summary: you and hasan piker have always been an unlikely pair, but somehow the two of you fall into step like you’ve been doing it for years. between shared routines, quiet evenings in his too‑loud house, and the kind of chemistry everyone else notices long before either of you admit it, one chaotic slip‑up finally pushes the truth into the open. an accidental appearance on stream, a flustered confession, and a very clingy night on the couch turn your secret relationship into something softer, louder, and far more real than either of you expected.
warnings: tooth rotting fluff!!!! soft & funny hasan, domestic energy, no mentions of y/n.
word count: 2.9k
a/n: hi guys!! this is my first hasan fic and if im gonna be honest this is a gift to someone so i hope you guys enjoy it!! also yw to the hasan-tumblr community because the fics are practically non existent!
*as always, thanks @uzmacchiato for the gorgeous banners <3
moving in with hasan had been… an adjustment.
not a bad one. just, you know. a hasan one.
the kind of adjustment where you woke up to him loudly arguing with his toaster (“brother, you are literally burning my bread”), or found him pacing the living room at 3 a.m. explaining the history of labor unions to his dog. the kind where he’d wander into the kitchen shirtless, hair a mess, and immediately launch into a rant about how billionaires should be launched into “fucking” space.
you’d gotten used to most of it.
what you weren’t used to yet was his schedule.
specifically: the sacred (and approximate) 2 p.m. to 9 p.m. streaming hours.
you’d been living with him for a week, and every day you tried to stay out of the way during those hours. you’d go out, run errands, hang with friends, sit in a café, wander aimlessly for no reason; anything to avoid accidentally interrupting him mid‑stream.
but today?
today you forgot.
you came home around 6:30, humming to yourself, keys jingling, brain blissfully empty. you kicked off your shoes, dropped your bag on the couch, and wandered down the hallway toward his office, with the singular goal of asking him if he wanted tocos later.
you didn’t even think.
you just opened the door.
and walked straight into frame.
hasan was mid‑sentence, hands flying around as he explained something to chat, something about healthcare, judging by the words “dude, it’s literally not that complicated” coming out of his mouth, when he froze.
you froze.
the chat did not freeze.
the chat fully detonated.
“OH MY GOD—” hasan blurted, passing a hand over his face, eyes widening.
you gasped, quickly noticing what had happened. you mouthed, ‘crap!’ your hands flying to your face. you backed up so fast you nearly tripped over the doorframe.
hasan swiveled in his chair, staring at you like you’d just walked in holding a live grenade.
“did you, did you forget?” he whispered, voice half‑laugh, half‑panic.
you nodded aggressively, mouthing “i’m so sorry” like you were in a silent film.
the chat was going feral.
you could hear it even without reading it.
hasan dragged a hand down his face. “guys, stop. stop. stop. stop. stop. stop.” he said, pointing at the screen like he was scolding a classroom. “no. we’re not doing this. we’re not, dude, come on.”
you peeked your head back in, mortified.
he glared at you playfully. “don’t you dare peek like a raccoon. you already committed the crime.”
you mouthed “sorry!” again.
he sighed dramatically, then turned back to chat. “okay, listen. that was, that was my girlfriend. yes. girlfriend. congratulations, you caught me lacking. i hope you’re proud of yourselves.”
the chat exploded harder.
hasan winced. “brother, i swear to god, if you start shipping us with some cursed name i’m ending the stream early.”
you covered your mouth, trying not to laugh.
he pointed at you again. “and you, come here.”
you shook your head violently.
“come here,” he repeated, softer this time.
you stepped inside, cheeks burning.
he reached out, grabbed your wrist gently, and tugged you onto his lap like it was the most casual thing in the world. you squeaked, actually squeaked, and he snorted.
“chat, look what you did,” he said, gesturing at your face. “you embarrassed her. you’re all criminals.”
you buried your face in his shoulder.
he kissed your cheek, quick and soft, like he didn’t even think about it.
you scrambled off his lap and practically sprinted out of the room.
behind you, you heard him mutter, “i’m never hearing the end of this,” followed by, “no, chat, she’s not joining the podcast, shut up.”
you spent the next two hours hiding on the couch, face buried in a pillow, replaying the moment over and over like a cringe compilation.
you could hear him through the wall, loud, animated, occasionally yelling “DUDE!” or “brother, that’s not how economics works!” or “chat, stop calling me a simp, i’m literally not.”
you groaned into the pillow.
you were never showing your face again.
finally, around 9:15, the stream ended. you heard his chair roll back, heard him stretch, heard him mutter something about “my spine is filing a complaint.”
then footsteps.
then,
“hey, criminal.”
you peeked over the pillow.
hasan stood in the doorway, arms crossed, smirk already locked and loaded.
“don’t,” you said immediately.
he walked over, plopped onto the couch beside you, and immediately flopped onto you like a weighted blanket.
“you,” he said, poking your cheek, “are a menace.”
“i forgot!” you protested.
“mm‑hmm.” he poked your cheek again. “you forgot. you forgot the one rule. the one. singular. rule.”
“i’m sorry!”
“no, you’re not,” he said, grinning. “you’re embarrassed. which is hilarious.”
you shoved him weakly. “hasan!”
he laughed, loud and warm, head dropping onto your shoulder.
“the chat loved you,” he said.
“oh my god, don’t say that.”
“they did,” he insisted. “they were like, ‘wow, she’s so pretty,’ ‘she’s too good for him,’ ‘drop him, queen.’”
you groaned. “stop.”
“no, because they’re right,” he said, nudging you. “you are too good for me. i’m literally a gremlin.”
you rolled your eyes. “you’re not a gremlin.”
“i am,” he said. “i’m a little goblin man. i live in my cave and yell at strangers on the internet.”
you snorted.
he brightened. “see? look at that. i made you laugh. i’m fixing the embarrassment trauma.”
“it’s not trauma.”
“it’s trauma,” he said confidently. “you’re never going to walk into a room again without checking for cameras.”
you sighed, leaning into him. “i really didn’t mean to ruin your stream.”
he blinked at you. “ruin? dude, you made it better.”
you looked up.
he shrugged. “seriously. i don’t care. like, at all. they were gonna find out eventually. you just, you know. speed‑ran it.”
you laughed softly.
he nudged you again. “also, you did steal my viewers.”
“i did not.”
“you did,” he said. “my numbers spiked. chat was like, ‘bring her back,’ ‘where’d she go,’ ‘hasan, move, you’re blocking her.’”
you covered your face again.
he gently pried your hands away. “hey. hey. look at me.”
you peeked.
he smiled, softer than usual, less chaotic, more real.
“i’m glad you’re here,” he said.
your chest warmed.
he immediately ruined it. “even if you’re a menace who can’t read a clock.”
you shoved him again. “you’re impossible.”
“and you love me,” he said, smug.
you rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away.
he grinned, victorious, and curled closer, head resting on your shoulder, arms looping around your waist like he planned to stay there forever.
“also,” he added, “we’re getting tacos. you owe me for emotional damages.”
you snorted. “emotional damages?”
“yes,” he said. “i was publicly humbled. do you know how rare that is? i’m usually the most confident man alive.”
“you’re still confident.”
“yeah,” he said, “but now chat knows i blush.”
you laughed.
he kissed your cheek again.
“criminal,” he whispered.
you didn’t get off the couch for a while.
mostly because hasan was on top of you like a human paperweight, refusing to move. he’d sprawled across you dramatically, limbs everywhere, like he was trying to absorb your entire soul through osmosis.
“you’re heavy,” you muttered.
“i’m dense,” he said proudly. “like emotionally and physically.”
you snorted.
he grinned into your shoulder. “see? i’m hilarious. the chat was right to worship me.”
“the chat worships you because you yell at them.”
“positive reinforcement,” he said. “they’re like cats. you have to bully them a little.”
you rolled your eyes. “you bully everyone.”
“yeah,” he said, “but you like it.”
you shoved him weakly. “i tolerate it.”
“you love it.”
“i tolerate it.”
“you love me.”
you sighed. “hasan.”
he looked up at you, eyes bright, smug smile already forming. “what?”
“you’re impossible.”
“and you love me.”
you groaned, pushing his face away. he laughed, grabbing your hand and pressing it to his cheek like you’d just blessed him.
“anyway,” he said, “i’m starving. let’s get tacos.”
“you said i owe you.”
“you do,” he said. “emotional damages. public humiliation. loss of dignity.”
“you don’t have dignity.”
“exactly,” he said. “and you made it worse.”
you laughed, and he lit up like he’d been waiting for that.
he sat up, stretching, then offered you his hand like he was escorting you to a royal banquet.
“come on,” he said. “let’s go before i pass away from hunger.”
“you’re so dramatic.”
“i’m literally dying,” he said, standing. “my stomach is eating itself. this is cannibalism.”
you snorted, getting up.
he grabbed his keys, wallet, and then, without thinking, your hand.
you blinked.
he didn’t.
he just tugged you toward the door like it was the most natural thing in the world.
the taco place was quiet, warm, dimly lit. hasan immediately started talking with his hands, explaining to you why he believed shrimp was “the working class hero of tacos.”
“it’s reliable,” he said, gesturing wildly. “it shows up. it does its job. it doesn’t try to be fancy. it’s just, boom. shrimp. perfect.”
you laughed. “you’re ridiculous.”
“i’m correct,” he said. “and you’re lucky to witness my genius.”
the waiter came by, and hasan immediately turned into the most polite man alive.
“hey, man,” he said, smiling. “how’s your night going?”
you watched him switch from chaotic idiot to charming extrovert in two seconds flat.
the waiter left, and hasan leaned back, sighing. “okay, so. we need to talk about the incident.”
you groaned. “no.”
“yes,” he said. “because it was funny.”
“it was embarrassing.”
“for you,” he said. “for me, it was hilarious. the chat was totally losing their minds. i haven’t seen them that feral since i accidentally spilled coffee on my keyboard and yelled.”
you covered your face. “i didn’t mean to walk in.”
“i know,” he said. “that’s what made it funny.”
you peeked at him.
he smiled. “you looked like a deer. like, full panic. like you walked into a crime scene.”
“i did!”
“you walked into my office,” he said. “the only crime was me explaining healthcare for the fiftieth time.”
you laughed.
he leaned forward, elbows on the table. “seriously, though. i don’t care. i’m not mad. i’m not stressed. i’m not, whatever you think i am.”
you looked down. “i just didn’t want to mess anything up for you.”
he softened. “hey.”
you looked up.
he tilted his head. “you didn’t mess anything up. you just… revealed that i’m capable of affection. which is honestly a public service.”
you snorted.
he grinned. “also, the chat thinks you’re cool.”
“they don’t know me.”
“they know enough,” he said. “they saw you panic. relatable queen” he teased, rolling his eyes playfully.
you groaned.
he laughed, reaching across the table to flick your hand. “you’re fine. i promise.”
the food arrived, and hasan immediately started eating like he hadn’t seen food in three days.
“this is so good,” he said, mouth full. “i’m fucking ascending.” he mumbled.
“ew chew your food,” you said.
“no,” he said.
you laughed.
he pointed at you. “also, you’re banned from the office during stream hours.”
“oh you’re so dramatic” you said rolling your eyes.
“no, like officially banned,” he said. “i’m putting up a sign.”
“a sign?” you questioned.
“yeah,” he said. “it’ll say ‘no girlfriends allowed.’”
you raised an eyebrow. “you’re banning me from your office?”
“yes,” he said. “for your own safety.”
“my safety?”
“the chat will eat you alive,” he said. “they’re like piranhas. but with keyboards.”
you snorted.
he leaned back, satisfied. “but also, you can come in whenever you want.”
you blinked. “you just said…”
“the sign is fake,” he said. “it’s for decoration.”
you laughed.
“you’re ridiculous” you joke, slightly pushing his shoulder.
he smiled, soft and warm.
on the drive home, he kept glancing at you.
not in a weird way. just, checking. making sure you weren’t still embarrassed.
“you good?” he asked.
“yeah.”
“you sure?”
“yes.”
“positive?”
“hasan.”
he grinned. “okay, okay.”
he reached over and squeezed your knee gently.
“you’re good,” he said. “i promise.”
you smiled.
he nodded, satisfied.
back home, you flopped onto the couch again. hasan dropped beside you, immediately curling into your side like a cat.
“i’m tired,” he said.
“you streamed for seven hours.”
“i talked for seven hours,” he corrected. “that’s different. that’s labor.”
you laughed.
he nudged you. “you’re laughing a lot today.”
“you’re funny today.”
“i’m funny every day.”
you rolled your eyes.
he grinned, then shifted so he could look at you properly.
“hey.”
you hummed.
“thanks for moving in,” he said.
you blinked.
he shrugged. “i like having you here.”
your chest warmed.
he immediately ruined it. “even if you’re a menace who breaks into my office.”
you shoved him. “i didn’t break in!”
“you did,” he said. “you infiltrated. you breached security.”
“the door was practically open.”
“you breached security,” he repeated.
you laughed.
he curled closer, head on your shoulder again.
“you’re cute when you panic,” he said.
“hasan!”
“you are,” he insisted. “you did the little gasp. the little ‘oh no.’ adorable.”
you groaned.
he laughed, pressing a quick kiss to your shoulder.
“criminal,” he whispered again.
you rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you.
he saw it.
he smirked.
“you love me,” he said.
“i tolerate you.”
“you love me.”
“i tolerate you.”
“you love me.”
you sighed.
he grinned, victorious.
you didn’t get to enjoy the peace for long.
hasan had energy again.
which meant you didn’t get to rest.
he shifted, rolling onto his back dramatically, one arm flung over his forehead like he was acting in a tragic play.
“i’m thinking about it again,” he said.
you sighed. “hasan, please.”
“the incident,” he said gravely. “the betrayal.”
you groaned. “i didn’t betray you.”
“you did,” he said. “you walked into my stream. you exposed me. you revealed that i’m capable of human affection. do you know how damaging that is to my brand?”
you stared at him. “your brand is yelling at the chat.”
“exactly,” he said. “and now they know i’m soft.”
you snorted. “you’re not soft.”
he gasped. “i am so soft. i’m like, emotionally squishy.”
you laughed.
he pointed at you triumphantly. “see? you think i’m funny. the chat thinks i’m funny. i’m unstoppable.”
you rolled your eyes. “you’re insufferable.”
“and you love me.”
“whatever.”you scoffed jokingly
he grinned, smug and bright and impossible.
he shifted again, rolling onto his stomach, chin propped on your chest like he was a cat claiming territory.
“you know what the chat’s gonna do tomorrow?” he asked.
you groaned. “what?”
“they’re gonna ask about you,” he said. “nonstop. like, ‘where is she,’ ‘bring her back,’ ‘is she real,’ ‘is she a hallucination.’”
you covered your face. “i’m never showing my face again.”
he laughed. “you don’t have to. i’ll just tell them you’re in witness protection.”
you snorted. “i’m not in witness protection.”
“you are now,” he said. “you witnessed me being affectionate. that’s dangerous.”
you shoved him.
he laughed harder.
he rolled onto his side, facing you.
“hey.”
you hummed.
“you wanna come on stream sometime?” he asked casually.
you blinked. “what?”
““just… hanging out. talking. bullying me. the chat would love it.”
you hesitated. “i don’t know…”
he nodded. “that’s fine. no pressure. just an idea.”
you nodded.
he nudged you. “you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
you smiled.
he smiled back.
he stretched, arms above his head, shirt riding up slightly.
“okay,” he said. “i’m done being sentimental.”
you laughed. “you weren’t sentimental.”
“i was,” he said. “i was soft. i was vulnerable. i was like a little emotional pancake.”
“you’re an idiot” you laughed
he pointed at you. “don’t laugh at me.”
“what! you’re ridiculous.”
“and you love me.”
you groaned.
he grinned.
then, he rested his chin on your chest. “you’re stuck with me.”
“i know.”
he smiled.
after a moment, he spoke again.
“hey.”
you hummed.
“thanks for not freaking out,” he said.
you blinked. “i did freak out.”
“yeah,” he said. “but not like, in a bad way. you didn’t spiral. you didn’t cry. you didn’t run away. you just panicked like a little hamster.”
“...like a little hamster?” you questioned raising your brow.
he laughed. “yes! you did the little hamster freeze.”
you shoved him.
he grinned, delighted.
“you’re adorable,” he said.
you rolled your eyes.
“you’re my favorite person,” he said quietly.
you blinked.
he didn’t look up.
he didn’t make a joke.
he just said it.
soft. sincere. real.
your chest tightened.
“i love you” you whispered.
you stroked his hair gently.
he melted.
you stayed like that for a while.
quiet. warm. tangled together.
eventually, he spoke again.
“hey.”
you hummed.
“you wanna watch something?” he asked. “like a movie? or a documentary on the 13th amendment?”
you snorted. “the 13th amendment? are you serious? no.”
“coward,” he said.
you laughed.
he nudged you. “okay, fine. you pick.”
you grabbed the remote.
he curled closer.
“i’m really glad you walked into frame.”
you blinked.
he smiled up at you.
“it was funny,” he said. “and it means i don’t have to hide anymore.”
your chest warmed.
he kissed your cheek as you pressed play. grinning, feeling completely victorious, and curled into you like he planned to stay there forever.
─˖· masterlist
*also thanks @uzmacchiato for the gorgeous banners <3
c/w ᝰ.ᐟ so much teasing, using panties during sex, unprotected p in v, over-the-panties stimulation, denial, mid-sex banter, rough-ish, pet names (bunny/bun, princess, sweetheart, pretty + no y/n), did I mention teasing, more evidence dean is down bad, post-sex sweetness + hunter davenport is still catching strays
He leans in and kisses you before you can say anything else. The kiss is messy and deep, all tongue and heat, breathless laughter whispering in the spaces between as he carries you toward his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel.
“Fuck,” he murmurs as he breaks the kiss, reaching for breath, his voice low and thick. He sets you down and backs you up against the wall, his body settling against yours with a heavy weight that makes your breath catch as your spine meets it.
His mouth drags along your jaw before finding yours again, teasing you with a kiss before drawing back slightly.
“Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ night.”
“I’m here,” you breathe back, the words coming out soft and breathless against his mouth. “Don’t make me wait.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He takes his turn smiling into the kiss, sending chills down your spine, cocky and desperate all at once. He dips in again, kissing you slower this time, deep enough to make your head spin and everything else fall away.
“Clean sweep,” he murmurs against your mouth.
“Show off,” you whisper and he lets out a low laugh against your lips.
“Cashin’ in on that bet.” His hand wraps around your waist, the other gripping your ass, pulling you off the floor, into his arms again.
Your head swims as you kiss your way to his bed; your body melting into him, legs wrapping around his waist.
Your hands come up, settling around the back of his neck, your fingers drifting into the hair at his nape. Dean lets out a quiet breath and closes his eyes for a second.
“Jesus Christ.”
“What?”
“You got any idea how pretty you are?” A crooked smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I’m so serious.”
“So sweet when you want to be, Di Laurentis,” you chuckle tiredly.
“Got a little crazy back there, huh, bun?”
“Uh, yeah,” you mumble. “You did.”
“You spent two hours makin' me watch Hunter Davenport touch you,” he mumbles.
“Nobody made you watch—”
“Couldn’t help it.” His gaze drops from your face, lingering for a second before making its way back up again. “You drive me insane,” he sighs before he kisses you again, your hand coming down to reach for the hem of his shirt.
Your fingers hook into the fabric, pulling upward, and he laughs softly against your mouth when he realizes what you’re doing, lifting his arms automatically so you can drag the shirt over his head.
His hands settle right back on you the second the shirt’s gone, leaning in to deepen the kiss.
“You know what the problem is?” He asks.
“What?”
“I don’t even care if you wanna be casual or not,” he mutters half-serious, half-laughing against your mouth.
“Dean—”
“M’serious,” he hums, the zipper of your jeans gliding down slowly beneath his fingers. “Just wanna end as many nights as I can exactly like this. Don’t even care if you make me place stupid bets and I gotta dust his ass every goddamn weekend. I’m in.”
“You’re in?”
“Mhmm.”
“Funny. Took Hunter Davenport talking to me to figure that out.”
“Damn,” he mutters, letting out a weak laugh like those words actually stung. “That’s what you think, huh?”
Your lips draw to the side, eyebrow arching, challenging him to give you a response instead of a question, and he nods like he’s accepting the challenge.
“You’re right… Shoulda told you a while ago. I deserved everything I got tonight.”
“You did,” you remind him.
Dean shakes his head and laughs under his breath. “Yeah. I did.”
He peels your shirt over your head next, leaving you in nothing but soft mesh, and whatever he was about to say disappears completely. His chin drops as he blows out a heavy breath. “What did I do to deserve you—”
“Just fucking kiss me,” you giggle and he lifts you easily off the floor, tossing you back onto the bed.
Your body bounces against the mattress, and before you can settle he’s helping you the rest of the way out of your jeans, tugging them down your thighs impatiently.
By the time you try to prop yourself up on your elbows, he’s already climbing over you, bracing his weight above you while his hands catch your wrists and press them into the mattress on either side of your head.
He looks down at you with a tilted smile, hair falling into his eyes, his chest still rising a little harder than normal.
His shoulders flex every time he shifts closer, his tanned skin warm against yours, his chain dangling off his neck, landing cool against your hot skin.
“Playin’ after you agreed to come up here was impossible?”
“You were winning.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours and closing his eyes for a second, your lips barely brushing. “Still would’ve rather been up here.”
You keep lifting your head off the pillow to follow him when he pulls back even slightly, leaving you chasing his mouth. Each time you do it he lets out the faintest laugh against your lips, the sound making a steady pulse beat between your thighs.
His hands slide up your arms, gathering your wrists above your head in one hand. His body grinds at the same time, the rough denim of his jeans dragging against your panties.
The chill of his belt buckle brushes against your skin, pulling a quiet breath out of you. Your back arches instinctively, fingers tightening into fists, his fingers curling a little tighter to keep you in place.
His stomach tightens, abs going hard every time his hips rock, every little movement making you react.
His free hand drops between you to work at his belt as you kiss him through it, smiling against his lips when he finally manages to shove his jeans down far enough to give himself room to kick them off.
The whole time he keeps finding you again between breaths, refusing to lose you for longer than he has to.
You moan against his mouth when his hand cups your pussy, clicking his tongue like he knew this is exactly how he’d find you—soaking wet. “Yeah?” he rasps. “Thinkin’ about this all night?”
“Maybe,” you whisper.
“Too wet for maybe’s, bunny,” he mumbles.
You giggle, bratty and breathless, before his tongue slips into your mouth, rolling slowly as his fingers do the same, rubbing tight circles on your clit.
“Laughin’ at me, huh?” He asks. “Still think this shit’s funny?”
“Mhmm,” you whimper then gasp against his lips as he pinches your clit between his fingers, his lips sucking and biting down on your bottom lip just enough to pinch.
“Brat,” he mumbles, not sounding bothered by it in the slightest. A grin pulls at his mouth when your hips betray you, bucking into his hand.
Dean slowly rises up onto his knees above you, his eyes never leaving your face as he pulls down his boxers, his cock slapping against his bare skin with a snap. His eyes drop from your face, lingering for a second before making their way back up again.
“So fucking pretty for me.”
Your hands shift instinctively and he catches the movement, snatching your wrists again to push them into the bed with a little more muscle.
“Keep your hands where they are,” he whispers against your lips.
The mesh fabric between your thighs is already clinging to your skin, practically opaque from how wet you already are. He exhales slowly through his nose and shakes his head as he takes his dick in his fist.
“Pink?” He mutters under his breath, tapping the wet fabric with his tip, the precum gathered on his hard skin mixed with your arousal on the slick material separating the two of you. “You wore my favorite color.”
“Is it?” You ask—but you did.
“You wore this for me, huh?” He breathes. “Could’ve told me before I started throwing shit, huh?”
