâyour heart was already broken enough.
Did he call her sweetheart, too?
You slept for two hours, maybe three if you were being generous. The exhaustion won out against the anxiety around two am, only for you to jerk awake two hours later when the same noises echoed through the wall. At some point in the night your headphones had slipped off and you were defenceless against the noises your body had already filed as a threat.
Your nervous system reacted as if you were being hunted down by a lion, not overhearing your roommate-slash-crush have sex. It was a horrible way to wake upâyour body pumping full of adrenaline and cortisol before you even took a deep breath.
The headphones went back on a second too lateâleaving a scratched record of giggles looping through your head that the music couldn't drown out. One giggle that you knew well, that had you beaming with pride whenever you coaxed it out of him.
A silent tear slid down towards your ear, disappearing into your hairline as you stared at the ceiling.
Hours passed before it felt safe for you take the headphones off, and even then anxiety gripped your chest whenever you thought about leaving your room. Everything that had once felt safe, had once felt like your solace, now felt like a prison.
You knew you were being dramatic, knew that your jealousy and hurt was unreasonable. Bucky wasn't yours, he would never be yoursâyou knew that, you'd always known that. But that's the thing with crushesâthey are irrational, uncontrollable beasts that mistake kindness for attraction, that disguise inevitable heartbreak as fluttering butterflies.
Opening your bedroom door slowly, you saw the flash of a towel dart into Bucky's roomâtwo faint sets of giggles sounding behind the closed door, slicing into your aching heart. Heat burst behind your eyes and you willed the tears to stay at bayâat least until the shower could drown out your sobs.
You sat on the floor of the shower, staring at the wall while hot water rained down on you, each drop feeling like a knife piercing your skin. You sat there, unblinking, as your vision blurredâthe water washing away your endless tears. You sat there as the shower stream changed from a burning fire to an icy bite, your body shivering but unmoving.
Nat's banging on the door about rising water prices snapped you out of your dissociative daze.
"Bucky! Oh, fuckâdon't stop, pleaseâ"
"Yeah? You like that?"
"Yesâgod, so much!"
"You feel so good, baby."
Thump, thump, thump.
You had taken your headphones off for half a minute while getting changed. All it took was thirty seconds for tears to swell in your eyes and a silent scream to claw at your throat.
It had been four weeks since you first heard them. Four weeks of knowing your crush was fucking someone else less than three metres from your bed. Four weeks of debilitating anxiety and heartache consuming you until there was nothing left to take.
You knew their routine; she came over every Wednesday and Saturday, always after ten pm. Depending on your roster for the week, sometimes you were home when she came overâsubjected to hearing Bucky's low baritone greet her at the door, their footsteps padding down the hall past your room, the soft click of his door closing and the giggles that followed.
You fucking hated giggles.
By the end of the second week, you had put in a request to work the closing shift every Wednesday and Saturday. The tightness in your chest and churning in your stomach never faded, but you took some comfort in knowing you would only be in the same house as her for a few hours. You hadn't met herâyou didn't even know her nameâbut you were envious of a faceless woman, a voice you heard in the dark, because she had the one thing you wanted but could never have.
No one brought her upâthere were no casual chats between the boys, no probing questions from Nat. Apart from the first time, she was out of the house by six amânarrowly avoiding Sam and Steve leaving for their morning run. You weren't even sure they knew she existedânot until Nat gave you a sympathetic smile over a glass of wine, confirming that they did in fact know without uttering a word.
The usual nights the five of you spent together continued as normal. Or, at least as normal as you could manage. The space between you and Bucky grewâhe stopped trying to charm quiz answers out of you, and you hugged the arm of the couch like it was a life preserver during movie night. The soft conversations over morning coffee ceased to exist, the nights of you two reading together in the lounge just a hazy memory.
The distance made your heart yearn for him while his proximity made your nervous system overload. It was a push and pull that sucked the life out of you, exhausting you until you were a shell of who you used to be.
When Sam asked you what your first heartbreak was you instantly thought of Liam Turner from the sixth grade. He was the classic class clown that both charmed and annoyed all the girls in your grade. He sat next to you during History and English, always pestering you for help and trying to make you his partner in crime. You did what any smitten eleven year old girl would doâyou handed him a note. It was simple, you didn't even write your nameâjust "do you like me" with tick boxes for yes and no. You handed it to him before recess and watched with bated breath as he ran to his group of friends, watched as all of them turned to you and fell into hysterics. You crashed into your mom's arms once you got home from school, sobs wracking your body as you felt like you were going to die from the crushing sensation in your chest.
What you felt that day wasn't even a drop in the agony that consumed you when you walked into the lounge for movie night.
"You're late!" Nat yelled, her voice travelling down the hall as you rushed through the front door.
"I know, I know," you yelled back, heading for your room and changing out of your work clothes in record time. You made your way towards the lounge once in comfy clothes. "The health inspector would not stop asking me questions, no matter how many times I told him I'm not theâ"
Your feet and words came to a halt once you reached the doorway to the lounge, your heart dropping to the floor and shattering into a million pieces.
Because there she wasâsitting in your usual spot with her feet resting on Bucky's lap, one of his hands engulfing her ankles.
She was beautiful. And the complete opposite to you in every way possible. From the texture and colour of her hair to the shape of her body. From the clothing and jewellery she wore to the colour of her eyes.
The two of you weren't even comparableâyou were from completely different planets, different universes.
It hit like a sucker punch. You weren't his type, not even close.
You're a fucking fool.
She smiled brightly at you, the white of her teeth glaring. You faintly heard her great you through the ringing in your ears, offering you her name. You managed a meek hi in response, dragging your wide eyes away from her over to the other couch.
Big mistake.
Nat and Steve were already looking at you with pity in their eyes, a silent "are you okay?" written all over their faces. Nat scooted closer to Steve, tilting her head towards the small open spot next to her on the couch. You knew the second you sat next to them that her comforting presence would wrap around you and tear away the last of your fraying composure. So, you did something you had never done before.
"Move it, bird brain." You muttered to Sam, squatting down next to his beanbag and shoving his shoulder to make room for you.
"You ever tried not being bossy?" He grumbled in reply, shuffling to the right so you could collapse down next to him.
Normally you would respond with something just as snarky. But that required mental energy that you did not possessâenergy that was being drained with each passing second she sat behind you.
You settled into the beanbag, the rustling of polystyrene beads filling the quiet room. You tried to take calming breaths as subtly as possible, the blood from your broken heart clogging your throat and lungs.
You hummed, keeping your eyes glued to the TV screen as Steve navigated through the streaming app.
Sam stiffened next to you, turning to you with a peculiar look on his face. "What? You got nothing to say to that?"
You sighed. "Every white guy's number one film on letterboxd. Try being less predictable next time, Rogers." You said in a flat monotone.
A deep, breathy chuckle sounded behind you, and it took all of your diminishing willpower to not turn and get a glimpse of the soft smile that haunted your dreams.
You tried your best to focus on the movie, you really did. You tried to focus on the press of Sam's shoulder against yours, something tangible to keep you grounded. But nothing could distract you from the soft murmuring behind you, the sound of her giggles as Bucky provided commentary throughout the movie. It was something that you normally didn't mind, something you indulged in, even. Not tonight. Thirty minutes into the movie, your eye had developed a constant twitch from suppressing the urge to turn around and tell them to shut the fuck up.
At one point Sam's hand had fallen over both of yours, stopping you from picking at your bleeding hangnails. You didn't even notice the sting from the exposed woundsâtoo preoccupied with gnawing on the inside of your cheeks.
You walked into your shift the next day with another request.
You clocked into your shift on Tuesday afternoon with a sinking pit in your stomach. A feeling that you had become accustomed to over the last couple months, a feeling that had you walking the scenic route home at night, delaying your arrival. It was the feeling that you had started associating with home, along with the ache in your chest.
You loved quiz nightâyou loved seeing what stupid team names people came up with, loved judging them when they got such an obvious answer wrong. Once upon a time, you had loved seeing Bucky's handsome face sitting in your section, waving you over with an up to no good smile stretching his lips. Now, it all felt like a taunt.
Nothing was out of the ordinaryâthe opening shift said it had been quiet as usual, there had been a couple bookings from newcomers for quiz night, and the tabby cat that wandered the block came in to say hi.
And then, she walked in. Strolling in behind Nat and Steve, her arm looped through one of Bucky's, flashing you a kind smile as they made their way to their usual booth. In your section.
You wanted to scream. Cry. Jump into the East River.
The bar had become your safe placeâwhich honestly sounded crazy, you hated half of the customers. But your home hadn't felt like your home since she walked through the door. And now she was in the one place that hadn't been tarnished.
She was nice, you knew she was. But she was a constant reminder that your heart belonged to a man who never looked at you twice.
You rushed over to Allie who was standing at the bar waiting for Dean to finish garnishing cocktails.
"I need you to swap sections with meâplease." You said in a frantic breath.
She turned to you, her face already telling you her answer. "Hell no! I've got two tables of big tipper'sâI am not giving that away."
Dean leaned his elbows on the bar. "I'll swap with you."
Your head whipped to him at a comical speed, your wide eyes meeting his unbothered grin. "âŚBut you hate working the floor."
He nodded towards one of your tablesâone of the newcomer bookings, a booth full of girls in their early twenties. A few of them were already looking over at your trioâmore specifically, looking at Dean. You turned back in time to see him flash them a wink.
Your chest deflated with a relieved breath. "This is the only time I am ever going to be grateful for you being such a dog."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It wasn't." You and Allie said at the same time, matching deadpan expressions on your faces.
Allie turned to you, squinting suspiciously. "Why do you want to swap?"
You shrugged, looking at her forehead to avoid eye contact. "Just felt like a change."
"You said pleaseâpretty desperately, too. It was kinda hot." Dean piped in.
You glared at him, choosing not to acknowledge his comment. You turned back to Allie looking at you expectantly. "Variety is the spice of life?"
She hummed disbelievingly. "Mhm, sure. We'll talk later."
Working the bar brought you no reprieve; every time you walked to the cocktail station, they were in your direct eyeline. Every time you poured a cosmo, shook a lemon drop, garnished a mojito, you could hear them laughing. You watched how she fit in like the missing puzzle piece, her body slotting perfectly under Bucky's armâlike that's where she belonged. You watched your roommates welcome her in with open arms and crying laughter, the realisation hitting you that she replaced the temporary hole your absence had opened.
Your knees were shaking while you closed up the bar, your hands scrubbing the beer grates with an urgency that was cause for concern.
"Hey, hey, woah that'sâ" Dean came up next to you, his hands gently clasping your wrists. "That's enough," he said, uncharacteristically gentle, "your hands are bleeding." He brought your hands up, your unfocused eyes seeing spots of red raised on your knuckles.
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh. What's up with you today?"
Dean led you away from the bar, grabbing a first aid kit on your way over to where your manager and Allie were sitting, working through the next week's orders. He pushed you into a chair, stepping back with an awkward pat to your head.
"I'm sensing that this is a girl talk so I'm just gonna finish closing the bar."
The two women turned to you with concern painting their faces. Allie glanced down at your hands and opened the first aid kit, pulling out supplies to treat the cuts. Neither of them spoke while she tended to your hands, watching your face closely.
"These aren't too bad, just scrapes." She said softly, packing the kit back up and sitting it out of the way. She clasped your hands lightly, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hands. "What's going on, sweetie?"
You looked up from where you had been staring at the table, seeing her eyes and your manager's shining with worry. A silent tear slipped from your eye, leaving a damp path in it's wake.
"Whose kneecaps are we busting?" Your manager demanded.
That broke you.
Your shoulders started shaking, your throat closing in on itself in the form of a sob. Your heart escaped from your chest cavity, rising up like bile. Your vision was completely blurred, hot tears taking your eyes hostage. You caved in on yourself, wrapping your arms around your body as your frame trembled like a leaf.
You couldn't even feel embarrassed about bawling like a baby in front of your coworkers, the pain you had been sheltering for months overruling any other emotion. Allie wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into her warmth and making you cry harder. Your manager placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, her thumb rubbing calming patterns as they both whispered words of comfort to you.
You gasped for breath, trying to get some air past the ball in your throat. "I-It's soâ" your words broke with a hiccup, "it's so fucking stupid." You rushed out. "We were neverâugh!" You wiped at your cheeks furiously, willing the tears to stop. You gulped down a deep breath, trying to focus on the comforting touches and not the agony vibrating every cell in your body.
"We were never anything. God, I'm sobbing over a guy thatâhe was only being nice, and I made it into something it wasn't." You garbled out, the brine of tears lining your lips.
You opened up to them, telling them about how deeply you fell for Bucky in between sobs. How you felt like a goddamn fool, your lovesick heart reading into things and mistaking your strictly platonic relationship as something else entirely. You told them how you hate going home most nights, finding it harder to breathe the closer you got to the brownstone. You admitted to them that it's not just jealousy over him with another girl, it's something deeperâthe fear that you've been replaced, that he doesn't need you anymore.
"âŚmy sleep is fucked, I'm on high alert every second I'm homeâI don't feel safe in my own home. WhichâI know, it sounds so fucking dramatic. But it's like she's seeped into every crack, changing the foundations I built over a year ago. Now she's turning up hereâon fucking quiz night, my nightâand I just can't escape." You finished with a deep breath, feeling drained from your emotional monologue.
Allie, who had kept her arms wrapped around you throughout your rambling, lifted her head and looked at you with a mix of understanding and sympathy. "That's why you wanted to swap sections, because she was here." You nodded meekly.
She sighed and sat back in her chair. "Give me a couple days to clear out my spare room. You need it more than I need a second closet."
Before you could start sobbing over her offer a muscular arm reached in front of you, depositing a vodka cranberry onto the table.
Dean's voice rumbled behind you. "If it makes you feel any better, I've wanted to sleep with you since my first shift."
"Dean," both women next to you hissed. You turned to look at him, catching that easy-going smile of his and you started laughingâthe first genuine one in weeks.
Thursday 6:18pm
Nat: Hey, you working late tonight? The boys are getting restless, Sam is threatening to watch Top Gun if you're not home in 10âŚ
You: shit i forgot to tell you i'm working thursday nights now! sam can watch whatever mediocre garbage he wants :-)
Nat: We can change movie night to another night! Maybe Sunday? Whatever works for you x
You: don't worry about it, thursdays work for everyone else!
Nat: Is everything ok? I feel like I hardly see you anymore :(
You: aw i'm sorry natty :-( just been picking more shifts up at work - boss has me training the newbies! promise we'll have a wine night soon xx
"I'm moving out."
It was the Sunday after that fateful quiz night, the sun beating down on your four roommates as they laid out in the backyard. Sam was going on about some barbeque he had been invited toâtelling the other three that if they behaved he would let them join him. Nat's head was resting on Steve's chest, half asleep while he massaged her scalp. Bucky was lying with a hand behind his head, shirtless, and reading his well-loved copy of The Fellowship of the Ring.
Allie had sent you a photo of her spare room an hour before, a bottle of Tito's sitting on the floor the only thing in the empty room. You couldn't put off telling your roommates any longer, knowing that once you moved out you would start feeling like a human again. You stood in the doorway, arms tight across your bodyâfearing for their reactions.
Sam stopped talking abruptly, Nat jolted awake and sat up from Steve's chest, Bucky slowly lowered his book to his chest. Nat was the first to speak.
"What?" She asked softly.
You started to shuffle your feet, looking around the backyardâat the fairy lights that flickered like dying stars, the small veggie patch Steve cared for like it was his childâavoiding eye contact with them. "You remember Allie from the bar? We've gotten really close these past few months and she was looking for a roommateâkinda felt like a no-brainer, y'know?"
You finally looked at them, your heart beat rattling your jaw. Sam looked speechless, his face frozen in confusion. Nat was looking at you with that assessing gaze, her eyes squinting like she knew something else was going on. Steve nodded his head solemnly, his features pulled into a frown that looked out of place on him. Bucky had abandoned his book completely, sitting upright with his pretty lips downturned, his sunglasses hiding whatever emotions swam in his cerulean depths.
"I can sort out getting the room filledâcan probably pay double rent if necessaryâ"
"I'll handle it." Bucky cut you off, his tone gruff and curt.
You wrung your hands together, hating being under the spotlight of your roommate's attention. "Are you sure? It's a bit late notice so it might be hard toâ"
That same curtness cut you off again,"I said I'll handle it, didn't I?"
He probably wanted his girlfriend to move in.
Your three other roommates momentarily directed their bewildered stares to him, just as surprised as you at his bluntness. Just like Steve frowning, this was out of character for him. You could feel his eyes glaring holes into you through his sunglasses.
Nat shook her head at his attitude, turning her attention back to you. "I didn't know you wanted to move out."
Okay, time for the liesâjust like you practiced in the mirror.
"It's not about wanting to move out," you started softly, "it's just something that naturally unfolded. Her landlord upped her rent last month and she can't afford it on her own anymore." Steve and Sam nodded along, while Nat was looking at you with that unwavering stare. You didn't even want to glance at Bucky. "She jokingly asked me over drinks a couple weeks ago if I was looking and after thinking on it, I think it's the best choice for me. It's closer to work, cheaper than what I currently pay and, as I said, we've become really good friends."
Nat continued squinting her eyes at you, watching as you fidgeted with your fingersâyour tell that you would rather be anywhere else.
"Okay," she acquiesced. "When are you moving? We'll throw a little goodbye party."
"Great idea," Sam mumbled.
"Sometime in the next week." Everyone's eyebrows shot up at that. "And that's not necessaryâI'd prefer it if you didn't do anything; it's not like I'm leaving the city, I'll only be a few blocks away."
Steve recovered from the brief shock at how soon you were leaving them. "Let us know what day and time, we'll help you move your stuff."
"I appreciate the help, really I do, but my coworkers have already offeredâwe have Dean to do all the heavy lifting."
That made Bucky stir, standing up with a scoff and arms folded across his chest. "Did you think about us at all? Sounds like you can't wait to get away from here."
You froze, the ice running through your veins equal to the frost in his tone. "That's notâI didn't want to bother youâ"
"How can you think you bother us after all this time?" He asked, the frost melting into waterârevealing something that trembled close to desperation.
"Bucky," Nat warned.
"I just don't understand," He snapped, shaking his head and walking towards where you were stuck in the doorway. He paused in front of you, his sun slicked chest making your heart gallop. You kept your eyes on his chinâlocking on the clef still visible through heavy stubble, resisting the desire to glance at his naked chest, or worse, look into his eyes. "Mind letting me through?" He muttered lowly, his frame now blocking you from the sun. You ducked your head, pressing your back to the doorframe to give him space.
"Buckâ"
"Not now, Steve." He bit out, your body absorbing the heat radiating from him as he brushed past you. You stood still, head tilted to the floor until you heard his door slam closed.
"Well, that wasâŚ" Steve started, his uneasy chuckle filling the heavy atmosphere.
The shock of his attitude left you dazed. You expected some blow back from Natâshe could read you like her favourite book, knowing the emotions you held within yourself better than you did. You expectedâhoped, reallyâthat they might be a little down about your departure, but Bucky acting like this wasn't even in your realm of possibility.
"What was that about?" You muttered to yourself.
Sam stood up with a huff, grabbing a beer from the cooler near the table. "Fucking idiots, the pair of you."
You timed the move for the following Wednesday, not wanting to risk another night of hearing what you had labelled your own personal torture. You had been working nights since Sunday, avoiding any interactions with your roommates. The vibe in the brownstone felt off, the air tasting stale even when you were the only one home. Nat had been texting you for updates, apologising for Bucky's strange behaviour, and assuring you your friendship with her wouldn't slip away after you were gone. Sam continued to send you memesâhe had an affinity for the gradient instagram reelsâand Steve saved you the best strawberries from his garden, hiding them in the fridge for you.
Bucky was radio silent.
Tuesday 5:36pm
Nat: Just spoke to Allie - apparently you're not working quiz night anymore?? What's going on?
You: we thought the new waitress should work it for a bit! good experience :-)
Nat: You should come join us then! We would be unstoppable with you on our team xx
You: maybe another time? don't want the other teams to think you have an unfair advantage lol
Nat: Fuck what they think. We miss you! Movie night was not the same without you last week :(
A month passed before you saw Bucky again.
You had been texting Nat on and off, feeling an awful reluctance to seeing her. It had nothing to do with Nat and everything to do with you continuing to avoid the problemâyour feelings. Because you still thought about him, religiously so. You hated yourself for itâhated your brain conjuring up scenarios of him and her, replaying the happiness that glowed on his face the couple of times you saw them together.
Your sleep had improved, at least. There was no anxiety constricting your chest when you walked home, no fear for what you might hear through the walls. Allie encouraged you to cry it out on the bathroom floor, over tubs of ice cream on the couch. While it was horrible to address and to actually feel the heartbreak instead of intellectualising it, you had to admit you did feel lighter. It was a weight off your chest for someone else to know your secret, to let you speak about the pain and not forcing you to move on.
Your manager was quick to approve your request to work the day shiftsâasking if you wanted to get your managers license, to be her dependable day shift manager. You were elated to have something else to focus on, and the pay rise wasn't bad either. Working the days also meant you weren't there in case your old roommate's called in for a drink on their way home from work.
But you knew your luck was going to run out some day soon.
It was on a quintessential late summer eveningâthe kind where the sun was low enough to shine through the tree canopy, casting the ground in a scene of dancing light and shadows. Gravel crunched beneath your shoes as you ambled through Prospect Park, listening to the harmony of kids laughter, dogs barking, and a busker playing guitar. Walking through the park lengthened your journey home by twenty minutes, but on a day like this it was hard to resist.
You heard him before you saw him, too lost in appreciating the world around you to notice him strolling towards you on his trek home. He called out your name softly, hesitantly. And you would recognise that husky baritone even if you were locked in a soundproof pool drowning underwater.
Your gaze ripped away from watching a pair of swans glide along the shimmering lake, your heart jumping into your throat as you saw Bucky a few metres in front of you. He was wearing his gym clothes, the black compression top clinging to his chest with light patches of sweat. His hair was tied back in a small bun, a few strands stuck to his dewy forehead and your fingers twitched to brush them back. Soft sapphire eyes roamed the valleys of your face, his shoulders dropping with an almost relieved sigh.
You hated how your body heated under his watchful gaze in an instantâhated that he still had control over you and he didn't even know it.
"Hey," he said quietly, a small smile tugging his lips. He hesitated for a moment, doubt flickering across his face before he shook his head and stepped closer, lifting an arm and placing his hand between your shoulder blades to pull you into his embrace.
A startled gasp escaped you at the contact, blood pulsing in your ears as his warmth enveloped you. His other arm wrapped around your waist, his hand resting on the small of your back to pull you in closer. Your traitorous body relaxed in his hold, the heady scent of sandalwood, spice, and his sweat clouding your mind.
Fuck him for always smelling so irresistible.
"Hi." You murmured, muffled by his shirt. You kept your arms at your sides, knowing that if you felt his body beneath your hands you would backtrack all the progress you had made over the past month. You could already feel yourself slippingâcomparing being in his arms again to lying in front of the fireplace while rain pelted the windows and thunder clapped outside. The feeling of being warm and safe despite a raging storm.
He rested his chin on your head, his chest expanding underneath your cheek as he inhaled deeply. The hand between your shoulders flexed, pushing you further into him. His chest rumbled below you and you felt his words more than heard them. "Missed you."
You stepped back quickly, stumbling out of his embrace. His brows pinched together and his lips turned down with a frown. He took a small step back and cleared his throat, a muscle flexing in his jaw as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.
"Iâuhâhow, how have you been?"
You folded your arms across you chest, focusing on the light freckle on his neck. "I've been okay."
"That's good, great. Iâwe've missed you." His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard and his voice dropped lower, softer . "Place isn't the same without you."
You had to leave before you did something foolishâbefore you dropped to your knees and pleaded for an ounce of his affection.
You cleared your throat, trying to rid the sudden emotion clogging it. "How have you been? How's the new roommate?"
Bucky's eyes flicked away from you, a hand leaving his pocket to rub the back of his neck. "Fineâthey're fine." Splotches of red coloured his cheeks. "They don't compare to you, though."
What the fuck did that mean?
"Umâokay, well, that's good? I shouldâ"
"Listen," Bucky interrupted you before you could flee from the increasingly awkward encounter. He stepped closer, his eyes locked on the gravel lining the earth. "IâI want to apologise for my behaviour, when you told us you were leaving." He looked up at you, remorse and distress bleeding from him so viscerally you could almost grab it. "I was in shock, I thinkâit doesn't really matter, I'm not trying to excuse it. I just wanted you to know that I really am sorry and you didn't deserve that." He closed the distance between you more, hands raising towards you before they dropped to his sides. "Iâum, I would hate for that to be the reason you haven't come 'roundâif you felt uncomfortable because of me."
It was resting on the tip of your tongue, the truth. It was begging to spill out, to tell Bucky that you were uncomfortable because of him but not for the reason he believed. You could handle a little attitudeâwhat you couldn't handle was hearing the guy you're in love with treat another woman the way you had fantasised about since the day you met him.
Grateful for the fact you had been getting enough sleep to keep a grasp on your filter, you accepted his olive branch instead of starting a confessional. "Thank you, Bucky." You looked into his eyes, trying to express your sincereness. "I appreciate it, really."
Hope flared bright across his face. "So, wanna join us next Thursday? Your pickâI'll tell Sam to keep his comments to himself."
Guilt curdled your gut. "Thank you for the offer, but I can't make it, sorry. I already have plans."
If sitting in front of the TV watching New Girl and doomscrolling on your phone constituted as plans.
And just like that, the flame was extinguished. "Oh."
You interrupted before he could say more. "It was good seeing you, Bucky, but I have to get going." You stepped around him to continue home, giving him a small wave goodbye before focusing forwardâwalking brisker than the tranquil evening called for, your shoulders too tense for the serene landscape.
"Bye," he murmured, the sound drifting towards you with the light breeze.
You kept your head straight forward the rest of the walk home.
You expected the text from Nat the next day, knowing that Bucky would've told your former roommates that he ran into you. She demanded you meet for brunch at your earliest convenience, and given that it was Saturday and you had no plans you couldn't deny her any longer.
You were sitting on the couch putting on your shoes when Allie burst through the front door, her hands full of bags from the morning market and mouth stuffed with cake from the pâtisserie around the corner.
"Oh my god," you heard her mumble around frosting and sponge. "Guess what I just found out."
"Apparently not what decent manners are. Swallow before you talk."
A mop of floppy blonde hair appeared in your doorway. "That's what he said."
You rolled your eyes as Dean sauntered in with a wolfish grin, closing the door behind him. "What the hell are you doing here?" You shot wide eyes at Allie, wordlessly demanding an explanation.
She took your advice and swallowed before speaking again. "I ran into him at the marketâhe has an update on James B!"
A mix of anticipation and dread made your morning coffee stir. "I thought he stopped leaving reviews?"
Dean collapsed next to you, eyeing the dress you were wearing with approval. "You dress up for me, angel?"
You shoved his shoulder. "Not in a million years. What's the update, dumbass?"
He pulled his phone out with a sigh. "He left a review last nightâdon't look at me like that, I set up notifications for this very reason." He tapped on his phone before handing it to you, the screen displaying the latest review.
James B.
â â â â â 13 hours ago
Quiz night isn't the same without her. Nothing is.
Your heart rate picked up, sweat gathering at the back of your knees.
What the fuck?
"But last night wasn't quiz night?" Was the only thing your dumbfounded mind could vocalise.
"I mean, yeah, but you're missing the point!" Allie interjected, standing behind the couch and leaning her head down to read the review. "Now we know he's a quiz night regular! That narrows the search pool down so much."
"Ooo, what if it's one of the old dockmen?" Dean giddily queried.
"They do normally sit in your sectionâor, well, what used to be your section." Allie supplied, wandering back to your kitchen to put away whatever trendy new chutney she bought from the market.
Your eyes followed her, catching sight of the clock hanging on the wall. "ShitâI'm going to be late." You jumped off the couch, frantically grabbing your phone and shoulder bag. "We can theorise more later, Nat is going to murder me for being late."
"Bye, honey!" Dean yelled as you ran out the doorâstopping for a second to throw him the middle finger.
Nat was sitting at a table towards the back of the cafe, her crimson hair a stark contrast to the soft pastel interior. The atmosphere was buzzing and livelyâevery table occupied, with laughter and heavenly aromas wafting out the open door. It was the go to brunch spot for Brooklyn natives, it's covered outdoor courtyard an enticing location on a warm summer's morningâyou were surprised Nat even managed to score a table.
Her face lit up once she saw you, standing to welcome you with a hug. "One more minute and I would've thought you were ghosting me."
You hugged her just as tight, the smell of her perfume relaxing your shoulders and making your heart clenchâyou shouldn't have gone this long without seeing her. "God, I know, I'm sorry. Allie came home with gossip before I could make my escape."
You both pulled away and sat down, reading the menu like you hadn't looked at it online on your walk over.
"Gossip? Anything interesting?" Nat asked, wiggling her eyebrows.
You let out a deep sigh. "It's a long story. One that's better told over a bottle of wine."
"Okay, now I am beyond intriguedâyou better not leave me hanging for another month." She shot you a small glare, the smile on her face lessening it's sharpness.
The waitress came over and took your orders before the two of you fell into easy conversation. She updated you on what trouble the boysâSamâhad gotten into, and you told her about the time you and Allie were locked out in your pyjamas and tried to scale the fire escape. Neither of you broached the subject of why you moved out, but it was lingering in the airâin the soft way Nat said Bucky's name. Throughout the hour you spent chatting you noticed she didn't mention their new roommate once, and the curiosity was making you restless.
"So, how's the new roommate, really? Bucky didn't say much about them."
An out of place nervous hesitation tightened Nat's face, her eyes darting between yours as she bit her lip. After a tense few seconds her shoulders dropped with a sigh.
"Honey, there is no new roommate."
You reared back, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What? But Bucky said yesterdayâhe said they were fine."
"Of course he did," she muttered under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. She looked at you with a huff. "The room is empty. BuckyâŚhe's been paying for it."
"What?" You nearly exclaimed, your body temperature rising.
"Look, I don't know why he didn't tell you the truthâI honestly don't know what goes on in his mind, he has made some terrible choices the last few months." She placed a gentle hand on top of yours, her tone softening. "Choices that had you leaving us."
"I don't understand." You muttered quietly.
"I probably shouldn't be the one to tell you this, butâSteve and him were drinking after work last week and he admitted he's paying for the roomâsaving it in case you want to come back."
Shock rendered you speechlessâfrustration climbing up from your gut, opening the partially healed scars seared into your heart. Confusion, irritation, and heartache swirled together until they formed one emotionâanger.
Your hands balled into fists, your clenched teeth making your jaw ache. "I'm sorry, what?" You bit out.
You barely noticed the smirk twitching her lips, red starting to blur your vision. "Sam and Steve are out fishing todayâhe's home alone if you want to go bite his head off."
You didn't need to be told twice, the red-hot fury bringing you to your feet quickly. You grabbed your stuff with urgency, your hands already starting to shake.
"Brunch is my shoutâgo knock some sense into him."
It took you less than ten minutes to reach the brownstone, outrage powering your legs with a speed you didn't know you were capable of. The fresh air did nothing to calm you downâyou were too consumed by the memories from the past year, the heartache you endured, your utter confusion at Nat's revelation.
Your fist pounded on the wooden door, not stopping until it swung open to reveal a puzzled Bucky.
His eyes widened at the sight of you, pink lips stretching into a knee trembling smile. Your dress caught his attention, his smile freezing as blue eyes trailed down and back up your body.
He cleared his throat before speaking. "What are you doin' here, doll?"
"Don't fucking call me that," you seethed, pushing him out of your way to storm inside. You barged down the familiar path to your old room, ignoring Bucky as he called out your name behind you.
You opened the door to find the room exactly how you left itâempty. You whipped around to see Bucky standing a few feet behind you, looking down at the ground with a hand rubbing his neck and a fire overtaking his cheeks.
"Why the fuck are you paying for an empty room? No, better yet, why did you lie to me about it?" You loudly demanded, just shy of shouting.
He stumbled over his words, looking up to see you with your eyebrows raised, arms folded across your chest, hip jutted outâthe perfect picture of barely contained rage.
"Well, Iâyou see, it'sâ" he dragged a hand through his hair, blowing out a breath. "It's complicated?"
"Yeah, no shit. You were so pissy about me movingâit makes no sense! Just tell me the truth for once, Bucky!" Your voice raised higher, your hands flying around as the confusion and aggravation took hold of you.
Bucky's own frustration started to seep through, the volume of his voice a notch below yours. "I was upset because you were leavingâand you didn't seem to care about us, just running straight to Dean for help!"
He was upset? He had no fucking right to be upset.
Hot, frustrated tears flooded your eyes without your permission. "I left because of you, Bucky! No one else, just you." You stepped toward him, pushing a finger into his ridiculously sturdy chest. "And I didn't run to Dean! He offered to help after he watched me have a fucking breakdown over you."
His glistening eyes stared into yours, his eyebrows drawn upwards in distress. "âŚWhat?"
A crack had fractured the dam keeping you contained, your pent up thoughts and feelings crashing through and destroying the concrete barrier.
"Every fucking day I came home feeling like my worldâmy heartâwas being torn apartâ" your voice cracked and you turned around, starting to pace the length of your old room. "And I know, I fucking know, it's not your faultâthat my delusional mind and hopeless romantic heart are to blame for reading into things that weren't there, for creating a fantasy of youâof us."
You wiped away your flowing tears, sniffling as you tried to catch your breath. "But now, you expect me to, whatâfeel bad for leaving? I was barely human." You let out a wet, humourless laugh.
"What are you talking about?!" He demanded desperately, his face shining with frustration and something akin to hope.
"I'm talking about the goddamn walls, Bucky! I don't know if you know but they're pretty fucking thin! And every Wednesday and Saturday night I heard you and herâI heard the guy I was obsessed with fucking somebody else and it killed me."
"I only started seeing her to get you out of my head!" Both his hands found their way to his hair, tugging the dark strands in frustration. "And maybe I wanted to make you jealousâwhich I know is a terribleâ"
You closed the distance between you in two quick strides, reaching out to shove his chest. "Jealous? You wanted to make me jealous?!" You seethed out, your fists hitting his chest as your vision blurred. "Are you blind?! Everyone could see how infatuated I was with you." Your hits lost their strength, your cheeks growing even more wet.
"Hey," Bucky whispered softly, his hands gently encircling your wrists and his thumbs rubbing tender patterns on your radial pulse. "Breathe for me."
"No," you stubbornly whispered back, despite your panting breaths slowing to match his. You drew in staggering breaths, finally noticing how hard your heart was beatingâyour body shaking with every thump. Your fists unfurled, your palms resting flat on his broad chestâthe fast pounding of his heart a near match to yours.
He let go of your wrists, his hands cupping your face delicately. He wiped your tears away with such care it made your heart ache. Your vision cleared enough to focus on his face, seeing his eyes shining with their own tears.
"I think we're both a bit blind, sweetheart. Everyone can see how smitten I am with you." He rested his forehead against yours, the space around you two growing charged in the aftermath of your anger. "Sam gives me shit about it every day." His breathy laugh ghosted your lips, leaving tingles in it's wake. His voice dropped low, "I'm so fucking in love with you I was leaving reviews about you like someâlike a hopeless sap, hoping you would realise it was me."
His confession of love flew over your head, incredulity controlling your mind. "That was you?!" You gasped, pushing his chest lightly. "I thought I had a stalker, you idiot."
The memory of the night you and Allie read all the reviews ran through your head, remembering the disturbingly romantic details written; remembering the reviews you secretly reread like a guilty pleasure, going to sleep with a giddy smile and fluttering butterflies because someone was noticing you.
"That's all you took from that?" He shook his head minutely, one of his hands brushing down your back to cradle your waist. "I'm trying to tell you I'm in love with you here."
You stepped out of his embrace, your mind still picking through all the small details. "Butâthe first review was, likeâ" you started to pace again, your hands resting atop your head. "It was well over a year ago!" Your voice raised again, recalling how horrible you felt only a month agoâthe heartbreak you could've avoided. "Why did you never say anything?!"
"Because I was scared!" His voice raised to meet yours. "I didn't want to ruin things and lose you forever!"
"Yeah, well look at how that turned out!" You gestured wildly to the empty room.
"Why are we shouting again?" Bucky walked towards you, reaching for your hands. You were both breathing heavily, the sound of your pants echoing in the emptiness as your chests heaved up and down.
"Because I'm mad at you." You finally met his eyes, the blue bleeding with regret and sorrow. Your voice dropped lower, timidness starting to creep in. "YouâŚyou broke my heart, Buck."
He gripped your hands tighter, raising one to rest on his chestâright above his heart. "I am going to spend every day until I die trying to make it up to you." His remorse polluted the air around you, tears welling in your eyes once againâthis time from the pain clouding his. "If you'll let me."
"That's a bit dramatic," you mumbled, sniffling lightly. "Until you're fifty is fine."
He laughed, wet and husky. He let go of your hands to cup your face again, smoothing his thumbs along your cheekbones. Your breath hitched at the touch, the pain in your system being diluted by the drug that is Bucky.
He leaned in closer, his eyes darting between yours and your lips. "I'm gonna kiss you now, okay?"
You managed a small nod before his lips were on yoursâdesperate and aching, stealing the breath from your lungs. One of his hands shifted to the back of your neck, tilting your head to kiss you deeper. Your hands found his chest again, fisting his shirt and causing a groan to sound in the back of his throat. He took control of the kiss with no complaint from youâhappily letting him suck your bottom lip before nipping it, opening for him when his tongue grazed your lips.
The first touch of his tongue against yours had fire scorching down your body, the intensity of his kisses settling in your gut and awakening the need you've had for him for over a year.
The annoying human need for air had you pulling away from his lips, gasping as you tried to catch your breath. His stubble scratched your skin as he trailed kisses along your jaw, tilting your head to reach the sensitive spot below your ear. He gave it a soft experimental kiss, his tongue darting out and drawing a small whine from you.
His chest rumbled beneath your hands. "You talk about the walls being thinâtrust me, I know." He stepped forward, his fingers dancing down your sides to grasp your hips, backing you into the wall. "I know you like to beg, what pretty sounds you make when you're about to come." He trailed his nose back along your jaw and down the other side of your neck, nestling into the crook and sniffing deeply with a small moan.
"Wh-what? I haven'tâI never brought anyone home." You stuttered out, head starting to feel heavy from the lust fogging it.
"No, but you still have needs, don't you?" He let out a small chuckle, trailing feather-light kisses along your collarbone. "You thought you were alone, thought it didn't matter how loud you let yourself be." He pulled back, bringing a hand up to brush his fingers along your cheek, making their way down your neck. Onyx eyes met yoursâa shiver racing down your spine at the barely contained hunger in them. "I came home with a migraine and you were so wrapped up in pleasure you didn't even hear meâbut I heard you. And shit, doll, the noises you made cured my migraine faster than any pain meds ever have." He dropped his forehead to yours, his breath fanning your lips. "I had to fuck my fist three times that night. I replayed every little whimper, moan, every gasp of please until it drove me insane."
A gasp escaped you at his admission, heat rolling through your bodyâa mix of embarrassment and hunger swirling in your core.
"And then, like it was the universe's sole purpose to bring me to my knees, you walked in the next day wearing this dress." His fingers drifted to the neckline of your dress, toying with it as your breasts moved rapidly beneath. "Looking like a fucking angel sent here to torture me. Like sin wrapped in white lace. I had to leave before I dropped to my knees and begged for a tasteâto let me worship you."
Your heart was trying to beat out of your chest, the throbbing in your core escalating with every word he murmured into your lips.
"You kept on wearing it, and I had to pretend like I wasn't replaying those sounds every time I saw youâlike my dick wasn't rock hard at just a glimpse of this fucking dress." The hand on your neckline travelled down to the line of lace below your breastsâhis thumb stroking along it making your breath stutter and nipples harden. "I had to do something, I felt like I was going insane. I started seeing her to get you out of my headâdidn't fucking work now, did it?"
The mention of her cut through the Bucky induced haze, and you hesitatedâneeding clarification before you could let him consume you.
"Are you still seeing her?" You whispered.
"Fuck no, we were strictly casual. I broke it off the day you left."
Your head reared back an inch, hitting the wall lightly. "You know that doesn't make me feel better, right? That you only wanted to sleep with her because I was in the next room."
Both his hands gripped your waist, squeezing gently. "Okay, thatâthat wasn't what I was trying to get at." He lifted his head to stare into your eyes. "What I meant was that you leaving really showed how much of an idiot I'd been, wasting my time with her when you were right next door."
"Why didn't you reach out, then?"
He shrugged, his eyes darting away nervously. "I didn't think I had a right to. I wasn't exactly proud of how I acted the last time we spoke."
You saw Bucky almost every day for over a yearâyou knew he didn't get outwardly nervous often, and you knew when he was being vulnerable and honest. The Bucky in front of you wasn't lyingâyou could tell he was genuinely worried he'd messed everything up.
You relented with a sigh, lacing your hands around his neck. "I think it's time you start making it up to me."
"Gladly," he said before pulling you into him and kissing you deeply. He pressed his hips against yours, pushing you harder into the wall. You gasped at the feeling of his bulge against your stomach, your core trembling and aching in anticipation.
The pace of the kiss picked up, Bucky's tongue licking into your mouth with a deep moan. His grip on your hips tightened and he spun you around, walking you backwards towards his room without removing his mouth from yours.
He kicked the door shut behind him, leading you towards his bed with his hands drifting down to squeeze your ass. You broke away with a moan, your lips swollen and chin tender from his stubble.
"Sit down for me, sweetheart." Bucky rasped out. You quickly obligedâyour need for him making you ready to do anything he said.
He kneeled on the floor in front of you, slowly taking your shoes off. His hands trailed up your bare legs, stopping when they reached the hem of your dress.
He pressed a soft kiss to your knee. "You gonna let me make you feel good?" He mumbled into your skin.
You nodded rapidly, your hands clenching his sheets in desperation.
He clicked his tongue. "I need words, angel."
"Yes, Buckyâplease. Please touch me," you gasped out, the sight of him on his knees robbing your intelligence.
His mouth tilted into a smirk, his eyes gleaming. "There you go with that begging again."
He clasped your knees, spreading your legs open. His breath tickled the sensitive skin on your inner thighs, goosebumps erupting and surging up to your core. He pressed light kisses along one thigh, stopping when he got to your dress and switching to the other.
You could feel slick leaking out of your cunt, your clit pulsing from the lack of attention.
"Buck, stop teasing, please." You whined softly, lifting a hand to push the hair away from his eyes. He nuzzled into your hand, turning to press a kiss into your palm. Your hand vibrated as he hummed low.
He grasped the hem of your dress, lifting it slowly up to your hips. "Lean back f'me."
You leaned back on your elbows, your body trembling with need as his hands scorched paths up your thighs.
He let out a low groan once your dress was up past your hipsârevealing your soaked panties to him. His eyes locked onto them, his pupils dilating until only a sliver of blue remained.
"All this from a little kissing?" He brushed a thumb along the wet patch, grazing your clit. Your head fell back with a loud gasp, your hips twitching towards his touch.
"Sensitive," he mumbled. His hand moved, tracing the edge of your pantiesâyou were sure he could feel the heartbeat pulsing in your core. "How long has it been?"
You lifted your head up, looking into his dark eyesâthe desire in them reflecting your own. "Since before Iâ"
You cut yourself off with a soft moan, your body jerking as Bucky pressed his thumb to your clit through your underwearâcircling it with a steady pressure.
"What was that?" He asked smugly.
Your chest heaved as you tried to wade through the sensations buzzing through you. "Since before I moved in," you rushed out quickly, another moan escaping you at the feeling of his touch directly on your pussyâhis hand slipping underneath the wet fabric.
"Fuck," he breathed out through clenched teeth. He grabbed the waistband of your panties and pulled them down your legs quickly. He groaned out looking at your exposed cunt, and you tried to close your legs on instinct.
He gripped your thighs to stop them from closing. "None of that," he growled out lowly. "Let me look at her."
His hands trailed up your thighs until they reached your bare hips, yanking you closer to the edge of the bed. You fell onto your back softly, your breath shaking from the impact.
He pulled your lips apart and moaned loudly. "She's fucking dripping, sweetheart."
You clenched at his words, his teasing leaving you aching and squirming. He chuckled and pressed a soft kiss millimetres away from where you needed him most. He breathed you in deeply making your hips buck up with a needy whine.
"Bucky, please."
He dragged a single finger from entrance to clit, pulling it back with a string of your arousal connecting the two of you. You sighed at the small touch, opening your eyes to see Bucky suck the tip of his finger.
He groaned at your taste, hands grabbing the back of your thighs to push your legs back and spread you wider.
"Gonna make her feel so good, pretty girl." He slurred out, his lips trailing a path of fire up to your core. "Be a good girl and make those noises for me again."
He dove in, licking the same path as his finger. His groan vibrated through you and your hands flew to his hair, gripping the strands as you gasped.
"Taste so fucking good," he mumbled before latching onto your clit. He sucked gently, circling the nub with his tongue. You rewarded him with a tug to his hair and a shaky moan.
He picked up the pace, moaning as he went from tasting you to devouring. He thrusted his tongue into you, lapping up everything he could. The room filled with the lewd sounds of your slick and his saliva coating your pussyâwith your unabashed moans and gasps bouncing off the walls.
He pulled away from you, his chin and beard glistening. "That's it, pretty. Being such a good girl." You whined at the praise, using your hold on his hair to push his face back into you.
Your hips rocked against his face, the flame in your core growing fast. He moved an arm to your hips, holding them down to keep you still. He sucked your clit harshly, your back arching at the pleasure he was unleashing on you. You gasped out his name as your orgasm built rapidly.
"Fuck, Buckyâright there! Please, I'm gonnaâ" you cut off with a loud moan, your body jolting from him lightly biting your clit. Stars started to dot your vision as he continued to feast on you like a starved manâlike you were his first sip of water after wandering the desert.
The knot in your core clenched tight before it unravelled, Bucky's groans vibrating through you pushing you over the edge. You came with a cry, your hands yanking his hair hard. A blissful fire spread throughout you, making your toes curl and head float.
Bucky drank up your release, prolonging your high until you were shaking and trying to push his head away. He relented, moving back to kiss and nip your inner thighs. Your heavy panting filled the room, your pussy twitching as you came down.
You propped yourself up on weak elbows, your droopy eyes meeting his glazed, pussy drunk ones.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered reverently. He moved back in closer, his breath fanning your cunt making you clench around nothing. "Another one."
He slowly licked at your hole, leaving your overstimulated clit throbbing painfully. Your arms gave out, a whimper crawling up your throat. You brought a hand up to your chest, squeezing a breast over your dressâtrying to relieve the ache in them.
"Fuck, look at you," Bucky cooed, pulling away from you to stand up. "As much as I love this dress, I think you'll look even more beautiful without it."
You nodded, sitting up slightly so he could pull it over your head. Your eyes were level with his crotch, seeing the large bulge tenting his pantsâyour mouth salivating already. Once your dress was off you reached a hand out, palming his hard dick over his pants. You gasped at the heavy feel of him, your walls clenching at the thought of him stretching you open.
His head rolled back with a moan, a hand catching your wrist to stop your movements. "Not right now." You let out a displeased whine and his mouth twitched with a smirk. "Later, promise. Lay back down so I can worship you."
He grasped the back of his shirt and pulled it over his head, leaving you to gape at his insane torso. You had seen it before but you always adverted your eyes quickly, scared of getting caught staring. Now, you could stare and touch all you wanted.
You leaned up to run a hand over his bare chest, his body scorching beneath your skin. You trailed a finger down the hard ridges lining his body, a thrill running through you as his muscles rippled and breath stuttered. Your mouth found his pecks, lathering them in wet kisses while your hand teased the waistband of his pants. He grasped your chin, jerking your head up to look at him. His jaw was tense and eyebrows furrowed, a slight darkness shadowing his face.
He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. "What did I just say, sweetheart?" He mumbled, his tone laced with warning.
Before you could reply, his hands grasped your waist and pushed you up the bed until your head met his pillow. He crawled on top of you, kissing your neck.
"Thought you were gonna be a good girl." He mumbled, biting the spot below your ear and making you gasp. He pulled on one of your bra straps, letting it snap back onto your skin. You gasped louder at the small stinging sensation, the slight pain dousing your core in gasoline.
"Please, I amâI will be. M'sorry." You whimpered out, tilting your head back as he continued his assault on your neck.
He hummed in response, sucking on your pulse point before trailing lowerâhis stubble scraping the top of your breasts. He reached a hand behind your back, unclasping your bra with ease before pulling the straps down your arms slowly.
Your nipples hardened more once exposed to the cool air, begging for Bucky's attention. He lavished your breasts in kisses, covering every inch of skin with his spit. One of your hands clutched onto his bicep while the other wound into his hair again. He continued to avoid your nipples and you squirmed underneath him, trying to move his head to where you wanted him.
He relented, licking a nipple before sucking it into his mouth. You moaned from the relief and the zaps of pleasure racing down your torso. He pinched your abandoned nipple, rolling it between his thumb and finger as he bit down on the other one. You arched off the bed with a loud whine, the pain and pleasure morphing into one. He switched nipples, dolling out the same sweet torture with moans lodged in his throat.
Once both your nipples were raw and aching he kissed down your abdomen, hands clutching your hips as his mouth worshipped your stomach. You giggled at his beard tickling your sensitive skin and he lifted his head, his blown out eyes meeting yours with a softâalmost unbelievingâsmile.
"You're breathtaking," he whispered. "And you're all mine, yeah?"
"Yes, Buck. Only yours."
He hummed in approval, pressing a light kiss to your hip. "Good. 'Cause I'm yours, angel. I'm sorry it took so long for me to say."
He moved back down to where you were dripping onto his sheets, your body wound tight from your first orgasm and his teasing. He licked into you without hesitation, drawing out loud noises from you as he sucked your sensitive clit.
"You're so wetâwanna live between these thighs, doll."
A hand left your hip to poke at your entrance, one finger sliding in easily before your walls squeezed at the intrusion. He pumped it in and out slowly until you were begging for more. A second slipped in, both of them curling upwards and grazing the spot that had you arching off the bed with a sound you'd never made before.
He lifted his head up, praising you for how good you were beingâtelling you how pretty you sounded. His mouth descended on your clit again and his fingers picked up their pace.
Your head rolled around on his pillow, the dual stimulation to your pussy making a heat rush through you like you'd never experienced with anyone else. You could feel how he was paying attention to you, altering his movements to gauge what sounds he could pull out of youâgetting to know what you liked.
The ball tightened faster than the first time, your body edging on being overstimulated. Both your hands were fisting the sheets, your hips grinding against Bucky's face and fucking his fingersâthe obscene squelch of your pussy soaking his hand mixing with your moans and gasps.
"Let me comeâplease. Been s'good for you, Buckâ"
You know you didn't need his permission to come, but begging and submitting to him felt so good. Your own words pulled the coil in your core tighterâhis resounding moan shaking through you telling you how much they affected him too.
A third finger joined in and you clenched down hard, the stretch almost throwing you off the cliff. They curled into your spot over and over, his other hand moving to push down on your lower stomachâcausing something between a moan and squeal to leave you.
"Course you can come for me, sweetheart. I want nothing more than this sweet pussy drenching me."
With one last curl of his fingers and suck to your clit, your body started to shake, the ball bursting and sending waves crashing through you. Your eyes rolled back and your ears started ringing, deaf to the borderline animalistic noises you were letting out. You clamped down on his fingers hard, your juices gushing out and coating his handâdripping and staining his sheets.
Your head was up in the clouds, cotton filling the space your brain used to be. You briefly registered his mouth leaving your overstimulated and raw nub, his fingers still moving slowly as you floated through your high. Small, gentle kisses across your cheeks, nose, and eyelids had you giggling breathlessly. Your body felt heavy, your eyelids struggling to open.
"You doin' okay?" Bucky whispered into your temple, peppering more light kisses to your forehead. You hummed softly.
"Need'a minute," you slurred out.
His fingers slowed and then left you, a whine slipping past your lips at the emptiness. You felt a hand rubbing soothing circles onto your scalp, your body turning towards his warmth. You slowly opened your eyes to find him staring at you, electric blue lazily roaming around your face.
"Hi," you whispered, lifting a heavy hand to push hair behind his ear. He grabbed your hand and covered it in soft kisses, his eyes never leaving yours.
"Hi. How you feeling?"
You leaned in, nuzzling your nose against his. "Goodâreally good," you muttered before kissing him softly. Your hand weaved into his hair, pulling him in as your kiss grew more passionate.
One of his hands cradled your jaw and the other spanned the small of your back, pushing you into his bulge. You bit his lip teasingly, revelling in his body shuddering and drinking down the moan he let free.