“Unfortunately that was hot,” you whisper.
Dean’s head drops immediately.
“I knew you’d like that shit, bun,” he chuckles. “Damn, we’re a fucking problem, huh?” He laughs against your lips as he traces his dick along your slit. The fabric drags against his sensitive skin, rubbing along you with every slow pass.
He thrusts his hips forward, the tip pressing there, and warmth spreads through your body despite the thin barrier still between you.
The pressure alone is enough to pull a moan from both of you. You bite down on your lip, both of your hands clawing into the sheets beside your head, twisting the fabric between your fingers as his cock rubs over your clit again and again.
Your eyes roll back as he spits on the place where the two of you meet, his hard cock slicking through the wetness, stroking in a rough, steady rhythm.
Your tongue runs along your bottom lip and the knot in your stomach tightens. Your pleasure builds, the sight of his strong body rolling into you without penetration doing nothing but teasing just how deep his cock would go, pre cum dripping off his tip as it drags across your skin.
“Yeah?” He pants. “C’mon, bunny—”
“Shit,” you whimper, matching his movements with a swivel of your hips.
Dean keeps talking you through it, his voice low and warm as the praise slips out between sharp breaths. “Fightin’ so fuckin’ hard,” he tells you, looking up at your hands as you white-knuckle the bedsheets; looking down at your thighs to watch them quake. “You gonna cum for me? I know you want to,” He grunts and you whimper a ‘yes’.
You cum with his name on your lips and your pussy pulsing around nothing as he continues to stroke. Your eyes pinch shut and your hands reach for him quickly, grabbing him by the hair and the neck to pull him to your lips.
He swallows your moans, not letting up his movement until you're melting underneath him, your mind doing the same.
He grips you firmly and shifts your body in one smooth motion, guiding you forward and turning you until you are on your hands and knees, his big body pressing flush behind you, hard cock swinging between your thighs.
Dean’s hands settle on your hips first, sliding a little higher until his palms are full, squeezing and kneading your ass in his hands. His thumbs drag slow circles over your skin while you glance back over your shoulder at him, and the smugness painted all over his face starts to bleed out of him.
“Probably shouldn’t have told me you liked that,” he murmurs quietly, his thumbs tracing along the hem of your panties like he’s deciding whether to move them aside or make you wait, choosing the latter, snapping the fabric against your skin with a smirk. “Gave me way too much information, sweetheart.”
You laugh and roll your eyes, still trying to catch your breath. “And what information did I give you, Di Laurentis?” You mumble as his hand leaves your body and his fingers curl beneath your chin.
He guides you back toward him so your spine arches and your shoulders dip, bringing your mouth close enough that he can lean forward and kiss you over your shoulder.
“That you like me jealous. That you like me losin’ my mind over you. Were you trying to make me jealous, baby?” He murmurs against your lips.
You smile softly at that, catching his mouth for a second, sucking and tugging before you pull away. “I’d never,” you whisper and he laughs against your lips.
“I don’t share real well.” He smiles playfully, spanking your thigh, making you press your ass into him further. His eyes lock onto yours. “And then you’re gonna tell me that's what turned you on?”
“Doesn’t sound like something I’d say,” you mumble and he just smiles, still toying with you.
“Bullshit.” The words come out through a tight laugh as his hands return to your hips, sliding lower again as he shifts behind you. His palms spread over you while he adjusts his position slightly.
Every inch of his body gives him away—you can see it all over his face, feel how painfully hard he is when he slaps his dick against your ass but still he resists.
You reach down instinctively, your fingers brushing the edge of your panties as you start to shift them aside.
“Hands on the bed, bunny.”
“Dean,” you scold, but all he does is snicker, his hand cupped below your lips for spit.
“Put that mouth to good use—been causin’ enough problems with it all night,” he taunts as you spit in his hand. “Knew you were enjoyin’ yourself.”
He rubs the spit over his stiff cock, eyes unwavering on your body. His hands settle on your ass, thumbs spreading you apart as he glides his dick through the narrow space between them.
Stroke after stroke, tease after tease, his heavy balls slap against your clit with each push of his hips, making the muscles in your body jump with sensitivity.
You look over your shoulder with a pout. A quiet chuckle slips out of him. “You think poutin’ is gonna help?” He murmurs, his voice softer now. “Like I’m gonna feel bad for you?”
“Maybe,” you breathe.
A laugh slips out of him. “S’fuckin’ adorable,” he breathes and just when you think you won, he grips your panties and thrusts, his thick dick tracing between your ass, tip pushing against the rough mesh of your panties, still not giving you what you want.
“So damn wet,” he groans as his balls finally slap against your pussy, skin against skin, the wet smack filling the room along with his moans as you whimper and whine. “Shit, I could probably get off just like this—”
You scoff through a sharp breath, feeling yourself getting closer and closer from the smacking of his balls against your clit alone, but you want more.
“Where the fuck are you goin’?” He laughs, catching you as you crawl forward like you've finally had enough, yanking you back, grabbing your panties in his fist, just to wrap them around the base of his cock, binding you together before he pushes deep in your pussy.
Your moans blend together, your head falling forward and his throwing back as he bottoms out completely.
“Oh—Oh shit, baby,” he groans, stalling out for a moment as your wet warmth surrounds him, your body squeezing him tight. So wet he’s pinching his eyes shut, thinking about anything else but the moment to keep from cumming on the spot.
His hips draw back, the panties tightening around his cock the farther he pulls away. The delicate stitching strains with it, sounding like it might snap.
He presses forward slow, watching his dick dip deep. The panties wrapped around him make his cock redder, the veins mapping each inch standing higher—until his body is flush with your ass.
“Fuck, Dean,” you moan, rolling your hips a little, his blunt fingernails digging into your ass at the feeling.
The air knocks out of your chest as he pounds into you, the wet mess that he made squelching through the room, both of you sure you aren’t going to last much longer like this.
“Feels so damn good,” he grits out, one hand landing against your shoulder before dragging down your arm, searching for your hand. His fingers wrap tightly around yours, pinned against your back, your face coming down to press against the mattress as he cracks you at the perfect angle.
You whimper that you’re close, the words barely making it out of your mouth. “Fuck, I’m cumming,” Dean stammers, and his grip tightens around your hand, your pleasure enough for him to break, jaw tightening, brows furrowing, filling you up but refusing to stop until you finish.
You follow close behind him, pussy fluttering around his cock as it throbs inside you, leaving him sucking in a breath as you milk him dry.
Dean’s grip is still locked with yours when he finally shifts. The room around you is heavy with heat and sex, but the weight that had been sitting on your shoulders all night is gone.
He pulls you back against his chest, the two of you still on your knees, his skin damp and his heart thundering against your back as you both try to catch your breaths. He presses a soft kiss against your shoulder and then another against the side of your neck, adrenaline leaving his lips trembling against your hot skin.
His arms wrap around you a little tighter, nuzzling into your neck like he can’t help himself.
“Good thing you wore these for me,” he mutters. “M’sorry, pretty. I’ll buy you a new pair, yeah?” You whimper as he pulls out, the loose panties tumbling uselessly off your hips.
Dean grabs for you, rolling you on top of him. Your hands rest on his chest while his big arms wrap around your body, keeping you close.
He looks up at you and sighs, brushing your hair out of your face, amusement pulling at the corner of his mouth before he speaks.
“Fuck, that was incredible”—ding!
Your phone lights up in the pocket of your jeans half-hanging off the mattress. You blow out a shaky breath, muscles trembling, reaching over for it.
“A deal’s a deal,” he murmurs, warm against your skin, chuckling through the exhaustion. You pull your phone out and look back at it, a message telling you to come find him later, despite knowing full well where you are and who you’re with.
His palm rests solid on your hip, tracing slow circles over your skin absentmindedly.
Dean rolls his eyes and takes the phone from your hand, jaw tightening for half a second before he drops it onto the mattress.
“I don’t give a shit,” he murmurs quietly.
“You don’t care?” you whisper, and a little panic sets in. You can see it on his face. He cups your cheeks in his hands, guiding your gaze to him.
“Woah, bun. Just—no. ‘Bout you? Absolutely. About him? No. I don’t give a fuck. I mean, look at where I am, huh?” He mumbles, pulling you down into a kiss.
You let out a little sigh against his lips, relief and satisfaction mellowing you out.
You melt into him as his rough fingers trace lower, moving down your spine and back up. He smiles up at you before pulling you down into another kiss.
“I’m in,” you breathe and he hums out a satisfied groan that buzzes all the way to your toes. His grip on you tightens and you gasp when he rolls you beneath him.
“You serious?”
“Yeah,” you whisper. Dean stares at you for a second before dropping his head with a laugh, chain swinging loosely off his neck.
“Thank God.”
“What?” You ask curiously as your hands wrap around the back of his neck, fingers sliding into his messy hair.
“Would’ve been real fuckin’ awkward if I went downstairs and lost that bet to Logan.”
Your lips fall open in disgust, nose scrunching up. “You were betting on me?” And again, his eyes go wide as he scrambles to explain himself.
“Bunny—Baby, c’mon now,” he chuckles, his voice raspy and deep. “On us, alright?” He corrects himself. “And I’m just kiddin’, alright?”
You roll your eyes away and he grabs your cheeks with a single hand, turning your face back toward him.
“Besides,” he murmurs, his thumb dragging slowly across your cheek.
“Besides what?”
“Shit wasn’t exactly a fair competition.”
“Why not?”
Your hand drifts down his arm, fingers tracing over the hard curve of his bicep before settling on his skin, squeezing and feeling the muscle tighten underneath when he leans closer.
The corner of his mouth lifts as his lips brush softly against yours.
song: We Almost Broke Up Again Last Night by Sabrina Carpenter
paring: pre-wakanda!bucky x f!reader
summary: your relationship feels like it’s coming apart, held together only by the hope and intimacy you’re still clinging to. bucky keeps pulling away from you, haunted by his past, by the people he hurt, by the fear that the darkness in him might spill onto you. he loves you deeply, but he’s convinced that loving you is dangerous. so he tries to let you go before he believes he’ll ruin you too.
warnings: angst, sad bucky, struggling relationship, brief smut: oral (m! receiving), pnv, mentions of bruising and nail scratching. some fluff but its lowkey like fake because its actually sad? (lmk if i missed anything)
word count: 2.9k (this was supposed to be a drabble ngl ;-;)
a/n: lets be honest, i didn’t proof read. i apologize in advance for the ANGST you’re gonna encounter. i heard an audio of sebastian stan getting emotional and i’ve been singing this song all day so i lowkey had to write this. sorry not sorry, i love u all. xoxo, enjoy :)
─˖· masterlist
bullshit repeats itself, is that how the saying goes?
you watch him pace across the living room floor, his movements sharp and erratic. the worn wooden boards creak under his weight with every step, a rhythm that's become all too familiar in your shared apartment. it's three in the morning, and neither of you has slept. the argument started hours ago, though you can barely remember what triggered it this time. something about him flinching when you reached for him in the dark, something about the nightmares that have been getting worse again.
"i can't do this anymore," he says for what must be the hundredth time, his voice raw and broken. "i'm poison to you. everything i touch turns to ash."
your fingers twist in the hem of your oversized t-shirt – his, actually – as you watch him. bucky barnes, the man you've loved since you met him in romania, looks more like a ghost than a person tonight. his eyes are hollowed out, haunted by things he won't speak of, things that live in the dark spaces between his memories and his reality. you know he's thinking about hydra, about the blood on his hands, about all the lives he's taken. you know he's thinking about how unworthy he is of your love.
been here a thousand times (selective memory, though)
"we've been here before, buck," you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "we always work through it."
he stops pacing and turns to face you, his blue eyes clouded with pain. "that's just it. we shouldn't have to 'work through it.' normal couples don't have to 'work through' the fact that one of them is a brainwashed assassin who could snap at any moment."
"you're not an assassin anymore," you counter, standing up and walking toward him. "that's not who you are."
"but it's part of me," he says, his voice cracking. "it's in my blood, in my bones. i look at you sometimes and i see everything i could destroy. i see how fragile you are, how... breakable. and i'm terrified that one day i'll be the one who breaks you."
you reach out to touch his face, but he flinches away from your hand like it's fire. the rejection stings, but you've learned not to take it personally. it's not you he's rejecting – it's the darkness inside himself that he's afraid will taint you.
i hear it in his eyes, he sees it in my tone
"i'm not as fragile as you think," you say, your voice stronger now. "i knew what i was getting into when we started this. i knew about your past, about the winter soldier."
"no," he shakes his head, his movements frantic. "you didn't. you couldn't have possibly understood what it would be like. the nightmares, the flashbacks, the way i freeze up sometimes. the way i can't stand to be touched when i'm having a bad day. you deserve someone whole, someone who can give you everything you need."
"i need you," you say simply. "just you. not some perfect version of you, not some sanitized version. i need the real you – nightmares and all."
is what it is and it's predictable
"and what happens when the real me hurts you?" he asks, his voice barely audible. "what happens when i have a nightmare and i don't wake up in time? what happens when hydra comes for me and you get caught in the crossfire?"
"then we deal with it," you say, stepping closer until there's barely any space between you. "together. that's what couples do, buck. they face things together."
he looks down at you, his expression unreadable. you can see the war raging behind his eyes – the desire to stay warring with the conviction that he should leave. you know he's right to be scared. you know the risks. but you also know that life without him would be a kind of death, a slow fading into gray nothingness.
all the "i love you's" and "i'm sorry's" were said
"i love you," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "god, i love you so much it hurts. and that's why i have to let you go."
"i'm sorry," you reply, your own voice trembling now. "i'm sorry you're hurting. i'm sorry i can't fix it for you."
you reach up to cup his face in your hands, and this time he doesn't pull away. his skin is cold under your palms, his jaw tight with tension. you can feel the slight tremor in his muscles, the constant readiness for a fight that never comes.
we had our sex and then we made amends, that's right
your lips find his in a desperate, hungry kiss. it's not gentle or sweet – it's teeth and tongues and bruising force, a battle of wills and desires. his hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against his body as he deepens the kiss. there's an urgency to your movements, a frantic need to connect, to bridge the chasm that's been widening between you for months.
clothes are shed in a flurry of motion, discarded on the floor like yesterday's arguments. his mouth trails down your neck, leaving a path of fire in its wake. your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more, needing everything he has to give.
called it a false alarm to all of our friends
he lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the bedroom. the door slams shut behind you, sealing you in the bubble of your shared world – a world where there are no hydra agents, no nightmares, no past traumas. there's only the two of you, only this desperate need to feel alive, to feel connected, to feel something other than pain.
then we almost broke up again last night
his movements are rough, almost punishing, as he enters you. there's no tenderness here, no gentle exploration. this is raw and primal, a desperate attempt to outrun the demons that chase him. you meet his intensity with your own, your nails digging into his back, your hips rising to meet his thrusts. tears stream down your face, but you're not sure if they're from pleasure or pain. maybe both.
(we almost got so close)
afterward, you lie tangled together in the sheets, your bodies slick with sweat, the air thick with the scent of sex and regret. his head rests on your chest, his ear pressed against your heart as if he's trying to memorize its rhythm. your fingers stroke through his hair, gentle now, soothing.
"don't leave me," you whisper into the darkness. "please, buck. don't leave me."
he doesn't answer, but you feel his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer. it's the closest he'll come to saying yes, and you cling to it like a lifeline.
and when i reached to pull the plug
morning comes too soon, as it always does. the first rays of sunlight filter through the blinds, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets. bucky is already awake, watching you with those haunted eyes of his. you can see the decision has been made again – he's going to try to leave.
i swear, he starts working out
"coffee?" you ask, sitting up and pulling the sheet around you.
he nods, his gaze never leaving yours. "yeah. coffee."
you make your way to the kitchen, your movements stiff and sore. the routine is familiar, comforting in its normalcy. you measure out the coffee grounds, add water, press start. the machine gurgles to life, filling the small space with the rich aroma of brewing coffee.
and on the days i'm a little much
bucky appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame. he's pulled on a pair of sweatpants, his chest bare. the morning light catches the silver of his left arm, making it gleam. there are new scratches on his chest – from your nails, from last night's desperate coupling. you feel a pang of guilt, of shame.
that's when i tell them how sweet he treats me
"i was thinking," he says, his voice still rough from sleep. "maybe we could go to the farmer's market today. get some fresh vegetables. make that pasta you like."
your heart leaps at his words. it's an olive branch, a peace offering. it's him trying, even when it's hard, even when everything in him is screaming that he should run.
and how no other boys compete
"i'd like that," you say, turning to face him fully. "i'd really like that."
he crosses the distance between you, his flesh hand coming up to cup your cheek. his thumb strokes across your skin, gentle, reverent. "i'm sorry about last night," he says softly. "about... everything."
"you don't have to be sorry," you reply, leaning into his touch. "we're in this together, remember?"
he nods, his eyes closing briefly.
i know how it looks, i know how it sounds
the farmer's market is bustling with activity, a riot of colors and sounds and smells. you weave through the crowd, bucky's hand clasped firmly in yours. it's a simple gesture, but it feels monumental – a declaration to the world, and to yourselves, that you're still here, still fighting.
least we'll give 'em something to talk about
you buy tomatoes and basil and fresh pasta. bucky finds a stand selling homemade bread, still warm from the oven. he tears off a piece and
feeds it to you, his fingers brushing against your lips. the gesture is so domestic, so normal, it makes your heart ache. you catch the eye of an older woman browsing nearby, and she gives you a knowing smile. you wonder what she sees – a young couple in love, or something else? does she see the tension in bucky's shoulders, the way his eyes constantly scan the crowd? does she see the faint bruises on your wrists from where he held you too tight last night? or does she just see two people holding hands, sharing a moment on a sunny saturday morning?
all the "i love you's" and "i'm sorry's" were said (sorry's were said)
"i love you," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear. it's not the desperate, broken declaration from last night. it's simpler, steadier, like he's trying to convince himself as much as you.
"i love you too," you reply, squeezing his hand. the words feel both true and false, a promise you're not sure you can keep but will die trying.
we had our sex and then we made amends, that's right
back home, you put away the groceries while bucky starts a pot of sauce. the domesticity of it all feels surreal, like you're playing house in someone else's life. you move around each other in the small kitchen, a careful dance of avoidance and connection. his hip brushes against yours as he reaches for a knife, and you both freeze for a moment, the air crackling with unspoken tension.
called it a false alarm to all of our friends
"steve called," he says, his back to you as he chops garlic. "while you were in the shower. wanted to see if we wanted to come over for dinner tomorrow."
all your friends knew… obviously they knew, they could tell. steve invited you guys for dinner when he sensed something was off, you guys knew that.
"and?" you prompt, leaning against the counter.
"i told him we’d go," he replies. "told him we were good."
you close your eyes, a wave of relief washing over you. it's a lie, of course. you're not good. you're hanging on by a thread, but it's a lie you can live with, a lie you need to believe. it's the false alarm you'll send out to your friends, the signal that everything is fine, that the fire has been contained once again.
then we almost broke up again last night
the sauce simmers on the stove, filling the apartment with its rich aroma. bucky stands behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. you can feel the steady beat of his heart against your back, a rhythm that's both comforting and terrifying. you lean into him, letting yourself believe, just for a moment, that this could be enough, that this fragile peace could last.
you say we're driftin' apart
"we can't keep doing this," he says, his voice soft but firm. "this cycle. the fighting, the... making up. it's not healthy. it's not fair to you." he added, his face slightly frowning.
i said, "yeah, i fucking know"
you turn in his arms, looking up at him. "i know," you say, your voice sharp with frustration. "i know it's not healthy, bucky. what do you want me to do? let you go? let you run away and pretend you can escape this by yourself?"
big deal, we've been here before
"maybe that would be better," he says, his eyes pleading. "for you, at least."
"don't you dare say that," you snap, pushing away from him. "don't you dare pretend that leaving me would be some noble sacrifice. it's not. it's cowardice. you're scared, so you're running."
and we'll be here tomorrow
the fight escalates, words flying like shrapnel. old wounds are reopened, new ones are created. you're both crying now, angry, hurtful tears. you say things you don't mean, things you can't take back. he tells you he's a monster, you tell him he's being selfish. it's the same script, the same scene you've acted out a hundred times before.
oh
and then, as suddenly as it started, it's over. the anger burns itself out, leaving behind the familiar ashes of regret and sorrow. he sinks to the floor, his head in his hands. you stand over him, your chest heaving, your anger replaced by a wave of overwhelming sadness.
all the "i love you's" and "i'm sorry's" were said
"i'm sorry," he whispers, his voice muffled by his hands. "i'm so sorry, doll. i don't mean to... i just..."
"i know," you say, your voice softening. you sink to the floor beside him, pulling him into your arms. "i know."
we had our sex and then we made amends, that's right
he's crying now, really crying, silent, shuddering sobs that wrack his entire body. you hold him, rocking him gently, murmuring meaningless words of comfort. his tears soak through your shirt, hot against your skin. you can feel the desperation in his touch, the way he clings to you like you're the only solid thing in a world that's constantly shifting beneath his feet.
called it a false alarm to all of our friends
later, after the tears have subsided, after you've wiped his face with your thumbs and kissed his eyelids, you lead him to the bedroom. the sun is setting now, casting long shadows across the room. the light is soft and golden, making everything look beautiful, even the broken parts.
then we almost broke up again, oh
he lies back on the bed, his eyes closed, his expression weary. you straddle him, your hands resting on his chest. you can feel his heart beating under your palms, a frantic, desperate rhythm. you lean down, your hair falling around his face, and kiss him. it's a gentle kiss, a tender kiss, a kiss that says everything you can't put into words.
we almost broke up, we almost broke up again
his hands come up to cup your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. his eyes open, and the look in them takes your breath away. it's a mixture of love and pain, hope and despair, a reflection of your own tangled emotions.
we almost broke up, we almost broke up again
you move against him, a slow, deliberate rhythm. there's no urgency this time, no desperation. it's slow and sweet and heartbreaking. it's an apology, a promise, a prayer. it's you saying, without words, that you're here, that you're not going anywhere, that you'll keep picking up the pieces as long as he keeps letting you.
gave me his whole heart and i gave him head and then
you take him into your mouth, your movements slow and deliberate. this is your offering, your sacrifice. this is the one thing you can give him that no one else can, the one thing that can silence the demons, at least for a little while. his hands tangle in your hair, his hips rising to meet you. you can hear his breath hitch, can feel the tension coiling in his body. you look up at him, and his eyes are closed, his head thrown back in ecstasy. in this moment, he's not the winter soldier, not a victim of hydra, not a broken man. he's just bucky, your bucky, and he's yours.
we almost broke up, we almost broke up
afterward, you lie curled up together, the sheets tangled around your legs. the room is dark now, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside, casting a faint glow across the room. you can hear the sound of traffic, the distant wail of a siren, the normal sounds of a city that's still alive, still moving, even when you feel like your world has stopped.
yeah, we almost broke up again
"stay," he whispers, his voice thick with sleep. "please, just... stay."
you tighten your grip on him, your face buried in his chest. "i'm not going anywhere," you reply, your voice muffled by his skin. "i'm right here."
you know it's not a solution. you know it's not a fix. you know you'll be here again, in this same place, having this same fight, making this same desperate, heartbreaking choice. but for now, in the quiet darkness of your shared bed, it's enough. it has to be.
─˖· masterlist
*also thanks @uzmacchiato for the gorgeous banners <3
summary: you head to a famous carnival with your lifelong best friends, steve and bucky, expecting nothing but rides and sugar, only to find bucky brought another girl along. the night twists through neon lights, sharp comments, unexpected jealousy, and bucky defending you when you least expect it. when steve heads out early, you and bucky end up alone under the glowing sky, stumbling into soft moments, shared thrills, and a spark that feels impossible to ignore.
warnings: pure fluff, cursing, friendship, romance, no use of y/n.
word count: 8.2k
song inspo: sugar talking by sabrina carpenter
a/n: ugh i wrote this because i went to a carnival recently and i had so many ideas for this while on the ferris wheel!!! Carnivals are so fun and this story was SO CUTE, i was literally giggling and kicking my feet while editing this EEEK! (i spent too much time on this so i didn’t proof read, sorry!!)
─˖· masterlist
you, bucky, and steve had been a trio since you were all in sandbox together, your three little buckets making a perfect triangle in the golden sand. steve and bucky were born in the same year, two peas in a pod, while you trailed behind them, the tagalong little sister they never actually minded having around. growing up, it was always bucky with the easy charm and the devil-may-care grin, steve with the steady heart and the righteous gaze, and you, the quiet observer who catalogued every stolen glance and every shared secret. it was no surprise to anyone that when your college acceptance letter arrived, you were bound for the same sprawling university campus as them, a fact that had you all bouncing on the balls of your feet with a giddiness that felt like pure, unadulterated sunshine.
college life was a whirlwind of caffeine-fueled study sessions in the library, the smell of old books and stale coffee, your constant companions. you were a sophomore now, navigating the sprawling campus with a bit more confidence than you had as a freshman, but still feeling like you were playing catch-up to bucky and steve, who were juniors and seemed to have this whole thing figured out. bucky, with his effortlessly tousled brown hair and eyes the color of a summer sky just before a storm. he had the campus reputation for being a bit of a heartbreaker. you'd watched him from the sidelines, metaphorically speaking, as he dated a string of girls: the cheerleader, the poetry major, the girl from his chemistry class. each one was beautiful and bright, and each one eventually faded away, leaving bucky unscathed and charming as ever. steve, on the other hand, was the steady one, the one who had a serious girlfriend or two, relationships that were built on a foundation of mutual respect and shared values.
you had always, always had a crush on bucky. it was a fact as constant as the north star, a secret you kept tucked away in the deepest corner of your heart. he was harmlessly flirty with everyone, his compliments as easy and natural as breathing, and you were always on the receiving end of them. "hey, beautiful," he'd say, slinging an arm around your shoulders as you walked across the quad. "that color looks amazing on you." or, "don't study too hard, sweetheart, wouldn't want you to burn out that brilliant brain of yours." and every time, you'd feel a little flutter in your chest, a tiny spark of hope that you'd immediately stamp out. you were too scared of messing up the perfect, fragile thing the three of you had. you were a unit, a tripod, and you wouldn't risk that for anything, not even for the possibility of something more with him. so you smiled, and you laughed, and you pushed your feelings down, down, down, convincing yourself it was all just a part of who bucky was; a charming, slightly flirty player who didn't mean anything by it.
it was a tuesday, and you were crammed into a lecture hall for your intro to sociology class, the professor's voice a monotonous drone that was doing a poor job of competing with the glorious sunshine streaming through the tall windows. thankfully this was one of the few classes you thoroughly enjoyed on campus. not because of the teacher, but because of two of your best friends, one being a gorgeous tall and beefy frame that sat next to you.
the three of you didn’t end up in this class by accident, no. you planned for this. you remember having forced bucky and steve to sit down and create a plan of their semester classes up until their graduation date. now, when it came to choosing the electives, you all agreed to pick sociology together, hoping it was interesting enough to keep you guys entertained for a semester.
you were scribbling notes, your pen scratching against the paper, when bucky, who was sitting next to you, nudged your elbow. you glanced over, and he was grinning, that same mischievous, boyish grin that had gotten the three of you into more trouble than you could count.
"guess what i got," he whispered, his voice low and conspiratorial.
you raised an eyebrow, trying to focus on the professor's diagram of social stratification. "a passing grade on your last exam?" you teased.
"ha ha, very funny," he said, rolling his eyes. "no, better. way better." he reached into his backpack and pulled out three neon green tickets, the kind that looked like they'd been printed at a cheap carnival. "the traveling carnival is in town this weekend. the big one. the one with the roller coaster and the giant ferris wheel. i got us three tickets."
your eyes widened, and for a moment, you forgot all about social stratification. the carnival was a legendary event, a temporary city of lights and sounds that set up on the outskirts of town for one weekend every fall. you'd been talking about wanting to go for weeks, but the tickets were notoriously expensive and sold out fast. "bucky, are you serious?" you breathed, your heart doing a little leap. "how did you even get these?"
"i have my ways," he said, wiggling his eyebrows. "i know a guy who knows a guy. but yeah, i'm serious. for friday night. you, me, and stevie. we're gonna go."
on your other side, steve, who had been pretending to be absorbed in his textbook, leaned over. "the carnival? nice, buck!" he said, giving bucky a fist bump in front of you, his face lighting up. "i've been wanting to try that deep-fried everything stand."
you felt a wave of pure, unadulterated happiness wash over you. it was just going to be the three of you, just like old times. "this is amazing, bucky," you said, your voice full of genuine gratitude. "thank you. i didn't think i'd be able to go."
"of course," he said, his smile softening as he looked at you. "wouldn't leave you guys out." he reached over and tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing against your cheek for a fleeting second. it was a simple, friendly gesture, but it sent a jolt through you all the same. "it's gonna be great."
the rest of the week passed in a blur of classes and assignments, but the thought of the carnival was a constant, bright spot in your mind. you found yourself daydreaming about it during your lectures, imagining the neon lights reflecting in bucky's eyes, the smell of popcorn and cotton candy hanging in the air, the sound of laughter and screams echoing from the rides. when friday finally arrived, you felt a strange, unfamiliar sense of nervous energy buzzing under your skin. you were in your dorm room, staring at your closet, a feeling you couldn't quite identify swirling in your stomach.
you should have just thrown on your usual jeans and a hoodie. that was your go-to, your uniform. but instead, you found yourself pulling out a pair of dark-wash, tiny, denim shorts that you usually saved for special occasions, and a soft, dark red sweater. you spent an unusual amount of time on your hair, trying to get it to fall in just the right way, and you even dug out a tube of mascara and a hint of lip gloss. you caught your reflection in the mirror, a flicker of self-consciousness making you blush. what were you doing? this was just bucky and steve. you'd known them your entire life. you'd seen them with food poisoning and broken arms and terrible haircuts. why did it smatter what you looked like?
a little voice in the back of your head whispered, ‘because it's bucky.’ but you quickly shoved that voice aside, telling yourself you were just being silly. you were just excited to go to the carnival. that was all. you slid on your shoes and headed out to meet them, your heart thumping a little faster than usual.
they were waiting for you by the main entrance of your dorm building, just like they always were. steve was leaning against the brick wall, scrolling through his phone, and bucky was standing next to him, his hands shoved in his pockets, a small, thoughtful smile on his face. when he saw you, his smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"hey, look who it is," he said, pushing off the wall and opening his arms for a hug. you walked into them, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne, something clean and woodsy. "ready to have your mind blown?"
"always," you said, your voice muffled against his shoulder. when you pulled back, you noticed someone standing a few feet behind him. she was tall and blonde, with a perfectly manicured smile and a cute miniskirt that looked like it belonged in a club, not at a dusty carnival. she was looking at bucky with an expression of proprietary interest, and your stomach did a little flip-flop that had nothing to do with excitement.
"chloe, this is," bucky said your name, introducing you and turning to the girl and then back to you. bucky repeated your name, continuing with the introductions “, this is chloe."
your smile froze on your face. "oh," you said, trying to recover quickly. "hi! It's really nice to meet you,” your smile more welcoming by the second.
"you too," chloe said, her voice smooth as silk, but her eyes were cool as they raked over you. "bucky's told me so much about you,” she said plainly, still eyeing you.
you glanced at bucky, who was rubbing the back of his neck, a slight flush on his cheeks. "yeah, well, i hope all good things," you said, trying to joke, but it fell a little flat.
"i hope you don't mind that i invited her," he said, turning to you and steve, his expression a little apologetic. "i bought an extra ticket."
"of course not," steve said, ever the peacemaker, stepping forward to offer chloe a friendly smile. "the more the merrier."
you got lost in your thoughts for a second. you recognized her name from campus whispers, a sophomore in your year who was rumored to be as sharp as broken glass and twice as evil. you'd always given people the benefit of the doubt, assuming most rumors were just little white lies born from jealousy or boredom.
bucky's eyes had lit up when he'd mentioned her joining them, a bright, eager look that you'd rarely seen directed at anyone else. you felt a little pang of jealousy, but ultimately shrugged it off because you knew he didn’t like you like that. you had no right to feel that way. you were just his friend. and besides, maybe she was nice. maybe all the rumors were wrong.
the carnival was a sensory explosion from the moment you stepped through the gates. the sun was just beginning to dip towards the horizon, painting the sky in strokes of orange and pink, and the entire place was buzzing with a chaotic, joyful energy. the air was thick with the smells of popcorn, fried dough, and sweet, spun sugar, all mingling with the faint scent of diesel from the generators. neon lights in every color imaginable blinked and pulsed, casting a kaleidoscope of reflections on the wet pavement. the sound system was a cacophony of upbeat pop music, the delighted shrieks of people on the rides, and the booming voice of a carnival barker promising a prize to anyone who could ‘knock down the milk bottles!’
"wow," you breathed, your eyes wide with wonder. it was even better than you'd imagined. "this is incredible."
"told you," bucky said, his voice full of pride. he was standing close to chloe, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. "so, what first? the tilt-a-whirl? the haunted house?"
"definitely the roller coaster," you exclaimed, pointing towards the massive metal structure that loomed over the rest of the carnival like a giant, skeletal beast. its tracks twisted and turned in impossible loops, and you could hear the screams of its riders echoing across the fairgrounds.
"i don't think so," chloe said, wrinkling her nose. "i just got my hair done. and i don't want to get whiplash."
"oh," you said quickly, your enthusiasm deflating slightly. "right. well, maybe the ferris wheel then? we could see the whole town from the top,” you smiled.
"that's a bit... boring, don't you think?" chloe said, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against her chin. "how about we play some games first? i want a prize." she looked up at bucky, batting her lashes and smiling "are you gonna win me that teddy bear bucky?"
bucky's chest seemed to puff up a little. "for you? anything," he said, half joking and half flirting, his voice a low, a charming rumble. he led them over to a booth where a man with a grizzled face was gesturing towards a pyramid of milk bottles. steve followed, shooting you an apologetic look over his shoulder. you trailed behind them, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach.
you watched as bucky paid for three balls, his muscles flexing in his t-shirt as he wound up for the throw. he was a natural athlete, and it showed. the first ball flew through the air and knocked down all three bottles in the front row. chloe clapped her hands delicately and smiled. the second ball took out another row. but the third ball, aimed at the final, most stubborn bottle, bounced off the rim and flew wide.
"so close," the carny said, a smirk playing on his lips.
"let me try," steve said, stepping up. he was strong, deceptively so, and his first throw sent the remaining bottles flying. "there we go," he said, a triumphant grin on his face.
“nice stevie!” you added, grinning and looking proud.
the carny sighed and gestured towards a wall of prizes. "take your pick."
steve reached for a purple octopus, but chloe was already pointing at the small teddy bear in the top corner. "the big one, steve," she said, her voice dripping with sweetness. "bucky almost got it for me."
“almost.” you muttered quietly under your breath, trying not to roll your eyes.
steve's jaw tightened for a fraction of a second, but he nodded gamely and pointed to the bear. the carny grumbled as he unhooked it and handed it over. it was small, furry, and she immediately wrapped her arms around it, snuggling into its fuzzy brown fur.
"my hero," she cooed, looking up at bucky, not steve.
“he didn’t even fucking win it for you” you whispered quietly to yourself, turning your head to hide your annoyed expression.
you really wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, but she made it so fucking hard. you weren’t really sure if you were more angry that she was dick-riding bucky or the fact that she might actually literally dick-ride him. but if there was one thing you knew how to do was push your emotions to the side. you’ve done it with bucky for years, how hard can it be to hide your growing annoyance for just a night.
you immediately snapped back into reality when you heard chloe ask, “what was that?” while tilting her head and giving the fakest smile you’d ever seen.
“oh nothing,” you added, scrunching your nose and shaking your head.
"buck, what should i name him?" she presses.
"how about barnaby?" bucky suggested, his eyes soft as he looked at her.
you felt a little sick to your stomach, like you might actually throw up. so you turned to steve, who was already giving you a side-eye, a wry smile on his face. "come on," he said, jerking his head towards a ride that looked like a giant swinging pendulum. "let's go on that thing. i need a break for a minute." he teased, widening his eyes and shaking his head as he walked.
you laughed, the tension in your chest easing slightly. "you and me both," you said. "that thing looks like it could make a person's brain fall out of their ears."
“are you talking about the ride or chloe? because if its chloe that was a great metaphor” steve added, nudging your shoulder to make you laugh.
you let out a small chuckle. steve always knew how to cheer you up.
"come on, lets find out if this ride will scramble that smart head of yours," he said, ruffling your hair before grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the ride. you glanced back at bucky and chloe, who were already lost in their own little world, chloe stroking the bear's head while bucky whispered something in her ear that made her giggle. you pushed the image away and focused on steve, whose warm, steady presence was a comforting anchor in the sea of unfamiliar emotions.
the ride was exhilarating, a stomach-dropping, heart-pounding thrill that had you screaming and laughing until your sides hurt. as you stumbled off, your legs feeling like jelly, steve was right there to steady you.
"you okay there?" he asked, his eyes crinkling with amusement.
"i think my organs are all in the wrong place," you gasped for air as you laughed, leaning against him for support. "but yeah, i'm great, wow! that was amazing."
"glad to hear it," he said. "now, i believe we were promised some deep-fried delicacies."
you spent the next hour or so wandering through the carnival with steve, trying on ridiculous hats, making fun of the cheesy prizes at the game booths, and eating yourselves into a state of blissful, greasy stupor. you shared a deep-fried pickle corndog that was surprisingly delicious, and a basket of deep-fried oreos that were pure, unadulterated heaven. for a while you had completely forgot about bucky and chloe. that was up until bucky and chloe caught up with you, but they seemed to be in their own bubble, and you found yourself gravitating back towards steve, whose easy-going company was a welcome relief from the tension that seemed to cling to chloe like a second skin.
"so, what's the deal with her?" steve asked, nodding towards chloe, who was currently trying to convince bucky to win her another prize, this time a giant pink unicorn.
you shrugged, trying to act casual. "i don't know. i've heard some things, but i don't really know her. she seems... nice enough." you knew you were lying, and you knew steve knew it too.
"right," he said, nodding, holding back a laugh. "Nice."
you both made eye contact and immediately broke into laughter. “honestly i can’t even lie anymore,” you said, shaking your head and throwing your hands up in surrender “she’s a bitch!”
steve was always really nice, not often engaging in gossip, but today, with chloe, it was a completely different story. he noticed how she talked to you and made snarky remarks. it was hard not to laugh at her persistent attitude.
after hours, the sun finally dipped below the horizon, the carnival transformed. the neon lights seemed to grow brighter, casting long, dancing shadows on the ground, and the air grew cooler, carrying with it the promise of a crisp autumn night. you were all standing in line for the haunted mansion, a classic ride that promised a scary good time, except this one had a water warning outside of it, but you simply assumed it was probably just a bit of mist and water drops to add fear to the ride. you were getting in line with steve when chloe decided to make another appearance.
"i'm not going on that," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "it looks creepy. and i'll get wet."
"It’s called the dripping in fear haunted mansion for a reason, chloe," you said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of your voice. "that's kind of the point."
she shot you a look that could have frozen hell. "i wasn't talking to you," she said, her voice icy.
you scoffed, a bit fed up with her bad manners.
"chloe," bucky said, his voice a low warning.
"what?" she said, turning to him, her expression instantly softening. "i just don't want to ruin my shoes. they're new."
"it's fine," you said quickly, not wanting to cause a scene. "we can do something else, it’s not a big deal."
"no," bucky said, his voice firm. he looked at chloe, his brow furrowed. "why don't you go get us some funnel cakes? find a table and we'll meet you there."
chloe's smile tightened, but she nodded. "fine," she said, her voice sweet as poison. "anything for you, my love." she stood on her tiptoes and gave him a quick, peck-like kiss on the lips before sashaying away, leaving a cloud of cloying perfume in her wake.
you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy and rage when you saw her do that, but you quickly shoved it, storing it deep in your heart because bucky was still your best friend. you always wanted him to have the best, to be happy, and if chloe somehow did that, that was good enough.
you and steve and bucky stood in awkward silence for a moment, the sounds of the carnival swelling around you. you could feel the anger radiating off bucky in waves, his jaw clenched tight.
"i'm sorry," he said, finally turning to you. "she's not usually like this."
"it's fine," you said, even though it wasn't. "really,” you smiled.
"no, it's not," he said, his voice low and intense. "she had no right to talk to you like that." he ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration you knew all too well. "i don't know what's wrong with her tonight."
"maybe she's just not a carnival person," steve offered, ever the diplomat.
"maybe," bucky said, but he didn't sound convinced. he looked at you, his blue eyes full of a regret that made your chest ache. "i'm really sorry, doll. i wanted this to be a good night for all of us."
"it is a good night," you said, forcing a smile. "i'm with my two best friends at the carnival. it doesn't get much better than that." you reached out and squeezed his arm, trying to convey a sincerity you weren't sure you felt. "come on, let's go on this thing."
the dripping haunted mansion wasn’t as wet as you’d expected, but it sure was scary as hell. you sat in the middle of the cart, steve directly in front of you, and bucky bringing up the rear. as the ride progressed, you encountered all types of scary actors with makeup as well different jumpscares. you could feel the mist coming down from the ceiling, but with the noise around you and seemingly fake blood dripping on the walls it was disgusting and terrifying.
just as you thought the ride was about to end, the cart quickly turned a sharp corner and a massive clown flashed and moved above your head, a scream tearing from your throat as you squeezed your eyes shut. the cart quickly rolled down a tiny incline and you came out of the house, being ushered out of the seats.
"holy shit," you gasped, gripping your hair in fear. "that was horrible"
bucky was laughing, a genuine, deep-throated laugh that you hadn't heard all night. "you look like you just saw a ghost" he said, his eyes sparkling.
"maybe because i just fucking did" you shot back, splashing him with the droplets of water that were dripping from your hair.
steve was just shaking his head, a grin plastered on his face. "either i’m too old for this, or you’re a wimp, because that was not scary," he said, but he was laughing too.
you weren’t soaked but your hair had taken most of it, but you didn't care. you found chloe sitting at a picnic table under a large tent, a pristine funnel cake sitting in front of her, untouched. she looked you up and down, her lip curled in disgust.
"you're all wet and your hair is frizzy," she said, as if it were a personal affront.
"it's the dripping haunted mansion" you said, your voice sprinkled with a sweetness that rivaled hers. "it’s exactly what I expected" you retorted, taking a step back, pulling your hair in your hands and shaking most of the water out.
"i can see that," she said, her eyes narrowing. "did you have to shake all over the place? you're gonna get water on my shoes."
“my hair isn’t even near you, that's why i stepped back” you defended, slightly irritated.
"chloe," bucky said, his voice dangerously low.
"what?" she said, turning to him, her eyes wide with mock innocence. "i'm just stating a fact. she's being a bit of a mess, don't you think?"
that was it. you'd had enough. you were tired of her snide comments and her condescending tone. you were tired of her making you feel like an intruder in your own group. you opened your mouth to say something, something sharp and witty and cutting, but bucky beat you to it.
"that's enough," he said, his voice cold and hard. he stood up, his posture rigid with anger. "come on, we're leaving."
"what?" chloe said, her smile finally faltering. "can she not take a joke?"
"nobody laughed," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "we're leaving. Now."
he grabbed her arm, his grip firm but not rough, and started to respectfully guide her away from the table. she stumbled after him, her expression a mixture of shock and outrage. you and steve watched them go, your heart pounding in your chest.
"well, that was... something," steve said, breaking the silence.
"mhm," you voiced.
"well, he can deal with her. I’m gonna go to bathroom" steve said, gesturing towards the green portapotties. "i'll be right back."
you nodded, your eyes still fixed on the spot where bucky and chloe had disappeared. you felt a strange mix of emotions: relief, anger, and a lingering, aching sadness. you'd wanted this night to be perfect, a chance to recapture some of the old magic, the easy camaraderie the three of you had always shared. instead, it had been a minefield of tension and unspoken feelings you had.
you decided to take a walk, to clear your head. you wandered through the crowded midway, the lights and sounds a blur around you. you weren't paying attention to where you were going, your feet carrying you on a familiar path, until you heard a raised voice from behind a row of game booths. you recognized it instantly. it was bucky.
"...don't care," he was saying, his voice tight with anger. "you don't talk to her like that. you don't even look at her like that."
"like what?" chloe shot back, her voice shrill with indignation. "like she's a child who can't take a joke?"
"it wasn't a joke," bucky said, his voice low and dangerous. "you were being cruel. shes special to me and you know that.”
“oh trust me, i know she’s special to you, you never shut up about her.” chloe gritted
“i won't have you treating her like shit." bucky remarked back.
"or what?" she challenged. "what are you going to do about it?"
"wow okay,” he said, swiping his hand over his face. “Yea this," his voice flat, "we're done. go home, chloe."
you heard a scoff, followed by the sound of footsteps stomping away. you held your breath, your heart hammering against your ribs. a moment later, bucky emerged from behind the booths, his face a mask of fury. he saw you standing there, and his expression softened, the anger in his eyes replaced by a look of weary resignation.
"how much of that did you hear?" he asked, his voice quiet.
"enough," you said, your voice just as quiet. “buck, i’m so sorry.”
he ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. "no, i'm sorry," he said, for what felt like the hundredth time that night. "i really messed tonight up."
"no," you said, stepping closer to him. "you didn't. you couldn’t have known she would act like that."
"i shouldn't have invited her," he said, his eyes fixed on the ground. "i just... i thought it would be fun. i didn't think..."
"it's okay, bucky," you said, reaching out and placing a hand on his arm. "i promise it's fine."
he looked up at you then, his blue eyes searching yours. they were so full of emotion, a swirling vortex of regret and frustration and something else, something you couldn't quite name. "you're too good for this," he said shaking his head, his voice thick with emotion. "you're too good for me."
"don't say that," you said, your voice soft. "that's not true."
"isn't it?" he said, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "i bring a girl who treats you like crap, i ruin the night you were so excited for, and then i have a public fight with her in the middle of a carnival. some friend i am."
"Buck, you're my best friend," you said, your voice firm. "and tonight is not ruined because it's not over."
a slow smile spread across his face, the first genuine smile you'd seen from him all night. "yeah?" he said, his voice a little hopeful.
"yeah," you said, returning his smile and nudging his shoulder. "now, are you going to buy me a deep-fried snickers bar, or do i have to steal steve's wallet?"
he laughed, a real, honest-to-god laugh that made your heart soar. "lead the way," he said, gesturing grandly.
you found steve by the funnel cake stand, looking a little lost. when he saw you and bucky approaching, a look of relief washed over his face.
"everything okay?" he asked, his eyes darting between the two of you.
"everything's great," you said, linking your arm through bucky's. "chloe had to go. something about a... hair emergency, right?" you asked jokingly while looking up at bucky.
he simply nodded, holding back a laugh.
steve's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't press. "well, in that case," he said, a grin spreading across his face. "who wants to ride the scrambler until they puke?"
the rest of the night was a blur of pure, unadulterated fun. you went on every ride you could find, from the bumper cars to the gravity-defying pendulum, until you were all dizzy and breathless with laughter. you ate more fried food than you thought was humanly possible, sharing sticky, sweet bites of funnel cake and crispy, salty onion rings. bucky was back to his old self, his charm and his easy laugh on full display, but there was something different about him now. his eyes kept finding yours in the crowd, a soft, warm look in them that made your heart skip a beat.
it didn’t help your case when he made flirty remarks towards you, or when he looked at you with his gorgeous blue eyes, gosh you were head over heels for him and you couldn’t do anything about it.
by the time you made it to the ferris wheel, the night was in full swing. the moon was high in the sky, a pale silver disc against a backdrop of inky black, and the stars were out in full force, a dizzying array of glittering diamonds. the line for the ferris wheel was long, but you didn't mind. you were content to just stand there, tucked between bucky and steve, the cool night air a welcome relief from the heat of the day.