You grinded your hips against hisâgasping and whimpering at the rough fabric of his pants dragging against your oversensitive pussy. He responded in kind, rutting his bulge into you with a groan.
"Want you inside of me," you mumbled into his lips, throwing a leg over his to roll your hips harder.
"Fuckâokay," he breathed out. He pulled away to reach for his bedside drawer but your hand on his chest stopped him.
"Are you clean?"
His eyes widened and he nodded dumbly. "I got tested the other weekâwait, I'll show you." He reached for his phone but you stopped him with a giggle.
"I believe you. I'm cleanâobviously. And on birth control."
His eyes almost bulged out of their sockets, pupils dilating until they physically couldn't anymore.
"Are you sure?" He gripped your face in his hands, eyes darting between yours. "I only used condoms with her so I understandâ"
That fact pleased you absurdly, your hand trailing down his chest to his groinâsqueezing his heavy bulge. "I'm sure. Wanna feel you, all of you."
He pulled you into a searing kiss, rolling you onto your back and hovering over you. Your mouth moved against his eagerly, both your hands on his waistband to unbotton and unzip his pants. You reached a hand into his boxers, a gasp leaping out as you wrapped your hand around himâhis cock throbbing and big. You briefly worried about the limp you'll have later.
He panted above you, his eyes closing as you stroked him slowly. You could feel his boxers damp with pre-cum, beads of it dripping from his tip. You brushed your thumb over it and he moaned gutturally, eyes opening as you pulled your hand out. You kept eye contact with him as you brought your thumb up to your lips, licking his pre-cum before sucking it into your mouth with a satisfied moan.
He pulled your thumb out, tracing his own along your lip before you sucked on itâtwirling your tongue around it.
"You're gonna be the fucking death of me, angel." He groaned out.
He pushed away to pull his pants and boxers off, throwing them behind him carelessly. Your eyes zeroed in on his cock standing proudâyour mouth somehow simultaneously drying up and drooling at the sight. He was the biggest you'd ever seenâlong and thick, the tip flushed red with his need. Your knees fell apart on instinct, the fire building up just looking at him.
"Wanna take a picture?" He teased.
"Another time," you whispered, surging up to grab his shoulders and pull him back on top of you.
He chuckled into your mouth before it dissolved into a moan, your hips bucking up and smearing his cock with your slick.
He grabbed your hips, pulling them up slightly as he settled between your legs. You both broke off from the kiss with matching gasps, the feel of him sliding along your slit making you both dizzy. His tip bumped into your clit with each glide, whimpers echoing from your chest as you twitched from the stimulation.
"You're so fucking pretty," he mumbled, dropping his head to kiss and nip along your neck.
"Please," you whined, your hips rocking without thought.
He pulled back and looked down between you, groaning at his dick already glistening with you. He wrapped a hand around himself, tapping his head against your clit a few times. You squealed, starting to feel dizzy with desire. He shushed you gently, dragging a thumb along your cheekbone before positioning himself at your entrance.
His eyes met yours as he pushed in slowly, the intensity in them making you choke up. It had never felt like this beforeânever felt so passionate, adoring. It made everything feel elevatedâyour nerve endings singing with pleasure wherever he touched you.
You clenched down on him instinctively, your walls stretching around just the tip. Your chest heaved as you tried to relaxâyou weren't in pain, it just felt so fucking good.
"Be a good girl and let me in," he whispered, leaning forward to kiss you.
Your legs opened wider for him, your core relaxing to let him push in further. Moans and gasps filled the air around you as he thrust slowly, sinking until he reached the hilt.
The breath knocked out of you, the feeling of him filling you completely making your head rush. He moved slowly at first, small thrusts to get you accommodated before pulling back until just the tip was inside. He sank home with deep moans, his cock pushing against your spot with every thrust.
You wrapped your legs around his waist making him reach deeper inside you. He picked up his pace, his hips meeting yours with soft slaps.
"You feel so goodâoh, fuck!" He exclaimed as you clenched down on him.
"Harder, please." You moaned out, scratching your nails down his chest.
"Yeah? My pretty girlâmy little angelâlikes it rough?"
You nodded deliriously, the tension in your core sizzling with every thrust.
He sat up, bringing your hips with him. He held them up and delivered harsh thrustsâeach one expelling a gasp out of you. Your legs tightened around him, his strength pushing you up the bed.
The headboard knocked against the wall, adding to the symphony of moans, whimpers, skin slapping that was already deafening the room. Each sound had you soaring higher, each thrust kissing your cervix sending a shock through you.
Bucky removed your legs from his waist, clutching your thighs to push them towards your chest. Your wide eyes met his with a gasp, the change in position igniting a roaring fire everywhere. He dropped forward slowly, pushing into you so far you swear you could feel him in your throat.
He groaned into your ear. "This isâgod, you're made for me."
His thrusts resumed their previous pace, your mouth falling open in a silent scream. Sweat beaded along his hairline from the exertion, his hair sticking to his templesâand he looked so beautiful, your eyes started to well with tears.
Everything rushed through you in an overwhelming burstâthe heartache you suffered, the months of yearning and uncertainty, how much you loved him. How much he loved you.
Tears fell from your eyes as the sensations built higher and you grasped his face, pulling his forehead to yours. Your gentle kiss to his lips was a stark contrast to his cock drilling into you.
"I love you," you whispered, your words breaking on a sob of pleasure.
His hips stuttered, his eyes squeezing tightly. "You can't say that again or I'll blow my load." You laughed at his clear struggle to hold back, making him groan as you squeezed him tighter.
He continued his thrusts, wiping a thumb under your eye to catch your tears. "This is the only time I'm gonna make you cry from now on, yeah? Only gonna make you sob cause I'm fucking you so good."
You nodded, letting out little "uh-huh"'s as you climbed higher and higher.
"Play with your clit, sweetheart." Bucky rasped out.
Your hand snuck between your bodies to press circles around your clitâyour back arching with a whine. Tears continued to track down your temples, wetting the pillow below you.
"Fill me up, please," you managed to get out between whimpers and sobs. Bucky's grip on your thighs tightened, surely leaving marks for you to admire over the next few days.
"Come with me," Bucky moaned, pressing a scorching kiss to your lips as his thrusts grew sloppy. You tensed below him, your body locking up before pure ecstasy barrelled through you. You came with a scream of his name, clenching down on his cock to keep him trapped. Your vision faded to white, your body trembling and pulsing.
Bucky groaned out your name as his orgasm rushed through him, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside you as he filled you completely with cum.
He collapsed on top of you, his sweaty chest heaving against yours. He slowly lowered your legs then wrapped his arms around your waist, nuzzling into your neck.
You laid there for a few minutes, the both of you gradually coming back down to earth. He pulled out of you slowly, the both of you groaning at the feeling. A mix of your releases dripped out of you, coating your ass and staining the sheets.
"Stay right here," Bucky said before giving you a chaste kiss, pulling his boxers on to run to the bathroom. He came back with a wet towel, sitting on the bed next to you to clean you up with gentle, reverent touches.
He climbed behind you, pulling you into his strong chestâa satisfied rumble vibrating your back. He kissed the back of your head, trailing towards your ear and giving your lobe a gentle bite.
"I love you too."
"When can we move your stuff back in?"
Bucky and you were still lying on his bed, basking in the warmth of each other as the afternoon sun trickled through his half closed curtains.
You turned in his arms, slinging a leg over his and booping his nose. "I think we should go on a couple dates before I move in with you."
His nose and eyes scrunched with that laugh you first fell in love with. "Oh, is that right?"
"Living together before you've even bought me flowers? Sounds a bit rash to me."
"I'll buy you a whole flower shop," he mumbled, his fingers tracing patterns on your bare hip. "Well, maybe not right awayâI am paying for two rooms, y'know. Would be nice to be able to buy groceries next month."
You laughed softly, poking his bare chest. "Yeah, and whose fault is that again?"
He grumbled something unintelligible, hiding his face in your neck to lavish you in more kisses.
Wars were started over smiles less beautiful than hers.
The reminder of his reviews about you flourished in your mind, prompting you to pull his head away from your neck.
"So, you're James B? This whole time?"
His face bloomed red, a huff leaving him before he nervously licked his lips. "YeahâŚ"
"Why? Why start leaving them in the first place, why didn't you tell me?"
He shrugged slightly, lifting a hand to trace the lines of your face. "We were at the bar drinking, and some guy nearby pointed to you and said ratings must be higher with you working there. AndâI don't know, I guess I was drunk enough to agree and thenâŚit just happened?"
You furrowed your brows at him. "Why not just write in a journal?"
"Trust me, I was already doing that." He laughed softly, his eyes glowing. "I guess, in a weird way, I was telling you how I felt without actually telling you. Stupid, I know."
Warmth started to spread from your chest. "It took us ages to even notice the reviewsâwe only realised they were there because Dean assumed one was about him."
Bucky tensed under your hands. "Fucking Dean," he muttered.
"âŚAre you jealous?"
The blush on his cheeks grew, his eyes avoiding yours. "He was always staring at you, and you laughed with him likeâlike you did with me. I thought there was something goin' on."
Is it bad that him being jealous is turning you on?
"You have nothing to worry about, Dean is a gross womaniser who I only see as an annoying brother." You pushed at Bucky's chest, making him lie on his back as you straddled his hips. You pressed kisses along his chest, your hips slowly rocking against his. "He did tell me he wanted to sleep with me, though."
Bucky's hands grasped your hips harder, his face turning stormy. "I don't wanna hear you talkin' about another guy when you're on top of me, doll." He muttered low.
You leaned in to kiss him, your hips moving faster and drawing gasps out of the both of youâhis dick already half hard under you. "You're so hot when you're jealous."
The sound of the front door opening had you both freezingâyour former roommate's laughter drifting down the hall.
"Get dressed, lovebirds!" Sam's voice rang out. "We've got fish to fry!"
a/n: thank you to this pic on pinterest that inspired half the plot (i couldn't get the ho to fit into a moodboard đ) yes, team, reader shouldâve made bucky grovel HOWEVER high emotion tension filled make up sex is hot 𫦠bro is buying her flowers and taking her on dates every day for the rest of their lives đ
ę° wc ęą 20k words
ę° summaryęą bucky barnes can handle almost anything except the way you make him feel chosen one moment and disposable the next. loving you would be simple, if you werenât so fucking confusing.
.á contents |
18+ (MDNI), college au, situationship, bucky pov, avoidant!reader, lovesick!bucky, mutual pining, asshole!bucky miscommunication, commitment issues, yearning!bucky, toxic relationship, reader is emotionally avoidant, alcohol and weed use, unprotected piv sex, drunk sex, oral sex (f receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, rough sex, dirty talk, jealousy, bucky goes through ittt,
.á lizzyâs note |
it has been such an honour being apart of this collab. i love it so much. thank you so much to @iamthatonefangirl and @barnesonly for hosting this beautiful cutesy collab, and putting all this effort and thought in, love you bwabies. on another note this fic has also been the bane of my existence. literally created this fic for one scene in mind, only to not add it because i didnt have time, im actually devastated.
anyway enjoy my loves <3
BWAT MASTERLIST â MASTERLIST
divider by my bby @barnesonly
The night was going perfectly until you walked in.
Bucky had a sweating bottle of beer hooked between two fingers, the label curling pink under his damp thumb.
Sam was pressed against his side, yelling something loudly idiotic directly into his ear; something about a bet, or a dare, or a girl whose name Bucky would forget by morning. He caught none of it.
The kitchen was chanting his name. The sound bounced off the sticky counters and the sweat-slick walls, a drunk, gleeful roar for a drinking game he didnât remember starting, let alone winning.
He bared his teeth in a grin, let the noise wash over him like a wave of approval he was too buzzed to question.
Some girl he couldnât name had dragged her glitter-dusted fingers across his cheekbone an hour ago, leaving a streak of lime-green that caught the strobe light like a neon sign against his skin.
Steve had been pretending not to laugh about it for the last twenty minutes, mouth tight, eyes bright with amusement every time he caught Bucky working the room with a fresh smear of sparkle on his face.
The whole house smelled like it was sweating out its own wild heart; weed smoke curling thick through the pulsing lights, cheap perfume wrestling with spilled beer and tequila, the sour-sweet musk of bodies pressed too close for too long.
It smelled like a night everyone would be pretending not to regret by the time the sun burned through the blinds.
A girl from Tonyâs econ classâEden⌠or Edith, he couldnât rememberâhad her fingers locked around his wrist, tugging him toward the hallway where the bass bled into something slower, heavier.
The lights back there flickered green, pulsing like a heartbeat under the floorboards. She was pulling him toward the dark, and her lips were parted, and she was saying something he didnât need to hear to understand.
Bucky let himself be pulled.
One step. Part of a grin. His thumb dragging across her knuckles in a promise he had made to a hundred girls before her. He was already opening his mouth, ready to offer something charming and perfectly hollow.
Then the front door opened.
He didnât hear it. Not over the bass that was rattling the drywall. Not over Samâs drunken cackle. Not over the sharp crash of glass shattering somewhere behind him, Thor probably, baptising another piece of the house with whatever expensive bottle heâd smuggled in from Norway. The kitchen cheered.
But Buckyâs head turned anyway.
Like gravity had taken the decision out of his hands.
You stepped in behind Natasha, Gamora a quiet shadow at your shoulder, and you were already laughing, hand pressed to Natashaâs forearm, mouth shaped around a sound the party swallowed whole.
You hadnât seen him yet.
That, he thought, was always the worst part. Those few seconds where he got to want you without having to hide it. Where he could let the grin slide off his face and just look at you.
Let himself want, openly, stupidly, while the party roared on around him and his hand was still wrapped around some other girlâs wrist.
He must have gone still. Must have stopped grinning, because Sam followed the line of his stare like a bloodhound catching scent.
Sam groaned, and slapped a heavy hand against Buckyâs shoulder.
âOh, here we fucking go.â
He felt like an impatient puppy, and he hated it, hated the way his pulse had picked up, the way his palm had gone clammy around the bottle, the way he couldnât stop tracking the curve of your ass as you drifted through the crowd.
Eden/Edith was still talking. Her fingers were sliding up his forearm, nails scraping lightly, trying to reclaim the heat sheâd had a lock on before the front door opened.
She didnât know it yet, but she had absolutely no chance.
Bucky let her touch linger for a beat longer than polite, just long enough to make her think she was still in the running, then he let his gaze drift past her face like sheâd already become background noise.
She was still talking, something about a quieter room, a better view from the upstairs balcony, but her words were just shapes in the air, meaningless vibrations against the bass.
He waited. Watched you, Natasha and Gamora carve out a corner of the living room, claiming a sagging couch and a half-empty bottle of something pink. You settled into the cushions like you owned them, one leg tucked under you, head tilted toward Gamora as she said something that made you smile.
And then Scott Lang appeared, as if summoned by the scent of a female audience, already gesturing wildly with both hands, launching into a story that was probably 80% fabrication.
The girl from econ was still talking. Bucky shrugged her hand off his arm and walked away mid-sentence.
He crossed the room with the lazy, unhurried confidence of someone who knew exactly where he was going and knew heâd be welcome when he got there. Scott was still going, his voice rising in pitch as he reached the climax of whatever tall tale he was spinning now.
ââand I swear to God, Hope looked me dead in the eye and said, âIf you canât fit it through the door, itâs not coming home with us.â And I said, âWatch me.ââ
âThat did not happen, Lang,â Natasha cut in, shaking her head, but the smirk tugging at her lips betrayed her.
âOn Hopeâs life it did,â Scott insisted, pressing a hand to his chest. âWould I lie to you girls?â
The three of you exchanged a look. It was skeptical, humoured, a shared hum that was more mocking than affirming. Scott opened his mouth to continue, but Bucky was already moving into the gap.
âLadies,â he said, drawling the word like it was a gift he was bestowing. He smiled, a little lopsided, the lime-green glitter catching the light as he shouldered his way into the space between you and Gamora on the couch.
âFor fuckâs sake, Barnes,â Gamora muttered, but she shifted, grudgingly making room. Buckyâs focus was already locked on you, his body angled toward yours like a compass needle finding north.
He settled in, his thigh pressing against yours, the heat of him bleeding through the thin fabric of your jeans. He slung an arm across the back of the couch, his fingers dangling just behind your shoulder, claiming the space around you like it was his by right.
âParty started at nine,â he said, his voice already slurred with alcohol and the kind of confidence that came from knowing he was the best thing in the room. He was grinning, his pupils blown wide in the dim light. âItâs almost twelve. Whatâs your excuse?â
You laughed, and the sound of it hit him somewhere low in his chest. âYouâve never heard of fashionably late, Buck?â
He rolled his eyes, the gesture exaggerated and fond. âWhatever, doll.â
The word hung between you, before your hand moved almost on instinct. Your thumb came up to his cheek, pressing gently against the glitter clinging to his skin. The green flecks caught the dim light, and your touch was featherlight, curious, your brow arching as you rubbed at the shimmer.
âAnd where is this from?â you asked, your voice carrying that edge of playful interrogation he knew too well.
Buckyâs brain short-circuited. The warmth of your palm against his cheek, the way your fingers lingered just a second too long ,it was enough to make him forget his own name, let alone the girl whose hands had been all over him an hour ago. He blinked, swallowed, and the lie came easy.
âBarton.â He said it flatly, like it was obvious. âGot bored. Started throwing glitter at people. You know how he gets.â
He held your gaze, hoping the alcohol flush hid the flicker of guilt. He didnât want to say some girl blonde chick whose face heâd already forgotten. Didnât want to see that hint of somethingâjealousy? disappointment?âcross your features. Even if he wasnât sure it would.
Before you could press further, his hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist. His fingers were warm, slightly sticky from condensation and beer, and he tugged gently, an insistent pull that was more plea than demand.
âCome with me.â
You didnât move. Your grin was still in place, but your body stayed rooted, and you tilted your head, giving him your best scolding look, the one that made his stomach twist because it meant you were about to say no.
âI just got here, Buck. Donât be rude.â
He huffed, the sound escaping him like an impatient child denied a treat. His jaw tightened, and he turned his head, addressing the two women lounging beside you with exaggerated politeness that was almost ridiculous given his disheveled state.
âMay I steal your friend for a few moments? Please?â He even tacked on a smile, though it came out a little strained.
Gamora didnât bother hiding her irritation. She shot him a look that could curdle milk, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like dumbass.
It was Natasha who answered, her eyes flickering between the two of you with an amusement that made Bucky feel like a specimen under a microscope.
âJust bring her back in one piece,â Natasha said, raising her glass in a lazy toast. âPreferably still clothed.â
Buckyâs mouth opened, but no words came out. He didnât have time to form a response, because you were already opening your mouth to protest, and he wasnât about to give you the chance.
He tugged. Harder this time. You stumbled forward, a surprised laugh escaping your lips as he pulled you off the couch and into the crowd. His hand stayed wrapped around your wrist, a warm anchor as he weaved through bodies and noise, dragging you behind him like a prize heâd won.
âWhere are you taking me, Bucky?â you called over the music, your voice half-laughing, half-breathless.
âYouâll see,â he shouted back, not bothering to turn around. His eyes scanned ahead, spotting the staircase, the path clear for now. He felt your wrist shift against his grip, and without thinking, he slid his hand down, interlacing your fingers with his.
Behind him, across the room, Edith/Eden was still watching. Her glare burned against the back of his neck, but he didnât feel it. He didnât feel anything except the warmth of your palm pressed against his, the sound of your laughter cutting through the bass, and the need to get you alone.
By the time the door slammed shut behind them, the bass from downstairs was just a dull throb through the walls, a welcome relief from the chaos of the party.
Buckyâs room was a disaster; clothes spilling out of an open drawer, the sour tang of old beer cans mingling with the familiar musk of his cologne, a single lamp casting a weak amber glow over the wreckage.
He didnât spare it a second glance, making a beeline for his dresser like a man on a mission.
You lingered by the door, arms crossed, taking in the scene with a slow, deliberate sweep of your eyes. âJesus Christ, Bucky,â you said, your voice flat and deeply amused. âYouâre a pig.â
Bucky snorted, a low, warm sound that vibrated through his chest. He didnât bother turning around. His fingers dug through the wreckage of his top drawer, pushing aside a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a stray condom wrapper that had seen better days.
âCrash here tonight,â he tossed over his shoulder, the words slurring just a little around the edges, âand you can be my maid of honour. Organise my sock drawer. Judge my questionable life choices.â
His fingers finally closed around the small metal tin hidden at the very back. He pulled it out like a trophy, turning just in time to catch the affronted scoff that escaped your lips.
âYou wish, Barnes.â
Your voice was sharp, dismissive, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.
Bucky held your gaze for a beat too long, something hot and unguarded flickering in his chest. His mouth moved before his brain caught up. âYeah,â he murmured, turning to his desk to hide the sudden heat creeping up his neck. âSweetheart, I wish every damn night.â
He busied himself with the familiar ritual of rolling; paper, weed, a careful distribution; refusing to look back, refusing to see if your expression shifted.
A beat of silence. Then your voice came again, softer now, laced with amusement. âYou know, youâre cute when your brain-to-mouth filter is busted.â
He snorted, ducking his head to hide the grin spreading across his face. âShut up.â
He was methodical despite the drink swimming in his veins, surprisingly steady. He sprinkled the weed, spread it even, and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger with a practiced ease that came from plenty of late nights just like this one.
His tongue darted out to wet the edge of the paper, sealing it shut with a final, satisfied press.
When he turned around, holding the blunt up between his fingers like a prize, his grin was crooked. âLook what I got.â
You had perched yourself on the edge of his bed, hands planted behind you, legs crossed. The springs creaked under your weight. That same infuriating, amused smile was painted across your face, like he was a puppet and you were the one pulling the strings.
Like his entire purpose in the universe was to make you laugh, to make you roll your eyes, to make you look at him with that perfect mix of exasperation and warmth.
And God help him, heâd take it. Heâd take every scrap of attention you threw his way.
âOn a scale of one to âIâm about to make a terrible decisionâ,â you asked, tilting your head, âwhere exactly are you right now, Bucky?â
He crossed the room in a few long strides, closing the distance until he was standing right in front of you. The blunt hung loose between his fingers.
âEnough that I know exactly how bad of an idea this is, sweetheart.â His hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist, fingers warm and calloused. He pulled you to your feet before you could brace yourself.
You stumbled into him, palms flat against his chest, the blunt pressed gently between your bodies for a fleeting second. âAnd Iâm doing it anyway.â
He didnât let go. Instead, he slid his hand down, threading his fingers through yours, and tugged you toward the window, the one that led to the fire escape.
âCâmon. Letâs get high.â
Fifteen minutes dissolved into a warm, syrupy haze where time stopped mattering and the only gravity left in the universe was the curve of your body against his.
Bucky was laughing; a low, breathless, almost giddy sound; right against your open mouth. The space between you had surrendered completely, chest to chest, your thighs brushing his, the bitter-sweet taste of the blunt lacing every shared exhale.
Heâd stopped passing the joint a while ago. Now it was just a prop, a thin ember burning slowly between his fingers while he held it up to your lips like he was feeding you something sacred. You took a drag without him asking, lips parting automatically, eyes never leaving his.
âThat was my last,â you murmured as you pulled back, the smoke curling from your lips in a lazy ribbon.
You didnât bother aiming it away from him. He wished youâd blow it directly into his mouth so he could taste you.
âNo such thing as âlastâ with me, sweetheart.â His words were slow, syrup-thick, drunk on you more than the alchol in his system. âYou started this. Gotta finish what you started.â
He brought the blunt back to your lips before you could argue, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. You took another hit, holding his gaze like a challenge.
âYouâre such a bad influence on me, Barnes.â
Bucky huffed a laugh, shaking his head, the dopey grin on his face mirroring yours. âIâm the bad influence?â
He leaned closer, his nose brushing the shell of your ear, voice dropping to a rough, amused murmur. âBaby, Iâm just following your lead. You walked into that party looking like a full-course meal. You climbed out my window. Youâre the one keeping me out here, freezing my ass off, just to watch you smoke my weed and smile at me like Iâm your favourite toy.â
He pulled back just enough to look at you, pupils blown wide, lips parted.
âIf anyoneâs the devil here, sweetheart⌠itâs definitely you.â
Your dopey smile stretched wider, pushing up your cheeks, eyes crinkling at the corners. He almost groaned at the sight. The way you looked at him; like he was a puzzle you were enjoying taking apart, piece by piece.
âShut up,â you said, your voice soft, fond, dismissive.
The words were barely a whisper before his came, immediate and rough.
âMake me.â
The air between you snapped taut. Your smile faded into something heavier, something that made his pulse skip and slam double-time. He didnât move. Didnât breathe. He just stared you down, waiting, daring you, his arm tightening around your waist like he was ready to hold you there forever if thatâs what it took.
Your eyes dropped to his lips.
Yes. Yes. Close the distance. Kiss me. Let me feel those lips against mine.
He watched you watch him. Watched the hesitation flicker behind your hooded eyes. Watched the want and the caution war inside you. He wanted to beg. Wanted to grab your jaw and bridge the gap himself.
But he held still, letting you make the call, letting you feel the weight of the choice hanging between you.
Instead, you broke the spell with a grin, that same infuriating, playful grin, and shoved him square in the chest.
âAs fun as this is, watching you turn into a lovesick mess, Natâs gonna send a search party if Iâm gone much longer.â
You didnât wait for an answer. You twisted out of his grip, the hem of your shirt riding up just enough to flash the smooth skin of your lower back as you climbed back through the window.
Bucky bit back a groan so sharp it almost hurt. He dragged a hand down his face, letting out a frustrated breath that fogged in the cool air. His entire body was humming, wired, aching.
He didnât give himself time to think. He followed you on your heels, dropping through the window and landing in the mess of his room just as your feet hit the floor. His hand shot out, catching your wrist, spinning you gently but firmly back to face him.
âYouâre gonna pay for that, you know.â
Your eyebrows lifted, amused. âPay for what?â
âLeaving a man hanging.â His voice was lower now, rougher, stripped of the playful buzz. âMaking me follow you around like some puppy. Dangling yourself in front of me and then slipping away.â
You tilted your head, that infuriating smile still playing at your lips. âPoor Bucky. Must be so hard, wanting something you canât just charm your way into.â
His jaw tightened. There was no malice in your voice; just teasing, still wrapped in that same playful edge that had been driving him up the wall all night.
But something in him snagged on it anyway.
Maybe it was the weed, loosening the screws in his head. Maybe it was the beer, sticky and warm in his bloodstream.
Maybe it was the simple, agonising fact that you were standing in his room with your mouth still soft and swollen from smiling at him, your wrist warm and alive under his thumb, acting like he was insane for wanting the very thing you kept placing just out of reach.
Buckyâs thumb pressed into the delicate skin over your pulse. He felt it skip. Felt the flutter of it beneath his touch, like a bird trapped in a cage of bone and breath.
âMaybe Iâm not trying to charm my way into it.â
Your smile didnât fall all at once. That wouldâve been merciful.
It faded slowly, like a candle snuffed from across the room, a gradual dimming that left shadows in its wake. Your brows pulled together, the teasing tilt of your head softening into something careful. As if you were reading the fine print of a contract you hadnât agreed to.
Bucky shouldâve stopped there.
He knew he shouldâve. He could feel the edge of it under his feet, that familiar precipice where the air changed and you started looking for the nearest exit without ever moving toward the door. Your eyes flickered, just once. Toward escape.
But he was drunk. He was high. And he was so goddamn tired of wanting you like a dog waiting under a dinner table for scraps, hungry and patient, and always left with nothing.
So he kept going.
âMaybe Iâm just trying to figure out what the hell you want from me.â
Your eyes searched his face, hunting for the joke, the punchline, the easy way out.
For one second, you looked almost wounded. Like he had reached past the game and touched something raw without asking first. Your lips parted, and something flickered behind your eyes.
Then you blinked, and it was gone. Wiped clean like a slate.
âBucky.â
He hated the way you said his name then. Soft. Gentle. Like a warning whispered to a child on the verge of a tantrum. Like you were trying to calm something down before it made a mess.
âWhat?â he asked, though his voice had already lost its bite, gone flat and hollow.
âYouâre drunk.â
He laughed once, short and humourless, the sound scraping out of his throat. âYeah, you said that already.â
âAnd high.â
âAnd still not stupid.â His voice cracked on the last word, betraying him.
Your lips pressed together into a thin, unreadable line.
There it was. The wall. Not slammed up, not obvious enough for anyone else to notice, but Bucky felt it like a physical shift in the air. Your wrist went still in his hand, no longer warm, no longer responsive. Your shoulders drew back half an inch, a subtle retreat.
Your gaze flicked past him, toward the door, toward the party, toward anything that was not this room and the thing he had just dragged into the light.
His stomach dropped before you even spoke.
âI should go back downstairs.â
Of course.
Bucky let go of your wrist like it had burned him. His hand fell to his side, fingers curling into a loose fist, the ghost of your pulse still tingling against his palm.
âRight.â
Your expression shifted. Something tight and wounded flickered across your features before you smoothed it over.
âDonât do that.â
âDo what?â
âThat.â You gestured vaguely at his face, at the flatness in his eyes, the bitter set of his jaw. âAct like I did something.â
He stared at you.
You stared back.
Downstairs, someone screamed with laughter, swallowed by the bass that kicked harder for a few seconds, rattling an empty beer can on his desk. The sound skittered across the wood like a nervous heartbeat.
Bucky dragged his tongue across his teeth, tasting smoke and bitterness. He nodded once, like he had just figured something out. Like the pieces had finally clicked into place, and the picture wasnât pretty.
âYou didnât,â he said, and his voice came out rougher than he intended. âThatâs kind of the whole point, isnât it?â
Something flashed across your face.
Hurt, maybe. Guilt. A flicker of recognition at the truth buried under his words.
Or maybe he was making things up again because he wanted so badly for there to be something underneath all that pretty nothing you kept giving him. Wanted it like a bruise he couldnât stop pressing.
Your voice was quieter when you said, âI was just joking with you.â
âYeah,â he said, forcing a smile that felt wrong on his mouth. âYouâre good at that.â
The air stalled between you.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. You stood there in the weak amber light of his disaster of a room, the glow spilling from the desk lamp casting long shadows across the cluttered floor.
Close enough that he could still smell smoke on your breath, mixed with something sweet, your lip gloss, maybe, or the conditioner you used. Far enough that he knew if he reached for you again, you would probably let him.
That was the worst part.
You would let him.
You would let him touch your waist, pull you into him by the hand. You would sigh against his mouth like you had been waiting for it. You would make him feel like he had finally cracked through every wall you built.
And then tomorrow, in front of everyone, you would smile at him like none of it had happened. Like he was just another face in the crowd.
Bucky swallowed. His throat clicked dryly.
âGo on, then,â he said, nodding toward the door. âNatâs waiting, right?â
Your eyes lifted to his.
He could tell you didnât like that. Could tell by the tiny pinch between your brows, the way your mouth parted around a response you didnât seem to have ready. He had pushed too hard, and now you were scrambling for solid ground.
But you still went.
You brushed past him, shoulder grazing his chest, and he hated himself for noticing the contact, the warmth of you through the thin fabric of your top. Hated himself more for wanting to turn his head and follow the line of your back as you moved away.
At the door, your hand closed around the knob. The metal turned with a soft click.
Then you paused.
âBuck?â
He looked at you because he always looked when you said his name like that.
You seemed to regret calling for him the second he did. Your face softened, and for one stupid, awful second, he thought you might come back. He thought you might say sorry. He thought you might say anything real enough for him to hold onto.
Instead, you gave him a small smile.
âDonât sulk too much.â
Then you slipped out, leaving the door half-open behind you. The hallway light bled across the floor, carrying muffled voices and the thrum of music.
Bucky stood there for a few seconds, heart punching slow and heavy against his ribs, listening to the party swallow you back whole.
Then he laughed under his breath,low and mean and mostly at himself. The sound scraped out of his chest and died in the empty air.
âYeah,â he muttered to the cluttered room. âSure.â
Bucky hated spring festivals.
That was a lie.
Usually, he loved this shit. Loved the noise, the way the quad swarmed with bodies in a heat that felt almost reckless for April, the sun bleaching the grass and pavement into something too bright, too clean.
Loved the cheap beer poured into plastic cups and hidden inside soda cans, the shameless excuse to get drunk in broad daylight and call it school spirit.
Usually, he would have walked in like he owned the whole fucking place.
Today, he trailed Sam and Steve through the crowd with his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets and a mood that sat heavy in his chest; sour, curdled, thick enough to spoil the entire afternoon.
Sam was talking. Steve was answering. The two of them had been at it for at least five minutes about something Bucky couldnât muster the energy to care about.
Something about whether Clint could legally enter the pie-eating contest twice if he changed his shirt between rounds.
âHe wore a wig, man,â Sam was saying, his voice threaded with genuine affront. âLike that was supposed to make people forget heâs still Clint fucking Barton.â
Steve exhaled a short, tired laugh. âThe volunteer was a freshman. She panicked.â
âShe panicked because he called himself Clara Barta.â
Bucky stared past them at a girl in a neon-green cowboy hat trying to scale someoneâs shoulders and nearly eating shit in the grass.
He wasnât hearing any of it properly.
His eyes kept drifting before he could stop them. Over the food trucks. Across the knot of bodies near the makeshift stage. Past the sorority booth selling overpriced lime slushies.
Toward every flash of gold jewelry, every laugh that pitched too close to yours, every figure moving beside a redhead or a girl with a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
He was not looking for you.
He wasnât.
He had told himself that before they even left the house. Had stood in front of the bathroom mirror, dragging his toothbrush across his teeth with too much force, and decided it with a mouthful of mint and stubbornness.
He did not care if you were there. He did not care if you saw him.
He cared, specifically and deeply, about not caring if you didnât.
If you came up to him, he would be normal. Worse than normal. He would be casual. Cold, even. Polite in a way designed to make you feel stupid for once.
He would not give you that pathetic, eager opening you always seemed to find in him, the one you could press your fingers into until he forgot every reason he had to be angry.
No.
This time, if you wanted his attention, you could fucking work for it.
âYou good?â Steve asked.
Bucky blinked.
The question cut through the static in his head like a blade he hadnât realised was already buried there. Sam and Steve had both stopped walking.
They were looking at him now. Sam with one brow arched high enough to belong on its own zip code, Steve wearing that careful, irritating brand of concern that made Bucky want to throw something soft and harmless directly at his face.
The sun was hot on the back of his neck. The breeze carried the scent of grilled meat and spilled soda, and somewhere a group of girls screamed with laughter over the loudspeaker.
âWhat?â
Samâs mouth twisted into a grin that was half amusement, half disbelief. âHe lives.â
âIâm good,â Bucky said, the words flat and dismissive.
âYou sure?â Steve pressed, his voice quieter now.
âChrist, Rogers, I said Iâm good.â
Sam lifted both hands in surrender, palms out. âNobody said you werenât. You just looked like you were trying to blow up a lemonade stand with your mind.â
Bucky looked over.
Sure enough, he had been glaring in the vague direction of a table draped in yellow streamers, a handwritten sign propped crooked against a stack of plastic cups reading FRESH LEMONADE $3.
The freshman behind the table, a blonde in a floral sundress, met his stare for half a second before quickly dropping her gaze to the pitcher, her shoulders hitching like sheâd been caught stealing.
Great. Perfect.
Now he was terrorising citrus vendors because some girl with pretty eyes and a talent for emotional warfare had ruined his entire fucking week.
âIâm getting a drink,â he muttered.
âFrom the lemonade stand?â Sam asked.
âFuck off.â
Steve sighed, a long, tired exhale that Bucky knew too well, but by then he was already walking.
The festival sprawled across the quad in every direction, bright and loud and obnoxiously alive.
Someone had draped green streamers from the trees, their edges curling in the afternoon breeze. The grass was littered with crushed cups and abandoned flyers and bodies lounging in the sun.
A group of guys from the rowing team were shouting around the dunk tank, already shirtless, already sunburnt to a shade of pink that had to hurt. Music pulsed from the stage where some sophomore with a guitar was butchering a song Bucky vaguely recognised.
Normally, it would have been easy.
Smile. Drink. Flirt. Win something stupid from one of the booths while the crowd cheered like it mattered.
Let a girl press herself against his side, her fingers trailing his arm, while Sam heckled him from the sidelines and Steve pretended he wasnât entertained by the whole spectacle.
That was what pissed him off most.
Everything used to be so fucking easy before you.
Bucky grabbed a red plastic cup from one of the coolers near the fraternity table, the ice water sloshing over his fingers, and took a long drink without bothering to ask what was in it.
Too sweet. Sharp underneath, a chemical bite that tried to singe the back of his throat. Probably spiked by Thor, judging by the way it burned all the way down.
Good.
He drank again, letting the cold settle in his chest like armor.
âBucky!â
He turned, half out of reflex.
A girl from his psych lecture waved at him from beside the ring toss booth, her hair catching the sun, her smile too eager.
She was wearing a tiny green top that probably would have interested him three months ago, or three weeks ago, or any other version of himself that had not become clinically insane over a girl who called him needy like she knew exactly where to press and exactly how much pressure it would take to make him explode.
Her name was Mia.
Maybe. Maya? No. Mia.
Bucky smiled anyway.
There. Easy. He could do easy. Heâd been doing easy his whole damn life.
âHey,â he said, walking over with the lazy confidence that still fit him when he remembered how to wear it, âYou runninâ this scam?â
She laughed immediately, like he had given her something better than the joke deserved. Her eyes roamed his chest, his arms, the casual way he held his cup. âItâs not a scam. Youâre just bad at aiming.â
âThatâs hurtful. Iâm great at aiming.â
âProve it, then.â
Bucky leaned one hip against the edge of the booth, letting his grin widen. Behind him, he could practically feel Sam and Steve watching from somewhere near the food trucks, probably exchanging some kind of wordless commentary with their eyebrows.
Mia handed him three plastic rings, her fingers brushing his palm. She let them linger a second longer than necessary, her smile softening into something intentional.
Bucky noticed.
He also noticed that he felt nothing.
Not nothing exactly. He felt the dull satisfaction of being wanted. The little ego-stroke of someone looking at him and deciding he was worth the chase.
He felt the shape of his old self settle over him for a second, familiar as a jacket he had left hanging in his closet, still fitting, still comfortable.
But underneath it, his attention kept pulling elsewhere.
He threw the first ring.
The plastic sailed wide, skimming the neck of a glass bottle before spinning uselessly into the trampled grass.
Mia laughed, bright and sharp. âGreat at aiming, huh?â
âWind interference,â he said, already reaching for the next one.
âThere is no wind.â She laughed again, softer this time, her fingers finding the bare skin of his forearm.
âSpiritual wind, then.â
Bucky made himself look at her. Really look. He cataloged the curve of her mouth, the warm spread of her smile, the little glitter sticker pressed beneath one eye.
She was pretty. Genuinely pretty. Warm and open and offering him something he didnât have to work for.
He should have wanted that.
He wanted to want that. He wanted to feel the familiar heat of being chosen, the lazy satisfaction of a girl deciding he was worth her time.
But the wanting felt hollow. A reflex without the fire behind it. His body was here. His mind was already somewhere else, straining toward a frequency he couldnât stop chasing.
Then, somewhere behind him, a laugh cut through the noise.
Natâs laugh, recognisable even in the middle of a crowd.
It wasnât yours. He knew the difference better than he wanted to. Yours was quieter, wryer, often aimed at him rather than with him. But Natasha was the anchor of your little constellation, and where she wasâŚ
Buckyâs whole body went tight.
The casual slouch of his shoulders hardened into something rigid. The easy smile on his mouth faltered at the edges, cracking just barely before he caught it.
He hated himself before he even turned his head. Hated how transparent he was.
Slowly he glanced over his shoulder.
And there you were.
By the slushie booth, standing in the loose triangle you always formed with Natasha and Gamora. Sunlight was threading through your hair, setting the edges of you on fire. A lime-green cup was balanced in your hand, the crushed ice inside melting into a watery gradient against the plastic.
You were listening to something Natasha was saying, your head tilted at that familiar angle, your mouth curved into the shape of a smile that didnât quite touch your eyes.
You looked beautiful. You looked miles away. You looked exactly the way you always looked when you were present but not entirely there.
Bucky went still. Like a fucking idiot.
After that, Mia became background noise.
Pretty background noise, sure. The kind that came with a sugar-sweet laugh and a glitter sticker catching the late-afternoon sun beneath one eye. Smiling background noise with soft fingers that kept finding excuses to graze his wrist every time she handed him another plastic ring, letting her touch linger a beat longer than necessary.
But background noise all the same.
Bucky tried. He really fucking tried.
He let his weight shift onto one hip, leaning against the edge of the ring-toss booth with practiced ease. He laughed when she laughed, let his eyes drop to her mouth once because that was the sort of thing he used to do without thinking, a reflex heâd honed over years of easy conquests.
He even let her fix the collar of his jacket when she reached for it. Her knuckles grazed the side of his throat, a brief pressure against the warm skin just above his collarbone.
It should have sparked something smug and familiar in him, a pleasant shiver of being wanted.
Nothing.
Worse than nothing.
Because the whole time she was talking all he could think was that her laugh was too bright. Too clean. Too eager to please. It didnât catch him under the ribs the way yours did, didnât hook into something raw and leave him breathless.
Her teasing landed too soft. Too safe. Not sharp enough to make him want to chase it, to earn it, to prove himself.
She touched him like she knew he wanted to be touched, generous and open and unquestioning.
And he hated that too, because you never gave him anything that simply.
You made him work for scraps and then looked surprised when he started starving.
Mia said something. He missed it entirely.
âRight,â Bucky said, because it sounded safe enough.
Her brows lifted, âYou have no idea what I just said.â
He smiled, charming and empty, a reflex that had never failed him. âI was distracted by your beauty.â
She laughed, pleased despite herself, and shoved lightly at his arm. Easy. So fucking easy.
His gaze still slid over her shoulder.
You were still by the slushie booth, one elbow propped on the counter, the heel of your palm digging into the wood. Your head was tilted toward Natasha, who was gesturing emphatically about something.
Gamora stood half a step behind you with her arms crossed, like campus security hired by hell itself. You had a lime-green straw between your fingers, the plastic bent near the top from where you kept worrying it with your thumb.
You were not looking at him.
Good. Fine.
Bucky turned back to Mia and threw another ring. It sailed in a shallow arc, bounced uselessly off the neck of a bottle, and dropped onto the trampled grass at the base of the booth.
Mia made a sympathetic noise, her lips pursing. âSpiritual wind again?â
âViolent spiritual wind.â He grabbed another ring, testing its weight in his palm.
âYouâre terrible at this.â Her hand landed on his bicep when she laughed, staying there a little too long.
Bucky let it.
He let it because maybe you would look over and see it. Maybe you would see her hand on his arm, see her leaning into his space, see him not pulling away. Maybe you would realise he had options. Lots of them.
Girls who laughed easily and touched without hesitation and made him feel like he was winning instead of losing.
He did not need you.
He didnât.
He had never needed any girl to want him. That was the whole point. Girls liked him. Girls came easy. Girls wanted to be chosen by him, and he had always been good at choosing, at taking what was offered, at moving on before anyone could get too attached.
So maybe you should see that.
Maybe you should watch someone else touch him, watch someone else laugh at his jokes, watch someone else look at him like he was something worth having.
Maybe you should feel even half as stupid as he had felt standing in his room after you left, the silence still ringing in his ears.
Your eyes moved.
Just once.
A quick glance over Natashaâs shoulder, brief enough that anyone else would have missed it. A flicker of movement, a shift in focus. You looked at him and then away again.
Bucky should have felt triumphant.
He should have felt vindicated. Relieved, maybe. Like he had finally managed to press one finger into the soft place beneath all your careful indifference and prove there was something there.
Instead, his stomach twisted into a knot that sat heavy and cold.
Because you did not look angry.
You looked away too fast for him to understand anything at all.
And that was worse.
Mia was still smiling up at him when he turned back, her head tilted just enough to catch the tail end of the afternoon light across her cheekbone.
Her mouth was parted, ready to laugh at whatever he said next.
âYou want to try again?â
No.
The word cut through him clean and fast.
He wanted to walk across the quad. He wanted to cross the trampled grass and the careful, deliberate distance you had carved between you like a border he wasnât allowed to cross.
He wanted to stand in front of you and ask why you had looked at him like thatâlike he was the one doing something wrong just by existing, just by letting someone elseâs hand rest on his arm.
He wanted to grab your stupid green cup out of your hand and press his mouth to the plastic rim, taste whatever sugar-sour thing you had been nursing all afternoon, because, for a reason that made him feel deeply, disgustingly pathetic, he wanted his lips to touch where yours had been.
He wanted to ask why the fuck you got to look wounded when he was the one bleeding out all over the place.
He set the last plastic ring down on the counter.
âYou know what?â His voice came out easier than he felt, smooth and practiced. âIâm gonna quit while I still have some dignity.â
Mia laughed, âYou had dignity?â
âOnce. Briefly.â He dragged a hand through his hair, let his mouth curve into something rueful and self-deprecating. âFreshman year, I think. It was a Tuesday. I peaked early.â
She shifted closer, the toe of her sneaker brushing against his. Her fingers grazed his wrist again. He could feel the opening there, easy, the way girls always were.
All he had to do was lean into it. Let the conversation carry. Let his hand find her waist. Let himself get lost in something simple for once.
Instead, he stepped back.
âSee you around, Mia.â
Her face flickered. The smile didnât drop, but something behind it cooled. A subtle tightening around her eyes, a slight press of her lips.
âMaya,â she corrected.
Fuck.
Bucky blinked.
He smiled anyway, because what else was he supposed to do?
âRight. Maya.â He let the apology bleed into his voice. âSorry.â
Her smile thinned.
Bucky deserved that too.
He turned and walked away before he could make it worse.
For the next two hours, Bucky made a point of being seen and not approaching.
He let Sam drag him toward the food trucks, let himself be pulled through the thick crowd of students and families and drunk upperclassmen.
He let Steve talk him into watching Clint get disqualified from the pie-eating contest. Thor had stood up from the judgesâ table, pointed a finger the size of a hot dog, and loudly accused Clint of being âthe same small blond criminal in a wig.â
The crowd erupted. Clint flipped him off with a mouthful of whipped cream. Steve laughed so hard he had to brace himself on Buckyâs shoulder.
Bucky laughed too. He did. It came out at the right time, in the right pitch, convincing enough.
He stood by the dunk tank while Rhodey heckled Tony into climbing onto the seat. Tony was wearing a linen shirt that probably cost more than Buckyâs entire closet, and he looked profoundly uncomfortable with the idea of getting wet.
He kept his distance. But never so much distance that he could not see you.
That was the pathetic part.
His body moved on its own, tracking you like a compass needle finding north. He always arranged himself somewhere with a clear line of sight. Near the stage when you drifted toward the booths.
By the food trucks when you wandered toward the grass, your silhouette cutting through the golden haze.
Close to Steve when Steve decided to talk to Natasha, because then Bucky had an excuse to stand twenty feet from you and pretend it wasnât intentional, pretend he was just hanging with his friend while he watched your every move.
But every time your face turned away, his mood soured. Every time you smiled at someone else, he wondered what they had said, what they had done to earn that warmth that he couldnât seem to coax from you.
He was exhausting.
But he couldnât stop.
By late afternoon, the sun had started to dip behind the science building, turning the quad warm and gold at the edges. The light slanted long across the grass, casting everything in a honeyed haze.
The air smelled like fried dough, cut grass, spilled beer, and the sharp chemical sweetness of the slushie machine that had been running too hard all day, its motor grinding low and tired.
Bucky had finally lost sight of you.
At first, he told himself it was a relief.
Good.
Great.
Maybe you had left. Maybe you had gone back to your dorm. Maybe the festival could go back to being a festival instead of a slow, public study in how little self-respect James Buchanan Barnes apparently had left.
He lasted thirty seconds.
Then his eyes were moving again, dragging across the quad like a searchlight. Toward the drink stands. Over the line at the food trucks, scanning faces. Past the stage, where the band was packing up their equipment.
Back toward the slushie booth, where Natasha was now talking to Wanda, their heads bent together in quiet conversation.
You were not beside her.
Gamora was there, though, standing with her arms crossed in that way she had. Her eyes cut toward him like she had known exactly where he would be looking.
Bucky looked away immediately.
His pulse hammered in his throat.
Fuck.
He shoved both hands into his jacket pockets and turned in the opposite direction, jaw tight, pulse irritated beneath his skin. He was not looking for you. He was not going to walk around this whole fucking festival like a lost dog because you had vanished for five minutes.
âHey.â
Bucky turned too fast.
And there you were.
Standing behind him. Sunlight soft around your shoulders, spilling through the gaps in the trees behind you, catching the faint sheen of condensation on the clear plastic cups in your hands. Two iced coffees.
For one stupid second, he forgot to be angry.
The feeling arrived in his chest before he could stop it. A loosening. A warmth. The same stupid, gravitational pull he had been fighting all day, undoing him with a single glance.
Then you smiled at him.
Not the teasing, knowing curl of your mouth that made him want to grab you by the waist and pull you into somewhere quiet. This one was smaller. Softer. Almost shy. The corners of your lips lifted slowly, like you were testing whether it was safe to show him that part of yourself.
He did not trust himself to name it.
âThey messed up my order,â you said, lifting one of the cups a little. The ice shifted inside, a soft, crystalline sound against the plastic. âGave me hazelnut instead of caramel.â
Bucky stared at you. He could smell the coffee now, faintly bitter, cut with something sweet.
You held the cup out toward him.
âI remembered hazelnutâs your favourite.â
That was all.
One sentence.
One stupid fucking coffee.
And Bucky felt every cruel, petty thing he had been rehearsing all day loosen in his hands. They slid through his fingers like water, leaving nothing but the raw, embarrassing truth beneath.
He was supposed to be cold. He had planned it. If you came over he was going to look at you the way you looked at him in dayligh; casual, polite, with nothing owed. He was going to make you work for his attention. Make you feel the distance.
Instead, he took the coffee.
His fingers brushed yours around the damp cup. Your skin was cool and wet from the condensation, and the contact was brief but electric. He felt it in his fingertips, up his wrist, settling somewhere low in his chest.
âThanks,â he said.
The word came out awful. Pathetic. Barely even mean. It was soft when he had wanted it hard. Grateful when he had wanted indifferent.
Your eyes searched his face, careful and quiet. There was something watchful in the way you looked at him, like you were reading a line of text you had read before but were trying to understand differently this time.
âYou havenât talked to me all day.â
Bucky gave a shrug. The motion was stiff, defensive. He brought the straw to his mouth and wrapped his lips around it, buying himself a second.
âBeen busy.â
âI saw.â
The straw stopped against his lips.
There it was. Not an accusation exactly. Not jealousy either. Just two words, soft enough to slide under his skin. They found the tender places, the ones he had been trying to protect, and settled there.
He took a sip to give himself something to do.
Hazelnut. Sweet. A little bitter underneath. Warm on his tongue despite the ice.
Of course you remembered.
He lowered the cup. The plastic was slick in his grip.
âDid you?â
Your mouth tightened slightly. A small, almost imperceptible press of your lips that told him the words had landed where he meant them to.
âBucky.â
He hated that too. The softness. The warning.
âWhat?â he asked, and even to his own ears it came out harder than he intended.
âYouâre being weird.â
He let out a short laugh. It was hollow, barely more than a breath. âIâm being weird?â
Your eyes dropped to the coffee in your hand. The condensation had started to pool between your fingers, and you shifted your grip, watching the water trail down the plastic.
That should have helped him. That should have given him something solid to stay angry with. He wanted you to roll your eyes. He wanted you to smirk, to toss some sharp little joke at his feet and dare him to pick it up. He wanted you to give him a reason.
But you did not.
You just stood there, looking smaller somehow in the middle of all that noise. The festival kept spinning around you and you were still. Quiet. Waiting.
Then you said, âAre you mad at me?â
He was finished.
He hated that he was finished before he even opened his mouth. Hated that the question undid him so completely, that it found the lock and turned it without effort. Hated that you could stand there with a small, uncertain crack in your voice, and he would fold every single time.
Bucky looked away. He dragged his tongue along the inside of his cheek, tasting coffee and bitterness and something that felt too much like surrender.
He brought the coffee to his lips again. Just to have something to do with his hands. Just to keep from saying something he could not take back.
âWhy would I be mad?â he asked, because apparently he had decided to be a dick anyway.
You did not answer immediately.
The silence stretched between you like a thread pulled taut, and Bucky watched the shape of your mouth as it hovered around words you werenât ready to say.
When he looked back at you, your face had gone still in that careful way he was beginning to recognise. The muscles around your eyes had softened, your lips parted just slightly, and there was a patience in your expression that felt heavier than any accusation.