"i don't know if i can do another one," steve said, his face a little green. "I think that last ride might have been a mistake."
"aw, come on, stevie," bucky said, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "the ferris wheel is a gentle ride. it's practically a rocking chair. you'll be fine."
"i don't know," steve said, his voice a little weak. "i think i'm going to call it a night. you guys go ahead. i'll just... wait here for you."
"are you sure?" you asked, a little concerned. he did look a bit pale.
"yeah," he said, forcing a smile. "i'm sure. just... maybe don’t go on any more rides that go upside down. i don't think your stomachs could handel more."
“pussy” you said jokingly coughing into your arm, steve rolling his eyes and chuckling at your remark.
"no promises," bucky said, grinning.
you said your goodbyes to steve, promising to meet him back at the entrance in an hour, and then you and bucky got in line for the ferris wheel. the line moved quickly, and before you knew it, you were being ushered into a small, swinging car, the metal gate clanging shut behind you. the car lurched as it was hooked onto the giant, slowly turning wheel, and you felt a little flutter of excitement in your stomach.
"i haven't been on one of these in years," you said, leaning your head back against the cool metal of the seat, finally feeling relaxed.
"me neither," bucky said, his voice quiet. As he sat across from you, his knees pressed against yours, and you could feel the warmth of his body touching you. "not since we were kids."
"remember that time we went to the county fair back home?" you said, a fond smile on your face. "and you got stuck on the top of the ferris wheel with that girl from your math class? what was her name? jessica?"
"jenna," he said, a laugh in his voice. "and i didn't get stuck. the ride operator just stopped it at the top to give us a romantic moment." he said, emphasizing his words and wiggling his eyebrows.
"it was the most awkward five minutes of my life," you said, laughing. "i was down on the ground with steve, watching you two just sit there in silence. i thought steve was going to die from secondhand embarrassment."
"hey, in my defense, i was fourteen," he said. "i didn't know what to say to her."
"you never know what to say to girls," you teased. "you just stand there and look pretty."
"and it works, doesn't it?" he said, his voice a low, teasing rumble.
"most of the time," you conceded, rolling your eyes, feeling your heart fluttering a little. "but not with jenna."
"no, not with jenna," he agreed, his smile softening. "she was too smart for me."
"or maybe you were just too busy staring at her boobs," you said, unable to resist the jab.
"hey," he said, feigning offense. "i was a fourteen-year-old boy. what do you expect?"
"i expect nothing less," you said, grinning.
the ferris wheel continued its slow, steady ascent, the world below you shrinking with every rotation. the lights of the carnival blurred into a glittering tapestry of color, and the sounds of the crowd faded into a distant hum. it was peaceful up here, a quiet, intimate bubble suspended between the earth and the sky.
"it's beautiful up here," you said, your voice barely a whisper.
"yeah," he said, his voice just as quiet. "it really is."
you turned to look at him, and he was already looking at you, his blue eyes soft and luminous in the dim light of the carnival. they were the color of a deep, tranquil ocean, and you felt like you could drown in them, happily and without a second thought. the air between you crackled with a tension that was both terrifying and exhilarating, a thousand unspoken words hanging between you, waiting to be said.
"bucky," you started, your voice a little shaky.
"yeah?" he said, his voice a low, gentle hum.
"why did you invite her tonight? why bring chloe if she’s such a… like a…" you asked, struggling to find the right words, the question tumbling out before you could stop it.
“a bitch?” he asked straight faced.
“well i mean, i was gonna say cunt but yea that too!” you said breaking out in laughter
he chuckled, his gaze slowly dropping from yours to his hands, which were fidgeting in his lap. "i don't know," he said, his voice quiet. "i guess i was just... trying to prove something."
“what?” you asked confused.
“you asked why i brought her here. I was trying to prove something.”
"prove what?" you asked, your heart aching for him.
"that i could date other girl" he said, his voice barely audible. "that i didn't... that i wasn't..." he trailed off, his jaw clenched tight. “nevermind,” he grumbled out.
"that you weren't what?" you prompted, tilting your head, your voice soft and confused.
he looked up at you then swiped his tongue across his top lip, biting back a laugh. “doll, i thought you were smart.”
“okay rude. i would like you to know that i am ver–” you groaned, stopping mid sentence. “ugh, it doesn't matter, buck, you didn’t finish your sentence–”.
“and i’m not going to.” he said plainly.
“i– what? why not?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
“you’re smart doll, you’ll figure it out.” he said, ruffling your hair as he got up to get out of the car.
you hadn’t even noticed you were back on the ground until you were trailing behind bucky, taking massive strides to catch up with him.
“bucky wait, are you gonna explain or?” you said walking after him before he stopped abruptly.
you watched as he looked up at the massive circular structure in front of you. “woah” you whispered, watching the rides car do a full 360, leaving the passengers completely upside down.
"what the hell is that?" you asked, completely caught off guard by the insanely terrifying coaster in front of you.
“that is the ring of fire” he said pointing towards the massive, steel monstrosity that literally looked like a giant, spinning ring of fire
your eyes widened in horror. "nope," you said, shaking your head. "absolutely not. that thing leaves you hanging upside down." you said trying to turn around and walk away from the ride.
bucky quickly grabbed your wrist and pulled in, resting his hand on the low of your back.
"i know," he said, his voice full of mischief. "it'll be fun."
"it'll be terrifying," you corrected, shaking your head. "i'm not going on that."
"please," he said, turning his head down, his blue eyes wide and pleading. "for me?"
“i’ll tell you what I meant on the ferris wheel” he added.
you knew you should say no. you knew it was a terrible idea. but you were looking into his eyes, and you could see the boy you had grown up with, the one who had dared you to climb the tallest tree in the park and the one who had held your hand when you got your stitches. you saw the man who you were head over heels for. you wanted to know the truth, something he was adamant on not sharing with you. and you knew you were a goner.
you took a deep breath, "deal," you said, your voice a little shaky. "but if i puke, i'm doing it on your shoes."
"deal," he said, repeating the word back to you, his face breaking into a triumphant grin.
you started to walk closer to the queue of the ride. the ring of fire was even more terrifying up close. it was a giant, steel circle, with a single row of cars attached to the inside of the rim. as you watched, it started to spin, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until the cars were perpendicular to the ground, the riders screaming as they were held in place by nothing but a flimsy-looking lap bar. then, as it reached its maximum speed, the entire ring tilted upwards, until the cars were at the very top of the circle, completely upside down, a silent, breathless moment of defiance against gravity.
"i can't do this," you said, your heart pounding in your chest. "i changed my mind."
"too late," he said, grabbing your hand
and pulling you closer to the entrance. "you already agreed. no backsies."
"that's not a real rule," you protested, but you were already being ushered into a car, the metal lap bar coming down to lock you in place. it felt flimsy and inadequate, and you were suddenly very aware of how high up you were going to be.
"it's the most important rule," he said, his hand finding yours in the darkness of the car. he laced his fingers through yours, his grip tight and reassuring. "just hold on to me. i've got you."
you took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. "okay," you said, your voice a little shaky. "i'm holding you to that."
the ride started with a jolt, the car lurching forward as the ring began to spin. it was slow at first, a gentle, rocking motion that was almost pleasant. but then it started to speed up, the world outside the car blurring into a dizzying kaleidoscope of light and color. you could feel the g-force pulling at you, a heavy, insistent pressure that pinned you to the back of the seat.
"you okay?" bucky yelled over the roar of the machinery.
"i think so!" you yelled back, your knuckles white where you were tightly gripping his hand.
the ring began to tilt, the ground slowly disappearing from view as you were lifted towards the sky. your stomach dropped, a sickening lurch that made you gasp. you squeezed your eyes shut, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
"don't close your eyes," bucky said, his voice a steady anchor in the chaos. "look at me. just look at me."
you forced your eyes open, and you were looking at him. his face was illuminated by the flashing lights of the carnival, his blue eyes intense and focused on yours. he was smiling, a wide, exhilarated grin that made your heart do a little flip.
"see?" he said, his voice full of confidence. "it's not so bad."
"it's terrible!" you yelled, but you were smiling too.
the ring reached its apex, and for a terrifying, exhilarating moment, you were completely upside down. the world was a dizzying, upside-down mess of lights and sound, and you were hanging on for dear life, your only connection to reality the warm, steady pressure of bucky's hand in yours. you screamed, a long, loud, cathartic scream that was equal parts terror and pure, unadulterated joy. there were muffled yells around you, but you could hear bucky laughing, a deep, booming sound that was even louder than the roar of the ride and screams.
and then, just as quickly as it had begun, it was over. the ring began to level out, the spinning slowing down until you were back on the ground, the world righting itself around you. the lap bar released with a loud clank, and you stumbled out of the car, your legs feeling like jelly.
"i can't believe we just did that," you said, your voice shaky with adrenaline and laughter.
"i told you it would be fun," he said, his arm wrapping around your waist to steady you.
"it was the most terrifying thing i've ever done in my entire life," you said, leaning against him, your body still buzzing with the aftershocks of the ride.
"but you loved it," he said, his voice a low, confident rumble.
"i did," you admitted, a wide, unstoppable grin spreading across your face. "i totally loved it."
you were standing there, in the middle of the crowded midway, the lights of the carnival pulsing around you, the sounds of the rides and the laughter of the crowd a distant roar. you were breathless and disheveled, your heart still pounding in your chest, and you had never felt more alive in your entire life. you looked up at him, at the boy you had known your whole life, the man that you convinced yourself you could live romantically without for years on end, and you knew, with a certainty that settled deep in your bones, that you didn’t want to do that anymore. that this was it. this was the moment.
you reached up, your hand cupping the back of his neck, and pulled him down to you. you kissed him, a fierce, passionate kiss that tasted of adrenaline and cotton candy and a future that was finally, beautifully within your reach. he kissed you back, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer, his lips claiming yours in a way that left no room for doubt. it was a kiss that said everything you had ever wanted to say, a promise of all the adventures to come, a declaration of a love that had been there all along, just waiting for the right moment to be set free.
when you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. the lights of the carnival seemed brighter, the music louder, the stars in the sky more brilliant than they had ever been before.
You bit back a smile, "wow," you breathed, your voice full of wonder.
"yeah," he said, his voice a low, contented hum. "Wow."
“well i guess you figured out what i was talking about on the ferris wheel. told you you were smart enough doll.” bucky said grinning.
“oh shut up” you said giving him a small push backwards with a smile on your face.
“where do you think you’re going?” he said, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back in for another kiss. this time it was sweeter and slower, showing the gentle way each piece found its place, like a story meant to unfold this way.
pulling back he immediately took your hand, his fingers lacing through yours, and you started to walk, away from the noise and the chaos of the midway, towards the quiet, tree-lined path that led to the entrance. you walked in comfortable silence, the sounds of the carnival fading behind you, replaced by the gentle rustle of the leaves in the cool night air.
"so," you said, your voice a little shy. "you owe me a pink unicorn" you teased.
he laughed, a deep, warm sound that made your heart soar. "don't worry," he said, squeezing your hand. “first thing tomorrow, we're coming back, and i'm winning you that giant unicorn. and the teddy bear. and that weird-looking fish with the googly eyes." he added, placing his fingers over his eyes and flailing his head around jokingly.
"you don't have to do all that," you said, nudging him, your voice soft.
"yes, i do," he said, his voice firm. "i have a lot of time to make up for."
you reached the entrance of the carnival, the bright lights a stark contrast to the quiet darkness of the street beyond. steve was waiting for you, leaning against a lamppost, a sleepy smile on his face.
"there you are," he said, pushing himself off the lamppost. "i was about to send out a search party."
"sorry," you said, grinning. "we got a little sidetracked."
"i can see that," he said, his eyes darting between your intertwined hands and the goofy, lovesick grin on bucky's face. "it's about time."
"shut up, steve," bucky said, but there was no malice in his voice, only a deep, abiding affection.
"i'm just saying," steve said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "it's about damn time."
you all started to walk, the three of you, a unit, a tripod, just like you had always been. but something was different now. something had shifted. the unspoken tension that had always existed between you and bucky was gone, replaced by a new, easy intimacy, a comfortable silence that spoke volumes. you were walking hand in hand with bucky, your fingers laced through his, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
"so," steve said, breaking the silence. "did you win her a prize?"
"not yet," bucky said, his eyes twinkling. "but i promise i will."
"you better," you said, leaning your head against his shoulder. "i've been waiting a long time for this."
"me too," he said, his voice a low, contented hum. "me too."
you walked through the quiet streets of the college town, the three of you, your laughter echoing in the cool night air. you stood between steve and bucky, your hand on their shoulders. the carnival was a distant memory, a glittering dream of lights and sound, but the feeling of it, the magic of it, stayed with you, a warm, glowing ember in your heart. you looked at steve, your best friend, he was there, every year, through every single situation you encountered, then you looked up at bucky, at the boy you had grown up with, the man you had been in love with for years, and you knew, with a certainty that settled deep in your bones, that this was just the beginning. the beginning of everything.
─˖· masterlist
*as always, thanks @uzmacchiato for the gorgeous banners <3
summary: you are hired as the avengers’ new public relations specialist, a sunshine‑bright force dropped into a tower full of exhausted superheroes and one very grumpy former assassin. bucky barnes wants nothing to do with you, and you seem determined to befriend him anyway. what starts as mutual annoyance slowly shifts into something softer as the two of you stumble through awkward teamwork, unexpected moments, and one disastrously chaotic baking challenge that proves the avengers might actually be a family after all.
warnings: pure fluff, more friendship that romance, baking chaos, mentions of public image, bonding, no use of y/n
word count: 2.9k
song inspo: i like me better by lauv
a/n: lowkey love blind, deaf, mute challenges so I had to add it to this universe somehow (also I didn’t proof read so fingers crossed)
─˖· masterlist
it started out rough. no, rough was an understatement. it was a car crash in slow motion. you, the avengers’ newly hired public relations specialist, all sharp wit and sharper tongue, a whirlwind of deadlines, crisis management, and social media strategy. and him, james buchanan barnes, a ghost with a metal arm, a man so buried under layers of trauma and stoicism it was a miracle he could speak at all. he found your energy grating, your constant stream of chatter and chaotic movements an assault on his carefully constructed quiet. you found his perpetual silence and brooding presence a personal challenge, a brick wall you were determined to chip away at, if only out of spite.
tony had been annoyingly smug about hiring you. “we need someone who can handle our image,” he’d said, waving a tablet full of disastrous headlines. “someone who can keep us from looking like a walking PR nightmare.”
steve had frowned. “we’re not a brand, tony. we’re a team.”
bucky had muttered, “feels like a reality show,” under his breath.
tony ignored them both. “too bad. she starts monday.”
they hated the idea. steve because he didn’t like the thought of the team being “managed,” and bucky because he didn’t like the thought of being perceived at all. but tony was right. public support mattered. government support mattered. and someone had to keep the avengers from accidentally setting the internet on fire every other week.
tony, to his credit, had been weirdly kind about the whole thing. he’d insisted you move into the tower almost immediately, claiming it was “more efficient for workflow” but really because he knew you would start pulling eighteen‑hour days trying to keep the team’s image from spontaneously combusting. you’d protested at first, but he’d waved you off, muttering something about hazard pay and unlimited coffee. so you moved in, bright-eyed, caffeinated, and ready to fix everything. you had set up your little corner of the tower with your laptop and color‑coded digital planners, and tried not to feel too out of place among superheroes.
for the first several weeks bucky avoided you like you were a landmine.
he was grumpy about it too, in that very specific bucky barnes way where he never actually said anything but somehow managed to radiate irritation like a space heater. every time you walked into a room with your bright “good morning!” and your stack of color‑coded schedules, he would tense like you’d just thrown a grenade at him. you tried to be friendly, tried to make the whole “living with superheroes” thing less awkward, but he met every attempt with a grunt, a scowl, or a pointed exit. you were sunshine and caffeine and relentless optimism, and he was a thundercloud in combat boots who clearly wished you came with an off switch.
months in, nothing had changed.
"ugh! he's like a sentient, angry statue, and im nothing but nice to him," you'd complained to natasha one night, sprawled across her bed while she cleaned her knives with unnerving focus. “also, he makes my job ten times harder! i hate him.”
"he's been through a lot," she'd said, not looking up.
"so have i," you'd shot back. "i had to sit through tony’s three-hour lecture on brand consistency. i have trauma too." you joked.
natasha had just hummed, a small smile playing on her lips.
steve would try to mediate, his earnest attempts at getting you two to ‘find common ground’ usually ending with you making a sarcastic comment and bucky retreating further into himself. sam just found the whole thing hilarious. "look at them," he'd whisper to clint, not so quietly, as you and bucky sat on opposite ends of the common room couch. "the grumpy cat and the little bird. it's a nature documentary."
but weeks turned into a month, and then two. the ice thawed, not with a grand gesture, but with a series of small, almost insignificant moments. it was you leaving a cup of coffee next to the book he was reading, not saying a word. it was him wordlessly moving a large stack of your paperwork from a chair so you could sit down. it was the day you'd been up for 36 hours straight preparing a press release and scheduling interviews, and you'd fallen asleep at the kitchen table. you woke up a few hours later with a blanket draped over your shoulders and a glass of water and two aspirin next to your head. you never saw him, but you knew.
"team bonding," you'd called it the first time you'd dragged him out of the tower. it was just a walk through central park, you chattering about everything and nothing, him listening with his hands shoved in his pockets, a noncommittal "hm" his only contribution. but he came. the next time, it was to a ridiculously obscure foreign film you wanted to see during your free time. he fell asleep ten minutes in, but he'd bought the popcorn. slowly, the grumpy statue started to look a little less like granite and a little more like a man who just needed a friend.
and then came the day you needed content.
not damage control. not rumor control. not a PR emergency.
just… content.
“we need something fun,” you’d told tony, scrolling through analytics. “something human. something that shows the team isn’t just doom and gloom.”
tony raised an eyebrow. “define fun.”
“a youtube video,” you said, already grinning. “the blind, deaf, and mute baking challenge. everyone seems to love it, so it might just help our case.”
tony stared at you. “you’re insane.”
“and you hired me,” you shot back smiling.
and that was how you found yourself setting up a tripod in the middle of the avenger tower’s ridiculously large kitchen, while sam wilson was trying to stick a piece of duct tape over his own mouth.
"i don't think this is going to stick," sam mumbled, his voice muffled by the tape.
"that's the point, sam," you said, adjusting the camera angle. "it's supposed to be a challenge. now, no more talking from you." you teased.
bucky was already sitting at the massive island, looking deeply unimpressed. he was fiddling with a pair of your oversized, hot pink, noise canceling headphones. "this is your idea of damage control?"
"this is my idea of good publicity," you corrected, grabbing a soft silk scarf from your pocket.
you filmed a quick little intro to explain the challenge. your bubbly personality being perfect for the camera as you introduced sam and bucky.
"now, you're deaf. put those on. i've got my playlist queued up. it's... eclectic." you said smiling up at him.
he sighed, the sound long-suffering, but he put the headphones on. you hit play on your phone, connected via bluetooth, and the sound of sabrina carpenter blasting directly into his ears. you saw his eye twitch. perfect.
"and you," you said to yourself, tying the silk scarf securely around your eyes, plunging yourself into darkness. "are blind. okay, the camera's rolling. we're making chocolate chip cookies. the recipe is on the counter. let the chaos begin.” you spoke to yourself, knowing you would just edit this out later.
the kitchen was already a war zone, but somehow things got worse once you started mixing.
you reached for the bowl, hands sweeping blindly across the counter. bucky saw this and immediately panicked.
“wait— WAIT— you’re gonna knock it over!” he shouted, even though he couldn’t hear himself.
you froze. “bucky, i can’t see you. use your words.”
“i am using my words!” he yelled, arms full as he held ingredients in his hands. he frantically nodded towards the bowl as if that would help “the bowl! the bowl is— it’s— it’s somewhere near your elbow!”
“that’s not helpful!” you yelled back.
sam, who had given up on the tape entirely, made a strangled noise and grabbed your wrist, guiding it to the bowl before bucky had a meltdown.
“oh,” you said. “there it is.”
bucky put his hands on his hips. “i told you. i definitely told you.”
“you didn’t tell me anything,” you said. “you were just yelling the word ‘wait’ like i was about to detonate.”
“you were about to detonate,” he insisted, being able to read your lips. “that bowl is our last hope.”
you snorted. “dramatic.”
“you know I can read your lips right?” bucky pointed at his own chest. “super soldier. everything is dramatic.”
you rolled your eyes behind the blindfold and reached for the whisk. bucky watched you grab a spatula instead.
“no, no, no— wrong thing!” he shouted, leaning over the counter. “the whippy thing! the— the— the—”
sam slapped a whisk into his hand.
bucky blinked at it. “yes. this. the whippy thing.” he shoved it toward you. “use this.”
you felt something poke your arm. “is that… is that the whisk?”
“yes!” bucky said proudly.
you grabbed it. “okay. mixing.”
bucky nodded, satisfied—until he saw what was happening inside the bowl.
“no— no— you’re not mixing, you’re… stabbing it,” he said, annoyed. “why are you stabbing it.”
“i can’t see,” you reminded him.
“well i can’t hear,” he shot back, reading your lips, “but you don’t see me stabbing things.”
you paused. “bucky, you stab things all the time.”
he opened his mouth, closed it, not hearing what you said and not being able to respond.
sam made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
you kept whisking—sort of—and bucky leaned closer, trying to supervise. “okay, okay, slower. slower. you’re gonna fling it everywhere.”
“if im not doing it correctly then you do it!” you snapped back, moving your hands away from the bowl and crossing your arms.
at this point sam was near the cabinet, quietly rummaging for more ingredients.
“i can’t hear a word you’re saying,” bucky yelled, after he watched you speak.
you moved your head up, towards where you assumed he was standing. “bucky. look at my mouth.” you said pointing at your lips.
he leaned down, squinting like that would help.
“mix. the. ingredients,” you mouthed slowly.
bucky’s eyebrows shot up. “kiss the expedients?! WHY WOULD I KISS ANYTHING RIGHT NOW?!”
sam doubled over, wheezing.
you slapped your hand over your face. “mix! MIX!”
“oh!” bucky said, nodding. “mix. right. that makes more sense,” he grumbled.
he moved towards the bowl in one fluid motion, accidentally nudging you on the shoulder because you didn’t move, still not seeing a thing. you quickly stepped back, knocking a spoon onto the floor. he froze, staring at it like it had personally betrayed him.
“i didn’t do that,” he said immediately.
“you absolutely did. you nudged me!” you yelled, loud enough so he could hear you over the pop girl music in his ears.
“nope,” bucky insisted. “that was you… and gravity i guess. but mostly you.”
sam tapped your shoulder again, trying to warn you about something.
“what sam? i can’t see a thing!” you retorted. you turned your head back, hearing the shuffling of what seemed to be a plastic bag. maybe the chocolate chips?
“i’ll add these,” bucky said confidently.
“bucky, wait—” sam tried to say, but it came out as a garbled mess.
bucky ripped the bag open like it was an enemy combatant. chocolate chips exploded everywhere—across the counter, the floor, your shirt, sam’s hair.
you gasped. “what was that?!”
sam pointed at bucky.
bucky pointed at the bag. “it attacked me!” he retorted.