âI donât know,â you said, and your voice was thinner now. âI thought maybe the other nightâŚâ
You trailed off.
The sentence hung in the air, unfinished, fragile. The kind of opening that could be filled with anything; with hope, with blame, with the truth neither of you had been brave enough to say aloud.
Buckyâs grip tightened around the coffee cup. The other night. So you did remember. You werenât pretending it hadnât happened, werenât going to let it dissolve into the haze of party noise and cheap beer.
âYou thought maybe what?â
Your lashes lifted. Your eyes met his, and there was no deflection in them now. No clever sidestep.
âI didnât mean to make you feel stupid.â
The words went straight through him.
Clean through the ribs, past the armour he had spent the last three days layering over his chest, settling somewhere deep and tender. It was meaner than anything cruel would have been.
Because that was it. That was the thing he had been carrying around and dressing up as anger, because anger looked better on him than humiliation. You had made him feel stupid. Stupid for wanting you.
And now you were standing in front of him with hazelnut coffee and remorse in your eyes, saying the one thing he had not known he needed to hear.
His anger lost its shape.
It did not vanish. He could still feel it, somewhere under his breastbone, hot and sore, a bruise that had not finished healing. But it had nothing to hold onto now.
Bucky swallowed. The motion was dry, his throat tight.
âYou didnât,â he lied.
Your brows pinched. The disbelief was immediate, a small furrow forming between your eyes that told him you had seen right through the denial.
He sighed, hating himself, hating you a little, hating the way his body was already angling toward yours like it had forgiven you without consulting him.
âFine,â he muttered, the word scraping past his teeth. âMaybe a little.â
Your mouth softened. The corners of your lips turned down in a way that was not quite a frown, more like a quiet admission of guilt.
âIâm sorry.â
There it was again. Another scrap. Barely enough. Two words that should not have been enough to undo the knot in his chest, but somehow they were.
Bucky looked down at the coffee in his hand. The ice had melted more now, the water pooling at the bottom of the clear plastic. Then he looked back at you, and the corner of his mouth lifted despite himself.
âYou always apologise with beverages?â
âOnly when Iâm feeling generous.â
âDangerous habit.â He tilted his head, letting the smirk settle into something more real. âIâm very bribable.â
Your smile came back slowly. It started in your eyes first, a flicker of warmth that spread to your lips, and God, there he went. There he fucking went.
All that resolve, all that careful, bitter distance, folding inside him like wet paper because you looked at him with warmth again.
âYouâre cheap,â you said.
âNot cheap.â He shook his head, the coffee cup swinging in his grip. âAccessible.â
âThatâs worse.â
âYou say that like youâre not standing here trying to buy my forgiveness with six dollars of iced coffee.â
âSeven fifty,â you corrected, and there was a spark of humour in your voice now. âCampus pricing is criminal.â
He laughed before he could stop himself. The sound came out rough and surprised. But there it was, and it loosened something between you, closed the last of the distance.
Your smile widened at the sound, and something in his chest went soft and stupid and loyal.
Across the quad, Sam caught his eye from beside the food trucks. He was standing with a paper tray of fries halfway to his mouth, staring at Bucky over the top of them with an expression flat with disbelief.
His eyebrows were raised, his head tilted in a slow, accusatory shake.
Bucky ignored him.
He looked back at you, and the festival noise swelled around you again, but it felt distant now. Muffled. He nodded toward the far end of the festival where the temporary rides had been set up near the parking lot.
A cheap spinning thing with hanging seats was creaking in slow circles, its lights flickering green and white even though the sun had not fully gone down yet.
Nearby, a smaller ferris wheel groaned every time it moved, looking only slightly safer than a lawsuit.
âYou wanna go on a ride?â
You glanced over, your gaze following his nod. Your brows lifted, a flicker of amusement crossing your face.
âWith you?â
âDonât sound so horrified.â
âIâm not horrified.â You turned back to him, and there was a glint in your eye now. âIâm considering the risk.â
Bucky tilted his head, trying for careless and landing somewhere much softer. The words came out before he could stop them, âCâmon, sweetheart. Let me be a bad influence.â
You looked at him for a second too long.
Then you stepped closer, just enough that your shoulder brushed his arm as you moved past him.
âFine,â you said, the word carrying a reluctant smile. âBut if I die, Iâm haunting you.â
Bucky followed immediately, coffee in hand, heart gone embarrassingly light.
âGood,â he said, âThen at least youâd be consistent.â
For the last three years at NYU, Tony Stark had treated the end of spring semester like a religious holiday.
A very expensive, deeply obnoxious holiday that involved a beach house weekend at his parentsâ sprawling Malibu mansion, that forced you to acknowledge how much money some people had just by existing in its shadow.
First-class flights for anyone he deemed entertaining enough to invite, which was a broad and chaotic metric.
Enough alcohol to poison a small country, and a guest list he described as âintimateâ in the same way someone might call a riot âspirited,â given that it usually hovered somewhere around fifty people.
Closest and dearest friends, Tony called it.
Which, for Tony, meant anyone he had laughed with more than twice, anyone who looked good in bikinis, anyone who owed him money, anyone he owed money, and at least three people he claimed were âessential to the ecosystemâ despite no one else being entirely sure who they were.
Bucky had always loved it.
How could he not?
It was a weekend designed for him to love. Sun-warm skin and salt-crusted hair, the sharp iodine scent of the Pacific mixing with expensive cologne. Music vibrating through the glass walls deep into the night, until the floors hummed under his feet.
Top-shelf liquor sloshing into cheap red cups because Tony loved the visual dissonance of it, the clash of refinement and raucous excess. People half-dressed and fully drunk before the sun had even properly set.
Bodies, careless and comfortable, everywhere, draped over pool chairs, melting into leather couches, disappearing into guest rooms with sheets that cost more than his tuition.
And this year was supposed to be the best one.
Senior year.
The final spring before reality politely asked everyone to grow up. Before the forced enthusiasm about internships, leases, and entry-level jobs that paid barely enough to justify the commute.
Before the slow, quiet humiliation of being twenty-two and realizing the world had never promised to stay exactly how it was.
The last Malibu trip had a gravity to it, even if no one wanted to say that out loud. Everyone could feel it pressing down on their shoulders.
Steve said it once on the plane, because of course he did.
Mid-flight, with the Pacific stretching blue and endless beneath them, he said something earnest and quietly devastating about how strange it was that they would probably never have this much time together again.
Sam threw a pretzel at his forehead with surgical precision. âStop making the trip sad, Rogers. Youâre gonna manifest a bad vibe.â
Bucky had laughed along with everyone else.
He was good at that. Keeping things light. Acting like the future was just some vague concept waiting politely far away from him, instead of a door already clicking shut in slow motion while they werenât looking.
Besides, he had more pressing things to occupy his head.
Like the fact that you were coming.
Not that he was thinking about that. Not obsessively. He hadnât checked the group chat four times to see if Natasha had confirmed the flight details. He hadnât hovered near the baggage claim exit a little too long, pretending to stretch his shoulders out, stomach tightening every time the automatic doors slid open.
He hadnât carefully packed the black shirt, the one you had touched once, months ago, fingers smoothing the collar, your smile going slow and private in a way that he had replayed more times than heâd ever admit.
He was just excited for the trip.
That was all.
The house came into view just as the car turned up the long private drive, a ridiculous sprawl of glass and white stone sitting above the water like it had been dropped there by God specifically to make poor people feel unwelcome.
The Pacific flashed blue beyond it, bright enough to hurt, the sun catching the surface in a million tiny explosions of light. Palm trees leaned over the road, their fronds swaying lazily in the salt-warm breeze.
The afternoon sun poured itself across everything, turning the windows gold and the pool a hard, glittering turquoise, the kind of color that looked fake in photographs but was somehow real here.
Tony stood out front in linen trousers and sunglasses, arms spread wide like a cult leader welcoming his congregation home.
âMy children,â he called as soon as the car doors opened. âYou made it.â
Sam stepped out first, stretching his arms over his head, his spine cracking in a way that made Steve wince sympathetically. âYou say that like we survived war and not a six-hour flight where you slept through turbulence.â
âI survived being seated beside Barton,â Tony said, pulling his sunglasses down his nose just enough to make eye contact. âWhich is worse.â
Clint, emerging from the next car with his hair flattened on one side. âI heard that, Stark.â
âYou were meant to.â
Bucky climbed out after Steve, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, the warm Malibu air hitting him all at once. The air was different here. Thicker. Slower. It made you want to breathe deeper.
Somewhere inside the house, music was already playing, a low, thrumming bassline that vibrated through the glass walls. Someone had arrived before them and started early, because of course they had. Tonyâs parties never waited for the host.
Bucky looked toward the road before he could stop himself, his gaze dragging along the curve of the driveway.
No other car yet.
He looked away immediately, his jaw tightening.
Sam, because he was a terrible person and a worse friend, noticed.
âSubtle,â he said, the word drawn out.
Bucky frowned. âWhat?â
âNothing.â Samâs grin widened, but he didnât push further. He knew better than to push Bucky when he was already coiled tight.
Steve had the decency to say nothing, but his mouth did that thing where it pressed flat at the corners, the kind of silent judgment that was almost worse than Samâs teasing.
Bucky shoved past both of them, his duffel bag thumping against his hip, and grabbed his bag from the trunk before anyone else could offer to help.
âIâm getting a room before all the good ones are gone.â
Tony scoffed. âPlease. Your rooms are assigned. Iâm not running a hostel.â
Sam paused mid-step, his duffel slung over one shoulder. âYou assigned rooms?â
âObviously.â Tony turned on his heel, leading the way inside. âIâm not having a repeat of the Cabo incident. Some people donât know how to handle free choice sleeping arrangements.â
Clint, trailing behind, muttered, âThat was one time.â
âIt was twice,â Tony shot back, not looking back.
The inside of the mansion was already half-chaos. Suitcases abandoned in the entryway, a pair of heels kicked off and left under a marble console table, a half-empty bottle of champagne sweating on the counter of the kitchen island.
A bowl of limes sat on the kitchen island, untouched and decorative for now, though Bucky gave it six hours before Thor tried to bite into one whole.
Bucky followed Tony upstairs with Sam and Steve, his bag slung over one shoulder, his footsteps padding on the wide wooden staircase. He tried very hard not to wonder where you would sleep.
Tried and failed.
Which room would you get? Would you be on the same floor as him? Across the hall? At the other end of the house, where heâd have to walk past a dozen doors just to catch a glimpse of you?
Tony stopped at the end of the hall and pointed at a door like a bored hotel concierge, his hand a lazy gesture. âRogers, Wilson, Barnes. Try not to destroy anything structural.â
Sam pushed open the door and whistled low, the sound echoing in the high-ceilinged room. âDamn.â
Steve stepped into it after him, his gaze sweeping across the king-sized bed, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the balcony that jutted out over the lawn. âThis is excessive.â
âThatâs the family motto,â Tony said, already turning away, his phone buzzing in his pocket. âThereâs food in the kitchen. Drinks on the terrace. Donât break the bed, Iâll know.â
Bucky went in last. Ocean-facing, because Tony was an asshole who pretended not to be thoughtful.
The room was huge, the bed draped in white sheets that looked impossibly soft, the glass doors slid open to let the breeze in. The water was visible beyond the slant of the lawn, a deep, endless blue that seemed to go on forever.
He dropped his bag on the floor by the bed and walked to the balcony, his hands gripping the railing.
The warm Malibu air hit him again, thicker now. The sound of the party drifted up to meet him, carried on the breeze; the low thrum of music from inside the house, the clatter of ice in glass.
Down below, the patio had already started filling.
Someone was carrying crates of alcohol toward the outdoor bar, bottles clinking with every step. Rhodey was arguing with Tony about speaker placement, his hands moving in broad, frustrated arcs while Tony gestured at the pool like he was explaining architecture to a child.
A few girls Bucky vaguely recognised from campus were stretched near the pool on lounge chairs, their sunglasses pushed up into their hair, laughing too loudly at something Thor said while he stood at the edge of the water, gesturing broadly.
Still no you.
He let his gaze sweep the patio once, just once, the way you might check a clock you already knew the answer to.
Fine.
He had time.
He could get settled. He could take a shower, let the hot water loosen the knot wedged between his shoulder blades.
Behind him, Sam appeared in the open doorway of the balcony, his silhouette filling the frame.
âDonât start,â Bucky said, not turning around.
Sam leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. âI just came to tell you Tonyâs making drinks downstairs.â
âGreat.â
âAnd to remind you that this is supposed to be a fun weekend.â Samâs voice was light, conversational, but the words had edges.
Bucky turned from the balcony then, the ocean falling away behind him. The breeze caught his hair, pushing it across his forehead. âI know how to have fun, Sam.â
âHistorically, yes.â
Before Bucky could respond, Steve appeared behind Sam in the doorway, his shoulder brushing the frame as he stepped up.
He looked between them with that resigned expression, the one that said he had walked into the middle of something and would now be forced to participate, like it or not. âWhat are we talking about?â
âNothing,â Bucky said.
âHis disease,â Sam said at the same time.
Bucky stared at him. âMy what?â
Sam held up a hand, ticking off fingers. âSymptoms include staring at doors. Emotional constipation. And abandoning perfectly nice girls mid-conversation when a certain someone walks into a room.â
Steve sighed. âSam.â
âWhat? He needs medical attention.â
Bucky grabbed one of the pillows from the bed behind him and threw it at Samâs head. Sam caught it easily, looking infuriatingly pleased with himself.
âSee? Irritability. Another symptom.â
Bucky rolled his eyes, but heat crawled up the back of his neck anyway. âIâm not doing this all weekend.â
âGood.â Samâs voice dropped then, the grin fading around the edges, âDonât.â
It was said lightly, but not entirely.
Bucky looked at him. For a second, the room shifted into something less like sparring and more like concern.
Samâs shoulders loosened, the humor bleeding out of his face just enough to show the worry underneath, the part of him that had watched Bucky turn himself inside out over you for months and did not find all of it funny anymore.
Steve stepped forward, his voice gentler now. âJust... donât spend the whole trip waiting for her to decide your mood.â
Buckyâs jaw tightened. The muscle in his temple jumped.
He wanted to tell them they were wrong. He wanted to say you did not decide anything. That he was fine.
But the words sat heavy in his mouth, and he couldnât force them out.
So he said nothing.
From downstairs, Tonyâs voice carried up through the open doors, bouncing off the glass and the stone. âFirst round is ready, you ungrateful peasants!â
Sam clapped his hands once. âSaved by alcoholism.â
Steve gave Bucky one last look then turned and disappeared toward the hall.
Bucky followed, because staying behind would look pathetic, and he had already met his quota for the day.
Downstairs, the house had grown louder. More people had arrived while he was up there. Bags piled by the stairs, sandals kicked off near the sliding doors, laughter spilling in from the patio in overlapping waves.
Tony was behind the outdoor bar in sunglasses, pouring something violently green into a row of cups while Pepper stood beside him looking like she had already accepted Godâs plan for her evening.
Bucky took a cup the second Tony handed him one.
It tasted like lime, expensive vodka, and exactly what he needed. The alcohol burned a clean path down his throat and settled warm in his chest.
Perfect.
He tipped his head back and drank half of it.
By eleven, Bucky was absolutely, spectacularly shitfaced.
The whole mansion seemed to tilt and breathe around him, swaying on its foundations in slow waves of green pool light, salt-scrubbed air, and the sweet, cloying scent of expensive liquor bleeding from every glass.
Someone had thrown all the glass doors to the patio wide open, letting the party spill out of the house and down toward the pool, toward the dark strip of beach below, toward the ocean rolling black and endless under a crescent moon.
Bucky was having the time of his fucking life.
He had spent the last hour ricocheting between Samâs shoulder and Steveâs long-suffering presence, laughing so hard his ribs ached and his vision blurred.
Tony had climbed onto the kitchen island at some point to deliver a toast no one had asked for, sloshing amber liquid onto the pristine marble. Bruce had lost a sandal. Rhodey had found it in the freezer, holding it up like a trophy.
Thor had challenged half the house to a drinking competition and laid them out, one by one, a trail of empty glasses and ruined egos stretching behind him like a battlefield.
Bucky, because he was an idiot and because the liquor had convinced him he was invincible, had tried to take him on.
Thor drank like he had been weaned on kerosene and raised by wolves. Bucky had made it three rounds before Sam materialised at his elbow and physically removed the cup from his hand.
âToo pretty to die on Tony Starkâs imported marble,â Sam had said.
Bucky had laughed in his face.
Then his heel caught on nothing and he nearly pitched headfirst into a decorative fern the size of a small car, catching himself on the wall at the last second.
And you had seen it.
You had seen him almost eat shit beside a fern, and instead of looking unimpressed, instead of giving him that careful, distant smile he had grown to hate, you had laughed.
Your head tipped back, the long column of your throat exposed, one hand pressed to your mouth as your shoulders shook. Natasha leaned in to whisper something in your ear, and you laughed harder, nodding.
It was the best sound he had heard all night. The best thing he had seen all month.
You werenât ignoring him tonight. Not even a little. He had been braced for it, waiting for the familiar wall to go up, but it never came. Since the moment you arrived, you had been sweet. Warm. Present in a way that made his chest feel too tight and his hands itch to reach for you.
Honey, he kept thinking, the word a stupid, syrupy refrain in the back of his mind.
You were warm like honey tonight, golden and thick and spilling over everything. He was a fly caught in it, too far gone to care.
And fuck, you looked good.
That was the other problem, the one pressing insistently against the front of his jeans with every glance you threw his way.
You were trying to kill him. There was no other explanation for the top you had chosen. Thin and tight, clinging to the curve of your torso like it had been made specifically to undo him.
The fabric shifted with every breath, catching the light, and the neckline dipped just low enough to make his mouth go dry. Every time you lifted your arms, your boobs shifted and threatened to spill out entirely.
A possessive, animal part of him wanted to cup them in his palms, slide his thumbs over the soft swell, tuck them back in himself and never let them go.
Your shorts were no better. Sitting high on your thighs, hugging the flare of your hips, leaving acres of bare skin on display. He kept wondering how you had managed to squeeze into them and whether he was going to survive watching you walk away in them one more time.
He was not proud of himself. He wanted to pounce on you right there, in front of everyone, sink his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, taste the salt and sugar on your skin.
He wanted to haul you against him and find out if you felt as soft as you looked.
You wandered back to him sometime after Tonyâs third terrible toast, barefoot now, your sandals abandoned somewhere by the pool. In your hands, you held two little glass shot glasses, the liquid inside them a violent, fluorescent pink that glowed under the patio lights like a dare.
Bucky looked at the shots, then at you.
âNo.â
You blinked at him, a pout already forming on your lips. âNo?â
âI challenged Thor,â he said, as if that explained everything. âIâm cut off. Sam declared a moratorium on my alcohol intake for the sake of my liver and the integrity of the marble flooring.â
âThat was stupid,â you said, but your eyes were warm, amused.
âThank you, sweetheart. Iâm acutely aware.â
Your smile widened. God, there it was. That specific, dangerous curve of your mouth that made the bottom drop out of his stomach every single time.
You stepped closer, close enough that the cold plastic rim of one shot glass pressed lightly against his chest, just over his heart. âCome on, Buck,â you said, your voice soft and honeyed beneath the thrum of the bass. âOne more. Just for me.â
He should have said no. He had every intention of saying no.
Then your fingers curled into the front of his shirt. Just the tips of them, hooking into the fabric, not enough to pull him toward you, just enough to hold him there.
âFine,â he heard himself say, the word a complete and total surrender. He was weak and you were evil and he wouldnât have it any other way.
The two of you clinked the plastic cups together and threw them back.
The liquid hit his tongue. Sugar first, cloying and thick. Then vodka, sharp and medicinal. And something aggressively sour that made his jaw clench and his eyes water.
You made a face immediately, your nose scrunching up, your eyes squeezed shut, a soft sound of disgust escaping your throat.
Bucky laughed so hard he had to brace one hand against the edge of the counter behind him. âAwful, right?â
âAwful,â you croaked, coughing once into your fist.
âYou brought it to me,â he pointed out, still grinning.
âI wanted you to suffer with me,â you murmured, your voice hoarse from the liquor.
âRomantic. You really know how to make a guy feel special.â
âDonât get excited.â
âToo late.â The words came out rougher than he meant them.
He was already excited. Had been excited since you walked through the door in that top, looking like everything he had ever wanted and had no right to touch.
You leaned your shoulder into his side, just for a second. Maybe for balance. Maybe because you wanted to. The weight of you pressing into him, fitting too perfectly into the curve of his body.
Bucky looked down at you. Your mouth was wet from the shot, shining under the dim glow of the patio lights. Your eyes were heavy-lidded, warm, fixed on his mouth.
He didnât think about it. His hand found your waist, fingers spreading over the bare skin exposed by the crop of your top. You were soft and warm and solid under his palm, and the contact sent a shiver of heat up his arm.
âYouâre drunk,â you murmured, your breath brushing his collarbone.
âSo are you,â he countered, his thumb tracing a slow, idle circle on the dip of your hip.
âMm. Maybe.â You didnât pull away.
âDefinitely.â
âYou always this handsy when youâre drunk, Barnes?â The question was velvet over steel, a challenge wrapped in silk. But you leaned into him instead.
Buckyâs thumb shifted against your waist, sliding higher, tracing the edge of your ribcage through the thin fabric of your top.
He felt the soft intake of your breath, the way your stomach tightened under his touch. âNo,â he said, the word dropping an octave, sliding under the bass of the music, rougher than before. âJust when youâre dressed like that.â
You sighed against him, warm and tipsy, your cheek brushing his shoulder as if you had every right to be there.
âI think I need to call it a night.â
Buckyâs head snapped down so fast the room tilted with him.
âNo.â The word came out instantly, offended and pathetic. Then again, worse. âNo, no, no.â
You laughed, and he felt it more than heard it, the soft shake of your body against his side. He had one arm locked around your waist, fingers splayed over the exposed strip of skin where your tank had ridden up.
âItâs only eleven,â he protested, tightening his grip like you might dissolve into the party if he let you breathe too freely. âPartyâs gonna go on for another couple of hours.â
âThat sounds like a threat.â
âDonât leave me alone.â
Your smile curved against his neck. âThereâs like forty other people here, Buck. Iâm sure you wonât be that lonely.â
He made a wounded noise into the crown of your head. âNone of them are you.â
The words came out before he could dress them up as a joke, before he could hide them behind a grin or a roll of his eyes.
You went quiet for half a second.
Then you tilted your face up to him, eyes glassy-bright from alcohol and the green spill of party lights. âI wanna explore Malibu tomorrow. Iâm not wasting the whole day hungover because you need attention.â
âYouâre so boring,â he groaned, dropping his forehead briefly to your temple.
âAnd yet.â
âAnd yet,â he repeated, the words heavy, loaded, full of everything he couldnât say.
âIâll let you take me to my room, then.â
Bucky pretended to consider it. Really sold it too, eyes narrowed, mouth pursed like this was a difficult sacrifice and not the only thing he wanted in the world. âIf thatâs the only way to keep you with me.â
âIt is.â
âWell.â He pulled you closer, his hand sliding more securely around your waist, his fingers pressing into the warm skin of your hip. âWho am I to deny a lady?â
âOh God.â
You laughed again, the sound soft and breathless, and Bucky started walking before you could change your mind.
Or tried to.
The first few steps were a test of faith. The floor seemed to tilt and roll beneath him like the deck of a ship, and the hallway stretched and contracted in confusing rhythms.
You pressed tighter against his side, your arm sliding around his waist to steady both of you, and every time your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, Bucky had to remind himself that he was escorting you to bed, not dragging you into his mouth.
The mansion blurred around him. He passed a painting of a sailboat. Then another painting of a sailboat. He definitely took a wrong turn past a large, ugly vase.
Behind him, Sam called out something that got swallowed by the bass. Someone else whistled, low and knowing.
Bucky ignored all of it.
All he cared about was the feel of you tucked under his arm, the soft drag of your breath on his neck, the way your hip bumped against his thigh with every stumbling step. The air through the open windows smelled like jasmine and salt and the faint, clean scent of your perfume mixing with the liquor in his veins.
âIs this even the right way?â you asked as he led you past a framed painting of something expensive and ugly.
âYes.â
âYouâre lost.â
âIâm exploring Malibu.â
âThat is not what that means.â
He shushed you, then immediately turned down the wrong hallway.
By the time he found the staircase, both of you were laughing too hard to move quietly. You clung to his shirt as he guided you up the stairs, your body shaking against his, and every time your fingers curled against his chest, Buckyâs pulse kicked harder.
He opened the door with the confidence of a man who had absolutely no idea what he was doing.
The room was dark except for the moonlight spilling through the balcony doors, silver and heavy, painting everything in soft shadows.
The bed was massive, white sheets tangled from where he had thrown his duffel earlier. His shirt hung off the back of a chair. His shoes kicked carelessly near the dresser. The balcony doors were open a crack, letting in the sound of the waves and the cool night air.
You stepped in beside him, looked around for one long second, then burst into laughter.
âThis is not my room, Buck.â
Bucky blinked.
Looked at the bed. Looked at his duffel on the floor. Looked at you.
âOh.â
He turned back to you, trying very hard to arrange his face into something less guilty.
âOops.â
You laughed harder, your head tipping back, your hand pressing to your stomach like this was the funniest thing that had happened all night. And maybe it was. The sound was bright and unguarded, and Bucky wanted to bottle it.
âI cannot believe you,â you said.
âHonest mistake. Tragic, really. Very confusing architecture in this house.â
âSure.â
You should have turned around.
You should have made him find the right room. Should have rolled your eyes and dragged him back into the hallway before he could get any more ideas, before Bucky remembered exactly how little space there was between want and stupidity.
Instead, you walked farther in.
Then you collapsed backward onto his bed.
You fell into the mattress with a soft, breathless sound, the white sheets whispering beneath you. Your hair spilled loose across his pillow. The tank top had ridden up from the fall, baring the soft curve of your belly, the delicate jut of your hipbone just above the line of your shorts.
The moonlight sliced silver across your thighs, caught the damp shine of your lips, traced the lines of your body and turned your skin to shadow and glow.
You looked obscene.
You looked perfect.
Like you had been poured into his bed by some cruel, generous god.
Bucky stayed frozen at the foot of the bed. His hand was still on the doorknob, a solid point in his grip, the only thing keeping him upright. His blood was too loud in his ears. He was wrecked.
Thrown off.
Completely, catastrophically fucked.
âYouâre in my bed,â he said, the words scraping out of him rough and disbelieving, a rasp that barely carried over the sound of his own pounding heart.
You stretched one arm over your head, a slow motion that arched your spine against the sheets and made the fabric of your top strain across your chest. Your ribs lifted. Your shorts shifted. You looked soft, drunk, a problem he wanted to have forever.
âSo I am.â
Bucky swallowed, his throat clicking audibly in the quiet hush of the room.
The alcohol was a warm, syrupy fog settled deep in his skull, blurring his edges and dulling his sense, but some sliver of awareness remained, sharp enough to recognise the disaster unfolding in front of him.
He tried to keep the mood light, to sound like the version of himself that could laugh this off and walk away.
He let out a breathy, unconvincing laugh.
âCâmon, get up. Let me take you to your room.â
âMhm-mhm,â you hummed, a sound so lazy and content it made his stomach clench.
You closed your eyes and arched your neck, baring the long vulnerable line of your throat to the mercury glow of the moon. Your pulse beat visibly just beneath your skin, a delicate, rhythmic flutter that made his mouth water.Â
Fuck, he wanted to sink his teeth into that skin. To taste your heartbeat on his tongue. To mark you. âBut Iâm so comfortable here, Buck.â
His mouth was sandpaper. He tried to swallow again and failed, the motion scraping against his dry throat.
âYou gonna get me in trouble, honey.â The words came out rough, a warning wrapped in something that sounded almost like a plea. Please donât make me do this. Please donât let me do this.
You lifted your head from the pillow, your hair spilling across his sheets and gave him a slow smile. It was the smile of someone who knew exactly what she was doing.
âYeah?â you murmured, your voice turning syrupy. âHow?â
You werenât just looking at him. You were fucking him with your eyes, taking him apart piece by piece without lifting a finger.
âFor fuckâs sake,â he heard himself mutter.
He felt the last thread of his self-control snap. The sensible part of his brain went entirely offline, leaving nothing behind but pure, aching, consuming want.
He pounced on you, covering your body with his, the mattress groaning under his sudden weight. You met him halfway, surging up to meet him, your hands fisting in the front of his shirt and yanking him down into your mouth.
The first taste of you was sweet, fucking relief.
Expensive vodka, the lingering sugar of your lip gloss, the faint salt of your skin, and something purely you. It flooded every empty space inside him, drowning out every doubt, every hesitation.
He groaned loudly into your mouth, a raw, animal sound that vibrated through his chest and into yours.
He couldnât get enough. He forced your mouth open wider with his tongue, sliding inside, tasting. Shit, he couldnât stop. He didnât want to stop.
Every rational thought dissolved into static, overwhelmed by the wet heat of your mouth, the soft give of your body beneath him, the way you kissed him back like you wanted to devour him too.
He wrenched his mouth away, just far enough to pant against your lips, his forehead pressing to yours. His breath came in ragged, desperate heaves.
âWeâre drunk,â he breathed, the words scraping out of him like a confession he didnât want to make. âWe... we shouldnât do this.â
And then he felt it.
One of your legs slid up, the smooth, warm skin of your thigh brushing his hip before your calf hooked around his waist, locking him firmly against you. There was no escape now. You had him trapped.
Your hand came up, your palm cupping his jaw, your fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. You pulled his mouth back to yours, your lips brushing his as you spoke.
âBut I want to,â you murmured against his lips. âDonât you?â
Bucky never claimed to have any strength. He had never pretended to have a strong will. Not when it came to you.
He dove back into your mouth like a man starving, like a man drowning who had finally found oxygen. His hands were everywhere now, making up for every moment he had held back.
They roamed down your sides, feeling the heat and softness of your body beneath. Down to your waist, gripping the bare skin where the fabric had ridden up. Lower still, over the flare of your hip, the silky expanse of your thighs.
And then your ass. Fuck. Perfect and full, fitting into his palms like it was made for them. He grabbed handfuls of it, squeezing, kneading, pulling you harder against him as he ground his hips into yours.
The moan you let out was muffled against his mouth, a broken, breathy sound that vibrated through his entire body and went straight to his cock.
His hips rolled forward in a rough, involuntary thrust, grinding his aching hardness against the heat of your cunt, the friction electric even through the thin layers of fabric separating you.
A guttural groan tore from deep in his chest, swallowed by your mouth as he kept moving against you.
Your moans were muffled against his mouth, your fingers twisted in his hair, holding him to you like you were afraid heâd disappear. The world had narrowed to the slide of his tongue against yours, the damp heat of your breath mingling with his.
But he couldnât get enough. Every taste made him hungrier. Every sound you made drove him further past the edge of reason.
He broke the kiss with a ragged gasp, pushing himself upright, his chest heaving. Your hands followed him immediately, desperate fingers catching at his shirt, trying to pull him back down, trying to keep his mouth on yours.
âSit tight, honey,â he breathed.
His hands were already moving, clumsy and urgent, fumbling at the button of your denim shorts. The thin metal slipped through his fingers once, twice, before he got it free.
His eyes met yours, dark and serious despite the haze of alcohol.
âTell me to stop, baby.â The words came out low, a last gasp of something that might have been conscience. âTell me to fucking stop.â
You shook your head hard, the motion fierce and immediate. Your hips lifted off the mattress as you shoved at the waistband of your shorts, helping him drag them down your legs along with your panties.
âPlease donât stop, Bucky.â Your voice cracked, âPlease. Iâll die.â
The raw desperation in your voice hit him like a punch to the sternum. His cock throbbed painfully in his jeans, and he had to bite back a groan, had to clench his jaw to keep from spilling right there like a fucking teenager. Christ.
But first, he needed to see you.
He settled back on his heels, his hands braced on your thighs, and let his gaze travel down the length of your body. His eyes traced the curve of your hips, the soft swell of your belly, and finally, finally, to the place he had been dreaming about for months.
He stared.
It felt like the air left the room. His mouth went dry, then flooded with saliva.
She was beautiful. Perfect. Pretty and glistening, the soft folds glistening with your arousal, the little hooded pearl peeking out like she was waiting for him. He felt like he was going to drool.
A sharp shove hit his shoulder, rocking him back.
âBucky.â Your voice was a whine, âStop staring. Youâre making me shy.â
He let out a laugh, shaking his head slowly. Shy. After everything, you were shy.
He lowered himself, pressing his mouth to the inside of your thigh. Then higher. Another kiss, closer. His lips dragged along your skin, following the sensitive line of your inner thigh.
âMâsorry, sweetheart.â His voice was a murmur against your flesh, âSheâs just so pretty. Been dreaming about her.â
You sighed above him, the sound dreamy and soft. âReally?â
He didnât answer with words. He pressed his mouth to your clit, a single, gentle kiss. You gasped, your hips twitching.
Then he went for the kill.
He dragged his tongue up in a long, slow stripe, from your entrance to your clit, savouring the taste of you; salty and sweet and everything. And then he closed his lips around that little pearl and sucked. Hard.
Your moan was loud, broken, spilling out of you like you couldnât hold it back. It hit him straight in the gut, a jolt of electricity that traveled down to his cock, making him grind helplessly against the mattress, seeking any friction he could find.
He didnât stop. He couldnât. He buried his face in your cunt like a man starved, his tongue sliding through your folds, dipping inside you, then back up to circle your clit. He ate you out with messy, desperate strokes, his moans vibrating against your sensitive flesh.
He fucked you with his tongue, pushing inside you, tasting your heat, your want, your need.
Your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him harder against you, and he went willingly, eagerly, lost completely in the taste and the sound and the feel of you falling apart under his mouth.
You moaned at the intrusion, a broken, breathless sound that vibrated around his knuckles as he sank his middle finger deep into your slick heat.
You didnât need the encouragement, your hips were already rolling, riding his hand with a desperate, frantic rhythm that made the mattress creak beneath you.
He could feel it building in the way your walls fluttered and clamped around him, chasing that peak with a single-minded hunger that made his mouth water.
âWant another one, sweetheart?â His voice was honey and gravel, the pad of his thumb dragging a lazy, torturous circle over your clit.
You glared down at him from above, your frown sharp and impatient. âStop fucking with me, Bucky.â
He grinned, and pushed a second finger into you without breaking eye contact. The stretch pulled a sharp gasp from your parted lips, and he started thrusting harder, deeper, the wet, obscene sound of it filling the quiet room. âDonât wanna fuck with you, baby. I wanna fuck you.â
He felt you clench around his fingers immediately, a violent, fluttering grip that sent a tremor up his arm. A loud, broken moan tore out of you as you came, your body shuddering against his hand, your slick coating his palm and dripping down his wrist.Â
Fuck. He stared down at the way you pulsed around him, and his brain short-circuited. If this was how you came on his fingers, his cock was going to be absolutely fucking suffocated inside you.
He didnât give you a second to recover.
He pulled his fingers out and brought them to his mouth, stuffing them past his lips, tasting you. He sucked them clean, groaning around the flavour of you, before he was crawling up your body, dragging his chest over your damp, trembling skin.
He thrust his tongue into your mouth without warning, sharing the taste of yourself with you. You opened for him eagerly, moaning into the kiss, your hands tangling in his hair and pulling him deeper.
Your fingers found his belt, the buckle clicking open under your quick, determined hands. He heard the rough rasp of his zipper, felt your palms push his jeans down over his ass, and you paused just long enough to squeeze, an appreciative grip that made him groan against your lips.
Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. He was about to fuck you. Actually, really, truly, about to fuck you.
He had to contain his excitement, had to focus on his breathing, or he was going to spill like a goddamn virgin before he even got close to being inside you.
And then your hands were flat on his shoulders, shoving.
He pulled back, frowning, ready to ask what was wrong, but the look on your face stopped him cold. You were grinning up at him, wicked and beautiful.
âLet me suck your cock.â
You didnât give him a chance to respond. You shoved him sideways, trying to climb on top of him, trying to get your mouth on him, and the thought of your lips closing around him almost made his vision go white.
âNo, no, no, no.â He caught your hips, tried to wrestle you back down onto your back. âNo, sweetheart, justâstayâlet meââ
You were laughing, light and playful, but he was deadly serious.
âIf you even breathe on my cock, Iâll cum on the spot. I promise.â His eyes met yours, desperate and honest. âPlease. Not tonight. Just let me have you. Iâve been waiting for thisâwaiting for you.â
You paused on his lap, considering. The laughter faded from your face, replaced by something softer, something thoughtful that made his chest ache.
He had to close his eyes. He had to focus on his breath.
Because your cunt was right there. Right on top of his dick. The heat of you seeping through his skin, the dampness of you threatening to coat his aching length.
He could feel every inch of your weight pressing down over him, and if he looked, if he moved, if he so much as twitched his hips, he was going to lose his entire fucking mind.
And then you began to slowly rock up and down his dick, the friction of your slick heat dragging against him like a live wire. You looked down at him with that small, knowing smile, the one that made his chest ache and his cock throb.
âYouâre really that desperate for me?â
Bucky nodded, his jaw tight, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Painfully. Desperately. A confession without words.
You leaned down, your lips brushing his in a kiss so quick and soft it was almost cruel. âOkay, baby.â
He let out a shuddering sigh of relief, of gratitude⌠and then his eyes flew wide.
Because you were rising. Rising off his lap. Reaching down between your bodies. Taking hold of his dick in your warm hand, and positioning it exactly where you wanted it.
He was hypnotised. Transfixed. The sight of his own flushed tip nudging against your soaking, glistening entrance made his brain short-circuit.
He felt a drop of saliva escape the corner of his mouth, rolling down his chin, and he couldnât even muster the shame to wipe it away.
Jesus fucking Christ.
You were so tight. The first inch of him sliding into you felt like being wrapped in molten silk, searing and perfect. His eyes flicked up to your face, and he found yours squeezed shut, your lips parted, your breath catching in broken little gasps as you fed yourself his cock inch by agonising inch.
It felt like an eternity before your hips met his, before he was buried to the hilt inside you, and the sight of his cock disappearing completely into your body made his vision haze.
Your thighs settled flat against his, skin to skin, and he gripped your waist so hard he knew heâd leave bruises.
âDonât move,â he rasped, his voice ragged. âStay still for me. Just⌠keep still.â
You clenched around him involuntarily, a soft, reflexive squeeze that made him groan deep in his chest.
âDonât do that. Donât do that.â
You pouted, your bottom lip jutting out, eyes still hazy with pleasure. âI canât help it, Bucky.â
And then you clenched again. Accidentally. Deliberately. He couldnât tell. It didnât matter.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He tried to think of other things. Disgusting things. Anything to keep from spilling inside you like a goddamn teenager.
Cut toenails. Moldy fruit. Steveâs ass. None of it was working. Not when your heat was wrapped around him, not when you were sitting there looking so soft and sweet and patient, waiting for his permission.
He gave a strained nod, his voice barely a whisper. âOkay. Go ahead, baby.â
You smiled and then you rose. Rose until only the tip of him remained inside you. And then you dropped.
Violently. All the way down, slamming into his hips, the force of it knocking the air from his lungs and making him grit his teeth so hard his jaw ached. And then you were bouncing, riding him like he was a fairy pony, your pace frantic and relentless, your walls gripping him with every upward stroke.
All he could do was try to keep up. He dug his fingers into your hips, his hands guiding your rhythm, and began to fuck up into you matching your wild tempo, chasing the heat pooling at the base of his spine.
Bucky was pretty sure if his heart gave out right now; if he dropped dead beneath you, buried to the hilt, watching you fall apart on his cock, heâd die the happiest man alive.
This was heaven. You were heaven. The way you moved on top of him, taking everything he had, stealing his breath, his sanity, every coherent thought heâd ever had.
And then he realised.
You were still wearing that top.
The thin fabric clung to your skin, damp with sweat, hiding the one thing he needed to see more than his next breath.
Concealing the soft bounce of your tits with every roll of your hips. He reached up with both hands, fisting the hem, and you didnât even notice, too busy fucking yourself on him, too lost in the rhythm to pay attention to anything else.
Until the violent shrrrip of cotton splitting in two cracked through the air like a gunshot.
Your eyes flew open, head jerking back. âBucky!â
ââM sorry.â
The apology came out wrecked, and completely insincere. There was zero remorse in his voice, none in the greedy way his hands immediately found your bare chest, cupping the soft, heavy weight of your tits, his thumbs dragging over the stiff peaks of your nipples.
The moan that slipped past your lips was immediate.
âNeeded to see them,â he rasped, watching the way they filled his palms, the way your back arched into his touch. âNeeded to feel them.â
A breathless laugh escaped you, a soft shake of your head as you planted your hands flat on his chest and steadied yourself. And then you were bouncing harder, riding him like he was made for this, like you were trying to wring every last drop of sanity from his bones.
But he needed more.
The angle wasnât deep enough. He couldnât get close enough. Couldnât be buried deep enough inside you.
Gathering every ounce of strength he had left, his hands locked onto your waist.
In one fluid, powerful motion, he used his hips to wrench you off balance and flipped you onto your back, twisting your bodies until he was hovering over you, and never once did he slip out of the slick, perfect heat of your body.
A delighted, breathless cry tore from your throat at the sudden shift in power. Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, pulling him deeper.
He reached up, one hand curling around the wooden slats of the headboard. The frame groaned under his grip as he pulled back and snapped his hips forward. Harder. Deeper. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room mixing with your ragged breaths and the desperate groans rumbling in his chest.
Bending down, he pressed his mouth to the sweat-slicked curve of your neck, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp, to feel your pulse flutter against his lips. âI need you to cum,â he grunted against your skin. âPlease, baby. Need it.â
âHuh?â The word came out dazed, strangled. You hadnât heard him. Your eyes were half-lidded, your lips parted, completely lost in the relentless rhythm of him pounding into you, too far gone to process anything beyond the next wave of pleasure building in your core.
âCum now,â he grunted, the words ripped from somewhere deep in his chest. âShit⌠now.â
He drove into you harder, each thrust a desperate, punishing demand. The headboard groaned against the wall, the frame shuddering with every brutal snap of his hips.
Your nails raked down his back, sharp, frantic lines of fire that he felt all the way down to his bones. And then he heard it; a choked sob that broke past your lips. Not pain. Release.
There. Heâd found it.
âRight there, Buckyâright thereââ
The cry was wrecked, broken, a plea that sexed through him like a current. He zeroed in on that spot, that deep, swollen place inside you that made your voice crack and your back arch off the mattress.
He bullied it with his cock, over and over, relentless, until your moans dissolved into something shattered and raw.
Then you broke.
He felt it in the way you clenched around him first; a sudden, violent flutter that turned into a pulsing grip, suffocating his cock, milking him with wave after wave of your release.
Your nails dug into the meat of his shoulders, your thighs locking around his waist, and the sound you made, a broken, keening gasp, was the most beautiful thing heâd ever heard.
It was enough to push him over.
Bucky let go.
His balls drew up tight, a hot rush of pressure building at the base of his spine, and then he was coming⌠violently, uncontrollably, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself into you with a guttural groan that sounded more animal than human.
He stayed buried deep, pumping into you through the aftershocks, his body trembling above yours, every nerve electric and raw.
For a long, suspended moment, there was nothing but the sound of ragged breathing and the slick, wet press of skin against skin.
Then his body went lax.
He collapsed onto his elbows, forehead dropping to your shoulder, his weight pinning you into the mattress as he tried to remember how to breathe. The high was liquid and warm, a blanket of bliss settling over his bones.
And thenâ
âYouâre not gonna be weird about this, are you?â
The words came soft. Disarmingly soft. That was the cruelest part of it.
You pressed them into his skin, your cheek turned against his hair, your voice a low, sleepy murmur. One hand rested loose at the nape of his neck, thumb tracing an idle, almost tender path across the damp skin there.
Like you hadnât just carved something out of him.
Bucky went still.
He forced his lungs to keep moving. Forced the tension in his shoulders to dissolve before you could feel it. His face was still buried in the curve of your shoulder, his mouth hot and wet against your collarbone, his body a weighted, useless thing draped over yours.
The room smelled of them. Sweat and salt and the crushed-flower sweetness of your perfume, tangled with the raw musk of sex that clung to the sheets.
Below, the house was still alive. The bass was a distant heartbeat through the floor, the drone of voices rising and falling like surf against stone.
Ten seconds ago, he had been floating in it.
Ten seconds ago, he had felt stupidly, dangerously complete.
The whole night had collapsed into this single moment; this bed, this room, the slick, fluttering grip of your body around his, your fingers knotted in his hair, holding him at the center of something that felt, for one perfect, delusional instant, like it mattered.
He had let himself thinkâ
No.
He didnât get to finish that thought.
Bucky exhaled slowly through his nose. Then he laughed, a short, easy sound that he shaped into exactly the right shape.
âWeird?â He lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes. âMe?â
Your mouth curved, âYeah. You.â
He gave you the grin. The practiced one. The one that had saved him from worse than this.
âSweetheart, Iâm the most normal guy you know.â
A beat. âThat is deeply untrue.â
You laughed then, and the sound hooked into his ribs. He let himself feel it, just for a second. There. Itâs fine. Keep it light.
He could do this. He could keep the room warm if he didnât push. He could lie here, tangled in you, and pretend the words hadnât hit him like a fist.
Slowly he shifted his weight and pulled out of you. The sound was wet, obscene in the quiet, and it twisted something low in his gut. The heat he had been drowning in vanished the second he was empty.
The chill that replaced it crept up his spine and settled cold in his chest.
Still, he didnât move away.
His arm stayed heavy across your waist, palm spread flat against the curve of your hip. His thumb began a slow, lazy stroke against your skin, a betrayal of every intention he had to act unaffected.
Bucky swallowed the bitterness climbing his throat and ducked his head, pressing his mouth to the warm skin just under your jaw. Not quite a kiss. Soft enough to deny.
âRelax,â he murmured against you, the words a low vibration. âIâm not gonna propose before breakfast.â
Your fingers paused against his cheek. For one terrible second, he thought he had said the wrong thing.
Then you huffed a laugh, thinner than before. âGood.â
Good.
Bucky smiled anyway, pressing it into your skin.
âWouldâve been a nice proposal, though.â He said it like a joke, because apparently he couldnât stop picking at the bruise. âReal romantic. Me, you, Tonyâs guest room, half the house tanked downstairs.â
âYouâre an idiot.â
âYeah,â he said softly, lifting his head to look at you properly. âProbably.â
Your smile flickered.
There it was. That tiny break in you, so fast he would have missed it if he hadnât spent months training himself to read your face. Your eyes searched his, and for a breath, he thought you might take it back.
Thought you might pull him down and kiss him until the hollow ache in his chest stopped screaming.
Instead, your gaze dropped first.
âI just donât want things to get complicated.â
Bucky stared at you.
Complicated.
You were in his bed. Your body was still warm and pliant beneath his hand. You were still wet with him. The scratches from your nails were still raised and stinging on his back. His heart was beating so hard it felt exposed, shameful.
And you were talking about complicated like it was something waiting outside the door, not something you had already dragged in by the throat.
He nodded once. âRight.â
Your eyes flicked back to him. âBuckââ
âNo, I get it.â
He didnât get it, yet he got it perfectly.
Both were true. It was becoming a theme with you.
He pulled the blanket up over your hip because some stupid, aching part of him noticed you shiver. Then he settled back beside you, close enough for your shoulder to press against his chest, close enough to pretend nothing had shifted if he tried hard enough.
And he did try. God, he tried.
He let his lips graze your temple. Let his hand find yours under the sheet. Let himself feel the way your fingers curled, briefly, around his before loosening again.
Downstairs, someone screamed with laughter, a bright, drunken shriek that cut through the bass like glass.
The music kicked louder, the walls shuddering with it, the whole house groaning under the weight of bodies and noise.
You closed your eyes.
Bucky stayed awake, watching the ceiling blur above him.
Your warmth was pressed all along his side, your thigh hooked loosely over his, the damp glide of your skin against his making it impossible to forget where they had been ten minutes ago.
And your words were still lodged cold beneath his ribs, sharp as swallowed glass.
Not weird. Not complicated. Not a thing.
He turned his head and looked at you anyway, because he was weak, because he was stupid, because he had apparently decided that dignity was optional where you were concerned.
Your face had softened into sleep. Lashes dark against your cheeks, lips parted just enough to let the slow rhythm of your breath slip through.
You looked younger like this. Softer. Less like the girl who could walk into a crowded room and tilt his whole goddamn world sideways without breaking stride.
He hated you a little then.
The thought came sudden and ugly, rising from his chest like bile.
He hated you.
Hated the way you could lie here, still slick with him, your body still marked from his hands, and ask him not to make it mean anything.
Hated the way you took his wanting like it was expected, like it was easy, like he hadnât spent months carving pieces of himself off and pressing them into your palm while you barely noticed.
Selfish, he thought.
And yet his arm tightened around you anyway.
Selfish fucking brat.
You take and you take and then you get scared it might mean something, so you push it away before it can push back.
The words burned through him. He imagined saying them. Imagined the way your mouth would part, the little furrow between your brows, the wounded look you would try to hide.
Good, some cruel part of him whispered. Let it hurt. Let you feel stupid for once. Let you feel even half of what I feel right now.
He wanted that. For one vicious, starving second, he wanted to hurt you exactly where you had hurt him.
Then you shifted in your sleep. Barely a breath of movement, a sigh, the slow curl of your fingers against his chest, your palm pressing flat over his heartbeat.
And Bucky melted.
He looked down at your hand resting over his heart and felt the anger lose its teeth.
Not disappear,it stayed there, sore and simmering beneath his ribs, but it had nowhere to go when you were tucked against him like this, soft and warm and trusting him with your sleeping body even while you refused to trust him with your heart.
His throat tightened.
âYouâre so fucking confusing,â he whispered, the words barely a vibration against your hair.
He turned carefully onto his side, gathering you closer despite every reasonable part of him screaming to pull away.
His arm slid around your waist, his palm spread wide against the dip of your back, and you came easily, your forehead finding the hollow beneath his jaw as if your body knew where to belong.
The party roared on beneath them. Drunk and careless and alive. The whole house shaking with it.
And Bucky lay there, holding you, feeling like someone had cracked his chest open and left it that way.
He should have moved away. Should have rolled onto his back and let the cold settle between them, let it harden into the shape you had asked for.
Should have protected himself before morning came and you slipped back into whatever version of yourself could smile at him over breakfast like he hadnât been inside you, like you hadnât held his face in your hands and asked him not to love you.
Instead, he held you tighter.
Because this was still more than he had before.
Because despite everything, you had become the shape of his world.
His want began and ended with you. His mood rose and fell on the sound of your laugh, the lift of your eyes, the careless brush of your fingers against his.
You made him desperate and angry and embarrassingly alive. You made him feel chosen. You made him feel disposable. You made him feel completely insane.
And he would take it. Every scrap. Every confusing, contradictory piece.
He would take it because he didnât know how to stop.
Bucky closed his eyes, his jaw tight enough to ache, his arms locked around you like holding on hard enough could keep the morning from coming.
âDonât worry, sweetheart,â he murmured into your hair, almost mean with the tenderness bleeding through it. âI wonât be weird.â
a/n | my initial plan was after the smut reader avoids, and then bucky freaks out and screams at her during another party and lays out all his frustrations that steve and sam have to physically remove him. three months pass without contact until you two see each other again and we finally get a look at whatâs going through readerâs mind and ends with hurt/comfort and hopeful ending
I don't know how to feel about this. I totally loved the writing style, and how Bucky Charakter was written. But I got the feeling that she is mean to him,he got so many feelings, and she hurts him every time. But on the other hand, maybe she doesn't know how much he loves her
You had it all. The man you were going to marry, the beautiful home you planned to move into, the bookstore days away from grand opening. Life with Steve Rogers was perfect. Until it all came crashing down. So what happens when your soon-to-be husband passes away unexpectedly and youâre left to pick up the pieces alongside his best friends, one of whom you canât stand⌠right? Oh and one more thing, he was hiding a devastating secret that changes everything in an instant.Â
Loosely based on the movie Catch and Release. Somewhat slow burn, enemies to friends to eventual lovers, angst, eventual smut, female reader.
Buckle in because the drama is starting to unfold at the end of this one! I am having so much fun writing this and I hope if youâve started following along you enjoy it as much as I do.Â
TW: mentions of depression, anxiety, death, and grief
Previous Chapter
âYou know Y/N we can always move the opening,â Wanda mentions for what feels like the 50th time this hour.
âNo Wanda, weâre not doing that. Iâm not letting it happen. Weâve both poured so much of ourselves into this place. Steve and Victor poured so much into helping us get off the ground,â I insist.Â
Wanda gave me a skeptical look but knew better than to continue pushing the subject. I wasnât budging and we would still open in less than 6 days. It had to happen, we were running low on funds and our neighbors were looking forward to it.Â
âHave I told you how much of a badass you are?â Wanda notes, grabbing my hands.Â
âMmm maybe once or twice but I could always use another reminder.âÂ
âYou, Y/F/N Y/L/N, are the toughest, most beautiful woman I know. And I love you dearly.â Wanda says, squeezing my hands. âI donât know how this all wouldâve come together without yours and Steveâs support. I owe you everything.â
âAnd I love you, more than you possibly know. Now enough with the emotions Iâve cried too much this month,â I say holding back tears.
âThatâs right, itâs a month today right?â She asks.
âA month since the accident. I still canât shake the feeling I had when I got the call. Sometimes the anxiety just sneaks back up and it takes me in a chokehold,â I say, glancing down, fidgeting with my hands.Â
Steve was on one of his nature escapes when it happened. He had felt like a change of scenery would be the best way for him to reconnect with himself before we started this next chapter together. That morning, I was too groggy to fully say goodbye to him as he set off at 3 am. He called me a lazy log and kissed my head, promising to bring back the muffins I liked the next day from a bakery near the hiking trail. I should have woken up. Itâs one of many regrets that I have about that day.Â
Wanda seems to ponder her response, probably wondering what she could even say to make this all better. She knows she canât. âGrief comes in waves and often without warning. When we lost Pietro, I couldnât look in the mirror for weeks; all I saw were his eyes in my own. It kept me bedridden for months. I know it feels like youâre alone in this, but weâre here.âÂ
I swallow back a sob and take a sip of my latte. I said I couldnât cry anymore. When Wanda lost Pietro a few years back, a part of her left with him. Her spark went dark for so long. I was so worried for her. I couldnât possibly begin to know what it felt like to lose a sibling, let alone your twin. She understood loss more than most.
I motion for Wanda to get up and give me a hug. âThank you Wan, I wouldnât want to go through this life with anyone else.âÂ
âOk, ok, we said enough with the emotions didnât we?â Wanda playfully chided, sitting back down.Â
âRight, so where were we?â I ask.Â
âThe POS system is finally up and working thanks to our wonderful in-house IT guy,â she smiles, joking about her husband.Â
âVictor, that genius! You really have to thank him for me that thing was really such a POS,â I jest.Â
âYou can thank him tonight, when we go out for dinner!â Wanda says, giving me a pleading look.Â
They had been trying to get me to go out with them for a few days, and I had dodged them faster than I do with one of those cell-phone company salesmen at the entrance of a Costco. If I said no, it meant I would have to find an excuse for the 4th night in a row, and frankly I donât think they would buy that Tony gave himself food poisoning again.Â
âFine, I will join you for dinner,â I cry. I can see Wandaâs face lighting up. âBUT, we are not dressing up and we are not going downtown.âÂ
Her excitement dims a little, but still a yes was all she needed. âI can work with that, yeah, that diner down the street started serving espresso martinis. What more can we need when Victorâs driving?â Wanda says, already forming a plan of action for the night. Oh boy, what did I get myself into?Â
We finish up at the shop and map out what else we need to do these next few days before we officially open our doors. Luckily, there wasnât much left since we had wanted to tie up all of the loose ends before the wedding was supposed to happen. Steve and I had agreed to postpone our honeymoon until after we had settled into our home and the store was running smoothly.Â
I make a mental checklist of the last-minute things we needed for the opening and lock-up for the day. As I bid Wanda farewell, I promise to be ready for her to pick me up promptly in 3 hours, giving me enough time to decompress and fix myself up.Â
When I get home, I notice that Jamesâ rental car isnât in the driveway; thank heavens. I was in a pretty nice mood and didnât need him getting in the way of that. I open the front door and see Tony in the kitchen stirring a pot of mystery sauce and singing an Elvis song. A mix of what I assume are Italian flavors hit my senses.
âHey! Just the girl I was looking for, how are you Y/N/N?â Tony exclaimed.Â
âIâm not half bad Tony. Whatcha cooking?â I smile.Â
âMama Starkâs famous bolognese, care for a plate when itâs ready?â
âSorry to disappoint Tone, but I actually have dinner plans tonight with Wanda and Victor,â I respond.Â
Tony perks up at this. âYou mean, youâre leaving the house?!â he gushes. I instantly regret telling him.
âOk donât make it a huge deal or anything Tony, itâs just dinner,â I say rolling my eyes.Â
âIâm just proud of you kid! Youâre trying to get back to normalcy, well as much as you can. Itâs goodâ he replies, walking over and patting my head.Â
Tony always was secretly my favorite out of Steveâs friends. Sam is like a protective brother and I love him dearly of course. But Tony and I share a friendship that no one really understood. Heâs a chaotic ball of energy, ready to drop everything for a good night out, and Iâm more of a homebody, choosing to stay in by all means necessary. On paper, it didnât sound like a dynamic that could work so well, but we always knew what the other person need. After Steveâs accident we really became each otherâs safety net on the bad days.Â
âNo more fussing over me, your pasta looks like itâs about to boil over,â I point out.Â
âShit, shit, shit! Mannn I wanted this al dente,â he cries.Â
I shake my head and walk towards Steveâs room. Or I guess my room, huh. Although it really doesnât feel like mine at all. This was always his space. We rarely spent time here since I had a roommate who was virtually never home, and well, the boys had a bad habit of walking in at the worst of times. I kept a few changes of clothes and keepsakes here and there, but I knew that Steve appreciated his privacy. He always told me I could keep more things here, but it just felt like I was intruding on something that was for him. I told him when we lived together we wouldnât ever get this level of discretion ever again, and that he should soak it in as much as possible. He would always sweep me up and spin me around, letting me know that he wanted me in his space at all times.Â
The clutter in the room begins to feel suffocating. Sam stopped by my old place earlier and grabbed the few boxes I still had there. I chose to donate the majority of my things opting to start fresh at our new place. Not that I had much anyway, my roommate furnished most of the place. When she moved out a few months ago, it only made sense for her to take it all.
This really isnât my room unless I make it mine. Steve would hate it if I moved in and didnât feel comfortable. I decide that tomorrow I would choose a new paint color for the walls and get fresh bedding. I would leave most of Steveâs things out. I couldnât fully let go of the space he left.
I walk over to his desk and look at the pictures he had hanging above. A collage of our lake trips, photos of his friends and family, and an older childhood photo of him and James. I take it off the wall and look at the two young boys with goofy smiles. Barnes looks so different, a front tooth missing from his smile and what looks to be a popsicle half-melted in his hand. He looks genuinely happy.Â
Steve had shared some of the adolescent memories he had created with his best friend with me. Riding bikes to the nearby river, pranking Jamesâ older sister, their first double date, late-night drives going nowhere. So much of their growth together; they truly had an unbreakable bond. When Barnes went off into the military, Steve saw the change in him instantly. He was no longer the goofy boy from back home that girls fawned over. He became a stoic man riddled with PTSD from the traumas he endured. It broke Steveâs heart to see him like that, and he tried everything he could to re-ignite the fire within him. Unfortunately, my fiancĂŠe knew that experiencing the horrors of war as a young person changes your brain chemistry, and thereâs really nothing you can do to fully erase that.Â
I set the photo aside, hoping to be able to give it to James at some point. We may not see eye to eye, but he deserves to preserve his memories of Steve too.Â
Slowly the piles of boxes spread across the room begin to dissipate and my belongings occupy empty crevices and corners. Iâll wait to go through some of Steveâs things until the boys can join me. They should have a say in what we keep and what might find a better home with someone else. I check my phone and look at the time. Dinner is in an hour. Just enough time to shower, find a somewhat presentable outfit and maybe, if Wandaâs lucky, some lipgloss.
Dinner went better than expected. Wanda and Victor always knew what energy I needed for an occasion. This time was no different. Their playful banter left me laughing for most of the night, happy to see how in love they still are after all these years. Nights out with them never failed to get me out of my head for a bit. An espresso martini or two may or may not have also helped ease some of my feelings.
We leave the restaurant at a decent time and stop by Mollyâs, a popular ice cream shop nearby. I decide to get a few pints of ice cream for the boys to enjoy.Â
As I walk up to the house, I can see Sam pacing back and forth with a worried look on his face. A calm Tony trying to ease whatever situation is going on. What have these boys gotten into now?Â
âHush! I think sheâs coming in-â Sam murmurs. The men stop dead in their tracks and tense up. Oh god what did they break?!
âHeyyyy kid! How was dinner?â Tony asks, a stressed smile on his face.
âIt was good Tone. Whatâs going on?â I ask, putting the ice cream in the freezer.Â
âNothing, nothing at all why do you ask?â Sam says clearly hiding something from me.Â
I give them an unconvinced look. âSeriously guys, câmon youâre freaking me out!âÂ
I had hoped to have a chill rest of the night. Enjoy some ice cream, maybe watch a movie with my roommates. No drama. Looks like those plans may have to be put on hold.Â
âSorry Sam, I canât stall her any longer. Look at that face! Y/N donât be mad,â Tony starts. âBucky got dropped off right after you left, drunk off his ass, real confused about where he was. It was honestly sad to witness.âÂ
âOkayâŚâ I respond.Â
âWell, you see, he was confused about where Steve was. Mustâve blacked out or something. We tried to explain where he was but he got agitated. He said he was going to wait for Steve to get back and he might have um-â Tony stops.Â
âSpit it out dude!!â I demand.Â
âHe fell asleep in your bed. We tried everything to get him up, but he wouldnât budge. Man is like a solid brick wall when heâs asleep. I knew youâd be pissed. Weâre sorry!â Tony blurts out.Â
âWeâd hope that heâd be at least up and groggy by now. Heâs been passed out for a while.â Sam adds.Â
James is drunk. In my bed?! Damn you think you finally have one good night and then the giant oaf has to go and pull some shit. How did he get so piss drunk in the middle of the day that he just forgets such an important detail about someone? What kind of shit is that?! I take a deep breath before saying anything.Â
âSo youâre telling me, heâs asleep in my bed?â The boys nod. âAnd has been for HOURS?â They nod again.Â
I sigh and rub my temples. âAlright! Weâre getting his ass up,â I declare, marching towards my room.Â
Tony rushes past me and blocks my door. âWait wait wait Y/N, What if he swings on one of us or something? Hello, ex-soldier and all?â he says worriedly.Â
âWhelp youâll be my shield. Open the doorâ I respond.Â
âY/N, letâs think this through for a second,â Sam says. âWeâve tried basically everything to get him up and heâs still passed out.âÂ
âDid you pour water on his head?â I ask.Â
âHuh?â âPardon?â They say simultaneously.Â
âDid you. Pour. Water. On. His HEAD?â I repeat in a sassy tone. The pair donât say anything and give each other a sideways glance.Â
âYeah I thought so step aside Stark. Iâm getting his ass up NOW.â I hiss.Â
I am not letting a man that I cannot stand stink up my bed. Nope, not happening. He could have been sick in it for all I know. After a night of socializing this is not what I need. I donât give a shit if heâs happily snoozing away. Heâs in MY space and Iâll be damned if a man disrupts my peace.Â
Suddenly my door swings open and a dazed Barnes walks into the hallway. âWhat the hell is going on out here? Why- why am I in Y/Nâs room?âÂ
âDamn, Barnes, you smell like a terrible frat house,â Tony replies. He did smell like cheap beer and tequila. Speaking from experience, horrible combo.
âFuck did I pass out in your bed?â James asks, looking at me, confused.
âYeah you did man. Now I suggest you get out before Y/N rips you a new one,â Sam answers.Â
Bucky throws his hands up spewing an apology before heading to the living room where he had been staying the past few weeks.
I get ready for bed and throw on one of Steveâs old sleep shirts. I canât believe a month has passed since this all started. I dig through a box and find one of my journals and a pen. I had always felt so uneasy putting my thoughts on paper. It felt as though writing what I was experiencing or feeling made it all too real. As a teenager, I suffered from a lot of anxiety, especially in social situations. My therapist had told me to write what had caused my anxiety after an attack and what my brain was telling me. It all felt so stupid. I decide to give it a try.Â
I settle into the bed and start pouring my words onto the page. It didnât have to make sense to anyone; it just had to feel like a release of some sort. As the paper became riddled with dark ink my mind felt a little lighter. I guess my therapist might have been on to something. Maybe I should apologize for telling her that her degree was a waste of time. I was a very angsty teen. Sorry Dorinda.Â
Suddenly, a loud buzzing took me out of my writing and scared me out of bed. What is that?? I search for my phone, thinking that maybe I had set an alarm on accident, but I find it unbothered on the nightstand. Weird. I follow the noise to a box on Steveâs dresser and open it. On top of some papers, I find the culprit. A phone I had never seen before was ringing. The caller ID says Natasha Romanoff, a name I donât recognize.Â
I take the phone and march over to the living room. James is holding an ice pack to his head, clearly sporting a nasty headache. I toss the phone near him. âHere I think you left this in my room,â I say.Â
âWhat? Sânot mine,â he grunts. We look at each other in confusion. If itâs not Barnesâ then who the hell could it be? And who the fuck is Natasha?
My breath catches in my throat at the only logical answer. James comes to the same conclusion as me and in a split second we both dive for the phone.Â
âUh, I- I forgot that is mine!â James says in a panic.Â
âNo the fuck itâs not Barnes,â I exclaim fighting him for the device.Â
Somehow I overpower the over 6-foot beast and grab hold of the phone. I dash for my room, hoping he doesnât catch up to me in time. Â
âY/N, wait let me explain,â Bucky pleads running after me.Â
âAbsolutely not,â I yell over my shoulder, making it to my room and locking the door in the nick of time. James attempts to lure me out with a promise to tell the truth. I donât believe the sly bastard for one second.Â
I turn the screen on and see 12 missed calls and 7 voicemails from this Natasha from just today. Why the hell is she calling this much in a day? I already know the obvious answer but refuse to believe it until I have confirmation for myself. The phone unlocks after my third attempt, his motherâs birthday. I play the second-to-last voicemail.Â
âSteve, where the F are you?! Look, I told you from the start I never needed your help. You insisted, and now youâve left me out to dry? I- my landlord is asking for rent and the 3-month cushion you left me has run dry. Could you please just call me back? ASAP!âÂ
Ok this can be explained, right? Thereâs a perfectly valid reason a woman I have never heard of is calling him on a phone I didnât know about. Right? Maybe itâs a charity thing and he didnât want her to have his real number. He was always so humble and caring maybe he did this and didnât feel like bragging about the work heâs doing. I play the last voicemail.Â
âIâm sorry for yelling in my last message. Iâm just really freaked; you usually answer. I never asked for a man to come in and take care of me, but you have. Iâm sorry about how we left things in May. Please, Steve, Iâm getting desperate and you know I hate that.âÂ
My arm falls to my side and the phone falls to the floor. My legs give out. I see the ground before I feel it. I stay there for what feels like hours. Still in a state of shock, I pick the phone up, place it back in the box, and crawl into bed. Everything goes dark.
===========================================
Oh boy what a twist this is becoming. Get ready because chapter 4 is going to be a roller coaster. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!! Feel free to leave feedback or suggestions!
You had it all. The man you were going to marry, the beautiful home you planned to move into, the bookstore days away from grand opening. Life with Steve Rogers was perfect. Until it all came crashing down. So what happens when your soon-to-be husband passes away unexpectedly and youâre left to pick up the pieces alongside his best friends, one of whom you canât stand⌠right? Oh and one more thing, he was hiding a devastating secret that changes everything in an instant.Â
Loosely based on the movie Catch and Release. Somewhat slow burn, enemies to friends to eventual lovers, angst, smut, female reader.Â
Hereâs the next part! This is somewhat of a slow burn and I donât want to rush into anything, so this is definitely more story setup and world building. Let me know what you think!Â
TW: mentions of depression, anxiety, death, and grief
Previous Chapter
The next few days passed in a blur. My grief had been a manageable dull ache up until the funeral. Steveâs celebration of life solidified that he was gone and we were all okay to say goodbye. Now my grief felt all-consuming. Itâs hard to explain the deep, dark fog that has taken over my body. I canât breathe, I canât sleep, I canât eat. All I can do is picture the wonderful man I had always dreamt of being swept away by a force I couldnât fight. It was too much to handle too soon.Â
I know that it wasnât just me that Steve had left such an impact on. It was evident in the large number of people at the service and the many sorrowful messages I had on my phone. He was someone great to so many. I donât know how I can go on living a normal life knowing that the future we had prepared for was no longer attainable. I know exactly what he would say to me too. âOne step at a time beautiful, I know you can do itâ. Itâs what heâd say to me every time I felt anxiety pushing its way to the surface. Itâs what he said to me when Wanda asked me to open a bookstore with her and quit my comfortable administrative job. Itâs what I know will eventually get me out of this fog. But not yet.
Just as Iâm about to throw the blankets back over my head I hear a subtle knock on the door. âY/N? You ok in there?â Tony asks sincerely.Â
I debate not answering, but I couldnât worry him more. âYeah, Tony as ok as I can be,â I reply.Â
âOk well weâre getting worried about you kid, you think you could join us for breakfast?â he prods. âPlease?âÂ
âI donât know Tone, Iâm not really in the sit down and eat breakfast like everything is perfectly normal kinda mood, yah know?âÂ
âWho said anything about normal? We can make the pancakes blue for all I care, we just want you to come out,â he responds.Â
âFine. But make them purple and you have a dealâ I say trying to sound as enthused as possible to humor him.Â
I hear him clap outside the door. âWe got her ladies and gents!!âÂ
I shake my head and make my way to the bathroom. I look in the mirror and see someone I barely recognize. Tired and disheveled are the only things I can make out. I couldnât even tell you what day it was, let alone how long it had been since I had gotten out of bed for more than a bathroom trip or a quick venture to the kitchen for something small. I hop into the shower to try and make myself at least somewhat presentable.Â
âWell, well, well, looks like Miss Y/F/N Y/L/N has left the cocoon and blossomed into the beautiful butterfly we always knew she wasâ, Tony jests.Â
âOh shut it, Tony, Iâm a beautiful moth if anything,â I reply, shoving him as I make my way to the kitchen table.Â
I sit at my unassigned assigned seat and notice the wide spread of food placed at the table. I really hope the boys didnât go through all this trouble when I didnât know how much I could even really stomach.Â
âBon appetit!â Sam says as he places the last bit of food down, purple pancakes. I feel an ache in my throat.
âYou guys you really didnât have to do all of thisâ I say.Â
âNonsense Y/N, itâs the least we could do as you make our acquaintance on this fine Saturday morning,â Tony cheers.Â
Holy shit itâs Saturday?! Had I really been in my depressive state for 5 days?
âThank you both, seriously. I- I really donât know how I would get through without you twoâ I say, teary-eyed.Â
âOf course, Y/N, we got youâ Sam says, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder, Tony nods in agreement. They both sit down and fill their plates, making sure I donât skimp out on any of the delicious-smelling food before me. Maybe I did need some sustenance after all.Â
For the first time in a few days, I felt calm and as happy as I could be. As a peaceful feeling washes over me, I realize the group is missing a certain gloomy giant.Â
âWhereâs James?â I ask.Â
âHe went out on a run or something,â Tony replies. No wonder I didnât feel any extra annoyance this morning.Â
âLook Y/N, we donât know what happened the night of the funeral, and if you need us to kick his ass, we will. But heâs been having as tough a time as you. He lost his lifelong brother. No one understood that guy more than Steve,â Sam says, concern laced in his voice.
Fuck that hit me hard. Barnes had known Steve the longest and, truthfully, the best out of everyone. He was the love of my life, but he was also Jamesâ person. It didnât excuse the shit he pulled the night of the service, but it did make me think maybe I had been too harsh on him.Â
âI know Sam. I just donât know how I can deal with him on top of everything else. Wanda has been so understanding of everything and I feel like I have to get it together so we can finish the final touches on Book It before we open on Friday. The grand opening cannot be pushed another week, or weâll lose the momentum weâve built in the community. To add on to everything, my landlord has been on my ass because my lease was supposed to be ending tomorrow and I havenât found a new place to live. He was so kind to extend my stay a few more days but I know I canât avoid the move forever, and the new place just isnât doable with my limited income,â I ramble, barely making any sense to the men in front of me.Â
The boys exchange a knowing glance as if they had thought about my troubles extensively.Â
âWell, we may not have the answer to all of your problems but we may be able to help your housing situationâ Sam says. I give them a slight look of confusion.Â
âY/N, please move in with us!â Tony begs.Â
I was taken aback by the request. Me? Move in? Here? What would that even look like? Would I have a say in household decisions? Would this be temporary until I find something else? Are they doing this out of pity, or do they really want me here?Â
âI can practically hear you screaming from here Y/N, and donât worry about all of the questions this is bringing up, weâll figure it out together. All we know is we canât imagine this place without you. We know that this isnât the ideal situation for you, but we figure we can all help each other even if itâs until youâre ready to start a new chapter,â Sam adds, trying to ease the anxiety building up in my mind.Â
âYou donât have to answer right now. Take all the time you need. Just, make sure your decision is for you and not us. We want you here but if itâs too much we get it kid,â Tony says.Â
Thatâs all I needed to hear to know that this was a good decision and something that would benefit everyone.Â
âOk, I donât think I need time for this. I want to move in,â I reply, hoping this was the best decision.Â
The boys get up and hug me, cheering for my choice. I knew I needed my people around me and they needed me too. I wouldnât be able to thank them enough for taking me in on such short notice and letting me grieve in the way I needed.Â
âThank heavens, hallelujah!â Tony shouts, doing a funny little jig.Â
I laugh for what feels like the first time in a century. Not a forced polite chuckle, but a genuine laugh that was only reserved for the most memorable moments. Things arenât the same without you Steve, but I know you brought us together for a reason.Â
After a small celebration of our new household, the boys let me know they had to get back to their store before the town decided that Amazon was a better option for their appliance and tool needs. Steve, Tony, and Sam had inherited a hardware store downtown from an older couple that they had been working for since college. The boys knew that store like the back of their hand, and with the Lorenzosâ son wanting to be anything but a shop owner, it only made sense to leave it to the boys. It meant everything to them. Steve had added to his income through woodworking and furniture building, and he had gained quite a fanbase for his work. Itâs what brought him out to Los Angeles from time to time when he had interested buyers. James helped Steve run an online store to gain popularity and it seemed to be a hit since Steve had been gone for weeks at a time the past few years. He was so proud of his work, and so was I.Â
I bid Sam and Tony farewell and promised not to crawl back into the comfort of Steveâs bed. Instead, I decided to check a few emails and let Wanda know Iâm doing better. She sends a string of relieved messages and a promise to stop by tomorrow with coffee. I tell her I canât wait and that I miss her endlessly.Â
A change in scenery other than these four walls might help me feel motivated to get my life in order. I decide to pour a small glass of wine, grab a book from Steveâs shelf, and head out to the porch. Only I find it already occupied by none other than the giant grump himself.Â
James sits up a little and faces me. âOh hey Y/N, sorry didnât realize anyone was homeâ he says.Â
âItâs fine, the boys went over to the shop for the day. I thought I could use some fresh airâ you reply trying to remain civil.Â
âDo you want me to get out of your hair?â he asks, a hesitant look on his face.Â
âNo, no, please stay. I think we can manage sitting outside in silence for a while. At least I hope,â you sigh, settling into the seat next to Barnes.Â
âLook, I was hoping we could clear the air between us once and for all.â So much for that silence huh?Â
âI wanted to apologize for my behavior the other night,â James continues. âIt wasnât fair to you or Steve. I am sorry and I hope that you can understand this isnât easy for me. I donât do well with⌠feelings.âÂ
You look up and see remorse clinging to Jamesâ expression. You think back to what Sam mentioned and can see the dark circles around his eyes and the clear lack of sleep he must have been missing while you were hiding from the world. Ok, Y/N, what would Steve say?Â
âItâs fine, Barnes, really. I know we havenât seen eye to eye on many things but I think we can agree that losing Steve has been catastrophic for many of us. I know that youâre grieving too,â I say sincerely.Â
A look I canât quite pin darts across his face. We silently agree that this is enough to make amends for now and sit quietly for a while.Â
âYou know, you were probably the best thing that could have happened to him,â James shares unexpectedly.Â
I look at him hesitantly. Is Barnes trying to⌠connect?Â
âI may not have said it to you before, but I really was happy for you two. It just made sense. That heâd find a girl in this small town and build this perfect life with her. I never could convince him to move to the city,â he chuckled.Â
âJames, itâs ok you donât have to try to win me over.âÂ
âIâm not. I could tell how much you loved each other. And Iâm sorry I didnât try to be around more. It was just so hard to see everyone moving on while I was still stuck on that battlefield mentally. I felt like I had to carry the lives of everyone we lost, and that finding happiness meant that I was forgetting the sacrifices they made,â he said earnestly.Â
This was the most I had ever gotten out of the man, and it felt like one wrong word, one quick motion, would scare him off. So I decide to let him finish.Â
âI canât, I wonât do that to Steve. He wouldnât want to be the reason I didnât live the rest of my life to the fullest. So Iâm going to stay for a while, if thatâs ok. To make sure that everything is in order, and then Iâll be out of your guysâ hair. I know what having me around is like. I know what those guys think of me. Iâm going to stay for Steve and leave for me. I just hope I can do right by him,â he whispered.Â
His speech felt like a means to an end for him. Like after this visit, he would officially let go of Steve and disappear one last time. I thought this confession would leave me relieved, but my chest felt tight. I had misjudged Bucky so harshly. Steve, you son of a bitch I know you want me to make things right with him. How can I know that he isnât trying to win me over so he can feel satisfied with how he leaves things?Â
âJames I- Steve was always so proud of the man you became after everything. I know he wouldnât want you to feel this way and Iâm sorry if we never let you in. The boys sympathize with you more than you probably think,â I say, trying to find the words that could fill even an ounce of the hole that Steve has left.Â
I can see Barnes physically recoil into himself at the word sympathize. Shit, thereâs that one wrong word to make our shoddy foundation crumble. My fiancĂŠe had warned me that James hated when he felt like someone felt bad for him.Â
âI know who I am and what Iâve done. Iâve never shied away from that. I donât need you to take pity on me now,â he replies.Â
âThatâs not what Iâm doing Barnes. Iâm trying here,â I insist.Â
âJust, forget I said anything it was a mistake. If itâs ok with you Iâd like to stay around for a bit, I wonât get in the way donât worry,â he grunts.Â
Great, so we made some progress just for him to shut everything out again. If thatâs what he wants so be it. I wonât force him to connect with me. He can make his peace and be on his way.
âSure James, take the time you need.â I murmured, grabbing my stuff and heading back inside.Â
Itâs impossible to get through to that stubborn man and frankly I donât have the time to worry about it. I know grief is different for everyone but I canât handle walking on eggshells around him while trying to pick up my own pieces. He can do what he needs and Iâll avoid him until heâs gone.Â
================================================
And thatâs Chapter 2! Thank you all for your words of encouragement and hope this leaves you excited for more to come. Bucky and our girl have quite a few trials and tribulations to go through before they see eye to eye.
You had it all. The man you were going to marry, the beautiful home you planned to move into, the bookstore days away from grand opening. Life with Steve Rogers was perfect. Until it all came crashing down. So what happens when your soon-to-be husband passes away unexpectedly and youâre left to pick up the pieces alongside his best friends, one of whom you canât stand⌠right? Oh and one more thing, he was hiding a devastating secret that changes everything in an instant.Â
Loosely based on the movie Catch and Release. Somewhat slow burn, enemies to friends to eventual lovers, angst, smut.Â
This is my first time ever publishing a writing so please please feel free to give feedback. I know this is definitely not crazy good so sorry in advance. Let me know if this is worth continuing or if I should do something else with my time!
TW: mentions of PTSD, depression, anxiety, death, and grief
Numb. Everything felt numb. Today was the day I was supposed to wear white and walk down the aisle. The happiest day of my life, so Iâve been told. Instead, this might possibly be the worst one. I traded my beautiful white gown for a modest black one. Swapped my glowy cheeks for puffy eyes. Exchanged my huge smile for a sorrowful frown. Standing in the midst of my fiancĂŠe Steveâs funeral wasnât something I thought I would have to do so soon in life, let alone on the day I was supposed to be calling him my husband. Everything around me feels like a blur. I can tell everyone is looking at me like Iâm the saddest case in the world, tiptoeing around me.Â
I hate that you left me alone with all of these people, Steve. I know you didnât plan to but you know I canât stand to be the center of attention. Itâs why we opted for an intimate wedding, only our closest friends and family. Instead, weâre celebrating the extraordinary man you were, tears in our eyes, reminiscing on moments that now feel like a lifetime ago.Â
âDonât you agree Y/N?â Steveâs great-aunt says with a sad look in her eyes. Shit, what did she say?Â
âOh I-â I began to form some string of words that could possibly comfort her.Â
âOf course, Aunt Lin. Steve would have loved the hydrangeas that were selected for the service.â Sam, one of Steveâs best friends, replies and gives me a light pat on my back. Iâll have to thank him for the save later.Â
Aunt Lin seems satisfied with this reassurance and turns to find her husband.Â
âYou ok?â Sam asks, concern on his face. I nod.Â
âYea- Yeah I think I need some fresh air.â I respond, nodding to the back door. Sam gives me a look, not convinced. He doesnât push and goes to check on Steveâs mom who seems to be weeping in the kitchen.Â
I head out to the back, walking towards the place under the dock I typically go to for an escape. Steve, Sam, and Tony all lived together in a house along Lake Celine. Steve and I had planned to move into our dream home later this month after the honeymoon. We had barely started the lease process before everything happened. I canât afford to rent such a dreamy place on my own. We had talked about all of our firsts happening there. Our first night living together just us two, sitting on the floor with takeaway. A dog, whose name we had gone back and forth on until we settled on Honey. Saving for a home where weâd start our family. I shake these thoughts away and look out onto the water. Fuck Steve, I miss you. I know I canât stay in my safe space forever; people will start to talk.Â
As I walk towards the door to go back into the dreaded crowd I spot two figures on the side of the house. I see a woman with striking features and a man who I couldnât quite make out.
âWow, Iâm so sorry about your best friend, handsome,â a blonde woman wearing a catering outfit sighs as she twists her hair between her fingers.Â
âLetâs not talk about it. In fact, letâs not talk at all babe,â the figure says.
I groan after realizing it was Steveâs lifelong friend James Barnes. That asshole is really trying to get it in at a funeral?! The funeral of the only man who could stand to put up with his arrogant ass. The one man that stood by him after he returned from the army with extreme PTSD, depression, and anxiety. The audacity of that fuc-
Suddenly I hear the blonde giggle and see Barnesâ drop to his knees, looking like heâs ready to devour the woman above him. Nope, Iâm out! I rush to walk up the stairs and slam the door.Â
I never did like James Barnes much. He wasnât very present in Steve and Iâs lives after we officially began dating. We lived states away and Barnes had a tendency to disappear for months at a time, hardly traveling to visit from Los Angeles. Steve would visit him quite often, staying for weeks at a time when work needed him there. To my fiancĂŠe, James could do no wrong. They were truly brothers and I never faulted Steve for excusing away some of his best friendâs behaviors.Â
Barnes has always been a ladies man, and his flings typically lasted long enough for the woman to expect more and him to disappoint them with an unwillingness to commit. James could charm pretty much anyone he wanted and he knew it. We bumped heads when he tried to put the moves on one of my best friends Wanda. Steve thought it was a great idea, suggesting a double date. I knew it would end in disaster. Ultimately, Wanda saw through the James charm and met her now-husband Victor.Â
That was just one instance of many where Steve and I couldnât see eye to eye about his friend. It caused some tension that usually lasted until Barnes went back to his cave or wherever he sulked off to. I loved when we would get radio silence. It meant Steve could focus on other aspects of his life and didnât need to take care of James. Those months were usually filled with my most treasured memories. Late nights at the movies, barbecues with friends, cooking together, and slow dancing next to the glow of a fire. But then Steve would be pulled back to L.A. and the cycle would start again.Â
The boysâ house began to grow quiet as the last of the guests trickled out, giving me one last look of sympathy and a promise to check in that felt more polite than genuine. I hadnât seen Sam or Tony in a while and the silence that started to creep in was causing a crushing weight to enter my chest. I canât be alone with this, not right now. Just as my breathing began to quicken a loud stomping pulled me from the dread.
âY/N!â I look up and find Tony in huff. âWeâve been looking all over for you girl, whereeewere youuu?â He says, words slurring.Â
âTone, are you drunk?â I ask, shaking my head, a small smile spreading across my face.Â
âPshh noooâ he says, booping my nose. âMmkmaybe a little or a LOTTTâ Tony says swaying back and forth.Â
I donât know whether to laugh or cry. Steve always knew how to handle drunk Tony. He has a notorious track record in this state. Typically, Tony gets shitfaced and starts rambling about one thing or another, becoming a deadweight to whoever heâs near. I had been the victim of his antics quite a few times but I never minded. It was only when he seemed to lose all concept of his legs and I had to try to hold him up so he wouldnât lose a tooth or two, that I needed some help. Steve would grab Tony, saving me from the manâs delirious state.Â
âY/N/N, I think we should dance, itâs what he would wantâ Tony demands avoiding saying Steveâs name out loud. âI know he wouldnât be happy with us moping around. We should be celebrating the life he led for fucks sake!âÂ
âI- I donât know Tone, itâs been a long day. I think we should get some sleepâ I say gently to not upset the man in his drunken state.
Tony frowned at my statement. I can tell he was on the brink of collapse and I donât think I have the energy to appease him. He begins to protest when I feel a presence behind me.
âAlright Tony thatâs enough manâ a gruff voice says from behind me.Â
âOhhhh fuck off Bucky. Donât you have a stick to put up somewhere?â Tony laughs.
âItâs fine Barnes. I can handle him.â I say.Â
âCan you? Last I checked Steve took care of almost everything for you.â Barnes says, irritation dripping from his words.Â
âSeriously, weâre going to do this NOW?â I say, my voice beginning to raise.
Sam rounds the corner with a concerned look on his face. âWoah woah woah what the hell is going on in here?âÂ
âSammy! Is bout time you joined us! Now we can all take a shot for Rogers and dance the night away.â Tony says, clapping his hands and walking to the liquor cabinet.Â
Tony was probably handling this worse than all of us. He wasnât good with grief and he experienced so much of it. The only way he knew how to cope was to throw a huge party, get shit faced, wake up with a debilitating hangover, and repeat. Only, this time the huge party was a celebration of life for one of his dearest friends. Not much of a party at all.Â
Sam turns to me and mouths âsorryâ as he gestures for me to sneak out while Tony was distracted. I silently thank him for saving me again and slip out of the kitchen. Sam was definitely the glue to this dysfunctional household, and I didnât know what I would do without him. I hear Tony and Sam going back and forth on whether they were going to drink the night away or have a peaceful end to this sorrowful day. I knew who was advocating for which outcome.Â
As I make my way down the hall to Steveâs room, it suddenly dawns on me that Iâd have to sleep in there alone. I turn the knob and hear someone clear their throat behind me. Of course, the person I least want to see in front of me appears, same scowl on his face as usual.Â
âJames.â I say flatly.Â
âY/Nâ he says. âLook I donât want to end today this way. Iâm sorry for the comment I made, it was unfair and uncalled for.âÂ
I chuckle. âIt was, but I wouldnât expect much else from you.â
âJesus Y/N, what the hell is your problem? Iâm trying to make amends. I-â he sighs â-I know Steve would want us to be there for each other. All of us.â
âItâs fine Barnes. Letâs just forget it okay? In fact, letâs not talk at all. How about that?â I say, slightly raising my voice, hoping I make it clear that I know what he got up to with the catering waitress.
âWhat are you-â James stops in his tracks. âShit Y/N, you didnât-âÂ
âI did,â I huff, cutting him off. âAnd honestly I donât give a shit what you do in your free time. But at his funeral James?! You really couldnât keep it in your pants long enough for us to give him a proper goodbye?âÂ
James runs his hand through his hair, searching for anything he can say to excuse away what I witnessed.Â
âYou know what, forget it Barnes. I donât know why Iâd even expect more from you,â I spit, knowing the words cut through him as a guilty expression runs across his face.Â
I donât wait to hear what else he has to say as I pull open the door to the bedroom and slam it behind me.Â
As I get ready for bed, I try to erase the anger Iâm feeling towards James, but itâs easier said than done. After a few hours of tossing, turning, and crying, I finally fall asleep, wishing this was all some horrible nightmare.Â
If you made it this far thank you so much for reading!! This is the first time I had the courage to post and I hope it was enjoyable for a first chapter. Please please let me know if I should continue updating this. This is 100% my own writing and if there is anything similar to another fic it was not done intentionally.Â
summary: A week after getting pinned under a building, you're stuck at home on mandatory medical leave. Natasha shows up at your door with takeout, a quiet attitude, and zero interest in letting you overexert yourself.
authors note: I forgot I had this in my drafts. It's a bit short
Part 1 Part 2
masterlist
A week of enforced medical leave felt less like a vacation and more like house arrest.
Your apartment was quiet, saved only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the gentle pitter-patter of rain against the window. You were propped up on the couch, your left foot elevated on two plush pillows, wrapped snugly in a compression bandage. The swelling had gone down, but your chief officer had strictly forbidden you from stepping foot near an ambulance until you could walk without a limp.
A sharp, rhythmic knock echoed from your front door.
You blinked, setting your mug of tea on the coffee table.
You paused the TV, grabbed your crutches, and hobbled over. When you unlocked and pulled the door open, Natasha was standing in the hall.
She looked entirely different without the dust of alien invasions or crumbling buildings on her skin. She had traded her tactical suit and Widow Bites for a sharp, off duty outfit an olive green utility jacket unzipped over a fitted black scoop neck top, paired with dark, skin tight jeans tucked into tall, black leather knee-high boots. Her straight, shoulder-length red hair was parted down the middle, perfectly framing her face without a stray strand out of place. (That one outfit from Civil War). In one hand, she held a brown paper bag smelling mouthwateringly of authentic Italian garlic bread and pasta in the other, a six pack of beer.
"You're supposed to be resting that foot," Natasha said, her low, raspy voice immediately wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Her green eyes flicked down to your crutches before rising to your face, a fond, amused quirk touching her lips.
"You're walking on it," Natasha said immediately, her eyes dropping to your feet before meeting your gaze.
"I'm using crutches, Romanoff. That's kind of how they work."
"You're supposed to be resting," she replied, stepping past you without waiting for an invitation. She set the food and beer on your small kitchen counter, looking around your apartment with a quick, practiced sweep of her eyes before turning back to you. "Move back to the couch before you ruin my rescue work."
You rolled your eyes, but shuffled back over to the couch anyway, letting the crutches drop to the floor as you sat back down. "I didn't realize Avengers did house calls."
"They don't," Natasha said, taking two beers out of the pack, popping the caps off against the edge of your counter, and walking over. She handed you one, sitting down on the far end of the couch and leaning her back against the armrest. "I was in the neighborhood. And you looked like hell last week."
"Thanks. You really know how to make a girl feel special." You took a sip of the cold beer, a genuine smile tugging at your lips. "How'd you even get my address?"
Natasha gave you a look that clearly said I'm an international spy, don't ask stupid questions.
"Right. Dumb question," you muttered.
"The Thai place down the street is good," she said, leaning over to unpack the containers of pad thai onto the coffee table. "Figured you were sick of hospital food and whatever instant ramen you have in your pantry."
Natasha leaned back, resting her arm along the top of the sofa, watching you with that quiet, unreadable green gaze of hers. "No catch. Just checking on my investment. I didn't dig you out of a basement just for you to re-injure yourself getting a glass of water."
"I can take care of myself, you know."
"I know," Natasha said softly, her voice dropping its sarcastic edge for just a second. Her gaze held yours, steady and grounded. "You do it every day. It's kind of nice seeing you sit still for once."
You chewed your food, staring back at her. There were no dramatic speeches, no grand declarationsâjust Natasha sitting on your beat-up couch in a hoodie, eating takeout, making you feel entirely grounded.
"You know," you said, setting your food down, "for a top-secret assassin, you're surprisingly decent company."
Natasha smirked, taking a drink of her beer. "Don't spread that around. It'll ruin my reputation."
summary: "Next time the sky opens up, give me a call." When a routine emergency call goes horribly sideways and leaves you trapped beneath a collapsed structural wall, you finally press the button on the sleek black earpiece Natasha gave you. You expected S.H.I.E.L.D. tactical support you didn't expect the Black Widow herself to tear through concrete to get to you.
authors note: i dont like this one đŤŠ.
masterlist
Part 1 Part 3
Three weeks had passed since the sky split open over Manhattan, and the city was still creaking under the weight of its own recovery. For you, it meant grueling double shifts, endless cups of lukewarm gas station coffee, and a permanent layer of white drywall dust on your heavy work boots.
It also meant keeping a sleek, black, unmarked earpiece tucked safely inside the breast pocket of your uniform shirt.
Every time you felt the cool, high-tech metal brush against your chest, you felt a little ridiculous. You hadn't used it, of course. You told yourself you wouldn'tâyou were a professional, and Natasha Romanoff was an international super-spy who saved the world. She had high-caliber, global threats to worry about. She didn't need to be bothered by a local paramedic who couldn't stop thinking about the sharp, intense green of her eyes or the dry, gravelly hum of her voice.
Until today.
It was supposed to be a standard search-and-rescue sweep. A dilapidated, five-story tenement building on the Lower East Side had been deemed highly unstable after the battle, and a city crew was preparing to demolish it. Your rig was stationed on standby in case any squatters or stray animals were found inside before the wrecking ball swung.
You had volunteered to do the quick walk-through of the second floor. The air inside was freezing, smelling of damp rot and old plaster. You moved carefully, shine-testing the beam of your flashlight into dark doorways and calling out into the empty rooms.
"NYFD! Anyone in here?"
Your voice echoed hollowly. You turned into a back bedroom, stepping over shattered glass, when a deep, sickening groan vibrated through the floorboards beneath your feet.
You froze. The air pressure in the room suddenly changed, a sharp crack like a gunshot echoing from the ceiling above.
Before you could even lung toward the doorway, the world violently caved in.
The collapse was deafening, a roaring avalanche of snapping support beams, crumbling brick, and heavy plaster. You were thrown backward onto the floor as the ceiling gave way. Darkness swallowed you whole, accompanied by a choking, blinding cloud of white dust that filled your throat and lungs.
When the roaring finally stopped, a heavy, suffocating silence settled over the room.
You coughed weakly, tasting copper and bitter ash. You tried to sit up, but a sharp, white-hot spike of agony shot up your left leg, making your vision swim with black spots. You gasped, squeezing your eyes shut as tears leaked down your dirty cheeks.
Shining your flashlight with trembling hands, you looked down. Your lower left leg was pinned entirely beneath a massive, splintered oak support beam, which was weighed down by a heavy slab of collapsed concrete wall.
"Medic 4, this is dispatch, what is your status? We heard a collapse," your radio buzzed on your shoulder.
With shaking fingers, you reached up and unclipped it. "Dispatch, this is Medic 4. I'm on the second floor, back room, east side. I'm trapped. I have a structural collapse on my lower extremityâ"
A loud static hiss cut you off. You looked down at the radio in your hand. The antenna had been completely sheared off by a falling brick, and the battery casing was cracked.
You were completely cut off.
The air was thick, suffocatingly dusty, and above you, the remaining ceiling rafters groaned ominously under the shifted weight. The building was continuing to settle. Panic, cold and razor-sharp, began to claw at your throat. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't move. You were going to be crushed.
Next time the sky opens up, give me a call.
The memory of her voice, low and steady, flashed through your mind. Your hand flew to your breast pocket. Your fingers fumbled past the penlight and the trauma shears, finally wrapping around the cool, sleek metal of the earpiece.
You slipped it into your ear and pressed the single, flush button on the side.
For three agonizing seconds, there was nothing but dead air. Your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird. You felt stupid. It was a S.H.I.E.L.D. device; it probably didn't even work inside a collapsed building, or maybe she had deactivated it, orâ
Click.
"Identify," a sharp, automated digital voice demanded.
"It's⌠it's the paramedic," you gasped out, coughing as more plaster dust drifted down from the ceiling. "From the overpass. Manhattan. I'm trapped. Lower East Side, crumbling building, second floor⌠I can't get out, and the ceiling isâ"
A sharp beep cut you off, and the line went completely silent.
You closed your eyes, letting your head fall back against the dusty floorboards. You let out a shaky breath, clutching your injured leg. You had probably just dialed a secure database in Virginia. They wouldn't send help for a civilian medic. You had to prepare yourself to wait for the fire department to dig their way through.
Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Every creak of the building made your muscles tense with terror.
Suddenly, a massive thud vibrated through the floorboards, shaking the dust from the walls. It was followed by the loud, mechanical whine of a powerful hydraulic tool, and then the screech of metal being violently torn apart.
"In here! I've got a heat signature!" a voice shouted. It was muffled, but it was close. Incredibly close.
A heavy block of concrete directly above you was suddenly lifted and tossed aside like a piece of styrofoam. A blinding shaft of grey afternoon light broke through the gloom, cutting through the haze of dust.
Squinting, you shielded your eyes. Through the clearing air, a silhouette dropped down into the rubble.
Sleek, dark tactical gear. Bright, fiery red hair dusted with grey plaster.
Natasha Romanoff scrambled over the pile of broken brick on her hands and knees. For someone who usually looked like she could stare down an army of aliens without a single hair out of place, she looked completely, utterly terrified. Her breath was coming in short, panicked gasps, and her eyes searched the darkness until they locked onto yours.
"Hey, hey," she breathed, dropping to her knees beside you.
Her hands immediately went to your face, her touch warm and incredibly grounding. Her thumbs gently wiped the thick dust from your cheeks, her eyes scanning your face for injuries. Her hands were trembling.
"Natasha?" you croaked, your voice dry and cracked. "You⌠you actually came."
"Of course I came," she said, her voice tight with a raw emotion you hadn't heard in it before. She slid her hands down to your shoulders, squeezing them gently to keep you anchored. "The second your earpiece activated, S.H.I.E.L.D. dispatch flagged it. The quinjet was already over the river. I'm here. I've got you."
She looked down, her expression instantly hardening as she assessed the massive oak beam pinning your leg.
"Alright," Natasha said, her voice shifting into its calm, tactical tone, though she didn't let go of your hand. "I'm going to lift this. When I do, I need you to slide your leg out. Can you do that for me?"
"I think so," you nodded, bracing your hands against the floorboards.
Natasha wedged her hands beneath the massive oak beam. With a sharp, low grunt of pure physical effort, she lifted the crushing weight. The muscles in her arms strained against her tactical suit as she hoisted the beam just high enough.
You let out a ragged cry of pain, dragging your injured leg free from the trap.
The moment your leg was clear, Natasha dropped the beam with a heavy crash. She was immediately back over you, her hands gently running down the length of your leg to check for a compound fracture. Her touch was incredibly light, careful not to hurt you any further.
"It's not broken," she murmured, her green eyes finding yours, filled with immense relief. "Just a nasty sprain and some deep contusions. But you need to get off this floor. The rest of this ceiling is coming down."
"I don't think I can walk, Natasha," you whispered, a tremor in your voice.
"Good thing you don't have to," she replied softly.
Before you could protest, Natasha slid one arm beneath your back and the other beneath your knees. With an effortless, fluid motion, she scooped you up into her arms, cradling you securely against her chest.
Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around her neck, burying your face in the crook of her shoulder. She smelled like leather, fresh rain, and gunsmoke and it was the most comforting, safe thing you had ever experienced. As she carried you over the jagged piles of brick and out through the shattered entryway, you squeezed her a little tighter.
"You're quite the lifesaver, Agent Romanoff," you mumbled against her collarbone.
"Just returning the favor," she murmured, her grip on you tightening reassuringly.
When she stepped out of the dust-choked building and into the cool, fresh air of the street, you realized the entire block had been cordoned off. A S.H.I.E.L.D. tactical team stood guard, along with your bewildered EMS partners. Your supervisor's jaw was practically on the pavement as he watched the Black Widow personally carry you out of a collapsed building.
Natasha ignored all of them. She carried you straight to the back of your empty ambulance, gently setting you down on the rear bumperâexactly where you had sat her three weeks ago.
She didn't step back. Instead, she stood close, blocking the rest of the chaotic street from your view, keeping you in her own private space. Her hands rested on either side of your thighs on the bumper, her green eyes scanning your face with lingering concern.
"You look awful," she murmured, though there was a soft, incredibly tender smile playing on her lips.
"You should see the other guy," you laughed weakly, leaning back against the open ambulance door. "Or, well, the ceiling. Thank you, Natasha. Truly."
"Don't thank me yet," she said, her voice dropping to a low, quiet register that made your heart skip a beat. She reached out, her fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear, her hand lingering on the side of your neck. "I told you I'd be your personal security. I don't break my promises."
She reached into her utility vest, pulled out a fresh bottle of water, twisted the cap off, and handed it to you.
"Drink," she commanded gently. "And once the doctors clear that ankle and get you cleaned upâŚ" Natasha leaned in a fraction of an inch closer, her eyes dropping to your lips for a brief, heavy second before rising back to yours. "âŚyou're going to let me buy you a proper dinner. No cafeteria food, no emergency calls, and no falling ceilings."
You took a sip of the water, a warmth blooming in your chest that had nothing to do with the adrenaline. "Is that an official S.H.I.E.L.D. directive?"
"No," Natasha smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners . "That's a date."
you didn't know your estranged uncle had a son. Not until said son dumps an unusually large, very angry, kangaroo hybrid on your doorstep, claiming it's only for a few days while your uncle is in hospital.
pairing: kangaroo hybrid!jk x f!reader
genre: hybrid au, angst, mild fluff
word count: 8.8k
warnings: still none really besides the ethics of hybrid-keeping (and fighting)
masterlist
part 2/3
<previous | next>
Š this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.
authorâs note: i decided to make it into three parts instead of two! i hope you like this, i edited it a tad (but i'll still blame lo from the past for this entire fic lol)
Saturday. As expected, the day doesnât start very well, but itâs at least⌠manageable so far. You remember that Jeongguk is supposed to leave for his activity again later, and when you try asking him about it once more, he doesnât tell you anything. Shocker.
After fixing breakfast for Jeongguk, you return to bed, not knowing if he eats or not. Today, you donât have the energy to try to force him to eat if he doesnât want to. Instead, you pop a few pills, writhing in your white sheets. Some months are better than others, and some months, you spend days on end on your bathroom floor, nauseous and desperate for the cool bathroom tiles against your cheek.
When the time comes, you see Jeongguk off again, locking the door behind him and nearly doubling over in pain. Bringing your phone as sufficient entertainment, you retreat to the bathroom.
At two a.m., you hear a tentative knock on the front door, a sound that wakes you out of your half-slumber on the bathroom floor. You get up on shaky legs and approach the door to open it for the hybrid. He looks cautious, as if heâs scared he woke you up although you did tell him to always knock. If you were to guess, youâd say that he probably regrets not taking the key you offered last time.
His eyes trail over you in your sorry state, but he at least doesnât look angry.
âAre you alright?â you ask, looking over him briefly in turn. You donât notice any obvious injuries, but he does look spent. His body looks like it feels heavy, and his black hair is still damp with sweat.
He nods and actually opens his mouth to speak. âAre you?â
Damn, you must really look like a mess.
âYeah. Go take a shower,â you usher him inside, closing the door behind him.
Maybe itâs because you look like youâre on deathâs doorstep, but he doesnât seem to want to argue. Or maybe he does and is glaring at you; you can't tell with your exhausted eyes half closed.
While heâs in the bathroom, you do some of the dishes left out during the day, trying not to cry from the intense bursts of pain. The gods obviously didnât hear you. Or they just didnât care.
Silently, you hear the bathroom door open and very quiet footsteps exit. You call for him, drying your hands on your cotton shorts.
âThereâs food in the fridge, please eat something,â you instruct when he appears half a minute later, wearing only sweatpants. Even in your weakened state, you definitely take notice of his very muscular and thick physique; how the prominent veins span across his arms and hands. But most importantly, you see the way a large bruise is forming over his right side, just over his ribs.
âAre you sure youâre okay?â you ask quietly.
Luckily, he doesnât take offense and gives you a small nod. Well, you donât think thereâs anything you can really do to help him at the moment, so you return his nod. Then you leave the kitchen, making your way back to the bathroomâthat still bears foggy traces of Jeonggukâs showerâjust as another wave of nausea hits you. At least you hear the fridge open, which grants you some mental relief.