“it did not attack you,” you said.
“it did,” he insisted, still managing to read your lips somehow. “it was aggressive. i defended myself.”
you reached out blindly and your hand landed on his arm. “bucky. you massacred the chocolate chips.”
he looked down at the mess in silence.
sam made a noise like he was choking on his own laughter.
you sighed dramatically. “okay. okay. we can still salvage this. maybe.”
bucky crouched down to pick up the chips, muttering, “five second rule,” even though he couldn’t hear himself say it.
“don’t put those back in the bowl!” you warned, loud enough for him to hear.
“i wasn’t going to,” he lied immediately.
sam snatched the handful from him.
bucky looked offended. “i was helping.”
“you’re doing great!” you yelled, patting the air until your hand landed on his shoulder. “chaotic, but great.”
he straightened a little at that, like he’d just been promoted.
“okay,” he said, rolling his shoulders back. “what’s next. what do we ruin now.”
you laughed. “hopefully nothing.”
“unlikely,” sam muttered.
bucky faking a nod of agreement because he heard absolutely nothing.
you all ended up successfully placing the cookies in the oven without burning the tower down. sam wiped the counters while you salvaged what you could of the used ingredients, and bucky, with his surprising steadiness, managed to actually help produce a decent batch of chocolate chip cookies, mostly by following the recipe like a normal person. by the time you were done, the kitchen smelled like chocolate and sugar, and the three of you were sitting on stools, munching on slightly lumpy but delicious cookies, a comfortable silence settling between you.
later that night, after a long, hot shower that washed away the flour and the stress of the day, you were sitting cross-legged on your bed, your laptop glowing softly in the dark room. it was well past midnight, the rest of the tower quiet. you were editing the video, your fingers flying across the keyboard, cutting out the boring parts and adding silly music and captions. you zoomed in on bucky's confused face as he tried to measure sugar with a liquid cup, added a "womp womp" sound effect when you dropped the flour, and put a giant question mark over sam's head when he was trying to mime instructions. it was perfect. it was ridiculous. but it was perfect, especially for the public.
a soft knock on your door made you jump. you glanced at the clock, 1:17 am.
"come in," you called softly, your voice hushed in the quiet.
the door creaked open and bucky peeked in, his hair messy, wearing just a simple grey t-shirt and sweats. he looked softer like this, less like the winter soldier and more like just... a guy. "couldn't sleep," he murmured, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
"me neither," you said, patting the space on the bed next to you. "editing our masterpiece," you giggled quietly.
he sat down, his weight dipping the mattress, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. he leaned over to watch the screen, his shoulder brushing against yours. you tried to focus on the timeline, on the little clips of you all flailing around the kitchen, but all you could think about was the solid presence of him next to you, the clean, faint scent of his soap.
on the screen, sam was having his silent meltdown, and bucky let out another soft chuckle. "he looked like a distressed penguin."
you giggled, leaning your head against his shoulder for a moment. "he really did." the contact was fleeting, but it sent a jolt through you. you straightened up quickly, your cheeks feeling warm. you finished adding the last few touches to the video, a simple thumbnail: "avengers: baking challenge (fail)." your finger hovered over the 'post' button.
"you sure about this?" he asked, his voice quiet in the darkness.
"positive," you said, and clicked it. the video uploaded, a tiny spinning wheel appearing on the screen. "there. it's done. lets hope it does well"
you closed the laptop, plunging the room into near darkness, besides for the soft glow of the city lights through your window. you both sat there for a moment, the silence comfortable, easy. you could feel his gaze on you, but when you turned to look, his eyes were fixed on the window.
"thanks for today," he said, still looking away. "it was... fun."
"yeah," you agreed, your heart beating a little faster. "it was."
he finally turned to look at you, his blue eyes soft in the dim light. he reached up, his metal hand cool against your skin, and gently tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. his fingers lingered for a second, tracing the line of your jaw. then he leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. it wasn't romantic, not really. it was just... sweet. a quiet acknowledgment of everything you'd become to each other.
you didn't say anything. you just closed your eyes, leaning into the touch. when you opened them, he was leaning back, a faint blush on his own cheeks. you both were oblivious, dancing around a feeling neither of you could name, content to just exist in this quiet moment.
"get some sleep," he said, his voice barely a whisper.
"you too," you replied.
he didn't get up. he just shifted, settling back against your pillows, his eyes already drifting closed. you watched him for a moment, his breathing evening out, his face relaxed in sleep. you felt your own eyelids getting heavy, the warmth of his body next to yours a comforting weight. you curled up on your side, your laptop forgotten at the foot of the bed, and let yourself drift off, the faint smell of chocolate chip cookies and the lingering warmth of his kiss on your temple the last things you registered before sleep took you.
─˖· masterlist
*as always, thanks @uzmacchiato for the gorgeous lace banners <3
summary: you and bucky barnes were never meant to cross paths, yet a smoky kitchen mishap turned silence into friendship and friendship into something neither of you talked about. now, with your past still hidden from the world and your first mission pulling you straight into danger beside the one person you’ve been trying not to miss, the tension between you finally snaps. in the chaos of a high‑speed diversion and everything left unsaid, the truth you’ve both been avoiding refuses to stay buried.
warnings: MDNI, 18+, lots of emotional tension, high-speed action, guns, car chase, arguments under pressure, mission chaos, secret feelings, avoidance, plot for smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected pnv (don’t be silly, cover your willy), no use of y/n
word count: 4.9k
a/n: literally got the idea from CATWS when nat and steve are in the car. also, i yearn for stupid ahh plots so here you go :)
─˖· masterlist
*thanks to @uzmacchiato for the gorgeous lace banners <3
the silence between you and bucky barnes had become a physical thing. it had weight and texture, a suffocating blanket that had been slowly smothering you for three weeks. three weeks of empty hallways, of him turning corners the moment he saw you, of meals eaten at opposite ends of a table that suddenly felt a mile long. it was a stark, brutal contrast to the months before, when his quiet presence had been the most comforting thing in your new life at the tower.
you remembered the beginning so clearly. you’d moved in, a ghost, a secret weapon the team had plucked from the clutches of a colombian cartel who trained you. years of your life, stolen and twisted, had turned you into something sharp and deadly. you’d refused them at first, the idea of being anyone’s soldier again leaving a bitter taste in your mouth, but you’d watched the news, seen the world teetering on a precipice, and knew your skills could do more good than harm hiding away in some remote corner of the globe.
the tower had been intimidating at first. all that glass and steel, filled with gods and super-soldiers and men who built their own personal flying suits. you’d kept to yourself, your past making you wary of forming connections. bucky had been the most intimidating of all, a silent shadow with a haunted look in his eyes that mirrored your own. for the first month, you didn’t speak a single word to each other. you’d share space in the common room, a careful distance between you, two broken things trying not to shatter the others.
the ice broke over a batch of burned pancakes. it was your turn to cook breakfast, a simple task you’d thought you could manage. you’d gotten distracted, lost in a memory, and the smell of acrid sugar and blackened batter had filled the kitchen. you’d been frantically waving a dish towel at the shrieking smoke detector when a low chuckle cut through the chaos. you turned to see bucky leaning against the doorframe, a genuine, unguarded smile on his face. the sight of it hit you like a physical blow, so unexpected and warm.
“need a hand there, pyro?” he’d asked, his voice raspy from disuse.
something in you broke. a hysterical giggle escaped your lips, and then another, until you were laughing so hard you had to brace yourself against the counter. it wasn’t even that funny, but the release, the sheer absurdity of it, was overwhelming. he laughed with you, a deep, rumbling sound that felt like the first thaw of spring. from that moment on, you were inseparable.
he was the only one who understood the nightmares, the phantom pains of a past that wouldn’t let go. you’d spend hours talking in hushed tones in the dead of night, sharing stories that were too heavy for the light of day. those talks led to other things. stolen kisses in the training room, his lips tasting of mint and sweat. nights spent tangled in your sheets, his metal arm a cool, comforting weight on your hip, his touch chasing away the demons that haunted your sleep. he never treated you like you were fragile, but he handled you like you were precious. it was the safest you’d ever felt.
and then, three weeks ago, it all just stopped. no explanation. no fight. just a sudden, cold distance that left you reeling and more alone than you’d felt since you first arrived.
now, you sat in the sterile conference room, the holographic display in the center of the table painting a tactical map of tokyo in blue light. your first mission. it should have felt like a victory, a culmination of all your hard work and training. instead, it felt like a punishment.
“as you know,” steve was saying, his voice calm and steady, “we’ve intercepted intel on a major weapons exchange. the buyers are a high-level terrorist cell, the sellers are dealing in a new chemical agent. the location is a warehouse in the shibuya district.”
tony swiped a hand through the air, bringing up a 3d model of the target building. “the exchange is scheduled for 2200 hours. our objective is to hit them during the transaction, secure the chemical agent, and neutralize all hostiles. but,” he added, zooming in on the surrounding streets, “their security is no joke. they’ve got multiple patrols circulating the perimeter. highly mobile, heavily armed. we can’t get the strike team in without drawing their attention.”
he looked directly at you and bucky, and your stomach plummeted. “so, we need a diversion. a loud, flashy, and highly mobile one.”
steve’s gaze followed tony’s. “we need a pair to draw the patrols on a high-speed chase through the city, leading them as far away from the exchange site as possible. it needs to be convincing, and it needs to last until we’ve secured the warehouse. thankfully, we sent an anonymous tip there way so they know your car might give them trouble.”
your heart hammered against your ribs. you knew what was coming. you were the best shot on the team, your aim honed by years of brutal, unforgiving training. and bucky… well, bucky had learned to drive in a war, and he’d never forgotten how to handle a car like it was an extension of his own body.
“bucky, you’ll be driving,” steve said, confirming your fear. “your skills are unmatched for this kind of evasive maneuvering.” he turned to you. “and you’ll be his gunner. we need someone who can disable those vehicles without destroying them completely, and your precision is exactly what we need.”
you couldn’t bring yourself to look at bucky. you could feel his stillness from across the table, a palpable tension that radiated from him. for weeks, he had been a void where your friend used to be, and now you were supposed to trust him with your life. you were supposed to be a seamless unit, a well-oiled machine. the irony was so bitter it almost made you laugh.
“any questions?” steve asked, his eyes scanning the room.
silence. you just stared at the glowing blue map, your jaw tight.
“great,” tony said, clapping his hands together. “wheels up in two hours. try not to wreck the car. I kind of like that one.”
the meeting adjourned, and you were out of your chair before anyone else, needing to escape, to breathe. you practically fled to the quinjet hangar, needing to feel the open space, to prepare your gear and your mind for the mission without his suffocating presence nearby.
the sleek, black sports car sat waiting in the cargo hold, a beautiful machine designed for speed and destruction. you ran your hands over the cool metal, checking the mounted gun on the passenger side, the custom modifications tony had made. it was perfect. deadly. just like you.
you heard his footsteps before you saw him, a familiar tread that made your shoulders tense. you didn’t turn around.
“hey,” he said, his voice quiet.
you continued checking the ammo clip, your movements sharp and precise as your fingers glided over the gun. “barnes.” you state flatly.
he flinched at the formality. “look… we should talk before we head out.”
“don’t,” you cut him off, your voice dangerously low. “you can’t be serious… you’ve been avoiding me for weeks and you choose now, right before a mission, to suddenly talk to me? let’s just do our job and go back to ignoring each other afterward, yeah?” you snapped.
you finally risked a glance at him. the hurt on his face was plain, but it was quickly masked by the familiar, stoic mask of the winter soldier. he deserved it. every bit of it.
“right,” he said, his voice flat. “the mission.”
you nodded curtly and turned back to the car. “just stay out of my way, and i’ll stay out of yours. we’ll get it done.”
the quinjet ride to tokyo was thick with unspoken words. you sat as far away from him as possible, cleaning your weapons, going over the mission specs in your head, anything to keep from looking at him. but you could feel him watching you, his gaze a heavy weight you couldn’t shrug off.
by the time the jet landed and you and bucky had driven the car off the large jet, night had fallen over tokyo. the city was a dazzling blur of neon and rain, the lights bleeding across the wet pavement. bucky drove with an unnerving calm, weaving through traffic with an effortless precision that was almost beautiful. you were supposed to be the bait, as you drove by the marked location, you’d found your tail almost immediately. two black suvs immediately recognized the car, their engines roaring as they closed in on you.
“here we go,” bucky murmured, his hands tightening on the wheel.
“let’s give them a show,” you replied, your voice all business.
he gunned the engine, and the car leaped forward, a surge of adrenaline shooting through your veins. the chase was on. he drove like a man possessed, taking corners on two wheels, threading through impossibly small gaps, using the cityscape as his personal playground. the suvs stayed with you, their headlights cutting through the rain.
“ready?” he called over the roar of the engine.
“born ready,” you shot back, rolling down your window.
the cold, wet air whipped past you as you climbed halfway out, bracing yourself against the door. you raised your rifle, the scope a familiar comfort against your eye. you found the lead suv, aimed for the engine block, and squeezed the trigger. the shot was true. the car swerved, smoke billowing from the hood, but it kept coming.
“nice shot,” bucky grunted, rolling his eyes at your near-perfect aim, all while swerving to avoid a taxi.
“you ain’t seen nothing yet,” you muttered under your breath, taking aim again.
you took out the second suv's radiator, a plume of steam erupting into the night. it fishtailed, slowing considerably, but the first one was still on you, relentless. the chase was a violent symphony of squealing tires, roaring engines, and the percussive beat of your rifle fire. you were a well-oiled machine, just as steve had wanted, but the silence between you was a grinding, dissonant chord.
“more coming up on your left!” bucky grunted, looking through his mirrors to see more cars joining the chase. he wrenched the wheel hard to the right. the car skidded, the back end sliding out in a controlled drift that sent you slamming against the door frame. “two of ‘em. i can’t shake them on this side.”
you swore under your breath, ducking back into the car to reload. your back was facing the dashboard as you glanced out his window, you saw them. a sleek sedan and another suv, flanking you, matching your speed. there was no clean shot from your side. you were exposed.
“hold on,” you said, your voice tight.
“what are you—”
you didn’t give him time to finish. you threw your rifle onto the back seat, ignoring his shocked look. in one fluid, practiced motion, you swung your leg over the center console, straddling his lap. the shift in weight made the car lurch, but he corrected it instantly, his hands steady on the wheel.
“what the hell are you doing?” he ground out, his eyes wide as you settled against him, your chest pressed to his. the position was intimate, explosive, and utterly insane.
“i can’t get a shot from my side,” you yelled, pulling your sidearm from its holster. you braced one hand on the top of his doorframe, the other on his shoulder, and leaned out his window. the wind and rain lashed at your face. Your eyes flickered down quickly to where he was driving, him looking straight at you, “eyes on the fucking road barnes!” you yelled as he swerved quickly to avoid hitting an object in the street. The car jutted, making you fall back onto his lap.
for a second, he was frozen beneath you, the heat of his body seeping through your tactical gear. then, with a low growl that was pure frustration and something else you couldn’t name, he complied. the car surged forward, and you took aim at the sedan.
the first shot shattered the driver’s side window. the second blew out a front tire. the car spun out, crashing into a barrier. one down. the suv, however, was more persistent. it swerved behind you, and you knew you couldn’t get a clean angle.
the anger you’d been bottling for three weeks finally erupted. “you know what, bucky? this is just like old times! except for the part where you actually talk to me!” you shouted over the wind, firing another shot that ricocheted harmlessly off the suv’s armored frame.
“i’m driving!” he yelled back, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as he took a sharp turn down a narrow alley.
“no, you’re avoiding me! you’ve been avoiding me for weeks! what the hell did i do?” the words were torn from you, raw and painful. “was it bad? did i do something wrong? just tell me!” you said, trying to steady your aim on the car.
the suv rammed your bumper, and the car jolted hard. you were thrown back against his chest, his metal arm automatically coming up to brace your waist, holding you steady. the touch was electric, a painful reminder of what you’d lost.
“it’s not you!” he finally roared, the sound ripped from his throat. he swerved again, narrowly missing a stack of pallets. “it was never you!”
“then what?” you demanded, both frustrated that he wouldn’t give you an answer and annoyed that you couldn’t shoot the chasing suv. “what was it, bucky? you can’t just… you can’t just kiss me like you mean it and then vanish! you don’t get to do that to me!” you yelled quickly moving out of this lap, back onto your seat, now that the suv was directly behind yours.
“i was trying to keep you safe!” he blurted out, the words bursting from him like a dam breaking. he took a corner so hard you were sure the car would flip, his driving growing more erratic, more desperate. “from me!”
the confession hung in the air, stunning you into silence. you stared at him, his profile sharp and illuminated by the passing neon lights. he looked tormented, his jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might break.
“safe?” you repeated, your voice barely a whisper, laced with incredulity. a bitter, humorless laugh escaped your lips. “you were trying to keep me safe? by ignoring me? by acting like i don’t exist? that’s your grand plan for my safety?” you retorted as you took two shots out your window.
“i’m a monster!” he shot back, his voice cracking. “everything i touch, i ruin! my past… it’s not just history, it’s a goddamn curse. and then this mission… your first one… i knew they’d pair us together. i knew i’d have to watch you walk into danger, and i couldn’t… i can’t be the reason you get hurt. i can’t be the weakness that gets you killed.”
the suv was still there, a relentless predator. you raised your gun, your hands shaking now for an entirely different reason. “you think i don’t know what it’s like to have a past?” you yelled, your body half out the window. your voice thick with emotion. “you think my hands are clean? i was a child soldier for a cartel, bucky! i was trained to be a weapon before i could even drive! i have done… things… that will haunt me forever. don’t you dare stand there and tell me you’re protecting me from your darkness. i’ve been living in the dark my whole fucking life!”
you finally got your shot. the suv swerved, exposing its fuel tank. you fired three rounds in quick succession. the car exploded in a ball of fire, the force of it pushing your car forward. bucky slammed on the brakes, as you sunk back into your seat, the tires screaming as the car skidded to a halt in the middle of the empty alley.
silence descended, broken only by the sound of your ragged breaths and the crackle of flames from the wrecked vehicle. the adrenaline was fading, leaving a raw, trembling ache in its place.
he looked at you, really looked at you, and the mask of the winter soldier was gone. all that was left was bucky. broken, beautiful, bucky. his blue eyes were swimming with regret, shining with unshed tears.
“fuck” he whispered, his voice hoarse. running a shaky hand through his hair. “i’m fucking idiot. i was so scared of my past hurting you, i didn’t stop to think about how i was hurting you myself.” his metal hand tightened around the wheel, the car still completely stopped. “i’m so, so sorry, doll. i pushed away the best thing in my life because i was a coward.” he said looking down towards the steady wheel.
the fight drained out of you, leaving you feeling hollowed out and exhausted. “don’t do that again,” you murmured. “don’t ever push me away again. we face our demons together, remember? that was the deal.”
“i remember,” he said softly. his eyes finally looking up to meet yours “i won’t. i promise.”
he leaned in, across the center console and this time, the kiss wasn’t like the others. it wasn’t stolen or secret. it wasn’t born of desperation or comfort. it was a declaration. it was messy and desperate and full of the rain and the smoke and the taste of apology. it was a kiss that said ‘i’m here’ and ‘i’m not leaving’.
when you finally pulled apart, your foreheads resting together, the comms in your ear crackled to life.
“diversion team, what’s your status?” steve’s voice was crisp and professional. “the exchange is secured.”
bucky looked at you, a small, tired smile playing on his lips. he keyed the comms. “sorry, cap. had a little car trouble. we’re en route now. five minutes out.”
the ride back to the quinjet was different. the silence was no longer a void; it was filled with unspoken understanding. his hand found yours, his fingers lacing with yours, a silent, steadfast promise.
the debriefing was a blur of congratulations and back-slapping. tony was already gloating about his car’s performance, sam was making jokes about bucky’s driving, and steve was giving you both a proud nod but you and bucky only had eyes for each other.
as the team dispersed, heading towards the common room for celebratory drinks and the rest of the debriefing, bucky caught your arm. he didn’t say a word, just tilted his head towards the service elevator. you knew exactly what he meant. you slipped away from the group, unnoticed in the post-mission excitement, and stepped into the empty elevator.
the moment the doors closed, he was on you. he pushed you against the wall, his body pressing into yours, his mouth finding yours in a hungry, desperate kiss. all the weeks of pent-up longing, all the fear and regret, poured into it. his hands were everywhere, one tangling in your hair, the other gripping your hip, pulling you closer.
“bucky,” you gasped as his lips moved to your neck, his teeth scraping your sensitive skin. “not here.”
“my room,” he growled against your skin. “now.”
the elevator doors opened on his floor, and you two practically ran down the hall, him fumbling with the keycard to his room. the door clicked open, and you both stumbled inside, kicking it shut behind you. his room was dark and sparse, a mirror of the man himself but right now, it was the only place you wanted to be in.
Once the door clicked shut, the sound echoed in the quiet room. before you could even register the darkness, his hands were on you again, turning you, pressing you back against the cool wood of the door. his mouth claimed yours with a ferocity that stole your breath, a desperate, hungry kiss that was three weeks of silence and longing given form. there was no gentleness here, only a raw, primal need to close the distance he had so cruelly created.
“bucky,” you gasped, your hands fisting in the fabric of his tac suit, pulling him impossibly closer. you needed to feel him, all of him, to erase the memory of the cold emptiness he had left you with.
“god, i missed you,” he groaned against your lips, the words a ragged confession. his metal hand was cool against your heated skin as he slid it under your shirt, his fingers splaying across the small of your back, holding you flush against him. “every second. i was so stupid.”
“yeah, you were,” you breathed, but there was no heat in it, only a desperate relief. you arched into him, a silent invitation he didn’t hesitate to accept.
he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you away from the door. the world became a blur of motion, his mouth never leaving yours, a frantic, messy dance of lips and teeth and tongue. he didn’t bother with the lights. the only illumination came from the city skyline bleeding through his massive window, painting the room in strokes of silver and blue. he laid you down on his bed, the sheets cool against your back, and finally, finally, pulled back just enough to look at you.
his eyes were dark, the blue almost completely swallowed by the black of his pupils. he looked at you like he was starving, and you were the only thing that could satisfy him. “i’m going to make it up to you,” he promised, his voice a low, rough rumble that vibrated through you. “let me show you.”
you just nodded, your throat too tight to speak. he knelt over you, his movements deliberate now, a stark contrast to the frantic energy from moments before. he reached for the zipper of your tac suit, his fingers brushing against your collarbone. the sound of the metal teeth parting was obscenely loud in the quiet room. he peeled the heavy fabric away, his gaze following his hands, feeling every inch of skin he exposed.
he took his time, mapping the landscape of your body with his lips and tongue. he kissed the scars on your arms, the ones you were so self-conscious of, his touch so gentle it made your eyes burn. he traced the line of your ribs, the curve of your hips, his mouth leaving a trail of fire in its wake. he wasn’t just touching you; he was relearning you, committing you to memory all over again.
when his mouth finally closed over your breast, you cried out, your back arching off the bed. your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to you as he lavished attention on you, his tongue swirling around your peaked nipple before he gently bit down. the pleasure was sharp, exquisite, a jolt of electricity that shot straight to your core.
“bucky, please,” you begged, your hips rising to meet his, seeking the friction you so desperately craved.
he lifted his head, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. “patience, doll. i’ve got three weeks to make up for, remember?”
he moved lower, his mouth tracing a path down your stomach, his metal hand holding your hips still when you tried to squirm. he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants, pulling them down along with your underwear in one smooth motion. he tossed them aside, his eyes fixed on the part of you that was weeping for him.