The cool tiles against your skin help a lot. It also helps that youâre almost too tired to be nauseous. But it hurts. It hurts so much, and you canât say that you wouldnât rather be a man at that moment.
Some time passes. Youâre not sure how long. It could be fifteen minutes or it could be an hour, but when you open your eyes, heâs standing there, looking worriedly at you where you're lying on your side, sweaty, tired, and tortured.
âAre you sick?â he asks quietly. âMaybe you should go to the hospital.â
âIâm not sick,â you explain, barely lifting your gaze.
âThen what is wrong with you?â
âYou know biology? Womenâs anatomy?â
He nods, seemingly realizing.
âYeah. I have⌠endometriosis. Itâs a condition that makes all of that worse, basically. A whole lot of uterine cells outside the uterus. But itâs usually not very dangerous. If I go to the hospital, theyâll send me home with the same kind of painkillers I already have.â
Not looking convinced, Jeonggukâs eyes flit over your body. If you werenât so tired and in pain, youâd find it sweet how truly worried and unsure he looks.
âIâll be fine,â you say, closing your eyes again.
For the remainder of the night, you slip in and out of consciousness there on the bathroom floor, always feeling a lingering presence.Â
The next few days are easier. The pain and nausea turn more manageable, and your heart warms at how the hybrid also seems more⌠manageable. Even though youâre doing better, heâs still eating without arguing. Sure, not nearly as much as someone his size and physique should, but itâs something. In turn, youâve gone back to only talking sweetly to him, no more pretending to threaten him.
And just like that, Jeongguk has been with you for a week.
But when your phone rings one afternoon, itâs Taehyung, asking when he can come pick Jeongguk up.
âWould you sell him to me?â you blurt, realizing that you canât let them take him back.
âWhat?â
âI was wondering if youâd sell him to me?â you repeat.
Taehyung still sounds just as confused. âWhy?â
You guess you havenât given off a very interested impression so far.
âYeah. I actually really like him, and Iâve been thinking about getting a hybrid of my own.â
âOh. Well, heâs not for sale. At least not for less than 15 000 dollars.â
You blink in shock. Thatâs not an amount of money you happen to have lying around.
âOh,â you say, unable to hide your disappointment.Â
âYeah, heâs not really one of those pet hybrids. Heâs a highly regarded fighter. Brings us extra cash every week.â
âFighter? I didnât know that wasâŚ. well, legal?â
âIt is. Some people just frown upon it, but heâs a kangaroo hybrid; he was bred to fight.â
âWell⌠I, uh, Iâll see how much I can come up with.â
âSure. Iâll see you later tonight then.â
âYeah. Bye.â
Your heart breaks as you end the call because you know for a fact that you donât have that kind of money. No matter how much you want to remove Jeongguk from his home situation, what can you do? You canât refuse to return him; Taehyung and his father legally own him, and if you tried to skip town with him, theyâd easily track you down due to the GPS tracker in his chip.
When you turn around, shoulders slumping, you spot Jeongguk.
âYou want to own me?â he asks, his softer side vanished in favor of his cold, bordering on emotionless one.
âNo,â you start, surprised by his conclusion and the distaste for it. âI donât want to own you. I want to help you and get you away from them, and since you technically donât have a lot of rights, yeah, Iâd have to buy you. But I think that it would be the lesser of two evils.â
âWhat about what I want then?â
His follow-up question surprises you even more. Of course, you understand that you donât know each other very well, but⌠is he implying that he wants to go back? To a place where it seems a luxury to be allowed on the couch? Where youâre convinced heâs made to feel like a burden? Where heâs forced to fight?
You canât say you have an answer to his question, and so Jeongguk watches you for a few seconds, but when there is no response, he leaves the room.
Just before Taehyung is supposed to arrive to take Jeongguk to his âactivityâ himself, you approach Jeongguk in the guest room as heâs finishing up packing his stuff.
âHere.â
He looks at your open hand and the key in it and then he looks at you, his dark eyes emotionless.
âNo,â is his answer, and after relaying it, he continues to place the last of his stuff inside his duffel bag. He makes the bed, picking up the hot water bottle, and you don't miss the very slight trace of longing in his eyes as he holds it.
âTake it with you,â you offer.
He puts it down on the bed. âCanât.â
âWhy not? I have more.â
âTheyâll think I stole it from you,â he argues, and it hurts your heart to hear that they would immediately jump to such conclusions, not believing him.
âIâll tell Taehyung I gave you some things.â
âYouâll offend them by implying they donât take care of me.â
âWell, they donât?â youâre quick to retort. âIâll say I was going to get rid of it anyway.â
He peers over at it, and you can easily tell that he wants it. â...No.â
He redirects his focus to his bag, continuing his packing.
âAt least take this,â you hold the key out again.
âWhy? Iâm not coming back here?â
âI know. But⌠I want you to have it. Just in case. And I want you to know that youâre always welcome here. Always. If you want to come here, for any reason, you can.â
He doesnât take it but doesnât say anything either, so you reach for his bag, dropping the key into one of its smaller inner pockets and pulling the zipper shut. âDonât tell them I gave it to you. If they find it, say you didnât know about it and have them call me to ask about it. Iâll say I sneaked it in there when you werenât looking or something.â
Almost expecting him to pull the key out and throw it at you, youâre surprised yet definitely relieved when he doesnât, only looking at you and biting his lip somberly.
When you first met the hybrid, you had no idea it would be so hard to watch him leave. Still, he walks out that door with Taehyung, and your heart aches, knowing that heâs not well cared for and that thereâs nothing you can do about it. As far as you know, at least.
It frustrates you because you donât actually think Jeongguk is hard to care for. Give him a room with a comfortable bed in it, some appropriate clothes, and enough food, and youâd bet heâs good. Maybe entertainment of some kind as well, and a chance to socialize with other hybrids, and he probably wouldnât complain about a single thing. If youâre going to strip someone of their rights like hybrids have been, you can at least make sure they have everything they need.
Unsurprisingly, you donât hear anything from Jeonggukâor Taehyung, ratherâin the coming months. You wonder about him, if heâs doing alright, and on multiple occasions, you spend entire nights googling hybrid fighting rings. To your disappointment, there are too many to count. Then, one night you find it. A ring that advertises its fighters, one of them familiar looking.
Jeonggukâs name is there, so is his height and weight, and how many wins versus losses heâs accumulated. And you understand why Taehyung wasnât very eager to sell him to you.
As you scroll the site, you see other kinds of hybrids as well, a lot of which you had no idea even existed. There are not many derived from house pets; no house cat hybrids, but there are a few big dog hybrids as well as a wolf one, two cougars, a bear, and even a few hyenas.Â
For a while, you debate going to a fight, but then again, what would you even do there? Unfortunately, you canât just try to locate Jeongguk and grab him since he belongs to the Kims and what theyâre doing is supposedly entirely legal. If you were to try anyway, theyâd just take him back and probably have you arrested. So you stay home, holding onto the fact that, even if it isnât much, he at least has a key to your apartment in case he needs it.
Tapping your foot, you wait for the red light to turn green and the driver to accelerate. In your pocket, your phone buzzes, and when you pull it out, thereâs a text lit up and waiting for you.
'Had a great time tonight'
You ponder over a reply, before settling for a simple âme tooâ and hitting send. It was an alright date with an alright dude; youâre just not sure heâs the one for you. Still, you decide to give him one more date to be sure. At least the food was great.
At eleven p.m., the car pulls over outside your apartment complex and with a âthanks,â you step out and close the door behind you. Despite the relatively early hour, you yawn as you twist the key in the lock, opening the door to your dark apartment. Swiftly, you flick the light switch on and start to remove your fall jacket before something catches your eye, and you freeze.
On the little stool you keep in the hallway, thereâs a key. One that wasnât there when you left, and one youâre pretty sure you actually gave away half a year ago.
Carefully, you step further into the apartment, not sure what youâll find in the dark. What your eyes do fall upon however, is something curled up on the couch.
Your eyes adjust to the darkness slowly, allowing you to discern more. Itâs Jeongguk, sleeping on your couch. Heâs curled up as much as possible, probably to conserve heat. The weather outside isnât too cold for late September, but itâs certainly cold if all youâre wearing is jeans and a t-shirt. Heâs not even wearing shoes, seemingly intentionally keeping his dirty feet hanging over the edge.
Your heavy heart hurts, and you guess that heâs been kicked out for some reason. From what you gathered when he stayed with you, itâs happened before.
Deciding not to wake him, you pull a blanket off the couch and very, very carefully drape it over his freezing body. Then you exit the living room, leaving the lights there off, and head to the kitchen.
Suspecting that heâs probably hungry, you look through your fridge and freezer in search of something to make him, settling on toasting a couple slices of bread and scrambling some eggs for him. As you do, the kitchen fills with the smell, and you hum to yourself. Despite feeling terrible that heâs obviously still not being treated properly, youâre happy to see him and to get the chance to take care of him for however long heâll stay.
When you return with the food on a tray, Jeongguk is already awake and sitting up, the blanket wrapped around him. He looks tired and a little less⌠well, a little less than when you last saw him. Itâs no wonder he loses weight when he either doesnât eat as much as heâs supposed to, or just not being fed what heâs supposed to.
âHi,â you greet quietly as you place the tray down on the coffee table. Besides a glass of water and a big plate with food for him, it also contains an apple and some water for you. Sure, you just ate at the restaurant, but you figure heâll be more comfortable eating if you are too.
But he pulls away, diverting his eyes from you and the food as if heâs ashamed. âI shouldnât have come. Iâm sorry.â
He goes to stand, but you stop him. âNo, no, stay, please. I told you; youâre always welcome here.â
Unsure, he licks his lips but settles back down and pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders again.
âIâm guessing you donât want to talk about it?â you say, trying not to place any value in your assumption. âIf you do, Iâm all ears, but otherwise⌠donât sweat it. The guest room is yours, and youâre free to stay as long as youâd like.â
Jeongguk looks almost relieved, and in turn, it brings your own heart relief. You spend a few minutes preparing some clean clothes for him; a set of lounge wear that originally belonged to your dad, and after heâs eaten and is taking a shower, you prepare the bed for him as well. He doesnât say much, and you donât pressure him.
The next day, heâs already awake when you step out of your bedroom to pee. Sitting on the couch, still wearing the outfit you gave him last night, but doing absolutely nothing, he looks at you when you approach.Â
âI donâtâŚâ he starts, but stops to clear his throat in uncertainty, âI donât know if I should stay or try to go back.â
âWell, what do you want to do?â you ask, patting your unbrushed hair down and hoping that heâll decide to stay at least a little while.
âI want to stay, butâŚâ
âThen stay. Keep me company for a while.â
You think you see a hint of a smile forming on his lips.
He does end up staying, at least another night, and you ask him to watch a movie with you, something he agrees to. You let him scroll your streaming services until he settles on Jurassic Park, and you run to the corner store, getting some chips and soda.
âSo, how long do you think youâll stay?â you ask, trying to sound casual and without looking at him directly. âI donât mind having you here; in fact, itâs more than okay, and I like having you around. Iâm just wondering.â
Despite your precaution, you see how his mood turns sour. First angry, then mixed with sadness.
âI donât know. I didnât do well at my last fight, and I talked back. Taehyung told me to leave and not come back until I was ready to show some respect. They usually track me down by my chip after a few days and come and get me, wherever I am. So I donât know.â
âThey just leave you to fend for yourself?â you ask, truly shocked.
Jeongguk scoffs. âIâm very capable of surviving on my own. Iâm not a child.â
âI know, itâs not⌠I didnât mean it like that. Just that theyâre making it unreasonably difficult for you. I mean, you didnât even have shoes on. If you walked here, it probably took you like, half a day? I donât know how well I wouldâve done if I was left alone outside without money or my phone or even appropriate clothes.â
He keeps his eyes on the screen, and you decide to try something he might not like.Â
âMaybe tomorrow we can go pick out some clothes for you?â you watch his reaction tentatively, placing another chip in your mouth.
He doesnât tear his eyes away from the TV, but you can see the internal struggle going on inside him. He doesnât want you to spend money on him, but he doesnât want to walk around in dirty clothes in case you think heâs stinking up your home.
âOkay,â he mumbles finally, making you smile.Â
âOkay. Weâll get you some shoes as well.â
âI, uhm, donât have my collar, though,â he informs.
You pause. Even when Jeongguk stayed with you for a week, you never went outside with him, and so youâd completely forgotten that hybrids need to wear collars when out in public.Â
âWhat are the criteria for a collar? Does it only need to contain owner contact information?â
âYeah. There are a lot of models, but thatâs the minimum criteria.â
You contemplate for a second before rising from the couch to look for something in your bedroom. Collecting a few itemsâone from an old sewing kitâyou make your way back, placing them on the coffee table. Jeongguk peers over at the stuff, watching as you place a piece of yellow tape on the inside of a black silk band of about an inch in width. With the ink pen you brought, you write your own name and phone number in small letters and numbers and then blow on the text to dry it.
Curiously but a little carefully, he looks at you when you lift the band toward him. âI donât know what yours is like, but would this be okay?â
âUhm⌠mine is a lot harder.â
âWhat, like a prong collar?â you joke, realizing quickly that you shouldnât have.
He nods, âYeah.â
âI..â you start, unsure of what to say, âI donât think you need a collar at all, actually, so this would be enough only to comply with the laws. I know Iâm not technically your owner but if we were to be separated, Iâd rather have someone call me than them.â
Slowly, he moves closer and lets you tie the band loosely around his neck, the information hidden on the inside.
âIt doesnât need to be tighter than this, right?â you ask, inspecting the band that rests at the very bottom of his neck, more like a regular short-chained necklace than a choker.
Jeongguk lifts his hand to judge the tightness. âI donât think so.â
âOkay. Does this feel alright then?â
You let your eyes travel over him, and sure, it looks a bit like an odd accessory, but the main goal is to make it comfortable and hopefully also remove the humiliation of wearing an obvious collar.Â
Jeongguk nods again, and you see that almost familiar trace of a smile, something that makes your heart beat with happiness.
âGood. We donât need a leash, so just try to stay close to me, and Iâll try to stay close to you.â
You let a few moments of silence pass, watching Jeongguk out of the corner of your eye as he unties the band to place it carefully on the table again.
The day after, you knock on your neighborsâ door after youâve returned from work, asking to borrow some shoes and an appropriate jacket for Jeongguk to wear as you go shopping. The hybrid doesnât look too excited when you return with the goods, but he doesnât complain, and you think he just tries to accept it even if he doesnât really want it. Not your favors and not your kindness.
With you both dressed appropriately for the fall weather, you get inside your old car. The short journey toward the closest mall with a good supply of hybrid clothes is spent in silence, Jeongguk sitting in the passenger seat and looking out through the window.
Just as quietly, he follows you from the car and into the big building, keeping close just like you asked him to. Looking through the shopping list you wrote in your phoneâs notes app, you decide to start with the clothes.Â
Always a step or two behind you, Jeongguk remains quiet as you head toward a specific store, one thatâs bigger than any other hybrid-targeted stores youâve seen but still only a fraction of the stores for humans. There are a few people inside, both with and without accompanying hybrids.Â
âGo and look. Iâll keep up,â you encourage him softly when you enter the store, calm music playing from the speakers.
Clearly uncomfortable, he looks down at you with hesitancy in his dark eyes. âAre you sure you want to spend money on me?â
âYes,â you say determinedly. âPlease, let me?â
He considers for a few seconds before giving a small nod. âOkay.â
He looks around, seemingly unsure where to start before he takes tentative steps toward a section with shirts. It's clear how he gravitates toward the cheaper options on the racks. You find it sweetâand youâre relieved heâs not looking at the most expensive garmentsâbut itâs also incredibly sad to you. You realize no oneâs probably ever really spent money on him, even though youâve come to understand that the Kims arenât exactly struggling. Quite the opposite, actually, and from your recent research, it's definitely partially thanks to Jeongguk.
Staying close without hovering, you watch as he picks out a few things: two t-shirts, a pair of shorts, and two pairs of sweatpants. Theyâre all black or white and simple in designânot that you expected him to go for pink and sparkles or anything. You also suggest he pick out some underwear, socks, and two pairs of shoesâone to keep at yours and the other to bring with him if he wants since he didnât have any on when he arrived.
âYou wanna try them on?â you nod toward the garments in his arms.
âUh⌠Okay.â
You look around the store, scanning. âI think the fitting rooms⌠there they are.â
He follows your line of sight, and you head toward a small cluster of fitting rooms tucked into the back corner of the store. You wait outside while he steps into one of the small rooms, pulling the beige curtain closed behind him. Thereâs a soft rustle of fabric as he changes.
âThey fit?â you ask a few minutes later as he pulls the curtain open.
âYeah.â He pauses, looking down at the black and white shirts and sweatpants in his arms. âIâm not sure what color, though? What do you think?â
âWeâll take both, donât worry about it,â you smile reassuringly. âLetâs pay and then get them tailored.â
He follows you to the checkout, where a friendly woman rings you up, and then you head into a smaller section of the store. There, another woman sits behind a table, an industrial sewing machine in front of her. Sheâs engrossed in a book, a yellow tape measure draped casually around her neck.
âHello?â you call out.
She looks up, immediately setting the book down with a warm smile. âOh, hello. What can I do for you?â
âWeâd like to get these tailored, please,â you say, placing the sweatpants, shorts, and even the underwear on the table.
The woman glances at the pile, then shifts her gaze to Jeongguk, who lingers a couple of steps behind you.
âIs he alright with me measuring him?â she asks, her tone considerate.
You turn to Jeongguk, waiting for his reply. He meets the seamstressâ eyes briefly before nodding. âYeah.â
âGood. Come here, please?â she says, gesturing him forward.
Jeongguk listens and steps up, removing his jacket again and standing still as the woman carefully wraps the tape measure around the base of his tail. She notes the number on a piece of paper before measuring the distance from the top of his tail to his waist, jotting that down too.
Although heâs cooperative, you notice the subtle furrow in his brows. He doesnât seem particularly fond of having his tail touched. Or maybe he just doesnât like having anyoneâs hands on him in general. Youâve definitely been on the receiving end of that dislike.Â
With the measurements taken, she thanks him and begins working on the pants. The rhythmic hum of the sewing machine fills the small space, and Jeongguk steps away, glancing around the store. He doesnât wander far from you, still keeping his promise. Meanwhile, you look through your phone again, trying to see if thereâs anything youâve missed on your quest to put together a little kit of necessities for him.
Besides clothes to have at your place, youâll try convincing him to let you buy him a phone. At least a cheap one so that he can call you if he needs toâor just wants toâand some cash so that he can take a cab to your place if he needs to. If he finds anyone willing to drive an unaccompanied hybrid, that is. Maybe youâll laminate a card with your info on it so that he can give it to someone if heâs ever in trouble and you can help from a distance, maybe convince people heâs nice and just needs help home. Or maybe that's a bit overboard?
âFinished!â
The seamstressâ voice pulls you from your thoughts only a few minutes later. You look up, locking your phone and sliding it into your pocket as she folds the clothes neatly. She slides the pile toward you, a satisfied smile on her face.
âDo you want to try them on?â she asks. âSo I can alter them if needed.â
Jeongguk approaches, looks at you, and nods. He takes the pants from the table, and with you in tow, heads back to the fitting rooms. As he closes the curtain again, you lean against the nearby wall, waiting patiently as he tries them on again.
âGood?â you ask after a few moments when heâs taking a little extra time.
âYeah,â he replies, emerging a second later with a hint of something you think resembles satisfaction.
âAwesome. I think weâre done here then?â you ask, already giving the seamstress a thumbs-up. She smiles warmly, her fingers lifting in a small wave as you both head towards the exit.
âNow⌠Iâm getting you a phone,â you announce as you step out of the store, already steering toward another shop a few stores down.
âWhat? Why?â he asks, but youâre not met with the strong dislike you would have a few months ago.
âI want you to have a way to contact me if anything happens,â you explain, hoping that he accepts what very well could be too much for him.
At the entrance to the tech store, he seems to weigh his options before nodding shortly, and so you step inside. Itâs definitely a surpriseâand a reliefâthat he doesnât argue.
His quiet acceptance also fills you with relief that maybe, just maybe, heâs starting to realize that he has a safe place with you and that something like a phone would help him. But youâre also heartbroken, imagining what it mustâve taken for such a strong-headed person like him to accept help he probably didnât want in the first place.Â
You walk him through the aisles of displayed devices, each phone looking more expensive under the strong lights. Jeonggukâs eyes dart from screen to screen, a bit overwhelmed by the sheer number of options. You can tell heâs unsure, but heâs also doing his best to let you do what you for some reason want to do so badly.
âWhat about this one?â you ask, picking up one of the older models; something practical but not too expensive. Jeongguk peers at it, his black ears lowering further.
âIsnât that too much?â he mutters, glancing at you like heâs waiting for you to reconsider. Maybe even hoping. But you shake your head.
âItâs not,â you assure him. âItâs not the flashiest, so itâs still pretty cheap. But youâll be able to call me.â
You smile, trying to keep things light as you head toward the counter. The employee observes Jeongguk for just a little too long, and youâre reminded of how rare he is. Not only are hybrids as big as him not something you see every day, but youâd never even heard of kangaroo hybrids before you met him.
As you finish up at the counter, you catch Jeongguk sneaking curious glances at the people passing by. Thereâs another hybrid, a smaller woman, talking to her human. Her long, full tail swishes calmly behind her, and although you canât see any ears due to her hat, you assume sheâs a cat hybrid.
Like most hybrids youâve seen, she looks⌠satisfied with her situation. You canât tell if sheâs happy being owned by someone, but you canât sense any discomfort or anger from her either, at least not in the moment and from your distance. You guess Jeongguk doesnât see a lot of⌠normal hybrids, only whatever angry, possibly traumatized hybrid he fights in the ring.
âReady?â you ask, gesturing toward the door.
He nods, his attention snapping back, and he follows you out of the store. There's a comfortable silence between you as you head home.
âFiguring it out?â your voice is light as you move into the living room.Â
âYeah, kinda,â Jeongguk mumbles, not looking up from where heâs sitting on the couch, his new phone held carefully in his hands.Â
You hold your hand out, sitting down next to him. âHere, let me put my number in.â
Without objection, he hands you the phone, and you tap the screen to create a new contact, adding your name, number, and even address. Then you pause, thinking. Who else could he need to call?Â
âOkay, Iâm putting in Taehyungâs number, just in case you ever need it, but remember that heâll know of your phone if you do use it to contact him. And maybe⌠Yoongiâs number, if you canât reach me. And also the authorities.âÂ
You pull up the contacts in your own phone to copy the numbers into the new one. âYou know how it works?â
âUhm, yeah. Type number or press contact to call. Or you can text, right?â
âYeah. Just press this icon, and youâll be able to text. Keep the volume and vibration off, and check it now and again, maybe. Also remember to keep it charged in case you need to leave quickly.â
Jeongguk nods.
âGood,â you press your contact in the list, waiting a second until you hear the ringtone of your own phone. âIt works. Iâll pay the bill for it, and you can use it as much as you want and need.â
He accepts it back, his eyes stuck on the device for a short moment. âThank you.â
You smile even though heâs not looking at you. âYouâre welcome,â you say softly. âCall me anytime. Or text.â
He nods, and you get the feeling that you've made meaningful progress today.
âWhy are you so nice to me?â he asks suddenly, his voice blunt but with an edge of vulnerability that catches you off guard.
You take a moment to choose what to say, deciding to just get straight to the point. âBecause I want to. You deserve to be treated with respect, just like anyone else.â
You donât say that you wish someone had been there to show him this kindnessâthat's not even really anything specialâa long time ago. You donât say how badly you want him to see how much he deserves it.
He looks away, and you let the silence settle around you both again. But then you glance at your phone. More specifically, the time.
âAre you hungry?â
âNo.â
Right on cue, his stomach lets out a low, unmistakable growl. You stand up, turning to him with an amused smile.
âLiar,â you say, chuckling. âAlso, Iâm probably a lot hungrier than that. Do you wanna help me cook?â
âUh⌠I donât know how to?â
âIâll show you,â you promise, heading toward the kitchen. When you glance over your shoulder, you catch him following you, hesitant but seemingly at least a little curious.Â
You open the fridge to grab a few ingredientsâsome eggs, a couple of vegetables, and leftover rice.Â
âWeâll make⌠fried rice, if that's okay with you?â you ask, setting everything down on the counter.
"Sure. But I've neverâŚ"
Jeongguk hovers nearby, arms hanging loosely at his sides, as though unsure what to do. You grab a knife and a cutting board, holding them out to him. âIt's alright. You can chop. Iâll show you how.â
With a few careful instructions, you guide him through slicing the vegetables. His movements are a little stiff at first, but he follows your directions closely, and soon, heâs chopping with a quiet focus.
Meanwhile, you take out a pan and heat some oil. When he's done, Jeongguk brings the vegetables over, watching intrigued as you drop them into the pan.
"Rice?" he suggests when you've stirred a few times and start looking around.
"Yeah."
Without a word, he brings the bowl of rice, and you gesture for him to dump it in. He does, and then takes the spatula when you offer it to him.
His ears twitch slightly as he concentrates on mimicking your motions, stirring the mixture carefully. You watch him for a moment, noticing how the lines of tension in his shoulders seem to soften as he works.
"See? It's very simple. The hardest part is probably the eggs," you say as you approach the carton, picking out a few eggs. "Would you like to crack them? You can do it in a glass first if you're worried about getting shell in the pan."
"Okay."
With a smile, you grab a glass from the cupboard, carefully showing him how you crack the egg against the edge. When it's his turn, he uses too much force, and there's a shard of white egg shell that follows into the glass. He looks at you, unsure, but all you do is hand him a tea spoon and encourage him to fish it out. It takes him a minute, but when he's done, you let him pour the eggs in.
The kitchen is warm, the only sounds being the hiss of the pan and the clink of utensils and plates as you bring them out. It feels peaceful, like youâve actually found a rhythm together and don't need any words.
That night, you wake to a faint glow seeping under your bedroom door. Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you slip out of bed, padding toward the living room. There, you find Jeongguk sitting on the couch, his gaze fixed on the TV. The soft, shifting light casts shadows across his face, revealing the faint traces of exhaustion in his eyes.
âCanât sleep?â you ask quietly, sitting down beside him.
He shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the screen.
âYou know,â you start, a smile already growing on your lips. âI read something interesting about kangaroos the other day.â
Jeongguk turns slightly, his brows drawing together in mild curiosity. âWhy are you reading about kangaroos?â
âBecause I have a partial one living with me? Did you know that joeys like to be swaddled? Theyâll practically jump into any dark sack if itâs offered.â
âAre you⌠suggesting you put me in a dark sack?â
âMaybe,â you grin.Â
Before he can object, you disappear down the hallway, returning with a spare duvet cover. You hold it up, tying two of the ends together to make it smaller and hopefully, a cozy, enclosed space. âTry this.â
âNo,â he says, but the difference is how he says it. His eyes arenât brimming with anger anymore, theyâre almost a little amused instead.
The next morning, you walk past Jeongguk's door, noticing that itâs slightly ajar. Itâs pretty dark inside his room, but youâre still able to discern the shape of a⌠ball through the crack? Upon closer inspection, you see that, yeah, Jeongguk is bundled up in the makeshift "sack," peacefully asleep with only his large, black ears and a corner of the fuzzy blanket peeking out. The sight tugs at your heart, and you continue into the kitchen to make breakfast.
Half an hour laterâwhile youâre getting ready for workâyour phone rings. Your stomach drops as you spot the name displayed on the screen.
Taehyung.
Of course, you knew it was just a matter of time, and you take a deep breath as you answer the call, expecting the worst.Â
âHello?â
âHey, so, Jeongguk⌠Why is his tracker showing he's at your place?â he asks, his tone cold.
You swallow, feeling a cold shiver run down your spine at his bluntness. âYeah, I told him to come here if he got kicked out. Itâs inhumane, Taehyung.â
âIâm picking him up.â
A tense silence follows, and without another word, he hangs up. You sigh, closing your eyes for a moment to collect yourself.
It takes you two minutes to let your boss know that youâre feeling ill and wonât be coming in, something thatâs honestly not even that much of a lie. Knowing that Taehyung can and probably will stop by today makes you feel something you can only describe as nausea, and you wouldnât get anything done at work anyway.
Realizing that youâll have to break the news to him, you knock gently on Jeongguk's door. When thereâs no response, you open it slowly, finding him still curled up inside the duvet cover. You walk over quietly, sitting at the edge of the bed.
âSo, it worked?â you ask, your voice light but warm. It's easy to push the thoughts of Taehyung away, at least temporarily, when the kangaroo hybrid is so endearing. It's almost unbelievable that the huge guy even fit inside the sack.
He stirs slightly, still entirely hidden from view with the exception of his black ears and a little bit of black hair.
"Maybe," he mumbles, and you chuckle, reaching over to fluff a pillow nearby. As you do, your bracelet slips from your wrist, brushing lightly against his ear.
âSorry,â you murmur, carefully picking it up. âI know you donât like to be touched.â
âYeah⌠I donât like being hurt,â he explains from inside the sheets.
The simplicity of his statement twists something in you. âIs there⌠anything you do like?â you ask, âwhen it comes to touch? A scratch behind the ear or something? I read that that's usually enjoyed by most hybrids.â
For a moment, heâs silent. âI donât know. Isnât the point that itâs not enjoyable?âÂ
âNo,â you shake your head even if he canât see it, your heart heavy. âOf course, itâs not.â
The quiet lingers, and then, carefully, you offer, âI can try⌠if youâll let me?â You keep your tone light, respectful.
To your surprise, he hesitates only briefly before agreeing quietly. âOkay.â
You lean in slowly, hand moving very carefully to his ear, tracing the curve with the lightest touch. His fur is softer than you expected, and as you run your fingers over it very, very gently, you feel him⌠relax. He even lets out a deep breath. Encouraged, you scratch lightly at the base, heart warmed by the subtle way he almost moves into the touch.
For maybe five minutes, you keep your hand on him; tracing, scratching, and gently massaging his ears, enjoying his slow, relaxed breaths and body language. Then you sigh, deciding to just rip the bandaid off.Â
âTaehyung called.â
Even though Jeongguk doesnât move or speak, you feel the mood change as you explain. âHe didnât sound too pleased.â
âHeâs probably on his way,â Jeongguk mutters.
Watching as he sheds the cozy "sack," your heart hurts, and you wish this small moment could last longer. He sits upâlooking very warm and sweet, yet disappointedâand glances at you.Â
âYeah. You should probably consider what you want to bring. Feel free to leave some things here too. In case you need them another time.â
What can you do?
Only an hour later, thereâs a firm knock on your door. You and Jeongguk have been sitting together, side by side on the couch, just waiting for the inevitable. His phone, its charger, and your key already lie hidden in the deep pockets of his jacket, and he's not bringing anything else but the clothes on his body.
You look at Jeongguk, trying to stay calm and positive even if youâre anxious and worried. You hope your earlierâquite boldâwords to Taehyung wonât make things harder for Jeongguk. The last thing you want is to give Taehyung any reason to retaliate.Â
Standing up, you head to the door, taking a deep breath before opening it.
As expected, itâs Taehyung who stands there. His face is cold, letting you know that he doesnât care to put on the charming mask he wore when you first met him. Heâs not scared of you knowing what kind of person he really is. His eyes scan the room behind you, immediately finding Jeongguk.
âPut your shoes on,â he instructs stoically.
Jeongguk steps forward to do as told, putting the shoes you got him on.
âI can pay you five thousand now,â you offer, the slight panic you feel definitely heard in your voice. Youâve thought through every angle, already decided that selling your car and emptying your savings is a fair trade if it means being able to give Jeongguk a better life. âAnd I can make monthly paymentsâeight hundred dollars a month until itâs all paid off.â
âPlease, Taehyung,â you plead, your voice softening.Â
âI said no,â Taehyung repeats, more firmly this time. He nods towards Jeongguk, gesturing for him to follow, and so, Jeongguk steps past you, his face blank and eyes focused straight ahead. He doesnât look back, not even once.
The door clicks shut behind them, leaving you in silence so thick it feels almost suffocating.Â
That same night, you find yourself restlessly moving through the apartment, looking through old boxes and drawers to see what you might own thatâs just collecting dust. You know itâs a long shot, but youâre determined. If thereâs even the slightest chance that youâll be allowed to buy Jeonggukâs freedom, youâll have the money.
Among the more valuable items is a camera, a Christmas present from your dad from a few years back. It would hurt to part with it, but you remind yourself that itâs just an object, a small sacrifice in the grand scheme of things. As you research its current value, you send Jeongguk a text. You know that maybe you shouldnât in case Taehyung finds the phone, but you canât help it.
âYou okay?â
You wait for a response, staring at the screen until your eyes feel dry, but nothing comes. So you close your phone, thinking that he probably keeps his turned off. After all, itâs for him to contact you in case he needs it, not the other way around.
In the weeks that follow, you throw yourself into selling as many things as you can. Every sale feels like a step closer, each dollar a piece of hope you cling to. You sell old electronics, clothes you rarely wear, even some furniture, managing to collect about twelve hundred dollars over the next few weeks. Most of it are things you probably shouldâve parted with years ago, but like your camera, some things still sting a little.
You also trim down your expenses, cancel subscriptions you can live without, cut back on groceries you shouldnât buy anyway, and really think about each new purchase. Your car, though old, is appraised at about three thousand dollars, and you know that selling it would bring you closer to your goal. But you hesitate, knowing itâs a last resort. Youâd definitely rather keep it, so you donât sell it just yet, not unless you absolutely have to.
One morning, you wake to a new notification on your phone.Â
âIâm okay.â
Another month or so passes with no other communication, but then, on a Saturday evening just past six, thereâs a knock on your apartment door. The sound startles you, and you glance at the clock before setting your laptop aside. Wrapped in a fuzzy blanket on the couch, you definitely werenât expecting anyone. Rising, you make your way to the door, opening it with curiosity.
Dark eyes meet yours. Jeongguk.
âHi,â you greet softly, your voice tinged with surprise. You look him over quickly. He looks⌠okay. Tired, but okay, dressed in a jacket thatâs thankfully appropriate for the chill of early November. His hands are tucked into his pockets, and you notice that he doesnât seem to have a bag of any kind with him.
âHi,â he replies, his voice quiet, almost unsure. Thereâs something in his expression that makes you pause, something that doesnât quite fit the relief you feel at seeing him.
Figuring that something must have happened, and he needs a place to stay, you step back and gesture for him to come inside. He hesitates for a second before stepping over the threshold.Â
You shut the door behind him, but it confuses you when he doesnât make any effort to take off his shoes or remove his jacket.Â
âYou okay?â you ask carefully, your voice gentle but laced with concern.
âYeah, I just came toâŚâ He trails off, searching for something in the pockets of his jacket, â... return these.â
You look at what heâs holding out to you in his big hand. Itâs the key and the phone. You meet his eyes, confusion and worry rising quickly.
âWhat? Why?â
Jeongguk doesnât answer right away, instead looking a little unsure of how to tell you whatever heâs about to say.Â
âI wonât be back.â
âWait, what?â you breathe, stepping closer to him. âDid Taehyung make you do this? Did he find the phone?â
He shakes his head, his expression unreadable. âNo. But I wonât be back, so I wanted to return them.â
âBut how do you know that you wonât be back? Did he tell you you canât come here?â The questions spill out in rapid succession, your voice growing increasingly worried.
âNo. IâŚâ He falters, looking around before deciding to bend down and gently put the phone and key on the floor when youâre not taking them from him. Straightening up, he licks his lips, seemingly weighing something in his mind before he finally speaks again. âDo you know about the Ultra Games?âÂ
You blink, the term vaguely familiar. âUhâŚyeah, isnât thatâŚâ
You rack your brain, searching your memory. You vaguely remember coming across the termâas well as many other championship and competition titlesâduring your research months ago.Â
He watches you as you remember what you read about it, your stomach dropping painfully when you do.
â...When hybrids fight to the death?âÂ
Jeonggukâs sad look is the only confirmation you need. He thinks heâll be dead and that itâs why heâs not coming back.
âThen why wonât he just sell you to me?â you demand, heartbroken desperation bubbling to the surface.
âThe prize money is too tempting. This year, itâs a hundred thousand.â
âThen youâll win,â you say, not even sparing the other hybrids a thought, too upset at the thought of Jeongguk being killed. âI know you can do it. One last time and then maybe Taehyung will let me have you, and you can live here with me.â
âI canât⌠kill someone,â he explains slowly and quietly, his head slightly tilted.
The weight of his words settles over you like a heavy blanket. You feel the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as realization dawns.
âYouâre⌠forfeiting?â you conclude in a whisper.
Jeongguk doesnât respond, but his silence speaks volumes.
But then, a spark of hope ignites. âWait. Does Taehyung know that? Wonât he sell you to me if he knows youâll lose on purpose? There wonât be any money either way if you do?â
âHe thinks Iâll fight for my survival when the time comes,â Jeongguk says, his tone soft but certain. âSays itâs impossible not to.â
The spark dies, and the room feels like itâs closing in on you. Your gaze is stuck somewhere in the air between you as you think.
Jeonggukâs eyes shift to the door, like heâs trying to distance himself from the conversation.
âIâm not winning as much anymore,â he admits. âI broke my tail a few months ago, and without itâwithout it working properly, and being painfulâit puts me at a disadvantage. I can't keep up anymore. I cost too much to keep and feed, and if Iâm not bringing in money, thereâs no use for me.â
âWeâll leave the country,â you burst, taking a quick step forward and reaching for his warm hand. âWeâll leave tonight, okay?â
He gazes at you with understanding, letting you hold his hand, but the way he looks at you also tells you that he doesnât see how it would work.
âThereâs nothing you can do,â he says, his voice gentle but final. He nods toward the items on the floor. âI just came to return these.â
Heâs already moving toward the door, and panic surges in your chest. âJeongguk, wait!â
He pauses. âI canât,â he says softly. âJiminâs waiting, and I have a practice to get to.â
He glances at you one last time, his eyes meeting yours with a look that definitely means goodbye. Then he opens the door and steps out, leaving you standing there, tears welling in your eyes as the sound of the door clicking shut echoes in your lonely apartment.
<previous | next>
author's note: oop đĽšđ i hope you liked it <3
permanent taglist (for all my works), sign up here (as long as the form is open, there are spots open):
you didn't know your estranged uncle had a son. Not until said son dumps an unusually large, very angry, kangaroo hybrid on your doorstep, claiming it's only for a few days while your uncle is in hospital.
pairing: kangaroo hybrid!jk x f!reader
genre: hybrid au, angst, mild fluff
word count: 9.2k (the entire fic is 23.3k)
warnings: none besides the inherent ethics of hybrid-keeping and roo!jk's furious stares
masterlist
part 1/3Â
<previous | next>
Š this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.
authorâs note: to be clear, i first started this fic in 2020/2021 (and i will claim to have been first on the kangakoo agenda with my whole chest đ¤ even before bts themselves likened jk to a roo) and finished it over the years, so this is all on lo from the past, current lo is innocent
From what you can remember, there was always a sort of sanity that orbited around your mother. It stemmed from her, and it seeped into everyone around her. Her sister, her brother, her childâyou.Â
She had that thing that made you want to respect her. You don't think you ever heard her raise her voice at anyone, never saw her lose it, and that quiet, comforting understanding is what made her such a great parent. Even your father felt the strings of reason pull on his mind.
But it wasn't always like that. Not for him.
Your father doesn't speak to his brother anymore, hasn't for a long time since he tied the knot with your mother, and honestly, it's for the best. At least according to the vague things you've heard through the years. If your mother was logic, then your father came from the opposite, raised by the chaotic hand of insanity.
Having another cousinâthis time on your father's sideâhadn't crossed your mind until the little notification bell pinged on Facebook, but nonetheless, there he was, same last name and everything.
Through a few surprisingly polite messages, it became clear that he needed your help. And since there was always that chance of him being nothing like his father, you accepted. After all, insanity can clearly skip a generation.
"It's so great to finally meet you. I'm Taehyung," the blonde-haired man exclaims when you meet him outside the predetermined cafÊ. He wears an infectious smile as he enters the building and shows you to a table. Right away, you're caught by surprise because, although his Facebook pictures showed a handsome man, he wasn't this good looking. How is he related to your uncle?
You take off your winter jacket, hands finally thawing as you place the coat over the back of your chair. The small cafĂŠ is not an unfamiliar place; Taehyung offered to come to you since you âso graciouslyâ agreed to help. The place is just a few minutes away from your apartment complex.
"You too," you mumble, watching him start to back away with his wallet raised in his hand. At his question concerning your order, you simply recite your usual: coffee and a blueberry muffin.
"I didn't even know you existed," you admit sheepishly when Taehyung returns to place the little tray down on the table.
"Well, it's not that weird, considering my mom only married your uncle a few years ago. I've heard that he doesn't have the best relationships with the rest of the extended family so..."
You nod, taking a bite out of the fluffy muffin. Makes sense. And if your father knows about the marriage, then he never told you. You didn't exactly consult him before you agreed to help Taehyung either, so it's not like it was brought up.
"And now he's sick?"
"Yeah. Well, he actually had a heart transplant two days ago, but they'll keep him at the hospital for a while since itâs a, you know, heart transplant. So that's why this was all on such short notice; you can't pass up a heart just because no one can watch the hybrid, you know?"
"Yeah, no, of course," you're quick to reassure. "I was just surprised, and well, I don't really have any experience with hybrids. I mean, caring for them."
"Yeah, once again, I'm sorry for the short notice. I would've taken him myself if I could, but I can't, and I knew you lived close by," Taehyung explains, large hands wrapped around the coffee as he sips on it. "But it'll only be for a few days until I can find someone else."
You nod hesitantly, wishing you won't have to take care of the hybrid for long because, truth is, it makes you a bit uncomfortable.
"So, you said before that it's a male? What kind of hybrid is he?"
"Oh, yeah. It's a kangaroo hybrid, and his name is Jeongguk. Rescued as a puppy, or whatever they're called, and had a few families before he ended up with us. Can be a bit of a brat if you spoil him, so make sure he knows you're in charge," a confident smile graces his joking lips.
Despite what you first believed, Taehyung isn't actually related to you or your uncle, and that in itself makes it easier to trust him. The other contributing factor is that smile, the somewhat innocent confidence with which he carries himself.
"And I'd keep him inside if I were you, just to be on the safe side, but if you have to go somewhere with him, then remember that he has to wear his collar and never be more than a few feet from you."
If he can see the look on your face, Taehyung doesn't acknowledge it. You know that hybrids can't be left unsupervised by their owners when out in public, but youâd forgotten about the collar.
"So, are you ready to meet him?" Taehyung raises his eyebrows over the drink he's just about to finish up. With his free hand, heâs collecting his wallet and phone to put in his pocket, and then, heâs rising from the chair.
"What? Now?" you ask, still chewing the last bits of the muffin. When Taehyung had been the only one to show, you assumed the hybrid would arrive later. Like, in a day or something.
"Yeah, he's in the car. Unfortunately, he canât stay with me any longer, so I really have to drop him off today."
You wonder why he didn't bring the hybrid inside the cafĂŠ since they are welcome and it's cold, literally snowing, outside. But you don't say anything, just grab your thingsâhalf full paper mug includedâand follow the tall man outside.
Hybrids are normally slightly smaller than the average human, mainly derived from house pets such as cats and dogs, although there are definitely other kinds. But the hybrid that steps out of Taehyung's sleek, black car is anything but small.
He's wearing a winter jacket similar to his owner's, only a bit thinner because 'hybrids run warm,'Â according to Taehyung. It makes it hard to describe his body shape, but it appears they are roughly the same height and size, at least.
He's got the black jacket zipped up to right beneath his chin, and after grabbing a duffel bag from the car, he remains standing there, dark and cold eyes staring you down. You gulp at his intensity.
"Hâhello," you stutter nervously, obviously surprised and intimidated but not stunned enough to be rude. However, if you thought it would warm him up, perhaps even grant you a greeting in return, youâre mistaken; the hybrid just glares at you. Until Taehyung intervenes.
"Gguk, be nice," he voices sternly, making Jeongguk soften his glare a tad and bow his head reluctantly in your direction.
While Taehyung introduces the two of you, one thing keeps occupying your mind. Or, well, two things. Jeongguk's ears.
If Taehyung hadn't already told you beforehand what kind of hybrid the dark-haired male was, then the ears would've made you think donkey. And you mean that in the best way. They're big, longer than those of a regular horse but rounder than a rabbit's. And they're dark, almost black. Jeongguk keeps them turned back, a little lowered. He's not scared; they don't convey submission, more... suspicion. He doesn't trust you.
This isn't your first time seeing a hybrid or anything; you've met some of them before, although very briefly. You still consider yourself pretty knowledgeable; you're one of those people who know a little bit about everything, and hybrids aren't an exception. The thing is just that you've never had to put that hybrid knowledge to the test. Besides, the ones you met previously were all mellow, well-behaved, and with their owners. You'd expected a golden retriever puppy but were met with a wolf.
âItâs a birth defect,â Taehyung explains casually after catching your gaze. âTheyâre not supposed to be black.â
It throws you off, how he speaks of the hybrid, but since neither of them seem to share your opinion, you donât question it.
Taehyung keeps chatting all the way up to your apartment, his voice becoming elevator music as you glance at the pair through the mirror in front of you.
It's not only the fact that Jeongguk already seems to despise you that makes you lower your gaze quicker than ever when it's met by his sharp, dark eyes.
Taehyung is gorgeous. Dark blonde hair covers most of his forehead except for a little sliver, and he's blessed with dark eyes, framed by long lashes, and that infectious smile. But Jeongguk is more than that; he has something else that catches your eye more so than Taehyung, and it's not his animal features.
When the elevator reaches the fifth floor with a 'ding,'Â you step out and take the lead. The sound of your keys jingling echoes through the hallway and intensifies when you reach up to unlock the door to your apartment.
"Here it is," you say, back turned against the others as you open the door wide and step inside.
"Cozy," you hear Taehyung compliment even before he's seen more than the first part of your hallway.
"Thank you."
You show Jeongguk where to hang his jacket and put his shoes while Taehyung remains dressed for the outdoors.
"He's not very complicated. Eats anything, sleeps anywhere. He has his clothes and other necessary stuff with him."
As Taehyung speaks, your eyes drift to the male in between you. He's facing you, still in the hallway, and he's wearing a hoodie and sweatpants. It's like he doesn't even hear that he's being talked about, his eyes staring into the air, and his face blank.
You don't think Taehyung is lying. Well, not intentionally. But you hesitate because Jeongguk still hasn't said a single word to you, and it's obvious he does not want to be there.
Taehyung reaches for the door handle.
"Wait!"
He stops to look at you.
"Are you sure?" you ask. It's Taehyung who you're speaking to, but your eyes are still carefully watching Jeongguk. "He doesn't... are you sure this is okay?"
"Look, I really need your help," Taehyung pleads, suddenly way more serious. "It'll be fine, and I'll try to find someone else as soon as possible, so hopefully it's only for a few days."
"Yeah, but he..."
What are you going to say? You won't lie and say the hybrid's hostility doesn't make you uncomfortable, because it does, but you're mostly asking for his sake. He doesn't want to be left with you.
Taehyung's eyes follow yours, but while you watch Jeongguk with worry, Taehyung's gaze burns holes in his head from behind.
"Don't worry, he'll behave. He knows he's not coming home otherwise."
There's a second of silence before Jeongguk gives one determined nod to show that he got it. You're left speechless, and Taehyung reaches for the door handle once again. But before he actually opens the door, he turns back one last time.
"Oh, I almost forgot. He has activities on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. I'll send a friend to pick him up and drive him, but just so you know, he'll be back late." With that, and a small wave your way, Taehyung leaves. And you're all alone with a strange hybrid.
"Well, uh, feel free to look around," you gesture around you before bending down to take off your shoes that you'd forgotten.
Jeongguk does that same kind of nod again, and then he walks past you, giving a clear view of something you didn't see before. His dark tail. Your fingers let go of the laces as you stare up at it in awe. It's huge, could easily sweep the floor after him if he didn't keep it up. Unlike the tails of other animals like, say lions, it's thick and looks a lot stiffer. But itâs still not as thick as the ones youâve seen on real kangaroos.
Suddenly, Jeongguk stops. He's caught you staring. And now, he's glaring at you. Cheeks tinged pink, you return your attention to your boots, and you can hear Jeongguk disappear further into the apartment.
It doesn't feel good. This whole thing leaves a bad taste in your mouth. You think back to Taehyung's words, even those he said at the cafĂŠ, those you thought were meant as a joke.
Make sure he knows you're in charge? Those practices are outdated and were disproven years ago, even for raising dogs. And if Jeongguk doesn't behave? He's not allowed back home? What does that mean? Where would he go?
Minutes later, you find him in the living room, standing beside your large, gray couch.
"What are your rules?" he asks stoically. "I'm allowed to sleep on the couch back home, just so you know."
You can't help but furrow your eyebrows in confusion. Why does it sound a little like he's bragging?
"Rules? I don't know, uh, don't... intentionally break anything? And I already prepared the guest room for you. Clean sheets in the bed."
"Bed?" Now it's Jeongguk's turn to draw his eyebrows together, although he appears more skeptical. "I prefer the couch."
The way he says it is so confident that it sways you. But you still don't understand why he'd choose the couch over a bed.
"Uh, okay... Well, you can sleep wherever you want, I guess, but you're more than welcome to use the guest room and sleep in the bed there."
Jeongguk seems insistent, but after a very brief tour of your apartment, mostly you pointing to the kitchen and bathroom and assuring that he can take and use whatever he wants, he eventually does retreat to the guest room.
The closed door has you on your toes in the beginning, scared that heâll appear at any moment and glare you to death, but he never does. You ask through it what he likes to eat, but you don't get an answer, and when you've gone ahead and cooked your favorite food, he doesn't come out to eat, either.
It doesn't feel very good to go to bed without having seen your guest eat anything, but your alarm will go off earlier than you'd really want the morning after, and you think Jeongguk would value being left alone without food higher than being nagged at.
After shutting the alarm off, you stretch your arms over your head and blink the sleep from your eyes. Slowly, you get up to head towards the bathroom, and just as slowly, yesterdayâs events come back to you. On your way there, you have to pass by the living room, and when you do, you see him.
If you thought that the kangaroo hybrid locking himself in the guest room meant that he decided to sleep in there too... then you were absolutely wrong. He's tall, but even if heâd chosen to lie straight and not curled up like he is, heâd fit. One of the decorative pillows is under his head, but he doesn't have anything covering him. Not even though there are two soft blankets folded up and draped over the couch.
Your apartment is on the chillier side, and seeing Jeongguk in only a t-shirt and basketball shorts sends a shiver down your spine. Taehyung did say that hybrids run hotter, so you guess it's fine...
It doesn't take you long to get ready. A quick shower, clean clothes, some make-up, and then you're ready to go. You've never been one to eat breakfast, but when you fill a huge bowl with apples, bananas, and oranges, you grab an apple for yourself. You have a feeling that Jeongguk is the type to never want to owe anyone anything, even when there is no debt, but you're hoping he'll at least take some fruit. If he's going to stay multiple days, then he definitely needs to eat.
You could write a note, telling him that you've left for work. You should write the note. But your brain, still half asleep, tiptoes into the living room.
When he's sleeping, Jeongguk looks much nicer. Not at all the harsh looks and mean clench of his jaw. Black locks fall into his face, and the ears look so incredibly soft that you just want to reach out and touch. But that would be weird and not cool. And even if his face looks softer, his choice of sleep attire reveals that, physically, heâs very much capable of beating you to death. He lies on his side, facing you, but itâs still obvious how broad his shoulders are and how the muscles bulge under his skin. There are a few prominent veins stemming from the inside of his biceps and reaching all over his forearms and the backs of his hands.
The apartment really is cold at the moment, and despite Taehyung's words, you notice goosebumps lining the hybrid's naked arms. You step away to reach for the warmest blanket you own, unfolding it and gently draping it over Jeongguk's body. Luckily, it's big enough to even cover the tip of his tail.
And lastly, before you leave, you make the mistake.
"Jeongguk," you speak softly, putting your hand on his shoulder to gently wake him up. But it doesn't quite go as planned when he wakes and immediately slaps your hand off him.
"Don't touch me!" he growls, in a half-seated position and with his ears pinned back. "Don't ever touch me!"
Your blood freezes as you retract your hand and step back as quickly as you can. "IâI'm sorry," you whisper in a panic, so caught off guard, it's not even funny. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to say that I'm leaving for work."
He looks so angry, and the thought that it was you who made something so miscalculated and wrong makes your eyes tear up. But you don't think he notices because you're quick to turn away, and he lies back down again without a word.