“so beautiful,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. and then he lowered his head and his mouth was on you.
you cried out, your hands flying to his head, your fingers tangling in his soft hair as his tongue delved into your folds. he ate you out with a single-minded intensity, his tongue circling your clit before he sucked it into his mouth, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your entire body. he knew exactly how to touch you, exactly how to drive you wild, and he used that knowledge mercilessly. he slid one finger, then two, inside you, his metal digits cool against your slick heat as he curled them, finding that spot inside you that made you see stars.
the pressure built, a tight coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter with every stroke of his tongue, every thrust of his fingers. “bucky, i’m… i’m close,” you panted, your hips rocking against his face.
“come for me,” he commanded, his voice vibrating against you. “let me hear you.”
that was all it took. the coil snapped, and your orgasm crashed over you, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure so intense it stole your breath. you cried out his name, your body convulsing as you rode out the waves of your release, his mouth and fingers working you through every last spasm.
he didn’t give you a chance to recover. he moved over you, his body a hard, heavy weight that you welcomed. he was still fully dressed, the rough fabric of his suit a delicious friction against your sensitive skin. he kissed you, and you could taste yourself on his lips, a heady, intimate flavor that made you moan.
“you with me?” he asked, his voice rough with desire.
“always,” you breathed, your hands moving to the zipper of his own suit. you needed him inside you, needed to feel him, to be joined with him in the most fundamental way.
you fumbled with the zipper, your hands shaking with need, and he helped you, shrugging out of the top half of the suit before kicking off his pants. he was magnificent, all hard muscle and scars, a testament to the life he’d lived. his cock was hard and heavy, curving up towards his stomach, a bead of moisture glistening at the tip.
he positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes locked on yours. “i love you,” he said, the words a raw, vulnerable truth. “i was an idiot, and i was scared, but i love you. i should have told you that before.”
tears pricked your eyes, but this time they weren’t from anger or hurt. “i love you too, you idiot.” you whispered quietly.
he grinned, a real, genuine, breathtaking grin that made your heart do a stupid little flip and then he pushed into you, sinking into your heat in one slow, deep stroke. you both groaned at the sensation, the perfect, rightness of it. he filled you completely, stretching you in a way that was both overwhelming and utterly perfect. his head falling onto your shoulder.
he started to move, his strokes slow and deep at first, a deliberate rhythm that built the pleasure all over again. he watched you as he moved, his eyes dark and intense, his gaze never leaving yours. it was too much, too intimate, and you had to look away, your head falling back against the pillows
“no,” he grunted, his hand coming up to cup your chin, forcing you to look at him. “eyes on me. i want to see you.”
you met his gaze, and the connection between you was so powerful it was almost painful. he increased his pace, his movements becoming harder, faster, more demanding. the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your breathless moans and his low, guttural grunts. he hooked one of your legs over his arm, changing the angle, and he drove into you deeper, hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars.
“bucky,” you cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders.
“fuck” he growled, his rhythm becoming erratic, his thrusts losing their smoothness as he chased his own release. “come with me. one more time, doll.”
he reached between you, his thumb finding your clit, and he rubbed it in tight, circles. that was all it took. your orgasm ripped through you, even more powerful than the last, and you screamed his name, your body clamping down around him as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. he followed you over the edge with a hoarse cry, his body shuddering as he spilled himself inside you, his hips jerking against yours as he emptied himself into you.
he collapsed on top of you, his body a heavy, welcome weight, his face buried in the crook of your neck. you were both breathing heavily, your hearts hammering against your ribs. you lay like that for a long time, just holding each other, your bodies slick with sweat and the remnants of your passion.
after a while, he rolled off you, pulling you into his arms, your head resting on his chest. his heartbeat was a steady, reassuring rhythm against your ear. the city lights twinkled outside the window, a silent witness to your reunion.
“we’re going to be in so much trouble for missing the rest of the debriefing,” you murmured, a contented smile playing on your lips.
he chuckled, the sound a low, rumbling vibration in his chest. “worth it,” he said as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “so worth it.”
you looked up at him, your eyes meeting his in the dim light. “yeah,” you agreed, your heart full. “it really was.”
summary: you and bucky barnes have always been an odd match, but somehow the two of you fit together better than anyone expects. between shared routines, quiet moments, and the kind of chemistry everyone else notices before you do, one unexpected night pushes your friendship into something softer and far more complicated. a tiny kitten, a secret tradition, and a very chaotic morning in the tower finally bring the truth to the surface.
warnings: so much fluff!!! soft & protective bucky, domestic vibes, found family energy, pranks, mischief, mentions of unwanted cats and abandonment. slow-burn friends-to-lovers (as much as that can be in a 4.6k story). college student & avenger reader. celebrity avengers & online dating rumors mentioned. No mentions of y/n.
word count: 4.6k
a/n: hellooooooo. this is actually my first one-shot and i’m gagged at how much i enjoyed reading it back. this plot is lowkey fed by my need to be an academic weapon and because i love NYU and NYC. i hope you enjoy it as much as i did :)
*also thanks @uzmacchiato for the gorgeous banners <3
you and bucky are the tower's most unlikely duo.
not because you're a stark and he's the winter soldier, though that's part of it. it's because you're all bright, chaotic energy and he's quiet, steady, calm. you're a supernova and he's the still, deep space that contains it. somehow, it works. perfectly.
you were the one who cracked him open, not with force, but with persistence. you didn't treat him like a fragile artifact or a lethal weapon. you just... treated him like bucky. you'd plop down next to him on the common room couch, steal his fries, and complain about your business law professor with the same breath you'd ask if he wanted to watch a documentary about deep-sea creatures.
he'd grumble, of course. a low "hm" or "don't want to" was his default. but he'd always stay. he'd watch the documentaries. he'd listen to your rants, and slowly, the grumbling turned into quiet hums of agreement, then into actual sentences. now, he'll debate with you about the logistics of deep-sea exploration and offer to help you study for business marketing by quizzing you with flashcards he makes himself.
your friendship is built on a foundation of shared mischief. you're the mastermind, he's the surprisingly willing accomplice. you once replaced all of sam's wingpack gear with glitter-filled replicas. bucky's job was to create a diversion so you could make the switch. his diversion? challenging sam to an arm-wrestling match in the middle of the kitchen. it was glorious. you've superglued clint's arrows to their quiver, put pink dye in steve's shampoo (which, to everyone's disappointment, just made his hair look shinier and blonder), and convinced natasha that a new, highly sensitive alarm system had been installed in the gym, forcing her to move in exaggerated slow motion for an entire afternoon before you both burst out laughing.
bucky's laugh is rare, a deep, rumbling thing that feels like a personal victory every time you coax it out of him.
and then there's the nyu thing. you're tony stark's daughter, but you're not just riding on his name. you're brilliant. top of your class at stern, a whiz with numbers and strategy, a natural-born leader who just happens to be able to recite the entire history of the avengers initiative. you're a dedicated student, and you actually enjoy going to your classes.
which means bucky walks you to class.
it started as a security thing, a tony-mandated precaution that bucky, with his stealth and observation skills, was perfect for. it quickly became your ritual. he'd wait for you by the tower's private entrance, an iced vanilla latte in his hand for you, his own black coffee in the other. the walk through washington square park became your time. you'd talk about everything and nothing. your classes, the latest missions, the terrible music someone was blasting from their apartment, the way the sun hit the leaves.
of course, two famous faces walking through nyc every day doesn't go unnoticed. the tabloids had a field day. "stark heir and winter soldier: nyc's hottest power couple?" read one headline. another featured a blurry photo of him handing you the coffee, captioned "secret lovers' rendezvous?" you and bucky found it hilarious. you'd read the articles out loud to each other, adding your own dramatic commentary.
"oh, bucky, darling, our secret is out!" you'd swoon dramatically against his shoulder.
"guess we'll have to go public," he'd deadpan, a smirk playing on his lips. "friday, start planning the press conference."
you're not dating. you're just... you and bucky. you're oblivious to the way his eyes soften when you laugh, and he's oblivious to the way your heart does a little flip when he remembers exactly how you take your coffee. everyone else sees it, though. natasha gives you these knowing looks. sam makes obnoxious kissing noises whenever you're in the same room. tony just sighs and mutters about "potential property damage" whenever bucky is near his daughter.
tonight is different, though. it's tuesday, which means it's your night. your secret. the one thing you do that's just for you, completely separate from being a stark, avenger, or a public-figure.
you're pulling on a worn-in nyu sweatshirt and some jeans, a yankees cap on your head, and grabbing your tote bag from the hook by your door, when a quiet voice makes you jump.
"where are you going?"
you spin around. bucky is leaning against your doorframe, right outside your cracked open door, arms crossed over his chest. he's wearing a simple black henley and jeans, his hair slightly messy. he looks... soft. domestic.
"jesus, bucky! you're like a cat." you clutch your chest. "i'm just going out."
"it's almost nine." he pushes off the doorframe, his brow furrowed slightly. "and it's raining. where do you go on tuesday nights?"
you hesitate. you love your secret. the shelter is your sanctuary, a place where you're not ‘tony stark's daughter’ you're just the girl who's ‘really good at socializing the scaredy-cats’ you're just a volunteer.
"it's nothing," you say, a little too quickly. "just an... errand."
he tilts his head, his blue eyes narrowing just a fraction. he knows you're lying. he always knows. "it's raining," he says again, his voice lower. "i don't want you walking around the city alone in the dark. in the rain."
you sigh, knowing you're not going to win this one. and a small, traitorous part of you is actually happy about it. "i can take care of myself, you know."
"i know," he says, stepping closer. "humor me."
so you tell him. you explain about the "paws and reflect" shelter, a small, underfunded place in the east village that takes in the hardest cases. the cats no one else wants. you explain how you started volunteering there a year ago, looking for something normal to do with your hands, something that wasn't studying or saving the world.
he listens intently, his expression unreadable. when you finish, he just nods.
"can i come?" he asks.
your eyes widen. "what? no. it's my thing."
"i know," he says softly. "but it's late, and it's raining, and i don't want you going alone. i won't get in the way. i'll just... sit in the corner. i promise." he looks so earnest, so genuinely concerned, that you feel your resolve crumbling.
"fine," you grumble, grabbing your keys. "but if you scare any of the cats, i'm leaving you out on the streets."
the rain is a light, persistent drizzle, blurring the city lights into watercolor smears as you drive. driving in the city is always a pain, and you’re not very good at it, but you insisted on driving, not trusting bucky's "i learned in the 40s" driving skills in manhattan traffic. he doesn't argue, just slides into the passenger seat of your sensible yet stylish suv, the one tony bought you for your "safety." you never really wanted it, not from ungratefulness, but because you never liked driving. except, after the avengers became public figures, taxis were not much of an option.
the shelter is tucked away on a quiet side street, a small storefront with a hand-painted sign of a cat chasing its tail. the inside smells faintly of antiseptic and... well, cat. but it's a warm, comforting smell. rachel, the night manager, looks up from behind the front desk, her face breaking into a warm smile when she sees you.
"hey! you're a little later than usual." her eyes flick to bucky, who's hovering awkwardly by the door, looking like a 200-pound assassin who's accidentally wandered into a knitting circle. her smile widens. "and you brought a friend."
"rachel, this is bucky," you say, trying to sound casual. "bucky, this is rachel. she keeps this place from falling apart."
"nice to meet you," bucky says, his voice quiet. he offers a small, polite nod.
"you too," rachel says, her eyes twinkling. "any friend of our best volunteer is a friend of ours. she's a miracle worker, you know. got oliver to come out from under the bed last week. he's been there for six months."
you feel a flush of pride. "he just needed to know someone wasn't going to grab at him."
"well, you're the only one he'll let near him," rachel says, shoving a clipboard at you. "usual chores. litter boxes need changing, food and water top-ups. it's pretty quiet tonight, most of the adoptions were done this afternoon."
you loved this shelter because it offered you a profound sense of normalcy. here, you weren't some untouchable figure to be revered; you were just another pair of hands, given tasks and told where to help. it was a complete escape from your reality.
you take the clipboard and turn to bucky. "okay. so, the rule is, move slowly. no sudden movements. let them come to you. don't stare. blink slowly. it's like... cat sign language for 'i'm not a threat'."
he nods, his expression serious, like you're giving him mission briefing. "slow movements. no staring. got it."
you lead him through the facility. it's not fancy, but it's clean and warm. rows of crates and pens line the walls, each containing a cat or two. some are sleeping, curled into tight balls of fur. others watch you with wide, curious eyes. a few hiss from the back of their cages, a low, warning sound.
you hand bucky a scoop and a bag of food. "you're on food and water duty. i'll handle the... less glamorous stuff."
he takes the scoop without complaint, his eyes already scanning the room, assessing it with the same focus he'd use on a recon mission. it's almost funny, seeing the winter soldier treat a bag of dry kibble with such solemn gravity.
you get to work. the rhythmic scrape of the scoop against the bottom of food bowls mixes with the quiet meows and the distant rumble of the city. you're in your element here, moving from cage to cage, speaking in soft, murmuring tones. "hello, jasmine. you look beautiful today. here you go, mittens. dinner is served."
bucky is surprisingly good at this. he's quiet, his movements economical and precise. he doesn't try to pet any of the cats, just fills their bowls and refills their water, his presence a calm, non-threatening constant. you watch him out of the corner of your eye as you finish cleaning the last litter box. he's crouched in front of a cage containing a huge, grumpy-looking orange tabby who is famous for swatting at anyone who comes near.
"his name is garfield," you whisper, walking over to stand beside him. "and he lives up to it. don't take it personally if he tries to take your hand off."
bucky doesn't look at you. his focus is entirely on the cat. he slowly extends his hand, not to pet, but just to rest near the bars of the cage, palm up. garfield flattens his ears, lets out a low growl. bucky doesn't flinch. he just stays there, a silent, steady offering. after a long moment, garfield relaxes, just a fraction. he inches forward, sniffing the air near bucky's fingers.
"see?" bucky murmurs, his voice barely audible. "he's just scared."
your heart does that stupid little flip again. he's not just looking at a stray cat; he's seeing a reflection of himself. of something that's been hurt and is lashing out because it doesn't know how to be gentle anymore.
"yeah," you say softly. "he is."
you finish the chores in comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft padding of your feet on the linoleum and the distant purr of a contented cat. the shelter feels different with him here. not invaded, but... shared. like a secret you didn't know you wanted to tell.
"okay, that's the last of it," you say, wiping your hands on your jeans. "we just have to wait for rachel to do her final rounds and then we can go."
you lean against the counter, and bucky leans next to you, his shoulder just a breath away from yours. the space between you feels charged, warm. the rain outside has picked up, tapping a gentle rhythm against the window.
"you're really good with them," you say, breaking the quiet.
"they're simple," he replies, his gaze fixed on the rows of sleeping cats. "they don't want anything from you except a little patience and some food. no ulterior motives."
"unlike people," you say, a wry smile touching your lips.
"unlike most people," he corrects gently, and he glances at you when he says it, and the look in his eyes is so open, so sincere, it makes your breath catch. "not you, though."
you feel your cheeks heat up, and you suddenly find the floor pattern absolutely fascinating. "well, i mean, i do occasionally want to steal your fries."
a low chuckle rumbles in his chest. "that's different. that's... friendly fire." he teases.
you laugh, and the sound feels too loud in the quiet shelter. you both fall silent again, but it's not awkward. it's... nice. it's the kind of quiet you can sink into.
"why this place?" he asks after a moment. "why not a big, fancy shelter? you could get your dad to fund one, name it after you, the whole nine yards."
you shrug, picking at a loose thread on your sweatshirt. "that's the thing. i didn't want it to be about me. i didn't want to be 'tony stark's daughter, the philanthropist.'” you said exaggerating and nodding. “i just wanted to be... me. scooping litter boxes. i don't know. it feels real. here, i'm not a nepobaby or an avenger. i'm the girl who knows that oliver under the bed prefers pâté to chunks." you said jokingly.
he's watching you again, that intense, focused gaze that makes you feel like you're the only person in the world. "you're not a nepobaby," he says, his voice firm.
"bucky, i literally got into nyu because my dad has a building named after him there."
"you're at the top of your class," he counters. "your dad's name doesn't get you a's on your exams. you do that."
the way he says it, with such absolute conviction, makes something warm and gooey spread through your chest. you're used to people dismissing your accomplishments, assuming they're handed to you. bucky never has. he's the one who stays up with you when you're cramming for finals, quizzing you until you can recite business economic principles in your sleep.
"thanks," you mumble, feeling uncharacteristically shy.
"it's just the truth," he says simply.
you're about to say something else, something equally sappy and out of character, when a tiny sound cuts through the quiet. it's not a meow. it's more of a squeak. a pathetic, little mew.
you both turn toward the sound. it's coming from the last pen in the row, the one usually reserved for new intakes that need to be kept isolated. you walk over, bucky right behind you.
inside, all by herself, is the tiniest kitten you've ever seen. she's pure white, with fur so fluffy she looks like a little cloud. one of her ears is folded over, and she has the biggest, bluest eyes you've ever seen in your life. she's shivering, her whole body trembling, and she lets out another pathetic little mew.
"oh, you poor thing," you coo, automatically unlatching the cage door. "where did you come from?"
bucky crouches down beside you, his expression softening into something you've never seen before. it's pure, unadulterated awe. "she's so small."
you reach in slowly, letting the kitten sniff your fingers. she hesitates, then butts her tiny head against your hand, purring a motorboat rumble that seems way too big for her little body. you gently scoop her up, cradling her against your chest. she immediately burrows into your sweatshirt, her tiny claws kneading the fabric.
"she was probably abandoned," you say, stroking her soft fur. "she can't be more than a few weeks old."
bucky reaches out with his flesh hand, his movements impossibly gentle, and strokes the kitten's head with one finger. the kitten looks up at him, blinks slowly, and then licks his finger. a smile breaks across his face. a real, genuine, breathtaking smile that reaches all the way to his eyes.
"she likes you," you whisper, your own smile matching his.
"yeah," he breathes, his eyes glued to the tiny creature in your arms. "she's... perfect."
you both just stare at her for a long time, completely mesmerized. she's a tiny, fluffy ball of perfection, and in that moment, you both fall completely, irrevocably in love.
"we should name her," bucky says, his voice still hushed.
"alpine," you say immediately, the name popping into your head without thinking.
he looks up at you, his blue eyes wide. "alpine?"
"yeah," you say, a little embarrassed. "it's just... she's white, like snow. and it feels... peaceful. you know?"
a slow smile spreads across his face. "yeah," he says softly. "i do know."
you're both still staring at the kitten, who has now fallen asleep in your arms, when the reality of the situation starts to dawn on you. this tiny, perfect creature is here, in this shelter, and she needs a home. your home.
"bucky," you say slowly, your eyes meeting his. "what are we going to do?"
he knows exactly what you mean. the smile fades from his face, replaced by a look of pure panic. "the tower," he says, his voice a horrified whisper. "your dad."
"and steve," you add, your own voice rising in panic. "he'll probably have an allergic reaction just from looking at her." i guess the super-serum doesn’t take away all weaknesses
"and natasha will try to train her to be an assassin," bucky says, his eyes wide with terror. "sam will try to put her in a tiny flight suit."
"and my dad will build her a $50 million robotic litter box that will probably try to take over the world," you laugh, the full, horrifying weight of your decision crashing down on you.
you look at each other, the same manic, determined gleam in your eyes. it's the same look you get right before you execute a really good prank.
"we're doing it, aren't we?" you ask, a grin already spreading across your face.
he looks down at the sleeping kitten, then back at you, and a slow, dangerous grin spreads across his face. it's the grin he gets right before he agrees to one of your terrible, wonderful ideas.
"yeah," he says, his voice filled with a terrifying resolve. "we're doing it."
the next twenty minutes are a blur of covert operations. you sign the adoption papers with a speed that would make a cheetah jealous, scribbling your name on the dotted line while rachel gives you a knowing look and a small cardboard carrier.
"be good to her," she says, her voice warm.
"we will," you and bucky say in unison, which makes you both pause and exchange a look. it's too synchronized. too domestic.
the drive back to the tower is the most nerve-wracking experience of your life, and that's saying a lot considering you once watched your dad fly a nuke into a wormhole. you finally let bucky drive. alpine is awake now, mewing pitifully from her carrier on your lap.
"shhh, shhh, it's okay," you whisper, peeking through the little air holes. "we're almost home."
Bucky keeps glancing in the mirrors, tapping a nervous rhythm on the dashboard. "Alright, so what's our cover story if we get stopped?" he asks with a grin. "I give it thirty seconds before Friday's assembling a strike team. Or should we just go with the truth and hope your dad doesn't kill us?"
"He won't kill us," you say, rolling your eyes playfully. "It's just a... a project. For my, uh, biology class. Very hands-on. he’ll appreciate the educational aspect” you add, nodding and shrugging.
"a project with fur and claws that sheds," bucky corrects grimly.
you use your private entrance, the one that leads directly to the residential elevators, bypassing the common areas and the main lobby. it's late, past midnight, so you're praying everyone is either asleep or on a mission. the elevator ride up to your floor is silent and tense. you hold the carrier, and bucky stands so close to you that you can feel the warmth radiating from him.
"okay," you whisper as the doors slide open. "phase one: get her to my room undetected."
"phase two: survive the morning," bucky adds, his eyes scanning the empty hallway as if this was a co-op mission.
you creep down the hall, a ridiculous, covert operation involving two highly trained individuals and a two-pound kitten. you reach your door, and you fumble with your keycard, a stupid stark security quirk, your hands shaking slightly. the lock clicks open with a sound that seems to echo through the entire tower.
you slip inside, bucky behind you, kicking the door shut with a soft sigh of relief. you place the carrier on the floor of your spacious bedroom and open the little door. alpine tentatively steps out, her little pink nose twitching as she takes in her new surroundings.
your room is your sanctuary. it's a mix of stark-tech minimalism and cozy chaos. a huge window overlooks the glittering manhattan skyline, but the floor is covered with soft rugs and piles of pillows. bookshelves overflow with textbooks, novels, and vogue magazines, and your desk is a controlled mess of laptops and notes.
alpine seems to approve. she takes a few small steps, then pounces on a stray pen, batting it under the bed. she looks up at you, lets out a triumphant mew!, and then proceeds to explore every nook and cranny of your room with the confidence of an mice inspecting a hole in the wall.
bucky is watching her, a look of pure, unadulterated fondness on his face. "she's so brave," he says softly.
"she's a stark," you joke, nudging his arm with your elbow, though there's a strange lump in your throat. "of course she's brave."
you find a small, fluffy blanket and lay it on the floor. alpine immediately abandons her exploration and curls up on it, falling asleep in seconds.
you and bucky stand there, watching her sleep, the silence in the room broken only by her tiny purrs.
"we're her parents now," you whisper, the words feeling both insane and completely right.
"co-parents," he corrects gently, his eyes still on the kitten.
"right," you say, your heart doing a weird little flutter. "co-parents."
you look at him, really look at him. the soft light from the city illuminates his profile, catching the sharp line of his jaw and the gentle curve of his mouth. he looks... happy. truly, deeply happy. and it's because of this tiny, fluffy creature you just impulsively decided to bring into your lives.
"we're going to be in so much trouble tomorrow," you say, but you're smiling.
"worth it," he says, and he turns to look at you, and the look in his eyes makes your breath catch. it's the same look he had when he was talking about the scared cats, the same look he had when he was defending your academic achievements. it's a look that says he sees you. all of you.
the space between you shrinks. you don't know who moves first, maybe you both do. his hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. his metal hand is cool against your waist. you lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed.
"i've wanted to do this for a while," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through you.
"me too," you breathe.
and then he kisses you. it's not a frantic, desperate kiss. it's slow, and gentle, and sure. it tastes like coffee and the rain and the promise of something new. it's a kiss that says "finally." it's a kiss that feels like coming home.
when you pull apart, you're both breathing heavily. you rest your forehead against his, a smile playing on your lips.
"so," you whisper. "this changes things."
"yeah," he says, a smile in his voice. "it does."
you spend the rest of the night on your bed, talking in whispers so you don't wake the kitten. you talk about everything. about your fears, your hopes, the moment you each knew your friendship was something more. you fall asleep curled up together, with alpine a tiny, warm weight on the bed between your bodies.
the morning comes, as it always does, with the blare of the towers wake-up alarm and the distant sounds of the tower coming to life. you groan, burying your face in bucky's chest.
"it's judgment day," you mumble.
he kisses the top of your head. "start prepping the defense" he jokes.
you get dressed, steeling yourselves for the inevitable confrontation. you decide the best offense is a good defense. you'll just... walk out. with the cat. act like it's the most normal thing in the world.
bucky holds alpine, who is now purring contentedly in his arms, looking like the world's most intimidating and adorable cat dad. you take a deep breath, open your door, and step into the hallway, walking down to the kitchen for breakfast.
its full. almost every avenger is around the counter conversing.
tony is standing there, a cup of coffee in his hand, wearing a black led zeppelin t-shirt and a look of grim determination as he spoke with the others. steve is there, looking concerned in his captain america pajamas. natasha is leaning against the wall, a knowing smirk on her face. and sam is just... grinning. the traitor.
"well, well," tony says turning his head towards us walking in. his eyes zeroing in on the fluffy white creature in bucky's arms. "what have we here?"
you open your mouth, ready to launch into a defense, but bucky beats you to it. he just stands there, holding alpine, his expression completely calm.
"her name is alpine," he says, his voice steady. "and we're co-parenting."
the word hangs in the air. "we're." as in, the two of you. a unit.
tony's eyes flick from the cat to bucky to you, and then back to the cat. a slow, calculating grin spreads across his face. "co-parenting," he repeats. "so that's what the kids are calling it these days."
steve looks confused. "you got a cat? bucky, are you allergic? do you need an epi-pen?"
natasha just winks at you.
sam, however, is practically vibrating with excitement. "a cat! can i hold her? does she have a little avengers uniform? i can design one! with little wings!"
before anyone can say anything else, alpine, seemingly sensing she's the center of attention, does the most perfect thing she could possibly do. she wriggles out of bucky's arms, him quickly moving down closer to the floor before she fell. She immediately leaps gracefully to the floor, trots directly over to tony stark, and rubs her fluffy little body against his leg, purring like a motorboat.
tony stares down at her, his mouth slightly agape. he slowly bends down, his arc reactor glinting through his shirt in the morning light, and scratches alpine behind her folded ear. she responds by flopping over and exposing her belly.
"oh," tony says, his voice soft. "well. alright then."
and just like that, the war is over. you didn't even have to fire a single shot.
that evening, you and bucky are curled up on the common room couch. alpine is asleep on bucky's chest, rising and falling with each breath he takes. sam is on the floor, trying to teach alpine how to "fist bump" with her tiny paw. natasha is watching you both with an insufferably smug look. tony is on his tablet, and you're pretty sure he's designing a state-of-the-art, climate-controlled, self-cleaning cat tree.
SUMMARY. Being Steve Rogers’ sister meant years of boys looking at you like a warning sign. Now that you’re in college, your lack of experience becomes a major problem. So you ask your brother’s best friend to teach you everything. What starts as lessons becomes something neither of you have a name for yet.
WORD COUNT. 38.2K
WARNINGS. college au, brother’s best friend trope, MDNI, fluff, slowish burn, angst, inexperienced reader, smut, virginity loss, oral (f and m receiving), vaginal fingering, nipple play, protected pnv, more to be added.
PARTS. Chapter 1 — teach me Chapter 2 — please me Chapter 3 — love me
NOTES. Steve is going to haunt the narrative like the wife who dies at the start of a film. You can imagine reader as Steve’s adopted sister, there will be no physical descriptions.
STATUS. COMPLETED
my masterlist!
coming to you every thursday… comment to be added to the taglist!
it all started when en una mañana pegajosa y húmeda en Miami, Benito adentra el cafe que trabajas con gafas de sol y un sonrisa amable. El comienza a ir allí para verte y escapar de los paparazzi.
warnings: fallinginlove!
word count: ~4.6
note: chicos, pido permiso para subir esto en español que al igual que ingles no es mi idioma nativo. sé que esta es una cuenta de fanfics de formula uno pero tambien soy muy fan de benito y estoy aprendiendo español y creo que escribir me ayudará a compreender las conjugaciones, vocabulario y gramatica. espero que a ustedes les encaten esta historia
El reloj encima de la máquina de espresso marcaba las 10:07. A las diez de la mañana solo entran ejecutivos apurados o alguna influencer buscando luz natural. Pero ese martes no había nadie.
Afuera, Miami estaba pegajosa, húmeda, con ese calor que se te mete en la piel aunque estés bajo aire acondicionado.
El café no estaba ubicado en cualquier esquina. Estaba en Brickell, en una de esas avenidas donde los edificios de vidrio reflejan el sol como si compitieran entre ellos, los autos caros pasaban despacio y gente bien vestida entraba y salía de oficinas silenciosas.
Yo había limpiado la barra dos veces, acomodado las servilletas y revisado el celular un montón de veces aunque no tenía notificaciones.
El aire acondicionado zumbaba constante. La música suave de fondo parecía repetirse en bucle. El aroma del café recién molido ya no me despertaba nada.
Apoyé los codos en el mostrador de mármol y miré la puerta de vidrio, viendo mi reflejo superpuesto con la calle soleada. Otro martes. Otra mañana lenta. Otra jornada contando monedas y minutos.
La campanita de la puerta sonó. Un sonido pequeño. Metálico. Aburrido.
Ajusté mi postura, pero no levanté la vista de inmediato.
"Buenos días, ¿qué te…?"
Primero vi las gafas de sol. Grandes. Oscuras. Cubriendo media cara. Después el cabello. Húmedo. Recién lavado. Escondido abajo del gorro. Algunos rizos cayendo sobre la frente.
Era él.
Sentí un golpe seco en el estómago. No dolor. Más bien como si alguien hubiera empujado el aire fuera de mis pulmones.
Porque estaba ahí. De pie frente a mí. Como si entrar a un café cualquiera en una mañana aburrida fuera lo más normal del mundo.
Mi primera reacción fue mirarlo demasiado. La segunda, fingir que no lo estaba mirando. Me enderecé despacio, intentando que mi expresión no cambiara.
Se quitó las gafas con calma. Y ahí estaba. Sus ojos recorrieron el lugar vacío, luego se detuvieron en mí.
"Buenos días" dijo.
Su voz era más baja de lo que imaginaba. Más cercana.
"Buenos días" respondí, sorprendida de que mi voz sonara estable "¿Qué te puedo ofrecer?"
Una pequeña sonrisa apareció en la comisura de sus labios.
"Un cold brew. Sin azúcar. Porfa"
"¿Para llevar?"
Negó con la cabeza.
"Para aquí."
Se acercó un poco más al mostrador mientras yo preparaba el café. Podía oler el perfume mezclado con el aroma fresco del shampoo. Algo limpio y cálido.
Tomé el vaso alto. El hielo chocó contra el plástico. El sonido fue exageradamente fuerte en el silencio. Podía sentir su mirada.
Vertí el café frío con cuidado. Demasiado cuidado. Giré apenas para colocar la tapa y mi codo rozó accidentalmente la varilla de vapor de la máquina, que aún estaba caliente.
El dolor fue inmediato.
"Ah!!"
El vaso se inclinó peligrosamente mientras mi mano reaccionaba por reflejo. Intenté sostenerlo, pero el café oscuro se derramó sobre la barra y parte salpicó mi muñeca ya enrojecida.
"¿Estás bien?" su voz cambió al instante.
Antes de que pudiera responder, ya estaba del otro lado del mostrador. Benito tomó mi muñeca con cuidado.
"Déjame ver."
"Estoy bien" mentí, no lo estaba.
La piel empezaba a ponerse roja, sensible, y el café frío mezclado con el calor del metal hacía que todo ardiera más. Abrió el grifo sin pedir permiso y colocó mi mano bajo el agua fría. Su mano seguía sosteniendo la mía.
"Eso necesita que lo revisen" dijo, observando la marca que comenzaba a formarse.
"No es para tanto." Levantó la mirada hacia mí. Y por primera vez sentí el peso directo de sus ojos sin gafas de por medio.
"No estoy preguntando."
El agua fría corría sobre mi muñeca, pero el ardor seguía pulsando debajo de la piel. Él no soltaba mi mano. La sostenía con firmeza, con el ceño ligeramente fruncido, como si estuviera evaluando algo más que una simple quemadura.
Silencio. Uno distinto. Calculado. Lo vi inhalar despacio.
Su mirada se movió hacia la puerta de vidrio. Luego hacia las ventanas. Después hacia la calle impecable de Brickell, donde todo era demasiado visible. Había algo detrás de sus ojos.
"¿Tienes coche?" preguntó finalmente.
Tardé un segundo en procesar la pregunta.
"Sí…" respondí "Está atrás..."
Asintió. Otra pausa.
"¿Puedes conducir así?" preguntó, bajando la mirada hacia mi muñeca.
Retiré la mano del agua, intentando restarle importancia.
"Claro." El ardor volvió con el aire.
Él frunció el ceño apenas.
"No."
"Benito, no es para tanto. De verdad puedo ir sola."
No reaccionaba impulsivamente. Calculaba todo.
Miró hacia el techo. Respiró hondo. Volvió a mirarme.
"Salimos por atrás."
"No tienes que involucrarte" insistí.
Silencio. Su mandíbula se tensó apenas.
Secó mi muñeca con servilletas limpias, con cuidado. Sus dedos eran firmes, pero delicados. Solto mi muñeca solo para buscar sus gafas de sol sobre el mostrador. Se las colocó con calma, ocultando su mirada otra vez.
Luego levantó la capucha del hoodie que llevaba, un gesto casi automático, precavido, ensayado mil veces. Coloqué el cartel de “vuelvo enseguida”, cerré con llave y salimos por la puerta trasera hacia el estacionamiento.
Él inclinó ligeramente la cabeza.
"Un Corolla." Pausa. "Respeto eso."
Parpadeé confusa.
"¿Respeta?"
Se acercó al coche.
"Ese carro nunca te abandona. Puede sobrevivir a un huracán, a una ruptura y a tres trabajos mal pagados."
Lo miré. Una sonrisa involuntaria se me escapó.
Abrió la puerta del copiloto y la sostuvo.
"Sube."
"Puedo manejar."
Se inclinó un poco, bajando la voz.
"No vas a manejar con la mano así, mami"
Le entregué las llaves.
Rodeó el coche y se sentó en el asiento del conductor. Ajustó el asiento manualmente, moviendo la palanca con una pequeña dificultad.
"Wow" murmuró "Esto es retro."
"Funciona."
Sonrió apenas.
"Eso es lo que importa"
Encendió el motor. El sonido fue modesto, familiar.
Se acomodó las gafas otra vez y miró por el retrovisor.
"Los paparazzi no conocen este Corolla, ¿verdad?"
Negué con la cabeza.
"Nadie lo conoce" contesté confusa
Salimos del estacionamiento con calma.
Silencio.
"Buen gusto" dijo de repente.
Lo miré.
"¿En coches?"
El sonrió.
Giró en el semáforo con suavidad. La clínica privada apareció a media cuadra. Estacionó frente a la entrada. El viaje duró menos de 10 minutos.
Apagó el motor. Se quedó un segundo con las manos en el volante. Miró el edificio. Después la calle. Después los espejos. Calculando.
"Gracias."
Él giró apenas hacia mí.
"Entra. Que te revisen eso ahora."
Esperé que bajara, pero no lo hizo.
"¿No vienes?"
Negó.
"Voy a llevar el carro."
"¿Qué?"
"Te lo devuelvo" añadió enseguida "Te lo prometo." Lo miré. Una pequeña sonrisa apareció en la esquina de su boca. "Confía en mí."
La palabra quedó flotando entre nosotros. Su tono se suavizó apenas.
"Te lo voy a devolver. No te voy a robar el Corolla legendario."
Eso arrancó una risa breve de mí.
"Más te vale."
"Ese carro merece respeto." Dijo con una seriedad fingida
Abrí la puerta. El aire cálido de Miami me envolvió al instante. Antes de cerrarla, lo miré una última vez. Capucha arriba. Gafas puestas. Las manos firmes en el volante de mi Corolla gris. No parecía una celebridad.
Y cuando las puertas de vidrio comenzaron a abrirse, escuché el motor arrancar detrás de mí. No miré de inmediato. No quería que el momento se rompiera. Pero cuando lo hice, el Corolla ya estaba incorporándose a la avenida brillante de Brickell.
Me quedé mirando hasta que el Corolla se perdió entre el tráfico.
Las puertas automáticas de la clínica se abrieron frente a mí con un sonido suave. El aire frío del interior escapó hacia la calle. Yo no me moví. Me quedé allí, justo en el umbral.
El contraste del aire acondicionado contra el calor de Miami me recorrió la piel, pero mi mente estaba en otro lugar.
¿Había sido real?
-----
El autobús frenó de golpe y alguien chocó contra mi hombro.
"Perdón" murmuró
Yo llevaba cuarenta minutos de bus hasta el cafe. Cuarenta. Minutos.
El aire acondicionado no funcionaba bien. El olor a perfume barato mezclado con sudor me estaba quitando años de vida. Miré por la ventana empañada.
Brickell pasaba lentamente afuera. Y mi Corolla no estaba ahí. Porque seguía sin aparecer. Dos días.
Dos días desde que "Benito" o "Bad Bunny" se llevó mi coche prometiendo devolverlo. La situación parece ridicula y irreal.
Mi muñeca ya no dolía tanto. Pero mi paciencia sí.
¿Por qué confié en él?
Me imaginé explicándole a la policía:
“Sí, oficial, le presté mi Corolla a un artista internacional porque parecía responsable.”
Genial.
Talvez debería denunciarlo por robo. Seguramente ganaría mucho dinero.
El autobús volvió a frenar bruscamente y finalmente mi parada. Bajé casi empujando a dos personas. Quince minutos tarde para abrir el cafe. Perfecto.
Caminé rápido por la acera hacia el café. Tacones golpeando el pavimento. Cabello recogido a medias porque el autobús había arruinado cualquier intento de dignidad. Doblé la esquina. Y me detuve en seco.
Apoyado contra la puerta del café, con gafas oscuras y hoodie ligero, estaba él. Como si no llevara dos días desaparecido con mi coche.
Benito levantó la cabeza al verme. Miró su muñeca como si tuviera reloj.
"Estás tarde, mami"
Parpadeé enojada.
"¿Perdón?"
Se enderezó, una sonrisa descarada dibujándose lentamente.
"Los clientes están empezando a quejarse." Señaló hacia la puerta cerrada. "Dicen que el café no abre solo."
Lo miré incrédula.
"¿Dónde está mi carro?"
Sin responder de inmediato, metió la mano en el bolsillo del hoodie y sacó mis llaves. Las hizo girar suavemente entre los dedos antes de extenderlas hacia mí.
"En el mismo lugar donde lo encontré." Pausa. "Limpio." Otra pausa. "Con el tanque lleno."
Me quedé mirándolo.
"¿Dos días?"
Él ladeó la cabeza.
"Tuve que asegurarme de que nadie supiera que lo conduje. No podía simplemente devolverlo y ya." Suspiró, pero esta vez no parecía calculando riesgos. "No quería meterte en un lío."
Tomé las llaves de su mano. Nuestros dedos rozaron apenas.
"Pensé que lo habías robado."
Una risa baja escapó de él.
"¿Tu Corolla? Jamás."
No pude evitar que una sonrisa se me escapara. Intenté contenerla.
Silencio.
"Entonces…" dijo él, retrocediendo un paso "¿Vas a abrir o los clientes van a tener que hacer su propio café?"
Lo miré.
"¿Clientes?"
Señaló detrás de mí con la barbilla. Me giré. Dos personas efectivamente estaban esperando a unos metros, mirando la puerta cerrada.
"Nos vemos, Y/N.
-
Despues de un dia longo en el café volvi a mi Corolla para tomar el camino de casa.
No lo noté al principio. Solo cuando llegué a casa y abrí la puerta trasera para sacar mi bolso, lo vi. Un bulto oscuro en el asiento de atrás. Un hoodie. Negro. Pesado. De buena calidad. Lo levanté. Adidas.
Solté una pequeña risa nasal. Claro.
Como si le fuera a importar perder un hoodie. Probablemente podría comprar todo el stock nacional de Adidas sin notar el cargo en su cuenta.
-
A la mañana siguiente, cuado aparqué el coche en el aparcamiento detrás del café. Lluvia intensa. Cielo gris. Viento que empujaba el agua en diagonal.
No encontraba mi paraguas en el carro. La app de pronóstico del tiempo decía que la tormenta duraría horas. Miré la silla. El hoodie.
Suspiré.
"Es solo ropa" murmuré para convencerme.
Me lo puse.
Era grande. Más grande de lo que esperaba. Las mangas me cubrían parte de las manos. El olor era tenue, limpio, con algo difícil de definir. No era perfume. Era él.
Sacudí la cabeza. Ridículo.
Salí bajo la lluvia con la capucha puesta.
El tejido grueso absorbía parte del agua. No toda. Pero suficiente para llegar sin empaparme por completo.
Caminé rápido las últimas cuadras hacia el café. La lluvia golpeaba el pavimento. Los autos salpicaban. El mundo parecía más pequeño bajo el sonido constante del agua.
Doblé la esquina. Y ahí estaba.
Apoyado bajo el pequeño techo que protegía la entrada del café.
Gafas oscuras. Gorra. Manos en los bolsillos. Esperando.
Él levantó la cabeza al verme. Y su mirada bajó directamente al hoodie.
Seguí caminando hasta quedar a unos pasos.
"Buenos días" dije, como si nada.
Él inclinó ligeramente la cabeza.
"Buenos."
Pausa.
Sus ojos volvieron al hoodie. Una ceja se levantó apenas.
"Bonito hoodie."
"Gracias."
Intenté pasar a su lado para abrir la puerta.
"¿Cómodo, no?" añadió, con una calma peligrosa.
Me detuve un segundo. Eso lo hizo sonreír. Lento.
"Me alegra que esté en buenas manos."
"Lo olvidaste" respondí rápido "Iba a devolvértelo."
"¿Ah, sí?"
Se enderezó un poco. La distancia entre nosotros se redujo apenas un paso.
"Podría olvidarlo más seguido entonces."
Yo seguía usando su hoodie.
Y él seguía mirándome como si la escena le perteneciera un poco.
Demasiado.
"¿Vas a abrir?" preguntó finalmente, con tono casi inocente.
Tardé medio segundo en reaccionar.
"Sí."
Busqué las llaves y abrí la puerta. Y mientras entrábamos al café, con el olor a lluvia todavía pegado a la tela que llevaba puesta, entendí algo peligroso: Talvez él no lo había olvidado.
Yo me moví detrás del mostrador, intentando actuar como si nada fuera extraño.
Como si no estuviera usando su hoodie.
Como si él no estuviera ahí mirándome.
Tomé una taza.
"¿Lo de siempre?" pregunté.
Él caminó lentamente hasta el mostrador.
Se quitó las gafas por un momento y las dejó sobre la madera.
"Sí."
Empecé a preparar el café, concentrándome demasiado en cada movimiento.
El sonido de la máquina de espresso rompía el silencio.
Sentía su mirada.
Cuando puse la taza frente a él, Benito levantó la vista… y luego volvió a mirar el hoodie.
"Creo que tengo que recuperar eso."
Bajé la mirada hacia las mangas demasiado largas.
"Sí, claro."
Me crucé de brazos, incómoda.
"Lo lavé."
Él soltó una risa corta.
"No hacía falta." Tomó un sorbo del café.
Luego apoyó los codos en el mostrador y dijo con total calma:
"Pero lo quiero de vuelta."
Asentí.
"Entonces tómalo." Hice el gesto de quitármelo.
"No tan fácil." Me detuve.
"¿Perdón?"
Una pequeña sonrisa apareció en su boca.
"Condición."
Suspiré.
"Claro. Tiene que haber una condición."
Él levantó un dedo.
"Café gratis."
"Eso ya lo tienes."
"No."
Negó suavemente con la cabeza.
"Quiero que tú te sientes a tomarlo conmigo."
Parpadeé.
"Estoy trabajando."
"Todavía no hay clientes."
Miré hacia las ventanas. La lluvia seguía cayendo fuerte. Las calles estaban casi vacías.
Volví a mirarlo.
"Cinco minutos" dijo "Y recupero mi hoodie."
Me crucé de brazos.
"Eso suena más a chantaje que a trato."
Él se encogió de hombros.
"Funciona."
Lo miré durante unos segundos. Luego rodé los ojos, derrotada.
"Cinco minutos."
Su sonrisa creció apenas.
Me quité el hoodie lentamente y lo dejé sobre el mostrador. Por un segundo, el aire frío del café me hizo estremecer.
Benito tomó el hoodie. Pero en vez de llevárselo, lo dejó doblado a su lado.
Luego empujó otra taza hacia mí.
"Siéntate."
Fruncí el ceño.
"Pensé que querías tu hoodie."
Tomó otro sorbo de café.
"Lo quiero." Pausa. "Pero no tengo prisa."
Al principio, todo fue contenido. Las palabras salían con cuidado, como si ambos estuviéramos tanteando el terreno sin querer romper algo que todavía no entendíamos. Pero, sin darme cuenta, empecé a notar cosas en él: la forma en que inclinaba la cabeza cuando escuchaba de verdad, cómo jugaba distraídamente con la taza entre los dedos, cómo sonreía apenas antes de decir algo, como si pensara un segundo más de lo necesario.
La conversación se fue soltando sola. Saltamos de un tema a otro con una facilidad extraña, encontrando coincidencias pequeñas en gustos que parecían insignificantes, pero que se sentían demasiado personales. Había algo en la manera en que reaccionaba —una risa baja, una mirada que se quedaba un segundo más— que hacía que todo se sintiera cercano, cómodo… casi como si no hubiera nada más fuera de ese momento.
Cuando me di cuenta, la luz había cambiado. La lluvia ya no golpeaba las ventanas y el café seguía casi vacío. Dos horas. Dos horas que no sentí pasar. El sonido de la campanita rompió el aire, y todo volvió de golpe: el espacio, el tiempo, la realidad. Él se levantó con esa misma calma de siempre, se despidió rápidamente como si nada hubiera sido extraordinario y salió por la puerta.
-
El viernes llegó sin avisar. Más movimiento que de costumbre, pero nada caótico. Suficiente gente como para mantenerme ocupada, no lo suficiente como para no pensar.
Y pensé.Mientras servía cafés. Mientras limpiaba la barra. Mientras escuchaba pedidos que olvidaba dos segundos después.
Ya había pasado una semana. Siete días desde la última vez que salió por esa puerta. Y no volvió.
Una noche, casi por impulso, lo busqué "Bad Bunny". Primero en Google, después Instagram y después en toda web. Esperaba ver algo. Un evento. Un concierto. Una foto en algún lugar que explicara su ausencia.
Pero nada. Como si simplemente… no estuviera. Como si hubiera salido de mi mundo y del suyo al mismo tiempo. Ridículo.
Seguí trabajando. Automático. Tal vez fue eso. Tal vez ese momento en el café no había sido nada. Un par de coincidencias que se sintieron más grandes de lo que eran.
Pero entonces, cada vez que pasaba por la esquina del mostrador, lo veía. El hoodie. Las gafas. Podría sentir tu olor.
El hoodie llevé pa mi casa. El lo había olvidado otra vez el último día que lo vi. Lo peor era que lo usaba. A veces por la mañana, cuando el aire estaba más frío. A veces por la noche, sin pensar demasiado.