You spend the next few hours at work completely thrown off. Black eyes haunt your mind, the way he jumped back to put more distance between you, and his snarled words... It's all burnt into your memory.
You can definitely say you're not in a hurry to get home. Grocery store, clothing shops, you even stop by a florist on your way. But food is the only thing in your bags as you unlock the door to your apartment.
Itâs quiet when you enter, except for the sound of the tv, and when you step further into the apartment, your eyes meet. He's on the couch, staring at you. Well, at least he's not trying to end you with his fists. And so you offer him a small smile before you take the bags to the kitchen to unpack.
The fridge looks just as it did when you last checked it; the only sign of the hybrid eating anything is the fruit bowl that seems to be missing a few pieces. You chew on your lip, trying to decide what to cook for dinner. It's already eight p.m.
"Do you have a favorite dish?" you voice without even entering the living room, only approaching to the point you can see Jeonggukâs face.
He keeps his eyes on the tv where some old movie is playing. "No, I eat anything."
"Yeah, but... nothing you like the most?" You hold your breath, desperately wanting to make the morning's misstep up to him but hopefully without angering him again.
"No."
Well, you're not going to push him any further, so you nod and retreat into the kitchen. You just hope he wasn't lying and that you wonât accidentally cook him something thatâll make him hurl.
You end up making a stew, going through your emails while it cooks. The room fills with the smell of food, and you realize how hungry you are. When itâs done, you carry a large bowl of it along with some toasted garlic bread and a glass of water into the living room on a tray.
You notice Jeongguk discreetly sniffing the air as you put the tray down onto the coffee table. It's not directly in front of him due to what happened earlier, you don't want to make him feel suffocated by being too close. Not in any way. He shows no emotions, just looks at you, and you avert your gaze, feeling... embarrassed?
"Can't return you in bad shape," you smile awkwardly and mumble so quietly you doubt he even hears it before you turn around and leave, going back to eat your portion in the safety of the kitchen.
Spoonful after spoonful, you chew the meat while looking out the kitchen window. Most of all, you see the reflection of your own face.
What is Jeongguk's life like at home? You're aware that there are lots of bad hybrid owners who abuse the ones that need them the most, but except for Taehyung's parting words and that joke, there aren't any indicators that Jeongguk is being mistreated. Right?
He seems healthy. He might not have the hugest of appetites at your place, but he looks far from malnourished. It's not like he's small and defenseless either. However Jeongguk is treated, the fact that he despises you remains. You just don't understand why.
Jeongguk doesn't lock himself away inside the guest room that night, but he doesn't sleep in there either, still preferring the couch for some reason. At least he ate everything you put on that tray.
And when you leave for work the next morning, you don't make the same mistake again. You simply leave without saying anything to the hybrid curled up on the couch.
It isn't quite as late when you return home as it was the day before, and when you step into the hallway, you see Jeongguk bent over his duffel bag, seemingly... packing?
He zips it closed and stands up, eyes meeting yours. No greeting, but you honestly don't expect anything of the kind anymore.
"Are you going somewhere?" you ask, confused but minding your tone as to not sound accusing.
"It's Tuesday. Jimin is waiting." He walks around you where you stand, reaching for his jacket from the hanger. You step away, maybe too fast and too noticeable, but you really don't want to anger him by accidentally brushing against him. If he notices, he doesn't show it.
"Oh," you look away, embarrassed because youâd definitely forgotten. "When will you be back?"
âDonât know.â
âOh, okay. Be safe,â you speak, but heâs almost entirely out the door before youâve finished. Itâs not like you even know where heâs going or what heâs doing, and you certainly donât think heâd appreciate you asking.
With a sigh, you lock the door behind him.
Taehyung said that Jeongguk would be late, but as movie after movie ends, and thereâs still no sign of the hybrid, you begin to worry.
He left at around six p.m., and midnight passed an hour ago when you send a somewhat panicked text to Taehyung, asking if Jeongguk shouldnât have returned by now.
âYeah, he should.â
You lick your lips as your anxious heart beats faster. What if somethingâs happened to him?
Before youâre able to ask what youâre going to do, Taehyung sends another text.
âThe gps in his chip shows heâs at yours, though?â
What?
You watched Jeongguk leave, and if he returned, you wouldâve heard it. Still, with phone in hand and Taehyungâs messages open, you look through all the rooms.
No kangaroo hybrid to be seen.
The very last thing you do before youâll admit defeat is to check the stairwell. Thereâs absolutely no reason Jeongguk would be there, but when the door glides open⌠he is. He sits on the stairs leading a floor up, with his bag beside him, jacket folded over his lap, and blood coming from his mouth.
âOh my god, what happened?â
For a brief second, Jeongguk meets your eyes and looks⌠surprised? But it soon evolves into that familiar look of irritation as he regains control over the muscles of his face.
âNothing.â
Itâs clearly not nothing, and still very much worried, you open the door all the way and motion for him to enter.
âLetâs get you inside and cleaned up.â
But of course, you shouldâve expected him to fight.
âItâs just a busted lip,â he argues quietly but still rises from the stairs and grabs his duffel bag by its handles.
âBut youâre bleedingâŚâ
When you peer back at him, you notice that heâs put the sleeve of the jacket heâs not wearing pressed to his mouth as if he hadnât known the red liquid was still seeping from the wound. Also like he rather stains his jacket than your floor.
The first thing you do is head to the kitchen to retrieve some tissues, offering them up to Jeongguk when you return to the hallway.
âWhy donât you take a quick shower, and I can take a look at your lip after?â you suggest because not only is the hybrid injured, but he looks to have sweated a lot.
Reluctantly, he accepts the tissues, replacing the sleeve of his jacket with them and putting pressure on his lip. The jacket gets hung on a hanger, and then Jeongguk leaves, gathering a change of clothes and a towel from the guest room before he enters the bathroom, huffing angrily the entire time.
With the sound of the shower running as background noise, you sway from foot to foot in the kitchen, biting at your nails. What happened that resulted in such an injury? Why was he so sweaty? And what kind of friend was this âJiminâ if he didnât bother to clean Jeongguk up? Make sure he got home properly? Well, not home home, but still.
The sound of the bathroom door unlocking and opening is what snaps you out of your thoughts, and you go to meet him right outside. Heâs wearing a new set of sleep attire, although the same style as yesterday; a black t-shirt and some gray shorts. His hair is wet but it doesnât drip, and you fight the urge to just⌠stare at his ears. Theyâre partially pinned back like they always are, but when they and his black locks are wet, theyâre more prominent and, well, cute.
Jeongguk observes you with suspicion and with paper still pressed to his mouth.
âLet me see?â you ask, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible.
âItâs nothing,â he grumbles the same words from earlier.
âPlease?â Youâre no expert on wounds but what if he needs professional care? How are you supposed to sleep without knowing?
âNo,â he answers strictly and makes an attempt to walk around you. But you step in front of him, blocking his way.
Jeongguk stares down at you, but you canât let it go. Not if heâs in pain and it could be somewhat serious.
âWerenât you supposed to behave?â you remind sternly, and you can see the way a flash of surprise washes over his face before heâs pressing his lips together and clenching his jaw. You would never tell Taehyung, or anyone, that Jeongguk was misbehaving, not when you still donât know what the consequences might be, and certainly not for something so insignificant.
But Jeongguk doesnât know that.
With a cold glare, he lowers the tissue. But itâs too dark in the hallway, so you ask him to follow you back inside the bathroom where the ceiling lights are bordering on surgical.
Without touching him, you motion to the spot where you want him to stand, in front of the washing machine, and then, you rise to your toes to get a better look, trying to ignore the way his glare makes your intimidated heart beat faster.
You have to stop yourself from grasping his chin and so instead, your hand floats a few inches from his face. It makes it more difficult to see how deep the gash is when you canât move his face around, but it will have to do. After all, you havenât forgotten how he reacted to your touch the first time. First and last time.
âDoes it hurt?â
âNo,â he grumbles.
You lace your voice with that sternness again while looking him straight in the eye. âAre you lying?â
Your courage surprises you because Jeongguk is a lot bigger than you. He towers over you, and heâs fit and muscular, youâve already established that. Heâs also not very happy or fond of you, but glaring at you is the farthest he will go, youâre already a hundred percent certain of that. It doesnât matter that his lip is wounded and that someone else might also be sporting injuries and bruises. If he wanted to hurt you, he wouldâve done so already.
When he doesnât say anything, only keeps his cold stare on you, you know two things. What the answer to your question is, and how to handle him. If necessary, that is, you donât particularly enjoy threatening him.
Even though his lip is painful, Jeonggukâs wound doesnât look too serious. And by that, you mean not serious enough for you to drag him to your car and speed toward the closest hybrid doctor. But you sink down from your toes as your eyebrows draw together.
When you open your mouth this time, your voice is softer. âSo⌠what happened?â
Heâs so pretty, he really is. You think back to the vision of him sleeping and how innocent and carefree he seemed. Youâve never seen him be anything besides angry while awake, and you absolutely hate that he feels the need to always be so guarded and hostile. And, of course, you also hate that someone, a few hours ago, split his skin open and made him bleed.
Taking advantage of the way youâve softened, Jeongguk mutters, âNothing,â and sidesteps you, disappearing through the door.
But you follow.
Heâs about to pull back one of the blankets on the couch when you catch up, and you immediately gather all of that determination again.
âNuh-uh, youâre not sleeping there.â
He halts his movements, standing there with the corner of the blanket in his hand, and you can see, even from the distance, how his grip tightens and jaw clenches. Then, he drops the blanket, still looking at it where it lies on the couch.
âWhen should I be back? Or should I not bother?â he mutters.
You donât give yourself time to absolutely break at his words. âGuest room. Now.â
You turn on your heel, not staying to make sure heâs actually following, but as you open the door to the guest room, there he is, right behind you and obeying.
âThis is where youâre sleeping.â
âNo.â
âYes, you are. Iâll lock you in here, I donât care.â
âI canât. There will be hair on the sheets. Maybe blood as well.â
âYou listen to me. I donât care. Youâre sleeping in here, and if I wake up tomorrow to find you sleeping somewhere else other than in that bed, I will not be happy.â
For a few seconds, Jeongguk seems to believe that if he challenges you to an angry stare-offâand winsâyouâll surrender. However, you donât give up that easily, and when those seconds have passed, you still gesture determinedly towards the bed.
âGet in. Now.â
Huffing, he passes you, and you watch as he reaches the bed and reluctantly pulls the white covers back like he had tried to do with the blanket, and gets inside. He doesnât lie down, just sits there, watching you.
You point your finger at him. âStay there, Iâll be back in a second.â
Without waiting for any kind of answer you donât think heâd give you anyway, you return to the bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet in search of some painkillers. You pop a pill into your palm and on your way back to the guest room, you stop by the kitchen to get a glass of water as well.
Jeongguk remains in the same exact position you left him in, and he follows your figure with his eyes as you approach him to place the two things on the bedside table.
The second you straighten up, you suddenly remember something. Not used to sounding so harsh, you almost slip back into your usual voice and choice of words but manage to stop yourself at the last second. You clear your throat.
âDid you eat today?â
Youâre taller than him when youâre standing and heâs sitting, but his eyes hold the same hostility as when heâd been towering over you previously.
âYes,â he grits.
âWhen?â you push.
He stares at you with those eyes of death before he finally gives up. âEleven,â he grits, staring right into your soul.
âA.m.? P.m.?â
âA.m.â
To be honest, it doesnât surprise you, even if you feel terrible. But you donât allow yourself to soften now either, knowing he wonât listen if you do.
âOkay. Hereâs the deal, youâre going to sleep in here, in this bed, but not after youâve eaten. Get it?â
Jeongguk doesnât give you an answer, not even a nod of his head until you urge further. âUnderstood?â
And when he does, you march out of that room and into the kitchen where youâre pulling out the rest of what you cooked for dinner, the portion of lasagna he didnât get to eat when he didnât come home and that you forgot all about when the worry had started to set in.
Itâs only when the microwave beeps that Jeongguk shows up, not exactly ecstatic but whatâs new? You place the plate, a set of utensils, and another glass of water on the table, and then you wait until he turns the chair sideways and sits down.
You wonât deny how cute you find it that he prefers to sit like that, with his tail hanging towards the floor behind him. It makes sense that itâs more comfortable for him though, the tail isnât as flexible as that of something like a cat.
You might be pretending to be meanâyou wouldnât think youâre doing a great job if it werenât for the way Jeongguk is actually obeyingâbut even then, you decide to not be so weird as to stand and watch him eat.
Instead, you turn your back to him and busy yourself with the few plates needing to be washed, and you boil some water.
While he eats, Jeongguk doesnât pay you any attention as you come and go. He just sits there and eats, and you canât even tell if your cooking is the best heâs ever had or if it tastes like something out of a dumpster.
Before heâs finished, you have: done some dishes, taken out the trash, cleaned the microwave and wiped down the counter, and lastly, filled a hot water bottle and hidden it between the sheets in Jeonggukâs bed.
Itâs not like youâve missed the seemingly always-present goosebumps on his skin or the way heâll sometimes rub at his arms when he thinks you arenât looking. One Google search quickly informed you that, yeah, hybrids typically do run warmer, but it depends on the species, and Jeongguk, well, heâs a kangaroo hybrid. Not exactly an animal usually found at the poles. And since your apartment is chillier than average, you retrieved the blue hot water bottle from its forgotten place in your little storage closet.
When you return to the kitchen, Jeongguk has finished eating and is washing the plate and utensils in the sink. You wouldâve gladly done it for him, but since he hasnât spotted you, you back away quietly.
After a minute or so, he exits the kitchen, and youâtyping a text to a friend despite the late hourâcall out when he passes the guest room.
âWas gonna brush my teeth firstâŚâ he informs arrogantly, and you feel your cheeks heat up.
âAlright, do that. And then, straight to bed.â
You choose to wait a few minutes after heâs retreated into the guest room to follow him, knocking on the closed door. âJeongguk?â
As expected, he doesnât answer, so you wait a few more secondsâenough for him to cover himself if he happened to be nakedâand then you open the door slowly.
Heâs watching you from the bed, sitting with his back against the headboard and the white covers over his lap.
âWhy were you in the stairwell earlier?â you ask, not bothering to beat around the bush.
Again, to no oneâs surprise, he just stares harshly at you until you raise your eyebrows expectantly.
âI canât disturb you.â
Oh, how your heart hurts. You let go of the door handle, stepping into the room to sit on the edge of the bed, as far away from the hybrid as you can.
âWere you going to stay there? All night?â
The pain in your voice is evident, and in that moment, something happens. Jeongguk doesnât answer you, but he also turns his head away, tired eyes looking at the floor.
âDo you really think Iâd go to bed without knowing where you were? That you were safe? I was waiting for you.â
Your eyes become glassy as you take in the being before you. Someone forced to be dependent on others, and who has learned not to make noise. He was going to sleep in the stairwell because he knew he shouldnât bother you if you were sleeping already.
âYouâre not a bother. Not to me.â
You donât wait for an answer this time, feeling like the day has been emotional and draining enough, and after leaving the guest room with a whispered âgood night,â you spend an hour trying to fall asleep.
He hadnât stretched his legs out enough to feel the hot water bottle when you sat with him, and you smile sadly as you try to imagine his reaction to the warmth. One thingâs for sure; Jeongguk deserves better.
In contrast to the letters youâre scribbling down, youâre smiling, and itâs with light hands and a quietly hummed melody youâre attaching the yellow sticky note to the pile of plastic wrapped waffles.
âEAT!!!â
The plate goes into the fridge since you donât know when Jeongguk will be up, and youâll soon head to work.
Thirty more minutes roll by, until all that's left to do is to relay some information to Jeongguk. Softly, you knock on his door, opening it slightly when half a minute passes with no reply.
Instantly, you smile to yourself. The hybrid is all cuddled up in the bed; a surprisingly small ball covered in white. And at the top, his peaceful face, black locks and ears, and just a little bit of blue stick out.
The hot water bottle. He looks to be hugging it close to his body, content even though itâs long lost its heat.
âJeongguk?â
He stirs at your quiet call of his name, but he doesnât wake. And in the process, his arm peeks out from under the covers. You were going to call for him again, but his name dies on your tongue.
There are bruises lining his arm. You didnât see them last night, and theyâre still only a purplish red, meaning that theyâre not very old.
The discovery leaves a bad taste in your mouth, and you close the door, looking for a piece of paper, preferably a bit larger than the sticky notes.
Despite starting off with a bit of sadness, your day at work is better than the previous ones, mostly because of the small break-through you think you witnessed the night before. It felt as if, without even really saying anything, Jeongguk opened up a little bit, and that makes you happy.
The moment you step back inside the apartment, you hear the telltale sound of Mario Kart, and you smile to yourself as you remove your jacket and shoes.
On your way to the living room, you stop by the kitchen to see the plate that held the waffles empty and beside it, the note you left.
âJeongguk, a friend of mine called Yoongi will stop by and install something for us today. Heâs really nice, so I hope youâll be nice to him as well!â
You hope that some entertainment might make Jeonggukâs stay a little more pleasant, and from what you see when you enter the living room, youâre happy with your decision.
Very briefly, dark eyes meet yours before theyâre back on the screen to pause the game.
âOh, I donât mind if you play,â you exclaim, guessing that telling him that you specifically asked Yoongi to install it for him, wouldnât be the best of ideas, even if Jeongguk surely knows it.
However, Jeongguk keeps it paused, watching you. He doesnât look friendly, nor does he smile, but he... doesnât look furious. Not like you just murdered his entire family.
âSo, it went alright? When Yoongi stopped by?â
The hybrid gives his typical short nod, and you make a mental note to ask your friend as well. Mostly for your own curiosity.
Still satisfied with the albeit short exchange, you exit the living room to head into the kitchen, pulling out ingredients and tools onto the counter. Youâve been craving your grandmotherâs homemade bread for literal weeks but havenât had the time to bake until now.
A few minutes later, while youâre elbows deep into mixing the dough, two things happen almost simultaneously.
Jeongguk walks into the kitchen and with his polite but still somewhat stoic voice asks, âCan I have some water?â
To which you step aside to give him access to the tap, ensuring, âOf course! Just take whatever you want or need.â
And your phone rings.
It lies on the kitchen table, and with your relatively clean pinky, you answer the call, putting it on speaker.
âHello?â you greet, sticky hands held in the air.
âHi, itâs Taehyung!â
You freeze at the friendly voice. To say that your feelings and thoughts of Taehyung have changed during the past few days is an understatement. Or... well, you think. No oneâs really explicitly told you anything, itâs mostly just signs, implications, and your own gut feeling.
You hope heâs just calling to check in.
âOh, hi. How are you? And Jihoon?â
âWeâre good! Heâs still recovering. You know, a procedure of that kind is tough on the body, not to mention if youâre over fifty. Theyâre keeping him a bit longer, even if he tries to make them let him go earlier,â Taehyung laughs.
âYeah,â you agree politely, âHe should listen to the doctors and take it easy.â
âThatâs what Iâm trying to tell him. But anyway, Iâve got some good news for you!â
You glance worriedly at the phone. Good news?
âOh?â
âYeah! I spoke with a friend earlier, and he offered to take Jeongguk. He had some things to do out of town, but seems like heâll be able to reschedule and take him after all. And I just spoke with Jimin; heâs close by and can pick Jeongguk up in half an hour if that works for you?â
âHalf an hour?â you repeat with your heart falling.
When you turn around, Jeongguk stands behind you, sipping water from a glass and staring out the window. You donât even see his entire profile, but he, as usual, doesnât show very much emotion.
âYeah.â
âAnd this friend...? Who... Whatâs his name?â
Itâs not like you expect to know the person, but you canât help it. You feel like you need to know.
âNamjoon,â Taehyung answers, and you see Jeonggukâs shoulders falling slightly, and what little you see of his face loses whatever tiny little glimpse of emotion it had before. âDonât worry, he and Jeongguk know each other.â
It doesnât take very long for you to come to a decision. The hybrid might not like you, but... you can at least guarantee heâs being looked after properly. That he has a bed to sleep in, all the food he can eat, and... someone who cares for him. And most importantly, you donât know this Namjoon, but you guess that Jeongguk would rather stay with you judging by his reaction.
âItâs okay, I donât mind if he stays.â
Taehyung is silent for a second, and youâve turned away from Jeongguk, so if he reacts in any way, you donât see it.
âReally? Are you sure? I mean, I know he can be a handful,â he chuckles.
âI promise, itâs fine. Heâs not so bad.â
Itâs not even a lie. Or maybe he is just a tad bit difficult sometimes, but youâve already come to the conclusion that if anything, itâs not Jeonggukâs fault. The image of the kangaroo hybrid, all snuggled up to the hot water bottle in bed, flashes before your eyes. That alone is worth it.
âOh... Well, okay then. Thatâs very generous of you, so thank you. Iâll let Jimin and Namjoon know.â
You donât like Taehyungâs words or how surprised and even grateful he sounds. No wonder Jeongguk thinks heâs a burden, and you donât even know how they treat him at home.
âYeah, no problem.â
There are a few more sentences exchanged before you hang upâJeongguk long gone from the kitchen by thenâand you can resume your baking. It hits you then just how little you want Jeongguk to go home. To go anywhere. But you donât think thereâs really anything you can do; hybrids have few rights and are basically nothing more than possessions in the eyes of society.
âCan I play?â
Jeongguk looks at you where you stand beside the couch, and immediately, he pauses the game and holds the controller out to you. All while looking... stoic. Thereâs still almost always that underlying anger. Like he loathes humans so much, and that yes, he will obey, but only because he has to. A part of you wonders how his âcaretakersâ succeeded in making someone so stubborn and strong comply; another part doesnât even want to imagine it.Â
âOh, I meant with you? Thereâs another controller, right?â
Stepping in front of the tv, you crouch to look through the little box Yoongi left with games. And, yeah, there it is. You pull it out, fiddling a little with it in your hands as you move to sit down on the couch. With adequate space between you and the hybrid, of course.
âSo, Iâve only played Mario Kart once and that was like... years and years ago. Do you think, maybe you could... teach me?â
Jeongguk looks at you, a softer than usual look of surprise on his face. His eyebrows are a tiny bit raised and his lips just slightly parted.
âIâve never played before today.â
âReally? It certainly looks like you know what youâre doing,â you chuckle, noticing how his eyes flicker subtly in something other than anger?
âUh, yeah... Yoongi showed me the controls.â
You make a mental note to send flowers and some kind of gift basket to Yoongiâs home. In a way, it doesnât surprise you that the calm and almost somber-looking man was able to interact with the very suspicious hybrid. Yoongi doesnât ponder too much; heâs more straightâbut calmly soâto the point.Â
âWill you show them to me, then?â
He nods, and with the controller in his hands, shows you what the buttons do and when to press them. When you feel like youâve refreshed your memory enough to give it a shot, Jeongguk restarts the game. Of course, the hybridâs superior reflexes and the few hours he already spent playing lead to his victory. The first time, you can see that he isnât sure how to act, almost as if he knows not to seem satisfied with winning, but when all you do is complain about your own performance in a lighthearted way and compliment his, he smiles.
The thirty minutes you spent gaming influence the rest of the night, and you smile to yourself as you refill the hot water bottle for Jeongguk right before bed time. He doesnât acknowledge the gesture, but he doesnât argue it either, and thatâs a win in your book, at least.
However, the next dayâthursdayâheâs back to being a grump, and at first, you have no idea why. Then it hits you. Thursdays mean âactivity,â which probably in turn means fighting. As a result, heâs holed up in the guest room for most of the day, eating only an apple and a banana after you open the door and physically place them and a big water bottle inside.
A few minutes before Jimin is supposed to pick Jeongguk up, you approach the tall hybrid in the hallway.
âSo, what is it that you do? Are you⌠fighting?â you ask, trying to keep your worry and distaste out of your words.
He doesnât answer, but you can feel his irritation grow and see his ears swivel back, which you by now can tell means that heâs not happy. Maybe you werenât very successful.Â
âAre they making you fight?â
Again, he remains quiet, zipping the bag shut.
âCanât you just answer me for once?â you question, sounding more frustrated than you intended to.
âNo.â
You lick your lips, silently cursing at yourself. Things were going so well. If you hadnât askedâalmost accused himâmaybe his anger wouldâve dwindled naturally.
âDo I come back?â he asks instead, staring at the wall, and you feel the heat radiating as his blood boils. Heâs wondering if youâre kicking him out to the street for not answering your question.
âCome back? Of course,â you assure him, your own frustration exchanged for heartache and your voice taking on a softer tone once more. âI have an extra key you can have if that makes you more comfortable?â
âNo,â he declines.
âOkay, but promise me youâll knock, no matter the time?â
You think heâs about to nod, or at least give you some sort of answer, but youâre interrupted by the doorbell.Â
You linger just inside the closed front door after theyâve left, wondering what you should do to pass the time. Whether you want to or not, you worry a whole lot about Jeongguk, hoping desperately he wonât come back injured.
While you wait, you decide to take the opportunity to cook for him. Youâve tried googling what kangaroo hybrids typically like to eat, but it hasnât given you a very clear answer, so you settle on a pasta dish. You make sure to use extra cream and to also make him a dessert of banana slices with peanut butter. If he doesnât want to eat like he should, you can at least try to pack as many calories into what he does eat.Â
Then, you retrieve the first aid kit, just in case, and the last thing you do before sinking down on the couch to wait in front of the TV is to fluff his pillows and place the filled hot water bottle between the sheets. Hopefully his bed will be warm and ready whenever he returns.Â
Despite finding a very interesting documentary to watch, you canât stop yourself, checking your watch as well as the stairwell outside your apartment now and again.
Whether heâd actually knock or try to stay outside again, you wonât actually know because at two-thirty a.m., you hear the slightest of noise from outside and go to open the door, seeing Jeongguk approach.
If you hoped whatever heâs doing with Jimin wouldâve made him more at ease, well, it didnât. He doesnât greet you, stepping inside and placing his duffel bag on the floor. You try to get a good look at him to see if he is injured, but he appears to move smoothly and without pain, and thereâs nothing on his face that seems hurt either.
Unfortunately, Jeongguk doesnât appreciate the things you did for him while you waited. He scoffs at the bowl of pasta you bring him when he comes out of the shower, and you wonât deny that it breaks your heart a little bit. Even more so when he peers into the guest room, seeing the fluffed pillows.
âIâm not a human nor a baby.â
Unsure of what to do, you give sternness another try. âEat, Jeongguk.â
But he turns fully toward you, looking down at you like he doesnât care if you live or die. Although his black eyes and hostile body language honestly do scare you a bit, you try not to show it.
âNo,â he grits. âKick me out, I donât care.â
His words catch you off guard, and you open your mouth to say something but nothing comes out.
âCan I go to sleep now or do I leave?â he asks stoically when you donât say anything.
You manage to mutter something about how he can go to sleep, and after he closes the bedroom door behind him, you stand there for a few seconds, stunned.
When you return from work the next day, Jeongguk is still in the guest room with the door shut like he was when you left. With a sigh, you contemplate your best course of action, until you decide on an approach. Perhaps you shouldâve really considered what he wants.
âJeongguk?â you knock on his door, â...I understand that you donât really want to be here. If you want me to, I can call Taehyung and ask if Namjoon is still free to take you?â
You wait a few seconds, not surprised when there is no answer. Letting a few more seconds pass, you then open the door carefully.
âJeongguk?â
As the gap in the door widens, you spot him, sitting on the bed with his back toward you.
âNo.â
His voice sounds like it often does; informative and not very emotional. But youâve come to know him and his language well enough to know that thereâs a lot of feelings inside; heâs just not allowed to express them.
ââNoâ as inâŚ?â
âI donât want to go.â
Youâre relieved. Both because he answered you and because of what that answer was.
âOkay,â you reply softly, âThatâs alright. I baked more bread, do you think you could eat something?â
To your relief, he turns his head a little toward you and nods slightly, and a few minutes later, he comes out of his room to eat some home-baked bread.
That same night, you wake up at three a.m., feeling the telltale signs of something approaching; a very familiar sensation that happens once a month, and you pray to the gods to let you off easy this time. Itâs hard enough when youâre alone and not caring for a mostly raging hybrid.
<previous | next>
author's note: i hope you liked it!! <3<3
permanent taglist (for all my works), sign up here:
summary: Working as a paramedic in Manhattan means you're used to chaos, but you didn't expect to pull the Black Widow into a quiet alleyway mid-invasion. Natasha is bleeding out and defensive, but when you're the only one steady enough to anchor her through the pain, a localized alien attack turns into an incredibly unexpected connection.
authors note: this is a draft so ntm
masterlist
Part 2 Part 3
________________
The flashing red and blue lights of the ambulance cast long, frantic shadows against the shattered concrete of the overpass. The Chitauri leviathan had been brought down blocks away, but the collateral damage was everywhere.
You snapped your purple nitrile gloves into place, pulling a roll of gauze from your jump bag as you knelt beside a civilian with a nasty laceration. Sirens wailed in the distance, a constant, droning backdrop to the chaos of Manhattan.
"Keep pressure right here, okay?" you told the man, guiding his trembling hand to the wound. "You're doing great. Deep breaths."
"Hey! Medic!"
You looked up at the shout. A fellow paramedic was gesturing wildly toward an alleyway fifty feet away. Through the settling dust, you caught the unmistakable gleam of dark tactical gear.
An Avenger.
Leaving your patient in the capable hands of a triage rookie, you grabbed your trauma kit and ran toward the alley. As you got closer, the figure materialized. Black suit, red hourglass belt buckle, crimson hair dusted with grey ash.
Natasha Romanoff.
She was slumped against a brick wall, one leg bent awkwardly out in front of her. Her breath came in shallow, ragged hitches, and her hands were pressed firmly against her left side, dark blood seeping through her fingers. Despite the injury, her green eyes were sharp, scanning the alley like she was still waiting for a threat.
"Don't move," you said, dropping to your knees beside her. Your voice was calm, a stark contrast to the adrenaline hammering in your chest. You didn't care if she was a world-class spy; right now, she was just a patient bleeding out on your pavement.
Natashaâs head snapped toward you. A low, defensive growl started in her throat, her hand instinctively twitching toward the empty holster at her thigh.
"Easy, Black Widow," you murmured, gently but firmly catching her wrist. "I'm just a paramedic. Let me look."
She stared at you for a tense, agonizing second, testing your grip. Something in your steady demeanor must have convinced her, because the tension bled out of her shoulders and she let her head fall back against the brick with a sharp hiss. "It's... just a graze. I'm fine."
"Right. You look incredibly fine," you replied dryly, already slicing through the side of her tactical suit with trauma shears to expose the wound.
The "graze" was a deep, jagged puncture from a piece of flying shrapnel, bleeding heavily.
"I need to pack this, and it's going to hurt," you warned, pulling out a package of hemostatic gauze. "Ready?"
Natasha offered a grim, bloody smirk. "Do your worst, doc."
You didn't hesitate. As you pressed the gauze into the wound to stop the hemorrhaging, Natashaâs entire body went rigid. Her fingers dug into the fabric of your uniform shirt, her knuckles turning white as she squeezed her eyes shut, a muffled gasp escaping her lips.
"I know, I know. Stay with me," you coaxed, using one hand to keep pressure on the wound while using your free hand to gently squeeze her shoulder. "Look at me, Romanoff. Keep your eyes on me."
She forced her eyes open, blinking through the pain, locking her intense green gaze onto yours. There was a raw, striking vulnerability in them that you were definitely not prepared for. For a moment, the sounds of the burning city seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in the cramped alley.
"You have... terrible bedside manner," she breathless, a weak attempt at a distraction.
"Hey, I'm saving your life. You get the premium service for free," you shot back, a small smile tugging at your lips as the bleeding finally began to slow. You quickly wrapped a pressure bandage around her torso, securing it tightly. "There. That'll hold until we get you to a trauma bay."
Natasha let out a long, shaky breath, her grip on your shirt loosening, though she didn't entirely let go. She looked down at your neat handiwork, then back up at your face, a look of genuine curiosity replacing her usual guarded mask.
"What's your name?" she asked, her voice low and raspy.
You told her, checking her pulse one last time. It was fast, but stabilizing. "We need to get you on a gurney. Can you stand if I anchor you?"
"Yeah." With your support, she managed to hoist herself up, leaning heavily against your side. She was shorter than you expected without her boots, but she felt like solid marble.
As you guided her out of the alley toward the waiting ambulance, Tony Starkâs Iron Man armor streaked overhead, but Natasha didn't look up. Her eyes remained fixed on you.
"You're pretty good under pressure," she noted as you helped her sit on the bumper of the rig.
"Occupational hazard," you replied, handing her a clean bottle of water. "Stick around Manhattan long enough, you get used to the alien invasions."
Natasha took a sip, a genuine, amused smile breaking through the ash on her face. She reached into a small, intact pocket on her vest and pulled out a sleek, black earpiece, dropping it into your palm.
"Keep that," she murmured, her fingers lingering against yours for a second too long. "Next time the sky opens up, give me a call. I'll make sure I'm your personal security."
Before you could respond, a S.H.I.E.L.D. transport vehicle screeched to a halt nearby, and a couple of agents rushed over to escort her. Natasha let them lead her away, but she threw one last, lingering look over her shoulder, leaving you standing by your ambulance with a pounding heart and a direct line to the Black Widow.
Summary: You grew up in a foster care facility until you were six years old. Happy memories were distant, until a new, green-eyed high school volunteer started one day. You became her precious baby, and she became the first, and last, mother figure in your life. You wish you remembered her name, but you were suddenly placed with a foster family one day without ever getting to say goodbye.
Now, you're a quiet university student. But why does your regular customer, Wanda, make memories of the facility swirl in your head? Why does her touch feel so familiar? And when was she going to tell you she's married?
Word Count: 8.7k
Warnings: 18+, age gap, mommy kink, heavy Freudian themes, pseudo-incest, dom/sub undertones, suggestive, a little emotional regression, angst and fluff, finding comfort in each other in a possibly unhealthy way
A/N: first time writing something like so pls be gentle and read the warnings
â
The memories of the foster care facility had been popping into your mind more often lately. They were usually a mixture of sad or painful events. Prospective parents passing you over for kids who were brighter, more talkative, or openly craving affection. Volunteers assuming you didn't want to be bothered, leaving you to read or draw alone at the table. The facility staff scolding you, frustrated that you didn't try harder to be chosen.
It wasn't that you didn't try on purpose.
You had been there since the day you were born, spending six years inside that building. When you were a newborn, people thought you were too much responsibility. A blank slate where one slip-up could ruin a life. Then you became a toddler, making friends with the other kids. You would play outside, screaming at the top of your lungs and laughing until you couldn't breathe.
But then one day, your best friend left with a foster family. Then another. And another. You were happy for them, but beneath it all, you started to close in on yourself. You grew scared of the pain of opening up to someone who could leave at any moment. So, you started to keep your distance. You talked less, stayed inside, and kept your head down.
But one day, shortly after you turned six, a happy memory formed.
You were drawing at one of the tables by yourself. The sleeves of your oversized t-shirt were folded up, and the hem fell past your shorts. The other kids were talking excitedly with one another, a noise you were used to drowning out.
Suddenly, a hand larger than yours, adorned with rings, appeared next to your crayons.
"Hi," a soft, slightly accented voice said.
You turned your head, meeting wide, green eyes. The corners of them crinkled as she smiled brightly, her face level with yours from where she crouched beside the table. You scanned her face, noticing her dark brown hair before looking down at her name tag. It listed her as a volunteer.
You wish you had committed her name to memory, but assuming she would be like the rest, you hadn't looked closely.
"Hi," you mumbled, wanting to get back to your coloring.
She picked up a blue crayon, twirling it between her fingers. "I'm a new volunteer here. I saw you coloring and wondered if I could join you."
You looked down at your drawing. She would probably get bored and leave to play with the others. The thought made you pout as you stared at the yellow duck you had drawn.
"I guess..." you responded quietly, continuing your coloring to distract yourself.
She giggled softly. Before you could react, she lightly pinched your cheek between her index finger and thumb. You turned to her, her fingers still holding your cheek, and gave her a little glare. She only giggled more.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said, trying to sound apologetic despite her grin. "You just looked too cute."
You looked away, your cheeks heating up. You shook your head, forcing her fingers to fall away. "If you're gonna draw, do it quietly," you said with the biggest sigh your small body could muster.
With one last giggle, she pulled out the small, plastic chair beside you. She settled in, grabbing a sheet of paper from the stack in the center of the table. You could see her glancing at your drawing repeatedly before finally starting her own.
You sat silently, trying to keep your lines smooth even though they always wobbled in the middle. Other kids came up to her, asking her to play and wanting to get to know the new volunteer. Your chest tightened every time, even when you tried not to care.
But she always rejected them kindly, telling them she was in the middle of spending time with you. Your heart warmed just a little, despite your best efforts to act indifferent.
Half an hour into drawing, she started to speak to you. She acted as though you were answering her questions even when you stayed silent, the smile never leaving her voice.
You learned she was a high school senior completing volunteer hours. You found out she had an annoying twin brother who always brought up that he was a few minutes older. She told you about being from Sokovia, how she had only been in the States for a few years, the foods she liked, and the classes that bored her. She talked about her plans for the future, wanting to do something meaningful with her life.
Time passed like thatâher talking about herself while you sat there, pretending not to listen but absorbing it all.
When she stopped talking, you peeked up. She was holding her drawing out to you with a shy grin.
It was a drawing of you. More specifically, of you sitting right in front of her, the little splotches of color from your own paper captured in her sketch. Even though there were other kids behind you, you were the only person in the drawing.
Your eyes widened as you looked between her and the paper. She was about to speak when one of the workers called your name, announcing it was bath time. Disappointment washed over you. Surely she would find someone more interesting after this.
You gathered your drawing, but her warm hand enveloped yours completely, stopping you. Your eyes met her green ones.
"Can we trade?" she asked, smiling softly as she looked down at the paper in your hands.
You weren't attached to your drawing. You had messed up the lines far too many times for it to look like anything, and it wasn't anywhere near what she had made. But you found yourself nodding shyly before you could think twice.
She swapped the papers but kept her hand on top of yours, holding it there for a moment. "See you later, alligator," she said gently. Her eyes didn't waver, and somehow, you believed her.
"See you," you whispered.
Her hand finally released yours. You hopped off the plastic chair and walked across the room toward the worker. You looked back, fully prepared to see her talking to another kid. Instead, you found her watching you leave with delicate affection in her eyes.
She started coming every other day. Sometimes she wore her backpack, arriving straight from school. On colder days, she would stop at the coat rack to hang her jacket. But despite those little differences, her searching for you was a constant. She would locate you with a single glance, walking over quickly with a bright smile that lit up the room.
You always ignored her for the first few minutes while she told you about her day. She would join you in whatever you were doing, even if you were just sitting silently outside, staring at the sky. At first, she sat an arm's length away. But as the months went on, the distance closed. And your heart opened.
You remember the first time you sought her out. It was right after a nap with the other kids your age. Bad dreams had plagued youâmemories of the friends who had left, telling you that you would never be loved. You had gripped the front of your oversized shirt with small hands, your chest aching because you believed them. Tears streamed down your cheeks, even as you tried to swipe them away with the back of your hand.
It was then that she showed up. The door opened just a crack so the hallway light wouldn't flood the dark room. You could recognize her silhouette easily by that point. Shimmying out of your blankets, you quietly stepped over the other kids, your vision blurred with tears.
You remember her surprised face. Her eyes widened when she saw you standing right in front of her, forcing her to look down. Your fingers curled into the denim of her jeans while you sniffled. She crouched down, her eyebrows furrowed with worry as she brushed the tears off your cheeks with her thumbs.
"What's wrong, baby?" she whispered, keeping her voice low so she wouldn't wake anyone.
You shook your head, staring at her with shiny eyes. You let go of her jeans and lifted your arms. She scooped you up immediately, rocking you back and forth. Holding one hand against the back of your head, she pressed your cheek into her shoulder. You breathed in. The comforting scent of sweet flowers, like the ones that grew by the swing set outside, washed over your senses.
More bright memories formed after that, multiplying over the weeks. You started talking a little more, telling her what you planned to draw. You sought her out whenever your shoes were untied. When you watched the sky, you sat in her lap instead of leaving that empty space between you.
In the picture books you read, the mom was always there for her child, whether they were sad or happy. Always wiping away tears after a bad dream. Always listening to them talk, even if it was nonsense about nothing at all.
Just like she did for you.
You remembered when one of the other kids got fostered. Their foster parents had come to pick them up from the facility, and the way the new mother beamed when the child called her "Mommy" always stuck with you.
Wanting to see that same look on her face, you walked up to her the next day just like you had after your nightmare. You tugged on the hem of her shirt to make her look down, tilting your chin to meet her smiling eyes.
"Hi, mommy," you said quietly, your voice shy.
Her eyes widened. Tears immediately began to shine in them before she scooped you up, hugging you tightly. She held you like that for a long time, her breathing shaky against your shoulder. You remember wondering if you had done something wrong. But then she spoke, her voice watery and thick with emotion.
"If only I were older... more stable..." she whispered, her voice shaking. "Then I could take you away from this place."
You hadn't understood why she was crying. She didn't have to take you away from there. You were happy as long as she came to visit. You thought it would last forever.
After that day, you became her precious baby. She would call you that every time she greeted you. She started staying past her volunteer hours, right up until the moment you had to go to sleep. The farewell was always the same.
"See you later, alligator."
"Bye-bye, mommy."
She would smile brightly whenever you called her that, as if you had given her the greatest gift in the world. Holding hands while walking, sitting in her lap while she read to you, her pushing you on the swings. They were pure, happy memories.
But the sunny days ended abruptly.
A couple who had visited you a few weeks prior appeared out of nowhere one afternoon. You had assumed they would choose someone else, since they had stopped talking to you weeks ago. Instead, they walked up to you with small smiles that didn't reach their eyes and told you that you were leaving with them.
She wasn't there that day. You never got to say goodbye. All you had from her was the drawings she'd trade with you that you begged to take with you.
You were in another state by the next day. In a spacious new apartment, a new room, a new school. You tried to be grateful for it all, but your foster parents weren't parents. You would try to get their attention, showing them your grades or asking for help, but their polite, distant smiles made you realize something quickly. The love you had read about in picture books wouldn't be found here.
It was more of an arrangement of convenience. They received money from the state for fostering you, and they got to look like a complete family from the outside. Even after they adopted you once the six month period passed, inside the home, you were just a guest.
That's how you lived for the next twelve years until you became an adult. And for the two years after that, you were on your own, refusing to accept their charity anymore.
Frankly, it wasn't something you chose to reminisce on. The ache in your chest from remembering her, from never being able to see her again, would always feel too painful.
But it's the green eyes in front of you that had been awakening these memories lately.
"Hi, honey, not too busy today?" Wanda asks, pulling an array of fruits and vegetables from her reusable bag and placing them onto the conveyor belt.
You pick up a package of cherry tomatoes, scan it, and set it to the side. "No, not today. It's been pretty quiet," you respond, continuing to scan the rest of the items.
You make a conscious effort to keep your head down, not wanting her to see the excitement on your face from her arrival.
You met Wanda a few weeks ago when you first started this job as a checkout clerk. It fits into your university class schedule well and pays decently because of the nicer neighborhood it's located in.
Your first day had been horrendous. In the last few minutes of your shift, a customer began complaining about their total, claiming they had a coupon that should reduce the price significantly. You tried scanning the coupon they held out, but it came back invalid every single time. Even when you tried to explain the situation calmly, they began to raise their voice until everyone in the front of the store was looking your way.
Situations like these have never been easy for you. You hated being the center of attention. You hoped they would just get it out of their system, pay, and leave so you could go home, but they wouldn't budge.
It wasn't until a voice came from behind them that the situation resolved itself.
"If you can't afford it, then just say so and move on so the rest of us can have our turn."
You craned your head back, meeting a pair of green eyes that you could swear you've seen before. It reminded you instantly of the volunteer who doted on you when you were still at the facility. But this woman had reddish-orange hair and no accent in her voice.
The customer's face turned beet red. They finally tapped their card against the reader, grabbed their bags, and walked away muttering under their breath.
The woman stared the customer down all the way until they exited the sliding glass doors. The moment she looked back at you, her expression instantly softened into something bright.
"I'm sorry you have to deal with customers like that, sweetheart. I don't think I've seen you here before. I'm Wanda. What's your name?"
There was something about the cadence of her voice that made your heart beat faster. The array of crayons on the small table back at the facility immediately came to mind. You quickly shook the thought off when she gazed at you expectantly.
You introduced yourself shyly, admitting it was your first day.
It took off from there.
Wanda visited a few times a week on random days, except for Fridays, which were a constant. You'd share short conversations with her. She'd stay longer sometimes on days where there was no line, chatting about her own time in university and letting you vent about stuck-up professors
Thankfully, today is Friday.
Unfortunately, you're exhausted from classes and your roommates being loud in the living room. It was taking everything in you to not close your eyes. The sunlight glinting off the cars in the parking lot were simultaneously blinding you and keeping you awake, but it was getting harder to keep your shoulders upright.
You take a breath, forcing a smile onto your face when you notice Wanda helping pack her groceries. You've reminded her over and over that this is part of what you're paid to do, but she never listens.
"They might replace you with me at this rate," you say jokingly, the tiredness dulling the inflections in your voice.
Wanda looks up from one of the bags, raising a brow. "Then would you be the customer?"
You huff out a little laugh. "This grocery store is a bit out of my price range."
"Then that arrangement won't do," she responds with a small smile, looking back down. "How else would I see you and that shy smile?"
Your gaze drops down to the scanner, heat rising up your neck to your cheeks and ears.
"See?" Wanda points out, laughing brightly.
Suddenly, her voice drops into something quieter. "Are you sleeping enough, darling?" she asks, gathering her bags nonchalantly. You see her peering at you when she thinks you don't notice.
Don't bother her with your problems, the rational part of you reminds you. It was one thing to complain about professors. It was a whole other thing to tell her about your living situation.
"I slept enough," you respond, meeting her gaze with a smile that doesn't reach your eyes.
She stares at you, scanning your face carefully before giving you a quick smile, like she's thought of something satisfactory.
"Do you get off soon?" she asks, glancing at the watch resting on her left wrist.
You glance at the register screen, finding that you're almost at the finish line.
"I only have around ten more minutes." You breathe out a sigh of relief.
She looks to the side for a moment, nervously biting her lower lip.
You can't help but find her beautiful with the way the sunlight shining in splays perfectly across her face. She's wearing a plain blue blouse and white trousers. No logos. No heavy gold rings or designer bags like the women who usually patronize this neighborhood. Just a silver watch on her left wrist. That modesty was one of the things that had made it easier for you to talk to her.
"I know your parents probably told you not to follow strangers. But hopefully, I'm not a stranger at this point," she starts, speaking quickly. "Would you like to take a walk with me after this at the park across the street? I saw there were a few food trucks, so maybe we could grab an early dinner?"
Frankly, your parents hadn't told you much of anything. You had figured out how to navigate the world on your own. But Wanda isn't a stranger, and the park across the street is always crowded. You wouldn't be in any danger. Perhaps it was naive of you, but with Wanda, you never felt afraid. Just her presence made you feel safe.
The prospect of spending more than a few minutes with her makes something in your chest flutter. It's a feeling you haven't felt since you were six years old.
"O-okay," you stutter, mentally cursing yourself for the slip.
Wanda beams at you, adjusting the bags of groceries hanging on her wrists. "I'll be waiting outside for you, honey. Take your time coming out," she calls out, already turning around and walking out the door.
You watch her walk away before finally turning back to the register. You stare down at the scanner in front of you. Your bottom lip finds its way between your teeth, but it doesn't stop the smile forming on your lips.
The sound of footsteps approaching cuts the moment short. You quickly smooth down the front of your apron, erasing the smile from your face before looking up to meet the next customer a few paces away.
"Next," you call out politely.
â
You step out into the parking lot, squinting against the blinding rays. Lifting your arms, you stretch your tight shoulders and release a yawn. Your t-shirt rides up with the motion, the hem resting just above your belly button before you finally let your arms drop.
Looking around, you find Wanda leaning against her car a few paces away. She's already staring in your direction, but her gaze is low. It takes a few steps in her direction before she finally glances up, her eyes widening slightly before she quickly slaps a smile onto her face.
"Ready to go, darling?" she asks, her voice a bit breathless.
You adjust your bag hanging on your shoulder before responding. "All set."
It's a quiet, comfortable walk across the street. You and Wanda stroll between the food trucks, pointing out options before ultimately deciding on sandwiches. Wanda pays for the food before you even have a chance to unzip your wallet.
"I-I could've paid for my own food," you mumble, a stubborn pout forming on your lips.
You both take a seat on an open bench facing the pond. Wanda turns her torso toward you, her expression softening into something you can't quite name. There's a distant sadness in her eyes that doesn't match the small smile on her face.
Before you can think to look away, she reaches out and pinches your cheek gently between her index finger and thumb.
"Let's just say I wanted to treat you. I'm the one who invited you out, after all," she says gently.
Her hand falls away, but her fingers linger close for a moment. Her gaze remains locked on your face, watching you quietly, as if she's studying you.
You stare back at her, your eyes wide. The familiarity of the gesture has your mind racing, your thoughts rushing straight to the one person you could never forget. You never allowed anyone to touch your face like this. Even when friends tried to do it jokingly, you always flinched away. It felt like if you allowed anyone else to repeat the gesture, you would start forgetting her. The memory of the first person who loved you.
Wanda isn't her, you chastise yourself internally.
Your heart twists sharply in your chest. A wave of guilt washes over you, eating away at your stomach just for letting Wanda cross that line without a fight.
But for some reason, it didn't feel uncomfortable. Usually, when others even reached for your face, you felt a wave of unease. If anything, Wanda's touch felt like coming home. The realization makes your heart acheâyou don't want the volunteer to fade from your memory.
You look down at the bench, focusing on the arm's length of distance separating you two. The sandwiches she bought sit untouched between you. For a few long moments, the chatter of people walking by the pond fades into background noise as your thoughts consume you.
It isn't until Wanda speaks that you finally snap out of it.
"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, darling," she starts quietly. Her expression looks distant, as if she's watching old memories float past.
You open your mouth to tell her the truth, that it didn't make you uncomfortable at all, but she continues, forcing your jaw to snap shut so you can hear her clearly.
"There's someone I've been missing for a very long time. Your smile and that cute pout... they remind me of her so much," she whispers, meeting your eyes with a sad smile. "She would be your age by now. Sometimes I wonder what she's doing. If she's eating okay, if she's receiving the love she deserves... if she still remembers me. But I always hope she's happy, even if that happiness didn't come from me."
The ache in Wanda's voice is almost palpable. It makes your chest tighten in the same way it does whenever you let yourself look back at the past.
Wanda's expression suddenly morphs into a grimace. "Maybe this is just me easing my own guilt. I'm sorry if this is bothersome, sweetheart. It must be weird, being compared to someone you've never met. But talking to you recently... it's been making me think of her more."
Her eyes widen suddenly, her posture stiffening as her voice turns frantic.
"That's not why I've been talking to you, though!" she exclaims, her voice rising enough to draw a glance from a passing couple. "I love our conversations. Genuinely. Seeing you so tired today just made me want to do something to help, even if it wasn't much."
You look out at the pond, watching the light breeze track ripples across the surface.
So she's missing someone too, you think.
The realization eases the guilt churning in your stomach. The puzzle pieces fit together now. The comfort and protection you only ever found from one personâthe most important person in your lifeâhad suddenly reappeared in a matter of weeks through Wanda. It makes sense now.
Wanda reminds you of her.
Secretly, you've known this all along. Probably from the very moment you locked eyes with her at the register.
You're not replacing her. The thought immediately making your frantic mind rest. She'll always be your mommy.
You and Wanda are just finding comfort in each other.
"Can we keep meeting like this?" you ask shyly, turning your head toward her. You let your eyes drift up to the sky. "There's someone I've been missing too. When I talk to you, I feel like I remember her more clearly."
You let your gaze drop back to Wanda's face. She's staring at you, her green eyes bright, as if she's looking right at a memory.
"Of course," she breathes.
You shift on the bench, scooting a little bit closer to her. It reminds you of when you were youngerâthe distance closing slowly, piece by piece.
â
You step into your shared apartment, barely sparing a glance at the kitchen counter littered with dirty plates and utensils. You make your way down the hall, feeling the heavy bass of music vibrating from beneath one of your roommates' doors.
Closing your bedroom door, you lean your back against it and finally breathe out. You let your bag drop to the floor, the heavy thud of it barely audible over the noise outside.
Reaching up, you let your fingertips brush slowly across your cheekbone. You can still feel the lingering warmth from where Wandaâs hand had cupped your face before you parted ways. Her eyes had locked onto yours for a long second before she finally turned around.
You can't help but wonder who it is that she's missing so desperately. But you didn't want to ask. You know that if she threw the question back at you, you would have a hard time answering.
How do you explain to a woman you just met recently that you miss a teenage volunteer from fourteen years ago? How do you explain that you still can't forget her? It would be like admitting to Wanda that she reminds you of the only person you ever viewed as a mother.
You walk across the small, cold space of your room and pull open the bottom drawer of your desk. Reaching inside, you run your fingertips across the rough, waxy lines of the papers hidden at the bottom.
All of her drawings are stored here. Some are messy pieces you had colored together. Most are the clean, detailed sketches drawn just by her.
You miss her so much it aches. The parallels between her and Wanda are almost eerie, pulling your heart in entirely different directions.
But it's exactly that conflict that makes you want to see Wanda again. You want to feel that safety you haven't felt since you were six years old.
You pick up the very first drawing she ever gave you. The sketch of you sitting and drawing at the table.
"Is this okay, mommy?" you whisper into the quiet room, the memory of her smiling green eyes flashing behind your eyelids. Wanda's face appears for a split second before fading away.
â
You start meeting with Wanda every Friday after your shift. She's always waiting for you, leaning against her car, her smile dazzling the moment she notices you.
The second time you meet, she takes you to a cute bakery down the street. You've noticed the inviting exterior before, but knowing the area, you knew it would be far out of your budget. Wanda doesn't let you pay, even when you try handing the barista your card. She just glances at you, raising a single brow. Your arm automatically lowers, and Wanda pays anyway.
It reminds you instantly of the look She would give you when you tried to avoid bedtime at the facility, just wanting to spend more time with her. You would automatically listen back then, wanting to be her obedient baby.
With Wanda, you get to experience many of the things you never could in the city. A flaky, buttery croissant at the bakery. A French restaurant you always wanted to try but could never get a reservation for even if you could afford it. Even just sitting peacefully on the park bench. You're always in a rush, jumping from classes to work, then back home to study. This is the first time you've truly gotten to take in the city you've lived in for fourteen years.
You and Wanda always end up at the park, no matter where you go first. You sit on the same bench in front of the pond. It's where you have the deep conversations that aren't just about university or daily life. It's there that you find out Wanda is the chairwoman for a massive charityâone even you've heard of. She tells you it was something she always wanted to do. To do something meaningful with her life.
The phrasing is so familiar. You remember Her saying the exact same thing. It makes you look at Wanda differently. The passing interest you had because of her looks and her similarities to the person you miss, growing into something much greater with every meeting.
It's your third meeting when you learn more about the person she's missing. You make a passing comment without really thinking. It's only then that you realize how much more willing you're to speak lately, usually being so reserved.
"When I was a kid, I used to think all ducks were yellow," you recount, your voice airy from reminiscing. "Then I found out only the ducklings are."
You let out a little giggle. Staring at the ducks slowly crossing the pond with little ducklings following behind, you think of the yellow duck drawing you made the day you first traded drawings. Your feet swing back and forth beneath the bench, your fingers curled tightly over the front edge of the wood.
It's a few moments before the heavy silence really hits you. You turn your head to look at Wanda. She's staring straight ahead at the pond. You track her eyes, finding that she's fixed on the tiny ducklings trailing behind the mother duck.
Her voice is shaky when she finally speaks.
"My precious baby thought the same thing," she says, a watery smile stretching across her face.
Precious baby.
You close your eyes, biting the inside of your mouth to stop the emotions threatening to surface. You haven't heard that phrase in fourteen years. Her smiling face immediately comes to mindâthe way she would look down at you, crouching to be at eye level before gently stroking your cheek.
"My precious baby."
You always loved it when she called you that. Your lips would immediately curve into a wide grin before you called her your mommy.
Remembering it makes your heart ache for Wanda. From what she's told you, it seems she had to let go of someone she loved, just like you did.
You scooch a bit closer to Wanda, though a sliver of distance still remains between you. As you move, the scent of sweet flowers suddenly washes over your senses.
The swing set. Your cheek pressed against her shoulder.
Your head snaps up, looking for the source, but the tree branches above you just sway gently. It must be the breeze, you think wryly.
But it's that familiar, comforting scent that gives you the confidence.
You reach out, your fingers gently tugging on the hem of Wanda's blouse.
She turns to you. Her green eyes are wide, glimmering with unshed tears, and her mouth is slightly agape. She looks at you as if she's staring straight at a ghost from her past. You figure she must be reminiscing just like you are.
"I'm sure she's out there thriving," you say, your voice adamant despite the slight tremble of your shyness.
Wanda holds her gaze on you, not saying a word. You peer up at the sky, anxiousness setting in the longer she stays silent. Maybe you shouldn't have said anything.
It's only when you feel Wanda's warm palm settle against your cheek that you meet her eyes again. Her expression is soft, her lips curved into a gentle smile. But it's the delicate affection in her green eyes that makes your heart jump. It's how you know she's only looking at you, completely tuning out the crowds of people sitting on the grass and walking by the pond.
Her thumb brushes your cheekbone before tracing lower, brushing slowly against your bottom lip instead.
You feel her movement freeze suddenly. The affection in her eyes remains, but you can see a layer of guilt churning just beneath the surface. She pulls her thumb away from your lip but keeps her palm resting against your cheek.
"I'm sure she is," Wanda whispers. Her voice sounds hopeful, but it's swirling with an array of heavy emotions you can't decipher.
â
With every meeting, you and Wanda only become closer.
Sometimes youâd catch her staring at you in your peripheral vision whenever you looked up at the sky. Watching the clouds drift by and finding shapes in them had become a habit again, just like when you were younger. On clear days, letting the blue expanse amaze you cleared your mind.
You figure that maybe the person Wanda misses used to do the same. The first time you noticed her doing that, youâd honestly felt a bit uncomfortable, but a mixture of guilt lay within that as well.
Because you weren't the person she was thinking of. Maybe seeing you was hurting her more.
It wasn't like you couldn't relate.
After the day Wanda had brushed your lip with her thumb, her touches became more constant. Sometimes sheâd rub away the crumbs at the corner of your mouth after you ate a pastry. Sometimes sheâd run her fingers through your hair and carefully move stray strands out of your face. Sometimes, when you were sharing a funny customer interaction, her hand would land on your thigh, squeezing it gently as she laughed.
Shame would creep up your neck when your body reacted. Youâd press your thighs together, trying to ignore the ache settling in your lower stomach. Your chest warmed from the familiar, comforting touch that you'd only experienced from Her, but now you were feeling the exact same way from Wanda.
Some days, you felt like you were betraying the person you had been forced to leave behind. Even after you were fostered, you had never found that same love. It was a rare, safe feeling that you had reserved just for Her.
But here you were, opening your heart up in the exact same way to someone else.
It was a constant push and pull. You keep reminding yourself that Wanda is a completely different person. They just happen to be similar. You weren't replacing Her. You refuse to.
And it wasn't like you could just walk away from Wanda now. Even in the short period of time you've known her, you've become deeply attached. You sought Wanda out whenever you needed advice, had questions about your university classes, or really just wanted to talk about anything at all. She listened every single time, even when the things you said didn't make much sense or lead anywhere.
Wanda's touch was always kind, but slowly, it began to cross the blurry boundaries between you two. Her hand began to linger higher up your thigh, holding it there and squeezing occasionally. You remembered the intense heat burning through your skin the first time she did it. But whenever you looked up at her, her green eyes were always full of that same gentle, consuming affection.
Sometimes when she looked into your eyes in these moments, her gaze would immediately avert, her lips curving downward like she was upset with herself. She'd blink a few times, her eyes brightening more with every blink before she'd look at you again and let her fingers curve around your thigh confidently.
You know this desire you feel for Wanda is twisted. Wanda reminded you of the only mother figure you had in your life. But, you like Wanda, and being around her feels like you're creating memories that you should've had with Her.
â
It's a month and a half later when you first slip up and tell Wanda a little bit about Her.
You're sitting on the park bench like usual, your arm pressed against Wanda's. You and Wanda had started a book series together. Wanda had the second volume in her hand, reading aloud to you. Your head slowly drifted to the side until it landed on Wanda's shoulder.
You noticed you'd been doing this more often, subconsciously, finding comfort in Wanda whether it be emotionally or physically.
You could hear the smile in her voice as she continued reading. Birds chirped in the distance. Children giggled behind you. But Wanda's voice drowned them all out. It reminded you of sitting outside with Her in front of the swing sets, sitting in her lap as she read one of your picture books to you while pointing at the pictures she liked. You found yourself speaking before you could even think to stop.
"This reminds me of when I was a kid," you murmur wistfully, closing your eyes.
"Did someone else use to read for you?" Wanda asks, her voice unusually tight.
You nod softly, your cheek swishing against her shoulder. "Mhm," you confirm, your voice relaxed. "My moâ"
Your eyes widen. Your posture straightens out. Gnawing lightly on your bottom lip, you look away. You've never talked about Her with anyone before. It felt sacred, like something that was just for you. Your hand tightens around the front of your shirt.
It's confusing. All these habits you used to have starting to come back since you met Wanda.
Wandaâs hand envelops yours, her touch gentle but firm as she coaxes your fingers to release the fabric of your shirt. Sliding her palm against yours, she interlocks your fingers together. She rubs her thumb in slow circles against the back of your hand.
"It's okay if you don't want to talk about the person you miss," she starts slowly. "But if you do... I'm always here, darling." You turn your head automatically, wanting to see Wanda's face that always manages to comfort you.
You don't know how she knew who you were talking about. It feels like Wanda is able to read you with a single glance. It makes you a bit anxious if she can see the feelings you have for her that are muddied by your past.
You meet Wanda's eyes. She's looking at you with an aching softness that you can feel in your bones. Your shoulders droop, melting at the comforting warmth coming from her hand.
Tears glisten in your eyes despite yourself.
It's confusing.
The complicated, messy feelings swirling inside you. There's the intense comfort you're receiving from Wanda, slammed right against the terrifying feeling that you're somehow betraying Her.
But you find your fingers tightening, squeezing Wanda's hand anyway. The motion reminds you instantly of when you used to swing Her hand back and forth while walking around the playground. You tilt your chin up, trying to stop the tears threatening to spill over your lashes.
You hear Wanda inhale shakily. Maybe this is too troublesome for her, you think, trying even harder to rein in your rogue emotions.
Suddenly, Wanda pulls you in closer by your interlocked hands. Her free hand rises to rest firmly against your cheek, her fingers spanning your jaw as she tilts your face up to force you to look at her.
"It's okay to cry," she whispers, her tone incredibly low and soothing. "My baby."
Your eyes widen, a wave of panic hitting you. You know Wanda is probably just seeing someone else in you. You know you shouldn't be letting her call you that. Only one person was ever allowed to use that title.
But you don't stop her.
Instead, a consuming warmth blooms from your chest and outwards. You squeeze her hand tighter. Her thumb brushes slowly against your lips as she gazes down at your mouth. You expect her to freeze like she usually does after a few moments. For the guilt to make her pull away.
But this time, she just continues.
â
Every time you come back to your apartment after meeting Wanda, you always go straight to your desk. You pull out the bottom drawer, running your fingers along the rough, waxy lines of the crayon sketches.
The guilt is starting to ease the longer you meet with her.
This isn't you replacing her, you remind yourself, staring down at the stack of drawings. You're finding something else in Wanda.
You try to ignore the nagging question in your headâthe one threatening to shatter the fragile resolution you've finally found.
But what is it that you're finding in Wanda, then?
â
You're sitting on the park bench with Wanda. Your legs are stretched across her lap, your hand locked firmly in hers. Her other hand rests on your knee, her fingers pressed against the bare skin of your inner thigh.
She's telling you about her day while you listen silently, absorbing every word. Your gaze tracks the ducklings as they follow the mother duck across the surface of the pond. Something about the scene makes you speak up suddenly, cutting Wanda off right in the middle of her sentence.
"âand then he told the staff that he knew me, and that I wouldâ"
"Wanda," you interject.
Her eyes widen, her mouth parting slightly as she turns to look at you. You're normally polite, always staying quiet and listening intently until she finishes her thoughts.
"Yes, baby?" she responds, her voice soft but clearly confused by the interruption.
You turn your head toward her. Your heart hammers against your ribs, the sudden rush of adrenaline making your throat tight as the question finally slips past your lips.
"What are we doing?"
She tilts her head, her expression full of feigned confusion, but her eyes tell you everything. She knows exactly what you're referring to.
"We're spending time together," she says with a light chuckle. She brings your joined hands up to her mouth, pressing a soft kiss against the back of your hand.
"I⌠I know that," you start, your confidence beginning to wane. "I just mean..."
You trail off. You can't bring yourself to say it out loud. You can't ask if she's projecting, or tell her that she somehow makes you feel the exact same safety your mommy did while you also crave a romantic connection. Instead, you just freeze under her gaze, your lower lip trembling slightly.
Wanda leans in closer to you. Her hand slides higher up your thigh until her index finger rests right in the deep crevice where your leg meets your hip. Your breath hitches when she taps her finger in slow, rhythmic beats against the sensitive skin there.
"I know I shouldn't feel this way," she starts. Her face showing the conflicting, messy emotions that are churning inside you. "Not when you remind me..."
She trails off, refusing to finish the sentence. Her lips curve into a soft, vulnerable smile.
"But being with you brings me so much joy," she whispers, her thumb grazing your hip. "I love when you get crumbs all over your lips and I have to brush them away for you. I love when your feet swing under the bench when you're happy. I love hearing your little ramblings. Can that just be enough for now?"
She looks at you, her green eyes wide, desperate, and hopeful.
"Being with you makes me happy too," you admit in a whisper.
Wanda beams at you, the warmth of her hand making your own lips curve upward as well.
Suddenly, a sharp vibration buzzes against your side. You pull out your phone, finding a new text message from your parents. They've been reaching out more often lately. Something about wanting to make up for the time they should've spent being real parents to you.
Are you okay for rent this month? We can send money if you need. Let's meet sometime to catch up over a meal.
You release a tired sigh as you read the text from your adoptive dad.
"Everything okay?" Wanda asks, her voice tinged with worry.
You lock your phone screen without responding to him, looking up with a small smile that falls flat. "Everything's okay," you respond, trying to keep your tone bright. "It's just my parents."
Wanda's hand tightens around your upper thigh suddenly, making you jolt slightly on the bench.
"Did they need something?" Wanda asks.
Her voice is colder than you've ever heard it. The gentle, soft lines of her face are completely gone, her lips pulled into a rigid line.
"Yeah..." you start slowly, still in shock from the sudden shift. "They were just checking to see if I have enough for rent. And... if I want to meet up for a meal."
Her fingers tighten even more against your skin, making a sudden swarm of butterflies erupt in your lower stomach. You try to look away, but Wanda releases your joined hands, bringing her palm up to scoop your jaw and tilt your chin back up.
Her eyes are incredibly dark as she stares down at you. You know you should probably feel afraid of the intensity radiating off her, but instead, the butterflies morph into a low, throbbing ache that makes you shift slightly.
"If you don't have enough for rent, then I can take care of it," she says. Her gaze never wavers, making you realize she's dead serious.
You release a shaky laugh. "I'm okay for rent, Wanda. I promise."
"Then are you meeting them for a meal?" she asks quickly, her tone demanding as she watches your eyes intently.
You shake your head as much as you can while she holds your face in her palm. "No. There's no need to," you start, a wry smile pulling at your lips before you grin up at her. "I'd rather eat with you."
You wonder if she knows just how true that is.
Her tight grip finally releases on your face and your thigh. She uses her thumb to softly stroke the skin of your chin where she had held a little too hard. Before you can even blink, she leans down, pressing a lingering kiss against your chin before pulling back with a thoroughly satisfied smile.
"I'll have to take you somewhere nice then," she says simply, the warmth returning to her voice.
She pinches your cheek lightly between her index finger and thumb. Your eyes close automatically, your head leaning heavily into her hand at the familiar gesture.
You both sit there like that for a long while. Her hand remains resting on your thigh, while her other hand releases the soft skin of your cheek, pressing her warm palm against your face instead. You giggle brightly when the tiny ducklings try to snuggle up against the mother duck's feathers.
Wanda chuckles beside you, her thumb stroking your cheek delicately like you're something precious.
"What's funny, baby?" Wanda's voice raises a pitch, like the way you naturally do when you're speaking to a child. But for some reason, it doesn't bother you. It reminds you of Her and the way her voice would brighten when she'd see you.
You turn your head, giving Wanda a cute, little smile without really thinking about your words.
"They look like us."
Her eyes soften immediately, and she leans forward to press her lips softly against your cheek. "They do," she agrees, pulling back just enough to give you a smile filled with pure affection.
You both stare at the pond for a while, until Wanda glances down at her watch. You hear her take in a sharp breath before she finally releases your face. Her hand slides away from your inner thigh, leaving a sudden, chilling patch of cold skin behind.
"I'm sorry, baby, but I have to go now," she says quickly, though the profound softness remains in her voice.
Your lips instantly jut out in a pout. You move your legs off her lap, shifting on the wooden bench so you're sitting properly again. "Okay," you respond, your voice quiet and tinged with sadness. "I'll see you next time."
You force a wide smile onto your face, desperately reminding your frantic mind that you'll see her again soon.
She stands up, turning around to give you one last bright smile. "See you later, alligator," she says, her voice raised to that higher pitch again.
"Bye-bye, mommy," you respond automatically, waving your hand at her.
It's only when Wanda takes a few slow steps down the gravel path that your blood turns to ice.
Wanda freezes, suddenly coming to a stop. It feels like everything around you has paused, only Wanda's motions continuing. She turns around slowly to face you.
"S-Sorry," you stutter, your pulse hammering in your throat making your mouth turn dry. "I don't know why I said that."
She stares at you. Her green eyes are blown wide, her mouth agape as she looks at you with breathless intensity.
"Are youâ"
"Moya lyubov, I'm here to pick you up," a raspy voice sounds from right behind Wanda.
Wanda's mouth freezes, but she doesn't turn around, her eyes staying on you. Your heart is beating erratically, the pounding of it almost making your ribs ache.
"Wanda?" the voice asks, but she still doesn't move, like her gaze can't leave your body.
You lean forward slightly, meeting a pair of green eyes, slightly more vibrant than Wanda's. Her hair color is similar to Wanda's, but this woman wears a power suit, nothing like the comfortable, modest clothing you see Wanda wear.
The woman walks past Wanda to you, shaking Wanda out of her stupor.
"Natashâ"
"Hi, you must be the one that Wanda's been talking about," the woman starts. "I'm Natasha. Wanda's wife." Natasha lifts her hand up to you for a handshake.
Your hand lifts automatically, though it feels like your mind has gone completely blank. You shake her hand, her firm grip doing nothing to bring you back to reality.
Wife? you think frantically.
Your gaze darts down to Wanda's left hand, tracking a gold band resting on her ring finger. A ring you're absolutely certain you've never seen on her hand before today.
Then what was all of this? Eating together at restaurants, sitting side by side. Holding hands at farmer's markets because Wanda didn't want you to get lost. All the conversations you've had here a this bench.
Natasha's hand continues to hold yours in a firm grip. She scans your face, observing you closely.
"I can see why Wanda is so taken with you," she says with a small smile, though there's something else brewing behind her eyes.
You look past her to Wanda. Her eyes are wide, her face pale, like she's been caught in a terrible lie.
But Natasha knows about you. Wanda's talked to her about you.
You look back at Natasha. She doesn't look angry. Rather, she looks down at you with pity in her eyes, her lips pulled downward. The betrayal you expect to see on her face, replaced by something else entirely, sends your mind into a blur.
"WhatâŚ" you start, your voice barely a whisper.
What did you just get yourself into?
â
A/N: *laughs nervously* a bit morally ambiguous here huh? i was going to make it a bit spicier, but i felt like it was a waste of the concept to rush it. idk if i'm going to leave this as a one-shot or make it into a miniseries of sorts. let me know what you think âĄ
SUMMARY -> jungkook, a divorced single dad, falls for his daughterâs nanny.
TROPES -> she falls first he falls harder, yearning, age gap, angst, hurt comfort, absent mother, jungkook is a little pathetic
now playing: magnetic - illit Ë.ââŞ
SERIES MASTERLIST ⌠MAIN MASTERLIST
NEXT CHAPTER
01: hired!
you bit the inside of your cheek in nervousness, swallowing as you walked into the house. you didnât know why you were nervous, you had babysat for years. younger cousins, neighbors. the type that gave big apologies for being late and even bigger amounts of money.
the concept was simple. let the father interview you so he knows that his baby girl isnât being let into the care of a psychopath. it was nothing. you had babysat your cousins or neighborâs kids for years, perfect preparation for this job.
what you werenât prepared for was the man that had opened the door.
you had been told his name was jeon jungkook. founder and CEO of a fast-growing tech company. divorced. rich. busy. you had expected an uptight, slightly arrogant, slightly pretentious tech bro.
you were very wrong.
he was handsome. devastatingly so. he was wearing a simple t-shirt and black jeans. his skin was so perfect you couldâve mistaken him for a model or pop idol. his eyes held a distinct tiredness that made your heart ache.
âhello,â you said breathlessly.
he studied you for a moment, your heart racing. he bit his silver lip piercing as he stared at you like he was trying to figure something out.
âhi,â he said too quietly.
you both stared at each other for what felt like an hour, entranced by each otherâs presence.Â
he cleared his throat and looked away first, like he had caught himself doing something he shouldnât.
he fidgeted with his hands, âare you here for the interview?â
âyes.â you swallowed, âits mr. jeon, right?â
âjungkook,â he corrected, gesturing for you to enter. âplease just call me jungkook.â
you left your shoes at the door and followed as he turned and walked deeper into the house.
the house didnât feel like a home. it felt like something pausedâquiet, dull, apart from the pictures of jungkookâs daughter.  him holding her in the hospital, her at the park, her at every single birthday. you bit back a smile. it was adorable.
he led you to the kitchen gesturing for you to sit at the island, âdo you cook?â
âyes, jungkook. i actually studied a few kid friendly recipes for your daughter to make with me.â
his brows furrowed, âhm.â
âyes?â
he just stared, something clearly on his mind, ânothing.â
another awkward moment of silence passed.
âsorry,â jungkook muttered. âi just⌠most applicants didnât prepare like that.â
your cheeks warmed. âi like kids, i want some of my own someday.â
he studied you again. this time softer.
then, a small voice echoed down the hall.
âdaddy?â
jungkookâs whole posture changed instantly, he perked up, immediately attentive to the voice.Â
âiâm sorry,â he mumbled to you. âarin?â he called, âyouâre supposed to be napping.â
âdaddy, âm not sleepy.â
he got up, following the sound down the hallway. you heard little footsteps padding against the cold tile floors.Â
arin was a very little girl, no older than five , with messy, jet black hair identical to her father that rested at her small shoulders. she hid behind jungkookâs leg.
jungkook turned around and crouched in front her, âprincess, this is the girl i was telling you about. the nanny?â
your heart melted. you wanted to meet her. you walked up to them and crouched to her level.Â
âhi, arin,â you whispered.Â
her big brown eyes lit up slowly as she stared at you in awe.
âwhatâs your name?â she whispered.
you told her. she repeated it slowly, giggling.
âprincess, you need to go back to sleep,â jungkook picked her up.
âno daddy! i wanna see nanny. i wanna be with you, iââ
âshhhh,â he coaxed, carrying her back down the hallway, âitâs naptime, princess.â
âbut, butâŚâ you could hear arinâs pouting.
as the voices faded away, you directed your attention to the kitchen island you were sitting at. arinâs drawings were scattered across the marble, many featuring what looked like her and her father hand in hand. your heart melted.
you glanced at the bare fridge, magnets spread across it. you knew how much it mattered for children to have their art showcased and praised. you grabbed the drawings and put them on the fridge.
âhey, iâm sorry about that, arinâs beenââ jungkook stopped mid sentence as he stopped to watch what you were doing. he froze yet again.
self doubt flooded your veins, âs-sorry. i just thoughtââ
âno.â he interrupted, still staring, âkeep it. itâs nice.â
you returned to the kitchen island and sat beside him.
close enough that he could smell your shampoo.
 he ran a hand through his hair, âare you in school?â
âyes, sir.â
âdo you commute?â
âyes, sir.â
âthatâs a long day.â
âi can handle it.â
he nodded slowly, âyou donât seem like the lazy type.â
âiâm not,â you smiled. it made his heart skip.
jungkook rubbed the back of his neck with his tattooed arm. for a moment, it seemed like he was debating whether to say something.
then he sighed.
âi want you to know this,â he began. âi love my baby. she isâŚâ he paused, searching for words, âeverything to me.â
you didnât interrupt.
âsheâs the best thing thatâs ever happened in my life,â he continued. âeverything i do, every hour I spend at work, every decision i make, itâs for her. i know iâm busy. too busy, probably. but i want someone who understands that she comes first. always.â you saw his eyes start to water.
you leaned in, âi understand.â
his eyes lifted to meet yours. the words hung in the air, something sweet and natural passed between them.Â
âshe is so lucky,â you said, âshe has a dad who loves her that much.â
you looked at him with wide, almost adoring eyes. he looked away for a moment.Â
âcan you start on monday?â he blurted.
your face flushed and your heart pounded with excitement. you inhaled, trying to contain it all.
the answer came out faster than intended.
âyes.â
authorâs note:
this took way too long to write, sorry!
this couple is gonna be so good once we get further along!! thank you so much for reading and baring with my slow writing process lol <333
Kinks: Dom!Jungkook, sub!Reader, arranged marriage, gunplay, oral to a gun, big cock, praise, body worship, nippleplay, strength kink, size kink, tattoos & piercings, thigh riding, spanking, dirty talk, sexy possessiveness, multiple orgasms (f. & m.receiving), creampies, squirting, overstimulation, rough & passionate sex in front a window, she rides him, the trope of âthis is the first night where the sex feels real and not like a marital dutyâ
Wordcount: 10.4k
a/n: i feelâŚfeelings. too many of them. most of carnal nature. some of deeply emotional nature. this story did too many things to me, holy fuck i need air. besties, Kinktober hits different because we can be totally unhinged together and i am loving the adventure â¤
You fucked up. You are aware that you did. Five men are dead, slaughtered because you trusted the wrong person. Seven barely escaped death and the rest were either hurt or pissed.Â
Taehyungâs with you, cleaning the cut on your cheek a broken bottle left. You think someone threw it at you, but you blacked out before you could see who did it.Â
âHurtsâ, you groan.Â
âI know, sorry. It must be doneâ, Taehyung answers you, replacing the blood soaked cotton swap with a new one. Soaked in disinfectant, he presses it against your wound, eliciting another hiss of discomfort from you.
âSo what are we gonna tell him?â Jimin asks the question the rest of the group was too afraid to ask.Â
âThe truth, what else?â Namjoon says dryly, fingers busy with stopping the bleeding on his arm by pressing a cloth to it.
âYeah and risk her getting shot? Nah thanksâ, Seokjin says, shaking his head.Â
âPeople diedâ, Namjoon hisses, eyes lowered in anger, âYoongiâs still out and guess shit about how Hoseokâs surgery is going.âÂ
âShe didnât shoot them did she?â
âShe could have very well pulled the fucking trigger.â
You avoid looking at Namjoon, knowing very well that he would probably kill you with just a look if he could. You understand him. Youâre angry at yourself as well. You werenât careful enough and let the details of the meeting meet the wrong people, ending in the cops busting you in the middle of the deal.Â
âWhere is she?!â Jungkookâs loud voice cuts through the air like thunder.
âYou didnât think that having Jungkook save you from an abusive arranged bond by marking you would mean that you would have to mate with him instead. Yet here you are. Bonded to him for life, with his father threatening to ban you if you fuck it up and with your bonding night one step away. It wouldnât be that scary if you werenât aware that his family doesnât bond with omegas.â
Pairing: Alpha!Jungkook x f. omega!Reader
Genre: Werewolves!AU, forced marriage!AU, childhood best friends to lovers!AU, marriage night!AU, Angst, Romance, SMUT
Warnings: Hard Dom!Jungkook, happy sub!Reader, size & strength kink, he is a lot taller than her, angst & misunderstandings in the beginning, poor woman gets threatened left and right at her own bonding party, please protect her, Kook is hurt by her at first but the problem gets solved hihi, her brother is a dick tbfh, insanely protective!Jungkook, whipped Alpha in loveeee, lots of kisses and touches, he is really soft with her & just a lil nervous, he is so lethal tbfh no wonder she gets turned on by him so easily bahaha, kissing & biting of her scent spots, the spots are on her neck and her tits and her inner thighs, he accidentally stimulates them long enough that she goes into heat, which makes him go into his ruts <3, this is a really passionate bonding night for sureeee, intense and hungry nipple sucking, her poor omega tits swell and produce sweet liquid (not milk just idk omega liquid lmaloaooa listen I made this up as I was going and it's hot), Jungkook eats it upppp, sooooo much slick, lots of drool and tears hihih, rough penetrative sex with his big alpha cock, knotting, lots of orgasms for both, breeding with his hot cum mhmh, listen he fucks her roughly while he is knotted which means she repeatedly gets penetrated by his knot, she likes it cause she is so into him, stimulation of her cervix which feels really good for an omega, she is in heaven with him fr, he never felt as good before as well, sex in missionary then in mating press and then just tangled up in a mess of limbs, praise, hand holding, he calls her "baby" & "my love" & "princess", the cuddliest and safest and giggliest aftercare, they're not aware of it yet but they're true mates <3, oh yeah! they break the bed
Wordcount: 15.8k
a/n: YOU HOES (affectionately) ASKED FOR IT AND THIS HOE (me, derogatory) LISTENED!!! I FUCKING LISTENED!!! AND I AGREED!! We need more Alpha!Kook in our life and on this blog. This is the hottest smut ever like (tmi but) i need to jerk it afterwards, which rarely happens with my smut HFAHDSFH i need him to be my alpha husband and rearrange my guts daily tbfh đ have fun besties, i hope this is a worthy enough sequel to the first part đŠđ ps: for all you omegaverse veterans, i'm still a newbie to this AU and this story is MY interpretation of the AU hehe any rule changes are done intentional to my comfort levels <3
If you knew that agreeing to Jungkookâs plan would mean This, perhaps you never would have agreed. Perhaps if the night hadnât been so stormy and you so hopeless, you wouldnât have said yes.Â
But you did and now you are here. In front of the entire pack, in a long dress as your packâs bonding official is talking about eternal faithfulness. You knew that being marked by an alpha would mean that you had to be with him, but didnât think it would mean This.Â
Your family is in the audience. First row, next to Jungkookâs family. Your brother stares at you with a look you canât quite make out. You still canât stand his face. Jungkookâs father seems displeased and you donât blame him. The little stunt you pulled made alpha Urquard furious and it was Jungkookâs father who had to take care of it. He wanted to trade another omega at first, but Jungkook stopped him before that could happen. You didnât get to see Jungkook for two whole days after this incident and when he came back, his upper lip was chipped and he didnât want to talk about what happened.Â
âUrquardâs not gonna bother our pack again. Thatâs all you need to knowâ, he told you tiredly while you tried to nurse his lip. âAnd thereâs something else. Itâs about usâ, he then continued.
âAbout us? What about us?â
âIf we wanna keep living here, we have to do something.â
âWhat do we have to do?â
âAnd with this kiss, I may pronounce you eternally bondedâ, the official says and howls. The rest of the pack follows. Everyone, except Jungkookâs father who is staring holes into you darkly. It is custom for werewolves to howl for a newly bonded couple. It is meant to bring luck and happiness into the union. Having the pack alpha refuse this ritual is not a good sign.Â
You gulp down the heavy lump in your throat, shifting your nervous eyes to Jungkook. He seems nervous too, clasping your clammy hands. He closes the distance. Thankfully the howls are loud enough to mask your voices.
âHe isnât-â
âI know. Ignore him. Heâs a stubborn idiot.â Jungkook cups your cheek. âCan I kiss you?âÂ
You hesitate, feeling dizzy from lack of oxygen in your lungs. His father isnât howling. What if Jungkook doesnât want this bond either? If you knew that your night with him would end in the werewolf equivalent of human marriage, maybe you wouldnât have said yes to him. He wants to kiss you, doesnât he? His eyes are studying your lips. You want to kiss him too, but it is so scary to go for it. What if he doesnât want this bond? You hesitate and hesitate. As a matter of fact, you hesitate long enough for the howls to die down.Â
Heavy, thick silence follows. The pack stares. The official stares. Jungkookâs father stares. Jungkook himself stares.Â
âHey uhm, this is the part where you kiss meâ, he whispers.Â
âI knowâ, you whisper back.
The official clears his throat. Jungkook licks his lips nervously, still waiting for your consent. Someone in the audience coughs.
If you knew that agreeing to Jungkookâs plan would lead to having to bond with him, perhaps you never would have agreed. He promised you that you would just have to pretend, that you wouldnât have to be with him if you didnât want to and yet here you are. You are now officially his mate. Well, not until you kissed him. You really want to kiss him, but itâs so scary.Â
âYou have to kiss for the bond to be sealedâ, the official whispers as well.Â
You glance at the audience. Your family seems nervous. Jungkookâs father seems hopeful but also very angry. You look at Jungkook, whose eyes have darkened slightly.
âIt seems that the bond is invali-â, the official tries to announce loudly, but before he can finish his sentence, Jungkook silences him by pulling you into the kiss.Â
You gasp, eyes wide open and body frozen. His big hand is on the back of your head, keeping you close. The official sees it as a sign and begins the howling again. It fills the bonding house, almost sounding like melodies of joy. But you feel sick to the stomach. You are mated for life. Jungkook made sure of it and you made sure of how your bond will be because you hesitated. You can see it in his eyes once he pulls back and they are as cold as ice. Holy fuck, you messed up.
The iciness of his stare continues long into the festivities. It is the duty of the newly bonded couple to open the dance floor with a dance. You and Jungkook have to wait behind a curtain to be called to the floor. You arrive a little later than him because your mother wanted to talk to you before that. Something about being a good mate to him. You didnât really listen because she pissed you off.Â
Jungkook sends you an icy glare, tonguing his cheek.
âYouâ, you stomp to him. Your mother made you angry enough that you feel the need to take it out on him.Â
He watches you with a cocked up brow. You shove at his chest. He doesnât budge, but stares with widened eyes.Â
âHow dare you force the kiss onto me like this. You took away my choiceâ, you hiss.
âTch.â
âDonât tch me. You said that it was my choice. You forced me.â
He tenses his jaw, looking anywhere but you. You shove him again with no chance of moving him.Â
âDid you hear me?â
âI donât know if you already forgot the five prior conversations we had, but if we didnât bond today, my dad would have banished us both. I made sure that this wouldnât happenâ, he answers you snappishly.
âThis still doesnât give you the right to kiss me like thisâ, you throw back, shoving at his chest.
He doesnât budge, taking your hands to stop you from shoving him again. His grip is strong and possessive, but doesnât hurt.Â
âThe official was gonna renounce our bond. I had to act fastâ, he hisses.
âYeah well, I didnât want to be forced into it.â
âI know that by nowâ, Jungkook spits and swipes your hands away, turning a cold shoulder to you. He crosses his arms in front of his chest so tightly it looks as if he is trying to hug himself.
âI want an apology for itâ, you insist.
âIâm sorry.âÂ
You falter for a moment, not having expected it.Â
âIâm sorry, okay? Just. Drop it now, please.â
âDrop it? Excuse me?âÂ
Jungkook turns his head away.
âLook at me when Iâm talking to you.â
No eye contact.
âJungkook?âÂ
âIâm done talking to youâ, he grumbles.
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?âÂ
âIt means that you hurt me.â
You gawk at him, holding your breath. He turns to you, meeting your eyes with such urgency it feels as if he is trying to drown you in the connection.
âAll this talk about not wanting me to hold back. You told me not to stop telling you that youâre mine. Was it just empty talk?â he asks.
His heartbroken scent makes you feel heavy in your chest.Â
âWhat? I, I donât- what?â you stutter.
âDid it ever mean something to you?âÂ
âKook, I-â
âDonât call me thatâ, he hisses and steps closer. The thing is, however, that you donât feel the instinctive need to step back. He doesnât feel dangerous to you. Not because he isnât scary, because he definitely is, but because you know for a fact that he wouldnât hurt you. âDonât call me that after what you did today.â
You gulp. He puts his hand over his heart, eyes showing how hurt he feels. His voice quivers as he speaks.
âYou made me have my first knot ever. You, you made me feel so good that I bit you. You had your first knotting orgasm through me. I was fucking alive inside youâ, he say and puts his other hand on your stomach where you once allowed him to feel himself in you.Â
You gasp and tense at the touch, putting your hand over hisâ. His touch seeps into you, reminding you how it was to carry his warmth inside you. Everything inside you wants him within the first touch. The connection is so intense that you draw closer to him instinctively.
âI thought that it meant something to you too. So why did you hesitate?â he stresses, eyes racing between yours.
âI donât know.â
âYou donât know?â Jungkook pulls his hand away from your stomach. âWow, okay.â
âKook, please.â
âForget it. Letâs just get it over withâ, he hisses and a second later, the curtains open and you have to pretend to be a happy couple.
He takes your hand, leading you to the dance floor while howls and claps cheer you on. He positions you and him in the middle of the dance floor, looking down at you with a tightened face.Â
The music starts. So does the dance.Â
Jungkook leads it, you follow. He holds you so close. He looks so deeply into your eyes. To anyone else it must seem as if he canât get enough of his wife, but you are close enough to him that you know his true feelings. He wants this stupid dance to end as quickly as possible.Â
You canât bear to look up at him any longer, lowering your eyes.
âDonât. Look up.âÂ
You obey instinctively.
âYouâve already fucked up the kiss, donât fuck up the dance as well.âÂ
âIâm sorry.âÂ
âItâs already a little too late for that, isnât it?â he says and leans you back as part of the dance. For just a second you see the world upside down before he lifts you again, holding you against his chest as he twirls over the dance floor with you. It makes your dress dance with you and blurs the world around you. He furrows his brows.
âDid it ever mean anything to you?â he asks.Â
âI donât know.â
âYes or no? Itâs a simple answer.â
âI was desperate and I-â
âWow.âÂ
âI, I just meant that I donât know if it meant what it meant to you.â
âStop talking, seriously.â
You gulp. Jungkook looks away.Â
âYou have to look at meâ, you whisper panickedly.
âDonât worry, the dance is already fuckedâ, Jungkook says and coincidentally enough, the music switches just this moment. The rest of the pack fills the dance floor, but you barely notice them.
Jungkook steps back and leaves you in the middle of the dance floor. Your chest feels tight. You didnât want it to come to this. Of course it meant something to you, but he cornered you right now and you tend to say the wrong things under pressure. You didnât want to give him a dishonest answer, but didnât have the full answer ready yet. Oh god, this isnât what you wanted to happen.
Sudden fear fills you. You know instantly that his father is next to you. You force yourself to look at him, holding your breath.
âRuin this bond, you and your family can look for a new pack. Understood?â
You nod your head fearfully.
âSpeak up!âÂ
âYes! Understood!âÂ
âThatâs better. Fucking, bratty omega. Just because my son canât keep his dick in his pants. Iâll teach him how to discipline you, be sure of thatâ, he says with a deadly glare and turns his back to you, leaving you in the middle of the dance floor.
You bite back tears.Â
Alcohol. You need to forget this night. Yes, thatâs the solution.
Werewolf bonding parties arenât that different from human wedding parties. There is good music, delicious food, lots of dancing and even more laughter. There is also, of course, the occasional friendly fighting between two wolves, which may seem scary to a human but is perfectly normal to your species. There is even a saying that if a bonding party doesnât have friendly fighting, the bond will not last. A part of you had hoped that your party would be such a party just so it wouldnât be you who ruins the bond and therefore has to carry the alphaâs wrath. But your wish wasnât granted the moment you watched Jimin and Hoseok start a friendly wrestling match next to the margaritas bar.
Speaking of margaritas, you are drunk on them by now. Way too drunk, barely able to stand on two feet.Â
âFuck, I need airâ, you get out and turn to leave. You run your eyes over the crowd. Your family is by their table, your brother follows you with his eyes. You must be way too drunk because for a second it felt as if he was hunting you with them. You break contact, spotting Jungkook next. He is talking to one of the betas, Seokjin. He also seems terribly drunk. You look away quickly, stumbling past him on your way outside. He follows you with his eyes as you do, but you are too drunk to notice.
The night is cold. A welcome change to the stuffy air inside. Tonight is a new moon. You look up at the moonless sky. Bonding under a new moon mean that the union will last long. Thatâs what the legends say. The new life together starts with the new cycle of the moon. First the fighting, now this. Your bond seriously wants to last, doesnât it?
You stumble to a quiet corner, resting against the wall. The music is blurred behind a veil of alcohol and the thick walls of the venue.
The thing is, itâs not that you had to bond with Jungkook which upsets you so much. It is the fact that it had to happen under such circumstances. You are sure that if he didnât have to mark you in order to save your life, he would have never even thought about taking you as a mate. You know how his family thinks. A wolf with the alpha gen should mate with another wolf with the alpha gen. Bonding with an omega isnât a thing in Jungkookâs family. And this is what scares you. You are an omega in a family of alphas and his father seems to fucking hate it. What if Jungkook hates it too? He talked about keeping you safe and not wanting to let you go, but he probably didnât think that he would have to mate with you. He was probably high on his afterglow and talked without thinking.
âUrghâ, you let out, grinding your fangs.Â
But then, why was he so upset that you hesitated? Was it because he wanted to own you as quickly as possible? But he smelled heartbroken. Someone who is merely upset about not owning you wouldnât smell like this. This is confusing you so much.Â
âWho knew that you would be bonded before me.âÂ
You turn your head to your brother. You must be really drunk because his eyes still seem so different.
âItâs crazy to imagine that you came back and got bondedâ, he says.Â
âOnly because you fucked up and I almost had to die for it. Otherwise, Jungkook would have never had to step in and I would have never had to bond with himâ, you throw back.
Your brother studies you with furrowed brows.
âLook, I said that Iâm sorry and I am. It was an accident. I thought that she was a deer.â
âTch, sure. I know you were into her. I watched you sneak away sometimes to see her. You got jealous and decided to kill her because you couldnât bear the thought that she was to be with someone else. Admit itâ, you challenge him because you know that it was bullshit. Your brother would never kill someone out of jealousy.Â
Something changes in your brotherâs face, however. Your brother disappears, the face of an ice cold killer stares back at you. The face of a killer who killed before and who would do it again. He steps closer and you instinctively step back. Fear and the desire to flee overcomes you. It is difficult however when he has you cornered. It is a dark corner and there are no people around.
âWhat, what are you doing? You, you are scaryâ, you stutter.
âYou know, you were never supposed to come back.â
âWhat?â
âIf I were you, Iâd be careful with your words from now onâ, he warns, dragging the back of his hand down your face, âare we understood, sister?âÂ
You whimper instinctively, avoiding his eyes. His touch feels like sandpaper on your skin. He comes closer. You are so scared.Â
âAre we under-â, he stumbles back as a strong hand tugs him away from you. It is so rough in fact that he squeaks against his will.
âDo we have a problem here?â Jungkook growls, stepping between you and your brother. He is huffing his air, torso stretching the fabric of his suit because his protectiveness is making his body grow. Your brother tries to take a step closer, but instantly stops with just one deep growl of Jungkook.Â
Your brother looks at you for a brief moment. The person you once knew is gone from his eyes.Â
âI was already leavingâ, he presses out and turns his back to leave. He knows better than to pick a fight with Jungkook. He gets as far as one step before the latter pulls him back.Â
He tries to fight him in reaction, but gives up quickly when Jungkook renders him useless with a strong grip on his chin. His claws dimple his skin, threatening to break through. He is towering over your brother by now.Â
âYou are the one who is going to start picking his words carefully from now on. She is under my protection now. Is that clear?â
âIs this supposed to scare me?â
âDonât test me.â Jungkook hisses, shaking him by his chin. âIâll let you go tonight because youâre her brother and I donât wanna break her heart, but you threaten her again and youâre dead. Are we understood?â he snarls his words, eyes dangerously golden and sharp fangs on full display.
âYesâ, your brother croaks out.
âSpeak up!â Jungkook barks, shaking him.
âYes! Iâm sorry, yes!âÂ
âGood. Now leave, youâre ruining my wifeâs moodâ, Jungkook growls and pushes him away.Â
The man, who was once your brother, stumbles back and runs off with his tail tucked between his legs.
Jungkook stares him down until he truly left and only then, he turns to you. He puts his hands on your upper arms, touching you so gently one might never know how roughly he handled your brother seconds ago. His features are clouded over with worry. His body is smaller again and his muscles shrunk back to their relaxed size.
âAre you okay? Did he hurt you?â he asks, studying you worriedly.
You shake your head, gasping for air in small, helpless breaths.Â
âHey, sshhh youâre okay now. Youâre okayâ, he says, hugging you against his chest. One hand is on your back, the other on the back of your head. The calming scent of him engulfs you, masking your own frightened scent.
âPeople need to stop threatening me tonightâ, you get out, sobbing into him.
âYouâre okay, baby. Youâre okayâ, he keeps repeating the words, placing little kisses all over the crown of your head.
The fight of earlier feels far away to both of you. Especially to him.
It wasnât long after you stumbled past him, that he followed you outside. At first he followed you with the intent of confronting you again, but then he saw that you were talking to your brother and he stayed back. Because of his heightened senses, he heard everything of your conversation with him. He also smelled your fear even before hearing your whimper and it drove up his desire to protect you to such levels that he has to tremble now that he finally holds you safe and sound.Â
âYouâre okay. Iâm here now. Iâm here.â
You tilt your head up, meeting his eyes.
âThis wasnât my brother anymore.â
âI know, Iâm sorryâ, he says, wiping your tears.
âHe murdered her. Kook, he is a murderer.â
âI heard everything. Iâll take care of it. I promise.â
âHe looked at me as if he wanted to kill me too.â
âI wouldnât have let him. Heâd have been dead if he tried.â
âKookâ, you get out and hide away in his chest.
You smell so sad and heartbroken and scared. Jungkook feels parts of his body cramp from how much he trembles. He wants to protect you more than he already does. It is driving him insane that he canât do more for you.
âJungkook, I wanna go home but I donâtâŚâ Your sad scent reaches its peak as tears roll down your cheeks. âI donât even know where that is anymoreâ, you press out and sob.Â
âHey no, donât cry. Iâll take you homeâ, Jungkook says and puts his arm around you to lead you away from the venue. You let your head fall against him, crying loudly because everything is just a lot for you.Â
âDo we have to tell anyone? Can we just leave? What if they ask questions? I donât know what to do anymore, I donât-â
âHey, everything is gonna be okay. Weâre the bonded couple, theyâll just have to accept the fact that we left early.â
You nod your head in understanding. You are so glad that he took control right now. You would have been lost and overwhelmed without him.
You walk home side by side. It happens for comfort reasons that, after a while, you and he stop hugging so close. You are in nothing but your dress and he is in nothing but his suit. The streets are empty and quiet because the entire pack is currently at your bonding party.Â
You already walked long enough that you managed to calm down from the initial shock. It is an unspoken truth between you and him that you donât want to talk about what happened. This means, however, that your walk is silent and that feels really awkward.
The town you grew up in hasnât changed much ever since you were a child. The same trees still grow along the same streets, except that they are a lot taller these days. The same houses are still home to the same people and bonding nights are still held in the townâs sports hall.Â
Said sports hall is still close to the playground and the way home still leads through it.Â
You and Jungkook slow down as you walk down a metaphorical memory lane. You scraped your knee on the slide when you were eight and he had to blow on it to make it better. Jungkook sprained his ankle jumping off the swing when he was nine and you had to hold his hand as his mother rubbed it better again. Under the weeping willow, you and your friends played the silly little dares and you had your first kiss with him.Â
You look away from the tree, meeting Jungkookâs eyes. He looked at it as well. You turn your head away, feeling your throat tighten in panic. Jungkook feels his heart twist in reaction. The better voice in him says not to dwell on it, the love drunk idiot in him tells him to fight for it. He wins in the end.Â
âWanna sit on the swings?â he suggests.
âAnd do what?âÂ
âI donât know. Swing? Sober up a little?â
You contemplate for a second, nodding your head in the end.Â
You werenât even aware of how much you needed to sit until you are on the swing, stretching out your legs. You hate heels. Theyâre the worst shoes ever invented. You swing back and forth slowly, Jungkook does the same. This is still the same swing set you and he played on twenty years ago. The chains still leave this weird metallic smell on your hands and the rusty hinges seem to creak even more these days. You look up at the sky. The stars are so clear without the moon hiding them in her shine. You know this view all too well. In your left vision there are some branches of a maple tree and in the right a electrical pole is peaking at you. The view is familiar to you because twenty years ago, you and Jungkook sat at the same swing in the same order like you do today.Â
You dare to glance at him. He is looking at the sky, unaware of your eyes on him. His face is relaxed, his lips slightly parted in awe of the vast universe. His eyes are the darkest brown right now, reflecting the stars. The street lights behind him illuminate the edges of his silhouette, glimmering in parts of his dark hair as well. He is so beautiful when he thinks that no one is looking.Â
To think that you subconsciously chose the same swing even after all these years. He broke your heart like this fifteen years ago and now you are back, bonded. Your heart feels heavy. You shouldnât have hesitated. You donât know how Jungkook feels about this bond, but you get a feeling that you shouldnât have hesitated.Â
A gust of wind sweeps through the playground and makes you shiver. Your teeth clatter and you wrap your arms around yourself to rub your freezing skin. He looks at you, studying you.
âAre you cold?â he asks.Â
âItâs fine. I just wasnât planning on being outside for so long. I only wanted to catch some air for a bit. Iâm kinda drunk.â
Jungkook stands up from his swing.
You watch him, confused.
He shrugs off his suit jacket and closes the distance to put it over your shoulders. It is warmed up from him, instantly stilling your shivers. It also smells like him, making you just a little droopy. He hovers his hands over your shoulders because he doesnât know if you want his touch, talking in a soft voice.Â
âIs this better?âÂ
âYeah, thanksâ, you whisper, feeling your heart race.Â
âGood. Keep it. Iâm too hot anywayâ, he says and leaves your side to sit down next to you.
He swings back and forth gently, watching some leaves dance on the ground as the wind carries them. Now is the perfect opportunity to talk, but he feels mute. He doesnât want to fuck it up. Or perhaps he just doesnât want to get hurt again.Â
He dances his eyes over the playground, reminiscing on all the memories he shares with you here. You and he could have been so right and then his father fucked him up. Jungkook forces down the heavy lump in his throat.
âWhatâs wrong?âÂ
He looks at you with widened eyes.
âWhat do you mean?âÂ
âIâm an omega. I can smell when people around me are upset.â
âAh. I donât know. I guess, just thinking of old stuffâ, he says and rubs the side of his neck.Â
âYeah. Lots of memories hereâ, you say and sigh.
Jungkook sees it as his cue to ask you what he had planned to ask you before he witnessed you with your brother instead.Â
âWhy did you hesitate?â
You almost fall off the swing in shock. Jungkook takes your hand, providing you with support. He feels vast of air when you instinctively squeeze him back and intertwine your fingers deeper. There they are again. Those mixed signals. You say one thing, but do the other. You do another thing, but say the complete opposite. Jungkook can barely take the confusion anymore, repeating his question again.Â
âI get it that you were nervous, but it looked like you didnât want to kiss me at all. Why?â
âI justâŚâ, you pull your hand back, swinging gently to soothe yourself.
Jungkook swings as well, looking at you.Â
âAll of this is a lot for me. I went from a normal woman to a sex slave by a snatch to an omega marked, to a wife in the span of two weeks. This is a lot to work through.â
âYeah, when you put it like this, it really is.â
âI didnât think that our little stunt in the shed would lead to this.â
âYeah honestly, neither did I. I thought that they would want us to date for a little and thatâs it.â
âYeahâ, you agree and glance at him. âIâm scared that you are only doing this because your dad forced you. Thatâs why I hesitated. I saw the way he looked at me.â
âDonât think about him. He is old and unhappy. He didnât force me. Not when IâŚI dreamt of having you as my wife ever since Iâve known you.â
âWhat?â
You stop swinging. Jungkook stops as well, turning with the swing to face you.
âI think thatâs why I kissed you. The official wanted to announce that itâs invalid and I panicked and went in. I just needed to know that this wouldnât be lost forever.â
âOh my god, you dreamed of bonding with me?â you press out, eyes full of emotions.
âEver since Iâve known you. Well, you know, ever since I knew what bonding meant. I always wanted it to be with you.â
âKookâŚâ
He rests his head against the metal chain, reaching his hands out for you. You turn with your swing and take his hands, feeling your pulse in your neck because of how high he raises it. His thumbs draw hearts on your skin, his eyes are so soft.
âYeah, I guess itâs out there nowâ, he says, laughing softly.
âIt isâ, you whisper and squeeze his hands.
Jungkook squeezes them right back, smiling with his eyes before it washes over his lips as well.Â
âI canât believe youâre telling me this on the same swing set you best friend broke up with me when we were twelve.âÂ
He laughs, lifting his brows for it. Itâs such a cute laugh, making you laugh with him.Â
âCorrection, where I was forced to best friend break up with you âcause my dad is a control freak.âÂ
âRight. Iâm sorry that your dad sucks.âÂ
"Yeah, I guess I got used to it. Heâs my dad, thatâs how he is.âÂ
âIâm still sorry.â
âThanks.â Jungkook says and lets go of your hands to twirl back to the front. He takes a deep breath and stands up.
âWhere are you going?â
âIf I remember correctly, you always loved the swing the most.âÂ
âI did, but whatâs that got to do with anything?â
He walks behind you and puts his hands on the chain of the swing.Â
âHold on tight.âÂ
âHuh? Oh!âÂ
He pushes you, making you swing back and forth. You squeal, having to laugh afterwards. Jungkook snickers with you, pushing you a second time to make you swing higher. Your shared laughter dances through the playground and in this short moment in lifeâs series of moments, you and he feel like kids again. There are no responsibilities lingering in the back of your heads, no fears of the future, no stresses of past days nor dreams ruined by reality. You and he are twelve again, using the swings after a long day of playing adventurers in the forests. The stars shine brighter and the wind doesnât feel that cold anymore. You are alive again, flying to the very stars with each push Jungkook gives you.Â
âNot too high please, Iâll get scaredâ, you squeal, feeling tears of laughter run down your cheeks.Â
âDonât worry, I wonât push you too high. I never did, remember?âÂ
You and he talk as he continues to push you on the swing.Â
âIf I remember correctly, you sometimes pushed me way too high because you were a gremlin like that.â
âA gremlin? Wow, okayâ, he laughs and pushes you extra hard as playful revenge.
âHey! No, itâs too high!â you squeak, laughing way too much.
Jungkook does it again.
âKook please! Iâm gonna fall, ah!âÂ
And it happens. Your drunk ass falls off the swing. You squeal, preparing for impact which never comes. Instead he catches you in his strong arms, looking down at you with protective, caring eyes.
âAre you okay?â he whispers.
âYeah, thanksâ, you whisper, watching his lips move. You giggle, dropping your head on his shoulder, âfuck, Iâm too clumsy for this.âÂ
âHah, yeah.â
Jungkook noticed that you looked at his lips. For just a second, he wanted to kiss you. In the end, he didnât. He wonât ever kiss you again without your consent.Â
He sets you down gently, holding both your hands against his chest. You look up at him, feeling a little robbed of air. His eyes race between yours as if he trying to build connection between your souls with just one look.
âI promise to be a good husband to you. No harm shall ever come to you through my hands and if I should ever break this promise, it is your right to strike me down. You have my body as protection and my heart to find a home in, ___. You always have and you always will.â
âYou keep saying that. Does it mean..?â
âIt does. It means that I love you and that Iâll do anything to make you happy.â He exhales shakily. âI know that you donât feel the same and Iâm sorry again that I kissed you. Please, can you forgive-âÂ
You put your finger on his lips, silencing him. He whimpers a little because of it.
âCan I say something now? Please?âÂ
âOf courseâ, he says and steps back, fumbling with his own hands nervously.Â
âIâm not mad at you anymore that you kissed me. I, I was planning to kiss you, I was. I just, I saw your dad and he wasnât howling and then I thought that weâre only in this situation because you had to save me. And I panicked and I was scared that weâd regret it and yeah.âÂ
He nods his head in understanding, lowering his eyes sadly. You take his hand.
âIt meant something to me too.âÂ
He meets your emotional eyes, feeling emotional himself.
âIt meant something to me, maybe not the same as it did to you but it did mean something to me. I wanted to tell you this, but didnât know how. I get nervous when Iâm cornered and I forget my words and then say dumb stuff.â
âI get it. Iâm sorry that I cornered you. I guess I have the tendency to be pushy when Iâm nervous. I shouldnât have cornered you, Iâm sorry.â
âYeah well, I should have said something. I liked what we did in the shed and it meant something to me.â You put his hand on your stomach. âYou were alive inside me and it was the best feeling I ever experienced.â
Jungkook sighs your name, instinctively drawing closer to you.
âBut we also barely know each other as adults. What if we realize that weâre not right as mates once we get to know each other?âÂ
âI donât think that will happen. Iâm still the same than I was before, just older.âÂ
âYouâre an alpha these days.â
âI am and Iâll use this status to provide for you and to keep you safe. I promise.âÂ
âReally?â you whisper, looking up at him with those same puppy eyes you had in the shed.Â
Jungkook feels weak in the knees. Those eyes are lethal to him.
âYes, really. All I want is someone to provide for, someone to care for and protect. And for that someone to be you. I just. I wanna keep you safe, ___â, he says.
âOhâ, you let out and exhales shakily.
âMhm, yeahâ, he breathes and brushes the back of his fingers down your temple.
âButâ, you begin.
âYes?â
âBut not too much. I donât want you to get hurtâ, you say and trace his upper lip. The cut healed by now, but the memory of how it looked is still in your mind. Jungkook chases your touch, closing his fingers around your wrists. He holds you tenderly, tracing the spots most sensitive with his thumbs.Â
âAlright, not too muchâ, he whispers, smiling softly.Â
You share silence, looking at the other. Jungkook is the one to break it.Â
âWeâll get to know each other again and itâs gonna be nice. I want to make this workâ, he whispers.
âI wanna make it work too. Not for the sake of my safety or anything, but because I wanna love you too.âÂ
âYou do?âÂ
You nod your head.
Jungkook exhales shakily, closing the distance for a kiss. He stops just a breath away.
âCan I kiss you?â he asks.
You give him your answer by erasing the remaining distance, connecting your lips with hisâ. His knees buckle, his arms instantly fall around you to hold you close. The world around you seems non-existent as your lips are lost in the kind of kiss a bonded couple should exchange. It is epic. Jungkook feels so alive. He knows that if he tried hard enough, he could touch the stars.Â
You feel the same. This kiss is your reminder that whatever you and he have is out of your control. It is a bond made by fate, formed under a new moon. This is how you felt in the shed when he was alive inside you.Â
Those feelings are heightened because of the alcohol, forcing you closer to him. Which makes him lose control for just a second, ending in you pressed up against the swing set post and with his hand on your lower back.Â
It knocks out a soft moan from you. Jungkook answers it in a deep purr, sliding his right hand to your cheek to tilt your head higher. He sucks on your lower lip, ending it with a gentle bite.
The effect is instant for you. Slick begins to gather between your legs, your head gets droopy and everything inside you screams at you to give yourself to him.
Breathing shakily, you break the kiss. He stays close, gazing at you with half-lidded eyes and parted lips.
âOh my godâ, you whisper, tracing your own lips. Theyâre tingling from what he did.
âYeah. Right?â he agrees, scrunching his nose and stubbing your temple with his forehead in a gesture of adoration. âWhoâd have known that weâd kiss like this hereâ, he says, gazing at you.
Your eyes soften in submission. Jungkook feels drawn to you beyond repair.
âKeep looking at me with those eyes and we wonât reach home tonightâ, he rasps, touching your waist as he basically undresses you with his eyes. âIâd take you right here and now. Make you feel so good that you see new constellations.â
Drunk you cannot handle talk like this, breaking into giddy giggles and hiding away in his chest.Â
âAre you laughing at me?â he gasps.
âNo, oh god no. Itâs just, nobody ever talked to me like this beforeâ, you explain yourself between giggles, nuzzling closer.
Jungkook chuckles, rubbing your back.Â
âGet used to it. I realised that Iâm kinda outta control when it comes to you. Maybe itâs the alpha gen.â
âMaybeâ, you look up at him with pretty puppy eyes, arms wrapped around his waist and chin resting against his chest.Â
He stubs your nose with his own, hands groping your butt possessively.Â
âStop looking at me.â
âItâs hard. When you touch me, I also lose control. I think itâs the omega gen.â
âMaybe. Or maybe youâre just a lightweight.â
âHah! So youâre saying Iâm just drunk?â
âBasically, yeah.â
You snicker, Jungkook grins.
âCome on, letâs go home before I actually do something indecent to you.â
You gladly let him hold your hand now that his kiss triggered your affectionate instincts, following him in happy steps.
Your walk home ends at Jungkookâs house. Two stories high and with a big garden surrounding it, it was one of the more luxurious houses in town.Â
âThis is where weâll live?âÂ
âIf you want to. I figured, you know, given how you still live with your parents and Iâm living alone, we could use my place. Itâs totally fine if you donât want to.â
âNo, itâs okay.âÂ
âYes? Great then we can get your stuff in the coming days. But for now, let me do this rightâ, he says and swoops you off your feet.
âAhâ, you let out, wrapping your arms around his neck tightly. âWhat are you doing?âÂ
âCarrying you over the threshold. Why?âÂ
âNothing, itâs soâ, you stop talking to giggle instead, nuzzling your nose against his cheek. âItâs so cheesy.â
Jungkook chuckles, heart racing in his chest. He kicks the door closed behind him and does a twirl in the middle of his hallway.Â
âWait! Iâm too drunk for this! Eeekâ, you squeak, hiding away in his neck. âPlease stop, Iâm too dizzy.â
Luckily for you, Jungkook listens. He stops and sets you down, holding you close as you sway.Â
âThis wasnât funny. Oh god, Iâm dizzyâ, you laugh, dropping your forehead against his chest. He rests his cheek against your head, talking in a chuckle.
âSee? Told you. Total lightweight.â
âIâm not a lightweight. Youâre just a gremlinâ, you say and shove at his chest. He laughs, holding your hands.
âYouâre adorable. Come, dance with meâ, he says, placing your left hand on his neck and holding the other.
âDance? Right now?â
âYeah. Just you and I. Weâll do it right this time.â
âBut Iâm dizzy.â You step on his foot, making him groan. âAnd I have two left feet when drunk. Sorry, are you okay?â
âIâm okay. Iâm more than okayâ, he says, smiling at you as your bodies move to silent melodies.
âSorry.âÂ
âItâs fine, baby. Just look at meâ, he whispers, right hand on your lower back. It is so warm.Â
You look up at him. The pull is magnetic and fucking electric. You are so attracted to him. He has you feeling drunker than any amount of alcohol ever could. You are so fuzzy inside because of all the laughing you have been doing.Â
âYou have the most beautiful eyes everâ, Jungkook whispers, raising your pulse with it.
âKook, Iâ, you begin, eyes flitting to his lips. Merely seeing the shape of them is enough to reignite the flames in your stomach. Dancing becomes a little harder now that you are so excited.
âWhatâs the matter?â he whispers.
âItâs embarrassingâ, you confess with a heated face.
âTell me.âÂ
âNo, itâs so stupid. I donât even wanna do it but it just happens.âÂ
He guides his touch from your lower back to your waist. Gentle and loving but insanely possessive at the same time. âI promise I wonât laugh.â
You hesitate.
âPromise.â
âIâm, uh, there is slick.âÂ
Jungkook draws closer, making you chase his kiss.Â
âShit. There is?âÂ
âYeahâ, you whimper.
He lowers his eyes, making you taste the idea of his kiss. It makes you so desperate for him.
âIs this normal for you orâŚ.âÂ
You shake your head, âit never happened before. Not like this. Or that easily. I donât know, Iâm sorry, I canât stop it.â
âHoly fuck. Baby.â
âItâs so stupid.â
âNo, itâs not. Just kiss me.âÂ
You kiss him. At least you try to because before your lips can touch, you step on his toes again. Vigorously.
âOuch, heyâ, he gasps, flinching back.
âSorry! Oh my god, sorry. Are you okay?"Â
âAh fuckâ, he laughs, âyeah, Iâm okay. Youâre a terrible dancer.â
âHeyâ, you pout.Â
He chuckles and pecks your cheek.
âI want to show you one thing before we make it officialâ, he says.
âShow me, please.â
âFollow me. You can leave your shoes by the door.â
Jungkookâs home is somehow exactly how you imagined it to be. It is neat and tidy, but doesnât really have a lot of character. The rooms are spacious with little furniture filling them. The furniture is modern and there are barely any decorations present. It is the house of someone who doesnât feel at home in it. The desire to make it cozy and homey for him becomes stronger and stronger within you. There are already a million ideas swarming your head.
âYouâre quiet. Do you not like it here?â Jungkook asks you.
âNo, itâs not that. Iâm thinking.â
"About what?â
âItâs gonna sound silly.â
âTell me.â
âI already have so many ideas on how to make it cozier here. Sorry, I know itâs your house and everything.â
Jungkook steps close and cradles your face, making you look up at him.
âAnd itâs your home. Make it as cozy as you want toâ, he speaks softly, eyes warm and caring.
âReally?âÂ
He nods, kissing your forehead.
âThis place never felt like a home to me anyway. It can use the caring touch of an omega.âÂ
You canât explain how he makes you feel because you never experienced it before. The best way to describe it is cozy and safe. You want to curl up close to him and be yourself with him. This is how he makes you feel. As if you are allowed to be your truest You.Â
âSpeaking of cozy omegas, weâre here.â
âHere where?â
âMy surprise for you. I worked hard on it these past few days.â
He opens the door for you, allowing you view of one of the coziest rooms you have ever seen. It is filled with soft surfaces to lie on. A bed, a big sofa, some bean bags, a window bench. Curtains frame the window and the bed. The floor is covered in soft rugs. There are pillows to sink into on every surface and he installed fairy lights on the wall and the bed frame.Â
âWhatâs this?â you gasp.
âItâs your nest.âÂ
You look at him. He is clearly nervous, smelling of it as well.
âIâm still new to the entire omega heat thing. I know that theyâre a thing, obviously, and I know that you like to get cozy for them. I looked up nest inspirations online. It told me that you like lots of pillows and blankets and that I should make it cozy and warm. You can totally change everything in this room, of course.â He touches the side of his neck. âI just thought that Iâd try to make it comfortable for you. At least maybe? I donât know, I just wanna make it nice for you.âÂ
Your lower lip trembles.
âFuck, Iâm sorry. I didnât wanna make you cry. Is it that bad? Iâm sorry, I suck at interior design.â
You shake your head and fall around his neck, âthank you.âÂ
Jungkook closes his arms around you, nuzzling his nose into your neck. You smell of happiness right now.Â
âDoes this mean you like it?â he asks.
âI love it so much. I never had a nest before. Iâm so happy.âÂ
âYou are?â
âYes, so much.â
You step back, giving him a smile. Jungkook retorts it. You giggle and turn so you can hurry through the room.
Jungkook watches you, enjoying the droopy feelings in his chest. The longer you are in the room and the more details you spot, the stronger your scent of happiness gets. It almost fills up the entire room by now, making him feel so warm and complete. He feels at home in his house for the very first time.
âThis is so cozy, oh my god. So soft, wow. I love this colour, holy moly. Wow. So cozy. Wowâ, you gush and gasp as you inspect everything and anything.Â
You end up dropping into one of the beanbags, nuzzling into it as deep as possible while you purr in contentment.Â
Jungkook feels his knees buckle. He got you to purr. Holy fuck, he was seriously placed on this earth to treat you right.Â
He closes the distance between you and him, kneeling down in front of you. He comes closer, putting his weight on his elbow which he rests on the beanbag above your head. He leans down to kiss your cheek.Â
You stop your nuzzling, gasping quietly as his sudden closeness surprises you. You look up and canât look away again.
âYouâre the most beautiful bride I have ever seenâ, he whispers, cradling your cheek with his other hand.
âOhâ, you let out, feeling dizzy.Â
âNo wonder I had to kiss you.â He furrows his brows. âI know I shouldnât have done this and Iâm sorry.âÂ
âIâm not angry anymore. You built me a nestâ, you tear up, âJungkook, please give me my bonding night. I want to be with you.â
âReally? Are you sure?â
âSo sure, please. I canât take it anymore.â You shiver. âI keep producing slick and Iâm so cold without you and, and I wanna feel that good again. Like we did in the shed. I, I wanna feel like this again. Please.â
Jungkook closes his fist on the beanbag, trying to keep himself at bay. His instincts threaten to kick in when you beg like this.
âDo you want it here?â
âYes, please.â
âAnd you know what Iâll do to you? What might happen again?â
You deepen the lethalness of your puppy eyes, taking his hand to put it over your stomach. You whisper your words, turning him into puddy.
âI want to feel alive again. Together with you.âÂ
âHoly fuck, ___â, Jungkook croaks and goes in for a kiss. He growls and stops himself. âI need you to say that you understand. Please, donât make me do it without hearing it first.â
âYes, Kook. I know what youâll do to me. I need you to, please.âÂ
âThank you. Oh my god baby, I wanna treat you so rightâ, he croaks out and finally falls into the kiss. âIâll never ever force myself onto you again. Never. Fucking never. Holy fuck, babyâ, he babbles between kisses, turning you into a weak, turned on mess. âWanna treat you so right. My baby. Mine.âÂ
His touch is everywhere at the same time, unable to decide where to find its home. It feels so good. Each spot he touches, tingles and heats up. Whenever he changes spots, it leaves behind shivers and goosebumps before the entire process repeats itself again.
You want to keep kissing him, but soon have to stop because of his touch. You have to gasp for air, you would suffocate otherwise.Â
Jungkook, barely holding onto the threat of humanity by now, doesnât see any problem in being denied your lips. He kisses a path to your neck hungrily. Your aroused smell becomes stronger and stronger the closer he gets to your scent glands. He knows how good it feels when someone kisses his scent spots and he wonders if it is the same for you.Â
He kisses the spot on your left side, forcing you to arch your back and gasp loudly. You instinctively grasp his back.
âDo you like this?â he rasps his words, nibbling on the sensitive spot. You smell so good. Jungkook has never felt such an obsession with anotherâs scent before. He needs it all over his body, melted with his skin so everyone can smell who his heart belongs to. He canât stop kissing you, picking up more and more of your scent.
âDoes this feel good?â he asks again because you were too busy gasping the first time.
âYe-yeahâ, you gasp out, staring at the ceiling in shock. Your fingers twitch and tremble on his back, claws threatening to come out and slice open his shirt.Â
What is happening to you? You were kissed on your neck before, but this feels different. This feels lethal, fateful, like it is changing the way you view pleasure. You have never felt so electric before and so close to losing control.Â
âYou smell so good, I canât get enough.â
âWow, oh god, wowâŚâ
Jungkook stays on your left side until he can smell your arousal on his lips. Only then, does he kiss a sloppy path to your right side. He moans when he witnesses you roll your head to the side willingly and he moans again when he goes in to worship your hard working scent spot. And it is working hard. Fucking hell, you smell like pure sex and arousal. Jungkook huffs it up hungrily, biting and licking at the delicious spot.Â
All while you stare and gasp and lose control over yourself. The bites feel so good. You want to squirm and moan. Your head is fuzzy, your body so weakened. What is happening? What the fuck is happening to you? You canât stop producing more slick. You are so hot. Seriously, so fucking hot. Oh god, you canât think anymore. Anything you can think is how much you need him to fuck you.Â
âSeriously, fuckâ, Jungkook comes up for air, mouthing at your cheek drunkenly, âyou smell so good. I feel high.â
âI wanna be nakedâ, you croak out, arching your back. You donât have many thoughts except desire and sex. Being naked is all you crave right now. If youâre naked, Jungkook can potentially bite more parts of you. This is the logic of your fuzzy mind and it is driving you crazy that it isnât your reality yet.
âSit up then and let me open your dress.â
You obey gladly, almost dry heaving in desire. Jungkook reaches behind you and opens your dress. He wanted to pull it off slowly to make the moment romantic, but you shrug it off quickly for him.Â
He meets your eyes. They are golden and clouded in desire.
âAre you okay with this?â he asks.
âWhy not?â
âI never saw you naked before.âÂ
âOh.â A little clarity returns to your eyes. âRight.â
He can smell hints of coyness in your scent. And a little bit of nervousness.Â
âWrap your arms around me.â
You obey his order and like this, Jungkook is able to lift you out of your dress and carry you to bed. He lays you down carefully, straddling your lap without sitting down.Â
You are below him in nothing but your underwear, feeling small and fragile, but so safe.Â
âDo you wanna take it slower?â he suggests.
âNo, just nervous thatâs all.â
âDonât worry, Iâll be gentle. We can slow down whenever you need to.â
âOkayâ, you whisper and make puppy eyes at him, âcan you, uhm, can you bite me more?âÂ
âYes. Wow this isâŚhah. Of courseâ, he lets out, âfirst, let me match you.âÂ
He is getting undressed. First his tie, then he opens his buttons. His shirt leaves him first, next his belt and last his slacks. He stays in his briefs, heavy cock straining the fabric as much as he soaks it.Â
Now sharing in your state of undress, he leans down, taking your hands to pin them gently. He kisses you, blurring your thoughts into one big mess of arousal and safety. His thumbs caress your hands as he kisses you. Your scent is on his face, forcing even more slick to run out of you. Any sort of nervousness you felt is getting wiped out with each new kiss you share. He tastes so goddamn good. His lips are soft and the piercings on them are so exciting to feel.
The kiss breaks when air is sparse. Jungkook stays close to paint paths of worship down your body. He bites the softest spots and sucks marks of ownership on the firmer spots. And you are in heaven, wishing for him to never stop. Such heavenly feelings are unfamiliar to you. You had people mark you before, but it didnât feel like this. With Jungkook, you need him to continue. You need to know that every single inch of you is marked by him in one way or the other. Whether it be a bite mark, a kiss spot or his scent, you need it on your body and each time he gives it to you, you leak more slick. It is out of your control, unfamiliar and amazing. So amazing.Â
Jungkook is lingering over your sternum right now, hot breath tickling your skin. His strong hands are holding you under your armpits, reminding you that you were owned by the safest lover.Â
âI know itâs difficult for you, but please stop me if I go too fast. I canât stop myself once I let go, so I need you to yell it at me.âÂ
âPlease. Donât stop. Please, you feel so goodâ, you sigh, writhing.
âWow, IâŚ.fuck, I want youâ, he rasps, having to kiss every inch of you. âI want you. I want you so bad.âÂ
âAhâŚpleaseâŚdonât stopâŚâ
Jungkook reaches your breasts. They are swollen and plumb from arousal. They arenât always like this. When you are feeling normal, they also look and feel normal. They are how breasts are supposed to be, sagging from gravity and soft when lying down. Not right now. They stay in place. They are a little bigger, plumber and hot to the touch. They also smell like your arousal. Even through the fabric of your bra. It is so much sweeter and richer than it was on your neck. Jungkook moans like a druggy having found his drug, going in for a taste with an open mouth and way too much tongue.Â
âAhâ, you whimper, following it up with a submissive mewl. You are losing control again and it feels so good. Why does everything he does feel so good? It is as if you are a virgin being touched for the very first time, which is insane because you definitely arenât.Â
âYour skinâs so soft and warm. I canât get enough of youâ, he mumbles between his hungry kisses, turning you into puddy. You lost sense of how much more you can still take before you burst.Â
His masculine, possessive hands hold your breasts, kneading the sensitive flesh desperately. His spit soaks the fabric of your bra, leaving behind spots of coldness whenever he moves on to a new spot.
It happens again. You experience sensations you have never felt before. People played with your tits before, you played with them as well but it never felt like this. It never felt so otherworldly. They are so swollen. You canât breathe because there is so much pressure building up behind your nipples. You throw your hand over your mouth to muffle the overwhelmed sob, twisting the sheets with your other hand. It hurts. The pressure really hurts not to be taken care of.
Jungkook doesnât seem to hear your panicked whimper because he doesnât slow down in his feast.Â
âYour scent, Iâm so high. Itâs insane, holy fuck, so goodâŚâÂ
It gets too much for you. The pressure hurts so much. Youâre scared. What is happening to you?Â
Jungkook squeezes your breasts and bites down gently. The pressure bursts. You wail, arching your back as warmth trickles out of your nipples, soaking your bra.Â
The sweet scent of it hits his nose instantly. He tenses up and shudders, cock threatening to burst through his briefs.
âWhat the-â
Jungkookâs instincts tell him to rip your bra off and lick up the sweet scent, but he forces himself to be stronger than them. It is you who lies below him in such a vulnerable state. If he took advantage of that, he would never forgive himself.Â
âJungkook, help me. Please. Iâm scaredâ, you beg him in a quivering voice.Â
âTry to focus on me. Focus baby, right hereâ, he tells you, cradling your cheeks.
Your eyes search aimlessly for a moment, but soon find their home in his gaze.Â
âKooâ, you whimper, grabbing his wrists, âIâm scared. What is happening to me?â
âI donât know. It never happened to me before. My instincts tell me to clean it for you, but I donât know if you want this.â
âPlease, it hurts. Just make it stop, please.âÂ
âAre you sure?âÂ
âYes, pleaseâ, you sob.Â
âSit up.â
You barely manage to obey. Jungkook supports you, using his other hand to open your bra and tug it off of you. He throws it to the side, helping you lie down again.Â
Your breasts, normally victims to gravity, stay plumb and perky as you lie down. It is yet another proof that whatever he is doing to you is working beyond comprehension.
âHoly fuck, ___, your titsâ, Jungkook gets out, gawking at them in total awe. They are seriously so swollen, your nipples are so hard and they seem to keep leaking pearlescent liquid. âYouâre so beautiful, but holy fuck theyâre so swollen. Baby, wow.,â
âI donât know whatâs happening. Theyâre so⌠soâŚthereâs so much pressure.â
âI canât. Oh god.â
If only you and he knew that this is happening to you because he stimulated your scent glands. If only you knew that simulation of said glands only works this well with your true mate. You could have a hundred other men play with your tits the same way Jungkook did, but your body would never fall into such helplessness with any of them. Only he will get you to such levels of pleasure. Because it is only his mouth which is destined to taste your sweet pleasure.
You and he are unaware of this fact however, because this is still new to both of you.Â
âWhat, what do you need me to do?â He stutters, salivating.
âI donât know. Your instincts, I donât- ah.â
âRight.â His eyes glow golden. âMy instinctsâ, he growls and gives in to the voices. âStay still, Iâll take care of it.â
He picks up your tits and squeezes them together so your nipples are close to each other. He lowers his dripping mouth to them, taking in your right first but with the intention that your left will follow very soon.Â
His instincts tell him to stimulate your nipples with soft bites first until they are throbbing and then change to sucking them. He listens to his instincts, getting you to moan so loudly that his cock throbs painfully.
âIs this working, baby?â he asks, drooling all over your sweet nipples.
âOh god, yeahâ, you croak, arching your back. You twist the sheets, curling your toes. âIt doesnât hurt anymore, Koo thank youâŚâ
âFuuuck baby, so hotâ, he drags out his words until it turns into a growl instead, loving you oh so right.
He bites and bites, licks whenever you sob and bites some more, all while his strong fingers knead your plumpness. And then it happens. You arch your back and wail up as his stimulation finally forces your breasts to tighten and throb. Liquid shoots into his mouth and down his throat. It is the sweetest taste he ever had on his tongue, intoxicating him beyond saving. Jungkookâs eyes roll back, he thinks that for a second he blacks out before he comes back to be totally guided by his instincts.Â
He gurgles and moans, sucking the sweet nectar from your right nipple while his fingers play with your left just to keep it ready for him. It is a messy business and whenever he changes sides, he has to lick up the mess he made before he can suck on your nipple. It is not a terrible fate. On the contrary, itâs heaven. For both. Jungkook has never felt this high before while you love his tongue on your body. He is so hot and soft, giving you the perfect contrast to the sharp bites his fangs give you.
âKook oh god, Kook ah! Ah! A-ah!âÂ
You spill tears, grabbing your own face to muffle yourself and make sense of what is happening to you. This is life altering. You are in a constant state of genuine orgasmic bliss and it doesnât want to die down. You can literally feel how Jungkook sucks the liquid out of you, relieving you of the painful pressure as he does it. It helps so much, while at the same time making everything worse.
He might help you with the nectar of your breasts, but your body still keeps producing slick. And it is getting dangerously full inside you. Your panties feel like imprisonment to your cunt.Â
You twist a bundle of his hair, sobbing in ecstasy and desperation.
âKoo, Iâm scared, itâs so goodâ, you sob, trembling.Â
Your touch motivates him. He is starving for you even though he is currently feasting on you. He seemed to have sucked you dry. No matter how much he bites and sucks, your nipples stay dry. The starvation remains. He needs more of you.Â
âMore, give me more pleaseâ, he orders, growling his words between vigorous sucks.
âI, I canât. Ah, Kook ah.âÂ
âFuck, I canât stop. Youâre so sweet.â
He canât take a break, he needs more of you. He lets your scent guide him. It gets stronger and stronger, the closer he comes to your cunt. Donât be mistaken however, it is not your pussy which calls him, but your inner thighs. Your scent glands to be more specific. Working overtime to produce your arousing smell and begging for attention. They are the most sensitive of your scent spots, but you donât know that yet. You had men kiss you there before, but none of them were Jungkook. None were your mate.Â
Jungkook shoves your legs open and buries his face in your right thigh with a growl. His fingers dimple your softness, his fangs tickle your skin. Not long and he bites you.Â
Your entire body reacts to it. You tense and flinch as if he shocked you, letting out a howl of surprise. Your empty cunt aches, craving nothing more than him.
Jungkook lifts his head, eyes droopy and drugged and lips still glossy from your tits.
âIs like a drug. You is like a drugâ, he lulls his words and drops his face back in your thigh. Your left one for a change. He kisses and licks it, grabbing your waist possessively. He holds you with such strength that he even manages to bring it in a little, forcing you to burn in a fire you were never in before.
âI fucking want you, fucking need you, fuck canât get enough.â
âIâm so hot, I-Iâm so hot.â
âSo hot, so fucking soft. Fuck, your smell drives me insane.âÂ
âOh god, Kook. Iâm so hot.âÂ
The thing about omegas and heats is that it isnât as common as one might think. Before an omega has reached maturity, heats obviously arenât a thing. Afterwards, they are manageable when living with other family members. They feel more as if you were bad mooded and grumpy. You managed to sleep them off whenever they happened.
Burning in this unfamiliar fire as Jungkook repeatedly bites your sensitive scent spots makes you realize that perhaps you have never truly experienced a real heat before. Maybe it slumbers in an omega until they are with their true mate. Maybe the grumpy days are just natureâs way of saving the omega of embarrassing moments in front of family.
You canât explain why you know, but this is it. This is the real deal. Jungkook stimulated your sensitive glands for long enough that he forces you to go into heat. It feels different from anything you have ever experienced, it even feels different from the thing you thought to be your heat when he was with you in the shed. You were wrong back then, this is it. This is the real thing.
And it scares you so much that you beg for him. He comes up when hearing your distraught, cradling your face. He is clearly far away, seeming changed as well. The only thing having forced him away from you is his stronger instinct of keeping you safe. His dark hair is a mess, his eyes are foggy.
âWhatâs the matter, baby?â he lulls his words.Â
âIâm, Iâm in heat.â
âWhat? It can happen like this?â
âWhen you bit my scent spots, it made meâŚoh god, please make it stop please.âÂ
âWhat, uhm, what do you need?â
âYou. Please fuck me. I beg you.â
âHoly fuck, I-â Jungkook stops himself, growling deeply and twisting the pillow above your head, âsomethingâs wrong with me. Iâm losing control over myself.â
âKooâ, you croak, touching his chest. He is burning up, muscles swollen and tense. His heart races like crazy, unnaturally fast at that.
âWhat is happening to me?â he stresses.
âI donât know.â
If only you and he knew that his accidental efforts of forcing you into heat, forced him into his ruts with you. If only you knew that these are the effects of being with your true mate. If only you knew that the only remedy is sex. But you donât know and so you and he are fated to stumble through the unknown, still doing the right things because your instincts are stronger than anything else. It is as if your bodies do the talking without you and him having to speak their language yet. It is most certain that you will be fluent in it one day.
âI want to rip your panties off.â
"Please do.âÂ
Jungkook gives in and does as he wants. He rips your panties off, throwing the thin piece of fabric over his shoulder. He rips off his own briefs next, discarding the fabric. His heavy, thick cock slaps your stomach. He is so big and swollen by now that he can barely stand up despite his hardened nature. His slick pools in your navel and smears all over your skin.Â
âHoly fuck, urgh fuckâ, he drops his head in your neck, âit hurt so much to keep it in.â
âKook, youâre so heavy.â
âI know, Iâm so hard that I canât keep it standing. IâŚâ He lifts his head, cradling your cheek. âSay you want me.â
âI want you.âÂ
Jungkook shifts his hips so his cock probes at your entrance. You whimper and open your legs widely, putting them around his meaty thighs.
âJust the tipâ, he whispers.
âWhat? Noâ, you get out and pout.
Jungkook chuckles, cradling your cheek.
âYou know, like last time.â
âOhâ, a giggle shakes you and makes your face glow.
He chuckles, soaking up the moment of honest happiness like a dried up sponge would water. Each time he hears your laugh, he falls more in love with you. Â
âJust the tip when it didnât mean anything and we shouldnât have done it.â
Your giggle changes into a sigh of his name. You gaze into his eyes, building soul consuming connection.
âRight?â
âRight.â
Jungkook allows his tip to fill you. Just enough to let you feel that he was finally there with you. You whimper, spilling tears of relief.
Jungkook wipes them, spilling his own tears. He loves you. This is it. The moment it is official that you are mates. And it happens exactly how he always dreamed it would. You under him, looking so vulnerable and safe as he can gaze into your eyes and see your face change in pleasure.Â
âThis means everything to meâ, he croaks out and buries himself inside you to the base. âAh.â He twists the pillow.
âOh god. Ah.â
âToo deep? Hurts?â
âNo, itâs perfect. I feel, ah, I feel whole.âÂ
Jungkook moans your name, eyes filling with emotion.
You touch his messy hair, scratching him behind his ear. Jungkook shivers, eyes threatening to roll back. You are stimulating one of his scent spots, forcing him deeper into his ruts.
âOkay. If you. Fuck. This is my scent spot. It feels. Ahm. I, I have to fuck youâ, he struggles with his words, cock throbbing inside you as if it had his own pulse.Â
Throb. Throb. Throb.
He fills you with more of his slick each time he twitches. It tingles whenever he does.
âPlease donât hold back. Fuck me like you need to, pleaseâ, you whimper, shaking in agony. You tickle his scent spot especially good and itâs over for him.
Jungkookâs fingers slip from control. He canât hold back anymore. He knows that you can take it.Â
He pulls out only to slam into you again in a deep, passionate rhythm. In and out. In and out. It is endless and harsh and feels so fucking good. Â
Your eyes instantly roll back and stay there. Your fingers dimple the nape of his neck as you clutch him for dear life. Jungkook himself canât keep his eyes focused, gazing at you through a veil of blurriness.
âIs this good for you?â he gets out through gritted teeth.
âGoodâ, you wail, writhing in ecstasy.
âFuck, Iâm fucking high on you.â
He thought that he knew the feeling of your cunt but this is different. This actually forces him to listen to nothing but his instincts. He thought that he was out of control in the shed, but he wasnât. This is it. You are so hot around him, so soft and you are filled with slick to the very brim. It is Jungkookâs task to fuck it out of you in heavy, strong thrusts, making a mess of your bodies and the sheets in the process. He isnât aware of it yet but this gives you so much relief. You were bursting inside and now it is finally leaving you. There is no muscle in your body which isnât currently puddy. Everything you exist for right now is to be fucked by him. There is no other sensation to you than that of his thick cock reshaping your insides.Â
âBaby, this is a lot. Holy fuck, this is arghâ, Jungkook gets out, scrunching his face in anger. He wants to go deeper, but he canât. It pisses him off, makes him want to break shit. He knows itâs this stupid position. Fucking good for nothing. Who thinks of something that unfavourable? (Jungkook will think back to this moment once he is clear in his head and wonder why he hated missionary so much.) But he hates it right now. He canât even see himself inside you, his base is barely inside.Â
âMore, I need moreâ, he growls and pulls out.
âNo please, please it hurts pleaseâ, you instantly beg.
âPatient, Iâm rearranging you.âÂ
Jungkook takes your legs and guides them into a better position. You let him reshape you. This is what your body currently exists for and wants. It needs someone as strong and dominant as Jungkook to bend it to his will. Each second where he handles you feels like heaven.Â
He puts your legs over his shoulders.
âHands.â
You obey, giving them to him. He puts them on your own thighs, squeezing them against the back of them.
âHold them for me there. I want you to feel yourself shake.â
âYesâ, you whimper.Â
âGood omega. What a perfect thing you areâ, he lulls and slides his hands to your ankles. He picks them off his shoulders and lifts them up. Like this, he opens you for him. Your butt is lifted off the sheets, your cunt instantly gushes out masses of slick.Â
âI canât keep it inâ, you confess.
âItâs good, baby. You donât have to. Relaxâ, Jungkook assures you in a hungry whisper, eyes a deep gold and mesmerised by you. He moves his hips close and buries his heavy cock back in you.Â
You mewl, curling your toes. Slick drips onto the sheets as it makes space for his girthy length, you feel whole again.Â
âThere we go, fuckâ, Jungkook growls and bottoms out. He stays there for nothing but a second before he pulls out again to pick up a punishing rhythm.Â
It feels so good that your eyes roll back and you resort to moaning and wailing for him. Jungkook moans with you each time he is deep inside you. This finally scratches the itch. This is finally as deep as he can go. He can finally see himself inside you. Finally he can see how his thick cock reshapes your swollen cunt. He is so big and you take him so easily, moving and trembling around him as he repeatedly pounds you stupid. If you keep this up, he might get pussy drunk.
âI canât take this. Youâre so pretty. Is it good for you?âÂ
âYes. More, please.âÂ
âYouâre so perfect. Holy fuckâ, he growls and throws your legs over his shoulders to hold your hips instead and pull you onto his cock each time he thrusts into you. You are tighter like this, jerking off his fat cock.
Your voice pitches and rises in volume. You were never fucked like this before. Your needs were never ever getting satisfied like this before. It is changing you and Jungkook makes it even better by taking your clit between his fingers to massage her. She is so swollen and big that he can jerk her off just a little, making you howl. Your hands drop from your thighs just so you can rip the sheets in your attempt to twist them.
You canât take it. He makes you climax. It is so intense and fulfilling that your sensitive breasts leak again. You howl his name as it happens.
The scent of your sweet breasts and your pretty face sets off Jungkook.
âI have to. It happensâ, he gets out and throws his head back. He moans loudly, falling victim to his orgasm. His toes curl for it, his tones stomach flinches.
And because you are currently in heat, existing for nothing but him, his seed sets you off again. It brings you back into this uncontrollable, intense state of bliss you experienced for the first time in the shed. It should be familiar to you by now, but it is not.Â
You cry and sob, knowing that you wonât be able to stop orgasming for as long as your body needs to.Â
Jungkook knots instantly, cursing so graphically that he is surprised himself.Â
âBaby, I canât stop. I canât, Iâm sorryâ, he chants panickedly, unable to stop his hips from rutting into you. It forces his knot to keep leaving you and then popping back inside. The stimulation is unlike anything he has ever felt before, making his toes cramp from curling them so harshly and his hips become even more violent.Â
âIâm sorry. Iâm sorry, it feels so good. Stop me, I canât stop itâ, he apologises because you cry so much. He wants to stop hurting you but he canât. His hips rut against his will.Â
âDonât stop please. It feels so goodâ, you release him of his guilt, clenching down on him as he drills his knot back into you.
âWhat? Youâre in no pain?â
âNo pain. Oh god Koo, Iâm cumming againâŚAh!â You have to wail, squirting around his thick knot as he buries it inside you over and over again.Â
âAh! This is the best sex I ever had, oh godâ, Jungkook moans, arching his back.
The knot fucking burns so deep in such a good way. You are so empty without him, the breach is so intense and once he is inside again everything is well. Your pussy sounds so wet, squelching around his knot sinfully. This is seriously the best sex he ever had.
âItâs so good, Iâm so highâ, he growls, following your orgasm with his own. It is so unbearable to keep moving but his hips have a mind of their own. They keep rutting and fucking even through Jungkookâs shakes. âI canât stop this. Holy fuck, urggghh.â
If you knew that your little stunt in the shed would lead to having your guts knot fucked by none other than Jeon Jungkook, you would have agreed to this bond sooner. Yup, we have reached the point of total acceptance of your situation. Fuck that his father didnât howl. Fuck that you only bonded with Jungkook because you were forced to. Fuck that this wasnât meant to happen. This right now is everything which counts. It is making this entire situation right. It was meant to happen.
âJungkook, I canât stopâ, you sob, grabbing for him helplessly.
âI know. I canât eitherâ, he gets out, holding your hands and pinning them above your head. Like this he is lying himself down on you, folding your willing body in half and burying his knotted cock so deep inside you that you feel him against your cervix. In your state, lost in heat and his seed, it is the highest level of pleasure he can give you. And you thank him with loud cries and your claws digging into his hands against their will.Â
His own claws come out to play. He angles his hands so they wouldnât hurt you. Like this, your hands are under hisâ, shaking and twitching as he brings you over one edge after the other.
âI canât stop. Jungkook please help meâ, you wail.
âYouâre safe. Iâm here. Baby, Iâm hereâ, he soothes you and shakes as he manages to bury his knot in you again. You are getting tighter and tighter and his knot more and more sensitive. âUrgh, baby youâre making me- ah!âÂ
He loses control, pumping your belly full of his hot cum. Now that he is pressed against your cervix, his seed pushes its way right past it, giving you the feeling of being alive you so dearly craved. Of course it sets you off again, of course you cry as if you never had an orgasm before and experience it for the first time. Of course it sets him off again. Of course all of this is happening. It was meant to happen. Of course it was.Â
And as you cry and sob in relief and bliss, Jungkook can barely stop his claws from hurting you. He grew in size and strength. Your small, fragile body is in danger of being crushed under him.Â
He does what he needs to do. Jungkook grips the headboard, growling like a rabid animal. You are so stretched out, so lose around his knot. And so wet. He canât stop fucking you with his creamy knot. It feels so good to have you struggle for a second but then take him happily. It feels even better because you moan with such ecstasy each time he drills it back into you.
Jungkook growls and grips the headboard tighter. And tighter. And tighter with each heavy thrust. With each of your moans. Tighter and tighter until suddenly it cracks loudly, breaking into two right under his hand. The bed gives up, forcing you to sink a good ten centimetres.Â
âWhat?â You squeak out, looking around you disoriented.Â
âDoesnât matter. Look at meâ, he dismisses it, cradling your cheek tenderly. One might never know that seconds ago he broke the bed with the same hand. âLook at me, only look at me.â
You look at him and fall back into the pleasure, having to orgasm instantly at the sight of him.
You wail for him, watching with blurry eyes as he orgasms as well.
His seed hits you in the deepest parts of you. He fucked you so sensitive that you can feel his thick vein pump it out of him. His knot trembles as it happens, bringing you to your blissed limits.
âAgain.â
âMe too. If you- I- me too.â
His hips freeze as he is deep inside you. Your walls tighten and force his knot to stay inside you. He canât move. It is happening to you as his seed drugs you, his knot does the rest. You canât stop climaxing. It is finally happening.Â
Jungkook whimpers helplessly, dropping your legs and collapsing into you. Your limbs close around him, his own do the same with you. He is on top of you, but gravity forces him to fall to his side and take you with him. You are stuck together, shaking and flinching as your bodies are trapped in the most addicting state of being. You orgasm which sets him off, which sets you off and so on. You should know the drill, but it doesnât get easier to bear. You drool and sob and moan, holding each other so close that you almost melt together.
Jungkook cries out as an especially strong high hits him, writhing helplessly which ends in your position changed. He is on his back, you serve as his warmest blanket. He hugs you so strongly, knotted cock shaking inside your tight walls. You drool all over his strong chest, feeling far away because you are so close to his scent glands. He smells like sex and ecstasy but also like safety.Â
It feels more intense than last time. This kind of knotting orgasm isnât just sexual, it is also emotional. You want to be close and you are and it is ecstasy. There is enlightenment that what is happening to you only happens because you are with your true mate and this enlightenment makes the orgasms only this much more intense.
The sun is starting to rise once you and he finally come down. You are fucked raw and sore by now, crying into the crook of his neck.Â
âHoly fuck baby, urgh. I canât do it again. Iâm crampingâ, he says, âsorry.â
âDonât be, Iâm here. Baby, my love. I canât believe we did thatâ, he instantly falls into a love drunk, sappy state. He hugs you so tightly, feeling up your knotted pussy gently to soothe her.Â
âI donât wanna be on top, pleaseâ, you beg, shivering.
âYouâre safe, princess. Iâm hereâ, Jungkook says and changes positions for you. Somehow in a mixture of his strength and your refusal to give up his knot, you and he end up in flipped positions. He is still inside you, keeping you bred and warm. All while he gives you warmth through his body, adoring you right with kisses all over your face and neck.Â
âIâm so proud. Iâm so fucking proud. Holy fuck, I feel high. You did do well. Oh my pretty princess. My baby loveâ, he whispers between his loving kisses, hands caressing your sweaty, sore skin gently.Â
This is instinct as much as it is his heartâs desire. He wants to soothe you, adore you, bring you down gently after lifting you so fucking high. He isnât aware of how important this is to you. You feel so vulnerable and emotionally sensitive. It would be the same thing if someone decided to start open heart surgery on your aware self. This is how vulnerable you feel and it is Jungkook who makes it okay. It is Jungkook who calms you down and reminds you that you are allowed to be sensitive because he is there to protect you.
âI canât comprehend this. I feel high. Wow baby, wow. How do you feel?â he babbles.
âVulnerable.â
âOh baby, I know. Iâm here. Your Kook is hereâ, he assures you, nuzzling his nose against your scent spot. He hopes that if he nuzzles it long enough, he can spread some of his relaxing scent on you.
It works. Of course it does because your bodies need no instructions to communicate. It is natural and right and makes you and him feel fuzzy.Â
You sigh. Jungkook smells the relief against your neck. He kisses a path to your face. Your glassy eyes await him, eagerly building connection once they can.Â
âThank youâ, you whisper.
âNo, I have to thank you. This was the best bonding night ever.â
âNo, thank youâ, you insist, spilling tearsÂ
Jungkook wipes them, knowing that you want to tell him something.
âFor what, princess?âÂ
âFor, for making me feel like this. I, I was never in heat like this. I didnât know that I could and it makes me feel really vulnerable. But youâre so gentle with me and itâs so nice.â
His eyes soften. He whispers your name adoringly and kisses your forehead.
âI feel the same. This was my first rut ever. I didnât think that it would be so intense.â
âKook, Iâm scared. I donât know what this means.â
âDonât be scared, Iâm here.â He kisses your nose, stubbing you with his own afterwards. âWe can ask someone about it, but all I know for now is that I donât wanna fucking stop having you close.âÂ
âYeah, me too.âÂ
He kisses your lips, making your heart race and feel at home. He breaks the kiss gently, giving you the fondest and warmest smile ever.
âIâm so proud of you. You did so well, my princess baby.â
âOh wowâ, you get out, having to giggle.Â
Jungkook giggles with you, smiling as he steals a cheeky kiss. Afterwards he sits up. He is still connected with you by your middles, making you gasp and shiver.
âSorry, I shifted. Are you okay?â
âYes, oh god. What is happening to me? I feel so comfortable.â
Jungkook smiles, caressing your sides. He canât stop looking at you. Your breasts are normal again, natural victims to gravity and so soft. They are still messy and wet from what happened before but nothing new leaves you. Your belly is bloated from his seed and covered in a layer of sweat. No wonder you sweat so much, you were burning up. Jungkook dances his palms over your bloated stomach, furrowing his brows in emotion.Â
âSo aliveâ, he whispers.
âSo aliveâ, you sigh, placing your hand over hisâ.Â
â___â, he says and meets yours eyes.Â
âYes?âÂ
âYouâre so fucking beautiful. I didnât get to say it as we were doing it because I was dumb in pleasure, but you are so beautiful.â
âYou think so?âÂ
âI do. I canât believe that youâre real and, and that you allow me to see you naked. I justâ, he exhales shakily. âIâm just so happyâ, he chokes out, throwing his hand over his eyes to hide his tears.Â
âKook, donât cryâ, you gasp and pull him down to you. He falls to his elbows, allowing you to hold his hands above your head.Â
He is pouting and sniffling. You give him a smile.
âDonât cry.â
âTheyâre happy tears. Weâre bonded, Iâm so happyâ, he says and smiles through his pretty tears.Â
Your smile grows, you squeeze his hands. He was right when he said that you and he will get to know each and that it will be nice. You can feel it. You are right for each other. You are so right.Â
You put your legs around him and push him deeper again.Â
âOhâ, he gasps, squeezing your hands, âwo-oah this felt really intenseâ, his voice quivers as he speaks.
âIt doesâ, you agree, rolling your hips up.
Jungkook gasps, âwhat are you doing?âÂ
âI want more of you.â
âReally? Baby, youâre sore. I donât want to hurt you.â
âPlease. Be gentle. Please make love to me, Kook baby.âÂ
Jungkook spills tears, whimpering your name. This is everything he ever wanted. He pulls out of your sensitive warmth to thrust into you.Â
Crack!Â
You and he scream in shock as the bed finally gives up completely and comes crashing down onto the ground. Jungkook keeps you safe with his arms around you and your head cradled against his chest.Â
You and he share a moment of shocked and disoriented silence before you break it.
âOh my godâ, you let out, breaking into loud, honest cackles. Jungkook looks at you, having to break into laughter as well.
âDid we just get cock blocked by the bed?âÂ
âI think so. It might be my fault. I kinda broke it when I fucked you with my knot. Sorry.â
âOh god, Kook.â
You laugh oh so loudly, throwing your head back for it.Â
Jungkook has to almost squeak as he laughs with you, heart bursting in his chest.Â
âThis is so funny. Oh my god.âÂ
âYeah, itâs hilariousâ, he agrees and goes in for a surprise kiss.Â
Your laugh cuts off, a gasp replaces it. Your eyes fall closed and your hands bury themselves in his soft hair. This kiss is emotional and it is deep. It has meaning. It is happy and filled with love. Jungkook lets you experience it to its fullest, ending it with a stub of his nose and a smile.Â
âI promise to fix it. Iâll add steel in the frame.â
âSo you think weâll break it again otherwise?âÂ
âYeah.â He laughs breathily, nodding his head. âIf this is how it feels to be with you during stimulation induced heat, imagine how it will be once itâs your natural heat.â
You gulp, gazing at him dreamily. The rising sun shines on his face, making his skin glow golden.Â
âKoo, I think you need to heat proof this entire roomâ, you whisper, making him chuckle and nod his head.
âI will. Iâll make it safe and cozy. Shit baby, I canât stop saying it. Youâre so beautiful. The sun is shining on you and youâre so beautiful.â
You feel your cheeks heat up, looking at him shylyÂ
âYouâre beautiful tooâ, you whisper, making him blush.Â
âWow, thanksâ, he mumbles, scrunching his nose. He does a little shift to be closer to you. The bed croaks and punishes him for it by making the headboard drop. He catches it before it can fall on top of you
âPiece of shit bed.â
âOh godâ, you laugh âI think we need to take care of this mess first and then continue.â
âYeah shit, I think youâre right. The bedâs out to get us.âÂ
You laugh and snicker, kicking your feet happily. He chuckles and shoves the headboard to the side.Â
âCome on, letâs take a showerâ, he says and picks you up.
You nuzzle into him, feeling beyond safe.
âDo you have snacks too? I havenât eaten since yesterday morning.â
âOf course. You know what? First fact about me? Iâm actually a really great cook.â
âYou are?âÂ
âMhm, Iâm also a total foodie. So if you wanna bribe me into snuggles, get me food and Iâll be the cuddliest boy ever.â
You snicker. It makes your heart flutter when he talks cute with you.
âDo you like food?â he asks.
âYeah, I like food. Itâs comfort.â
âYeah, right. Do you like cooking together?âÂ
âI never did it before.â
Jungkook holds you closer.
âThen I know what weâll do. Shower and cook and I get to give you kisses. And later when youâre not sore anymore, Iâll make that gentle love to you. If you want me to.âÂ
âYeah, I want you to. This sounds so nice. Koo?â
âYes, love?âÂ
âItâs gonna be so easy for me to fall in love with you.â
âWow, you. Urgh, you drive me crazy youâ, he gets out through gritted teeth and presses you against the next best wall to attack your face and neck with tingling kisses.
You squeal his name, having to laugh in giddiness. It will not be the last time that you laugh because of him.