Siempre con la misma excusa: es cómodo. es práctico. es solo ropa. Y eso me hacía sentir… un poco estúpida.
-
El final del turno llegó arrastrándose. A las siete en punto, el café ya estaba casi en silencio otra vez. Las luces más cálidas, el murmullo lejano de la calle, y ese cansancio que se acumula en los hombros después de un día entero de pie.
Estaba de espaldas a la puerta, limpiando la barra por última vez, repasando movimientos automáticos, cuando la campanita sonó.
Cerré los ojos un segundo. Respiré hondo. Un cliente más.
—Perdón, ya cerramos en cinco — empecé a decir, girándome.
Y me quedé en silencio.
Era él "Bad Bunny"
De pie en la entrada, como si el tiempo no hubiera pasado en absoluto.
Llevaba un hoodie puesto, la capucha arriba, pantalón cómodo, medias y chinelos. Como si hubiera salido de casa sin pensar demasiado. Como si acabara de despertarse… aunque ya fueran las siete de la tarde.
No dijo hola. Ni siquiera pareció sorprendido de verme. Solo dio un paso hacia adentro y dijo, con esa calma de siempre:
"Estaba por el barrio." Pausa.
Sus ojos se posaron en mí como si la semana no hubiera existido.
"Y pensé que tal vez querías una carona."
Como si no hubiera desaparecido.
"No, gracias" respondí, sin pensar demasiado "Tengo coche."
Él sonrió. No sorprendido. Casi… divertido.
"¿Sí?" dijo, ladeando la cabeza "¿Ya has andado en Bugatti?"
Parpadeé. Por reflejo, miré hacia afuera. Y ahí estaba. Bajo las luces de la calle, impecable, completamente fuera de lugar frente a un café que ya estaba por cerrar. Bajo, brillante, blanco, imposible de ignorar.
Volví a mirarlo.
"Prefiero el Corolla."
Me giré de nuevo hacia la barra, retomando lo que estaba haciendo como si la conversación hubiera terminado.
Silencio.
"Claro "murmuró él después de un segundo "El Corolla"
Había algo distinto en su tono ahora.
"Por lo menos aparece cuando lo necesito" solté, sin girarme.
Silencio otra vez. Más largo. Sentí su mirada en mi espalda.
"Bueno… no tanto cuando está contigo... Durante dos días..."
"Te dije que te lo iba a devolver y devolví"
"Sí" espondí, limpiando con más fuerza de la necesaria "Pero después de dos días y tuve que venir al trabajo en autobús. No todo el mundo tiene los lujos de un artista famoso."
"Tenía que hacerlo bien. ¿No lo entiendes?"
Solté una risa seca.
"¿Hacer qué? ¿Desaparecer?"
Eso lo hizo moverse. Lo sentí más cerca, aunque no lo miré.
"No desaparecí."
"¿Ah, no?" Me giré entonces. "Porque siete días sin decir nada se parecen bastante a eso."
Por primera vez, su expresión cambió.La mandíbula tensa.La mirada más fija.
"No te debía explicaciones." La frase cayó entre nosotros. Directa. Honesta.
Asentí lentamente y me sentí increíblemente estúpida, más una vez.
"Exacto." Volví a girarme, tomando otra taza solo para hacer algo con las manos. "Entonces no sé por qué estás aquí. Ya hemos cerrado"
Silencio.
"Yo quise venir verla"
Solté el paño sobre la barra. Lo miré otra vez. El silencio se alargó más de lo necesario. Tomé conciencia de lo exagerado que había sido todo, de repente.
Bajé la mirada un segundo, respirando hondo. Cuando volví a levantarla, él ya no estaba mirándome.
Su teléfono vibró. Lo sacó del bolsillo y contestó sin decir nada más, girándose ligeramente, dándome la espalda a medias.
"Sí… estoy aquí." Su voz volvió a ser otra.
Aproveché y volví a lo mío. Apagué las máquinas. Acomodé las tazas.
Revisé la caja.
Ninguno de los dos volvió a hablar. Solo se escuchaba su voz baja al teléfono y el sonido del café terminando de cerrarse.
Cuando terminé, tomé mis cosas y caminé hacia la salida. Él ya estaba afuera. Apoyado contra el coche.
La Bugatti blanca seguía ahí, imposible de ignorar bajo las luces de la calle.
Colgué el cartel de cerrado. Giré la llave. Salí. El aire de la noche estaba más fresco ahora.
Silencio otra vez. Un silencio más contenido.
De pronto, se separó del coche y caminó hacia la puerta del conductor. La abrió. Y dio un paso atrás.
"Me dejaste manejar tu carro por dos días." Pausa. Sus ojos se encontraron con los míos. "Creo que es justo que tú manejes el mío."
Miré la puerta abierta.Luego el coche. Luego a él.Seguía un poco molesta. Dudé un segundo. Pero siendo honesta…¿Cuándo iba a volver a tener la oportunidad de manejar un Bugatti?
Exhalé por la nariz. Rodeé el coche y me senté en el asiento del conductor.
El interior era completamente distinto a todo lo que conocía. Bajo. Preciso. Demasiado perfecto. Cerré la puerta.
Escuché la puerta del otro lado abrirse. Se sentó en el asiento del copiloto y, por primera vez desde que había llegado, pareció ligeramente alerta.
"Es sensible" empezó, acomodándose el cinturón "El acelerador responde rápido, y el freno..."
"Todos los coches tienen volante, pedales y ruedas" lo interrumpí, mirando al frente. Giré apenas la cabeza hacia él. "Voy a estar bien. ¿Confía en mí?"
Lo vi quedarse en silencio un segundo. Como si no estuviera acostumbrado a que lo interrumpieran. O a no tener el control de la situación.
Metí la llave. Encendí el motor. El sonido fue inmediato. Profundo. Potente. Vivo. Mis manos se ajustaron al volante. Y, sin pensarlo demasiado... Aceleré.
El coche respondió al instante, avanzando con una fuerza que me empujó contra el asiento.
Giré con suavidad hacia la calle, pero manteniendo la velocidad más alta de lo necesario.
Sentí su mirada en mí.
"Tranquila" dijo, esta vez sí un poco tenso
Sonreí apenas. Sin mirarlo.
El motor rugía bajo nosotros. Las luces de Brickell pasaban más rápido de lo habitual. Y cuando finalmente lo miré de reojo. Lo vi sorpreso. Solté una pequeña risa.
"¿Qué pasó? ¿No confías en mí "Bad Bunny"?
Él exhaló, apoyando la cabeza un segundo contra el asiento.
"Confío."
Eso solo hizo que presionara un poco más el acelerador.
-
Al principio, él seguía tenso. Se notaba en la forma en que miraba la calle, en cómo sus manos descansaban rígidas sobre sus piernas, como si aún estuviera listo para reaccionar en cualquier momento.
Pero poco a poco se fue soltando. Hasta que, sin darse cuenta, ya estaba señalando el panel, cambiando la música, subiendo el volumen.
"Acelera mami" dijo en un momento, con una sonrisa que no había visto antes "Quiero escuchar cómo suena."
Lo miré de reojo. Presioné el acelerador. El motor respondió de inmediato, más fuerte, más vivo.
Se rió. Una risa baja, genuina, que llenó el espacio mucho más que la música y ahí fue cuando todo terminó de cambiar.
Pasamos por un drive thru. Comida rápida, servilletas mal dobladas, bebidas apoyadas de cualquier forma entre nosotros. Nada elegante.
Nada perfecto.
Seguimos manejando.
Y sin decirle mucho, tomé una salida diferente. Menos luces.
Menos tráfico. Más oscuro. Lo sentí notarlo.
"¿A dónde vamos?" preguntó, bajando un poco el volumen.
Había una leve cautela en su voz otra vez.
"Confía papi" dije, repitiendo su propia palabra sin mirarlo. "Es un buen lugar."
No insistió. Solo se recostó un poco en el asiento, observando el camino.
Después de unos minutos, giré por un camino que subía ligeramente. Y entonces paré. El motor quedó en un murmullo bajo.
Frente a nosotros, la ciudad entera se extendía. Miami iluminada, vibrante, distante. Desde ahí arriba, todo se veía distinto. Más pequeño. Más silencioso.
Apagué el motor. El silencio volvió. Pero no como antes. Ahora ya era cómodo.
Lo miré de reojo.
"Te dije que era un buen lugar" murmuré.
Y por primera vez desde que todo empezó, no parecía que estuviera en dos mundos distintos.
Se quedó mirando la ciudad por unos segundos. Las luces reflejadas en el parabrisas dibujaban destellos suaves en su rostro.
Apoyó la cabeza contra el asiento, soltando el aire despacio.
"No vengo a lugares así." Pausa. Giró un poco el rostro hacia mí. "No así." Había algo distinto en su tono. "Contigo es fácil"
Antes de que pudiera responder, soltó una pequeña risa.
"Aunque mañana probablemente tenga como un millón de multas." Negó con la cabeza. "La prensa va a decir que perdí la cabeza."
Eso me hizo sonreír.
"La perdiste un poco."
"Puede ser."
Silencio.
Cuando lo miré, él ya me estaba mirando. El aire cambió. Se volvió más denso.
Y fue ahí cuando me aparté primero.
"Estoy cansada" murmuré, rompiendo el momento.
Asintió. Sin discutir. Sin insistir. Solo abrió la puerta y salió del coche.
Rodeé el coche unos segundos después. El aire nocturno se sintió más frío al salir. Cerré la puerta detrás de mí. Y apenas tuve tiempo de girarme cuando sentí su mano.
Me empujó suavemente contra el coche. El metal frío contra mi espalda. El contraste con su cercanía.
Y entonces me besó. Sin aviso. Directo. Intenso.
El beso se volvió más profundo, pero sin perder esa sensación de cuidado. El frío del coche desapareció rápido, reemplazado por el calor de su respiración cerca de la mía, cada vez menos controlada.
Las luces de la ciudad se volvieron borrosas, el mundo quedó reducido a ese instante, a la forma en que sus manos se ajustaban mejor, a cómo el beso cambiaba de ritmo sin aviso.
Mis dedos se aferraron a su hoodie sin pensar, manteniéndolo cerca, como si soltarlo fuera romper algo que apenas estaba empezando.
you stood alone, abandoned at the bar. lucas, your boyfriend, was nowhere to be seen. on the verge of tears, you began to feel very frustrated with his actions.
sure, you expected this from him, but on your birthday? did he not care about you at all? you looked over the sea of people, dancing, talking, drinking, and eating in an attempt to find your boyfriend but, nothing. your eyes landed on ashton, he saw the sadness in your eyes and knew.
this sadness has been lurking in your eyes for months now. no matter how badly you tried to hide it and put on a facade, ashton saw right through it.
you had become so insecure because of lucas, and ashton was tired of it. you deserved someone worth your time, you deserved someone who would look at you like you were the only thing good in this world. you deserved someone to treat you like you were the most delicate person on the face of the earth.
you deserved someone better.
he wished you wanted him.
to ashton, you were the best thing in his life. you had such a beautiful smile, the way you lit up as if he had done something stupid and you couldn’t help but laugh. you were the brightest star in the night sky. you made ashton a better person. and to see lucas belittle you, seeing you lose the light in your eyes, watching you slowly creep into a shell of made him angry. this wasn’t supposed to happen to you. not his y/n. not ashton best girl.
pushing past the crowd of people, peter was determined to be by your side. “y/n.” ashton emerged,. “ash” you sighed, feeling weight being lifted from your shoulders. “he left me.” you finally blurted, you felt a pang in your chest knowing tears would soon follow. ashton wrapped his arms around you, letting your head rest on his chest. “i know” he sighed, rubbing your back gingerly. “ash, your shirt” you huffed, looking up at him. afraid of ruining it with your makeup. “shh it’s fine” he shook his head, wiping away your tears with his callused thumb. he held you for a minute, but it felt like forever to you. “cmon, im taking you home.” he suggested, pulling away and reaching for your hand. “you don’t need to be here.” you nodded, following behind him and out the large doors.
exiting the building, ashton’s touch never left the small of your back. “he had no right to do that to you, y/n/n” he huffed. you knew he was upset, and so were you. thinking you could get over your feelings for ashton but you only got hurt in return.
oh, foolish heart.
you had been swooning after ashton since high school. always liked him from a distance, even if the two of you were the best of friends.
you weren’t good with confrontation, let alone rejection. because what if he rejected you? how could the two of you possibly stay friends after something like that?
but when you had got with lucas just a few years out of high school, ashton was the first to tell you his feelings.
even if it was a little too late.
“i can’t believe he would be that stupid to leave you alone. if i see him, i’m gonna-“ you were quick to grab his hand, cutting him off. “ash. don’t. just relax.”
ashton had accepted that lucas was your boyfriend but he’d still do everything he could to be in your life, as long as you were happy, he was happy. but seeing you so broken, and being used. he couldn’t let it continue.
“promise me something, y/n?” your eyes met with his. both of you stopping in your tracks. “end it with him. you don’t need someone like that in your life.”
“i will.”
ashton had suggested he take you back to his place, to avoid seeing lucas when he came back later that evening.
you sat on the edge of ashtons bed, still in your dress while ashton had gotten you some water and advil to help with your growing headache. your eyes stared out the window, the night illuminated by only the stars. “i brought you some extra clothes, in case you wanted to change.” he entered the room, some folded clothes in hand, and laid them next to you. your eyes followed him, “thank you.” he nodded, “it’s no problem” he shot you a sympathetic smile and handed you the medicine and bottle.
“you’re always saving me, ash. thank you” you sniffled as you took the two painkillers and downed them with a swig of water.
ashton only hummed, watching you take the clothes in hand and making your way to the bathroom.
and when you returned, ashton had changed as well. you tossed the blaxl dress on the floor and went back to ashton’s bed.
“feel better?” he looked up at you, only getting a shrug from you. “can you help me take my hair down? there’s a lot of pins” he patted the spot in front of him which you scooted over and he proceeded to pick the pins out of your hair. “you know” ashton started, “lucas has no idea what he’s missing out on.” you simply shrugged, you couldn’t stomach talking about him again.
“i don’t know what i was thinking, i thought i could get my mind off someone else, but i only got hurt worse. i’m so stupid” a dry laugh escapes your lips. ashton paused, now knowing why you had started dating lucas. but his shoulders dropped knowing you probably liked someone else. “stop. stop blaming yourself.” he hummed.
his scratchy voice sending chills down your spine. you only let your shoulders drop. looking down at your hands. soon enough he had gotten a majority of the pins out. and with that, you finally let your hair down letting up the stress on the scalp.
ashton got a whiff of the scent of your shampoo and he couldn’t help but look away. you still haven’t changed it all these years. that familiar floral smell filled his nostrils. it was still the same kind you used in high school, he wishes he could smell forever.
it was obvious you liked someone else. you discarded the hairpins, and sat next to ashton again. “if it wasn’t for you, i’d be so lost. i’m so glad you came into my life” you smiled sadly, and he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “you’ll always have me in your corner. id do anything for you, you know that.” you nodded. you did know, hell, if you didn’t have him you’d still be miserable. he was always there for you. no matter what.
you were now curled up on ashtons chest, your eyes still glued to the window. not saying anything, you thought he had fallen asleep by now. but when you looked up at him, he was looking down at you. “i thought you were asleep.” he laughed, a simple shake of his head. you smiled, the dim light of his lamp made his skin look so beautiful, the way his hair lay in his eyes, and how he looked at you. you could stare at him for ages.
you felt your heart beating, feeling as if it would beat out of your chest. you wondered if this was the moment you’d tell ashton how you felt for the past decade.
“what’s on your mind?” he asks softly, you hum. thinking if this was the right moment and if the words that were about to spill from your lips were a good idea. your eyes flicked from his hazel eyes to your fingers, picking at your cuticles.
“do you remember a while back when you confessed to me and i had just gotten with lucas?” you ask. when you look up you see him studying you. he nods slowly, “yeah?”.
you puff your cheeks then release the air, sighing. “i liked you too at the time, and i still..well..i love you. i was with lucas simply because i thought you didn’t like me like that..” you groaned quietly, realizing how stupid it sounded.
you saw his face contort, trying to process your words. you can’t seem to read his expression. he falls silent for a moment, replaying his confession over and over again. it was all making sense.
“ash?” you say, hoping he wouldn’t be so upset with you. “i wish you would’ve told me sooner..” he says, followed by a sigh. you frown, assuming you have missed your opportunity with your best friend.
“but..” he continued, “i still love you, y/n. i have since we were teenagers. i don’t think id ever be able to get over you. you have me wrapped around your finger and i’d do anything for you.”
you feel your heart racing, your cheeks flushed pink, and you feel like you were back in high school.
“ashton, will you kiss me?”
the brown-haired boy stared at you, hazel eyes wide. his lips parted, “did you just ask if i’d-“ “kiss me” you interrupted him. this time begging him. “please” you whispered. ashton sat up, his eyes not leaving yours once as he brought his hand to your cheek and then pressed his lips on yours ever so lightly. afraid he would hurt you in any way. his lips felt so soft against yours. pure bliss engulfed your body. this was what you imagined your kiss with ashton to be like. when he pulled away, eyes meeting with yours his cheeks were flushed. having such a huge crush on you, he never thought he would have this moment with you.
your hands on his neck, you leaned in again connecting your lips. this time this kiss was longer and more intimate. your hands tangled in his brown curls while he was resting on your lower back, occasionally pulling you in. when you pulled away, catching your breath you couldn’t help but stare at him. his hand ran over your waist, playing with the hem of your shirt as the two of you watched the other, breathing each other in. ashton’s smiles, his calloused thumb tracing your cheekbone. “you make me complete, y/n.”
One thing that anti-Jess fans of Gilmore Girls love to say that annoys me is that Jess wasn’t the best boyfriend. They think that line really ends the argument, but the thing is, they’re right.
Of course Jess wasn’t Rory’s best boyfriend, he was seventeen. He was a seventeen year old with a lot of trauma and basically no one was in his corner (except sometimes Luke and Rory). Nearly the entire town of Stars Hollow was against him, he was struggling with his identity (his dad leaving and then reappearing, his mom shipping him off). His mom was an addict, he was worrying about finances and whether or not he could graduate. He had a lot on his mind, of course he wasn’t the best boyfriend.
People who hate Jess need to remember that he was literally a teenager.
Please make more parts of 'writing fan line' seriously love them!!!!!
Writing Fine Line: Cherry
A/N: Hey lovies!! I cannot thank everyone enough for all the love and support this series is getting! I love you all ❤ Which song do you wanna hear next?
P.S. I imagine Emily King's Distance (Live on KEXP) version to be how YN sings it!
Summary: YN and Harry have known each other since 2010 when they were put in a band together called One Direction. Since the band split up, YN and Harry have kept in close contact, may or may not have grown deeper feelings for one another and have continued to help each other create music. After having helped Harry with HS1, he has invited YN back again to Malibu to help make Fine Line. This was how Cherry was made. (6.5K)
Genre: harry x 1dbandmember!reader, friends to lovers, slow burn,
Warning: unhealthy relationship traits, lil angsty, possible typos
side note: italicized is voice over commentary (I wrote this kind of like the Behind the Album documentary) bold are things Harry actually said irl
Previous Song Here! ☀️
—2018—
With the pleas from Jeff and his girlfriend, Harry finds himself attending an art gallery showing on one of his days off in Paris. The room was filled with people dressed in formal, expensive white and black fashion. People who could be less interested in the actual art itself and more of just taking snobby aesthetic looking pictures of themselves to post on their social media pages. He must admit, the fact that the gallery was right next to the French Riviera was a nice touch.
The couple said they would meet Harry at the event so now here he finds himself, standing by himself in a spacious white museum-esque space with various artworks among the walls. He finds peace looking at the painting in front of him. The various colors of paint look like they were spread on by some sort of knife, stretched in all different directions.
“Excusez-moi, mais êtes-vous Harry Styles?” Excuse me, but are you Harry Styles?
Harry tries not to show his discomfort at the fact that he’s barely arrived and people are already trying to get an interaction with him. He quickly racks his brain to muster all the French he knows in preparation to interact with this person. He turns around to respond to the woman behind him only to find YN’s breathtaking smile.
It was safe to say that the last time the two saw each other was in terms of a temporary fix during one of their many lonely periods on tour. Each desperate for the other to fulfill a need that started out platonic, turned into late night affairs and ended with chaste goodbyes. They haven’t seen or heard from one another for the past couple of weeks—being busy with tour and jam-packed schedules—that it's like a weight of relief has been lifted up from both of their shoulders.
Actually, all the wind seems to get knocked out of him as Harry takes in the sight in front of him. YN has her hair naturally done, styled to stay behind her shoulders. Her arms are exposed, her tattoos that are scattered up and down her arms are fully on display. The long, black dress she’s wearing hugs her curves in all the right places and there’s a long slit along the side of her dress, deliciously exposing the majority of her upper thigh. He takes a mental picture of her before looking back up to her teasing smile.
“Does this mean I can get your autograph?”
Harry shakes his head at her, a playfully smirk tugging on his lips.
“Y’can get more than an autograph, C’mere.” YN walks into his extended arms and wraps her own around the tops of his shoulders. She takes in the familiarity of his cologne and the way a hand squeezes her hip before pulling away. “Don’t you look absolutely stunning.”
“You don’t look so bad yourself, Styles.” It’s true. He adorns a black, loose fitting suit with a white tank top underneath. She’s quite annoyed that he’s able to pull off literally anything. She’s convinced he could wear a brown paper bag and make it a new fashion trend by morning.
“So, what brings you to France? Don’t tell me you were just in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by.” He teases.
YN gives Harry a playful pointed look. “Tour, actually. Had a show here last night. You?”
“Got one here tomorrow night.”
YN nods her head, her lips pursed to a side with a slight furrow of her eyebrows.
“What’s with the lip, huh?” Harry nearly loses it when YN breaks into another smile, her bottom lip being catched in between her teeth. He pushes the thoughts of nipping her lip himself, wanting to pull her into a long awaited and much needed kiss.
“It’s just...how did we both happen to be here—at this event of all places—at the same time but we didn’t know the other would be here? Seems a bit serendipitous, don't yeh think?”
Jeffery. He knew, didn't he?
“We’ve just been busy with work I guess.”
YN hums in agreement. “Guess we just have a lot of catching up to do then.”
Harry relishes in the sound of YN’s giggle when he extends an elbow out to her and the warmth she exudes when she wraps her hands around his bicep.
They begin to talk about everything and anything while walking around the art gallery. The couple stops at each one, sharing their thoughts on the piece before drifting back into their own off topic conversations. It was like each was trying to draw out their time together after being apart for so long, soaking up one another’s presence and falling back into the comfortableness of easy conversation.
Harry savors the way YN squeezes his arm every now and then, and the way her voice sounds when she talks about how a certain painting makes her feel.
“Oh, I like this one.” YN says once they’ve stopped at the next painting. “I think this one’s my favorite.”
“You said that about the last one.”
“Yeah but I mean it with this one.” This piece has red, black, and white messily splattered paint all over the canvas.
The two stay silent for a second, taking in the art in front of them before Harry mutters out, “Feels angry.”
“Does it?”
“Yeah. I mean look how the darkness of the black is consuming the red with all of it being splattered together. It’s kind of like the artist was properly ticked off and just needed to throw something.”
“I see love.” Harry looks to YN as she looks at the painting, her eyes bouncing all over the piece in front of her with wonder and appreciation. He sees love, too. “Look how the red still stands out among the darkness. The splashes of red and white move together around the edges, see? How it’s practically hugging the dark middle?” YN tilts her head to the side and Harry matches her actions, trying to see her perspective of the painting.
“It’s passion.” YN whispers out.
“Or maybe it was hung upside down.” She looks at Harry and the two of them can’t help but burst into a fit of giggles, leaning into one another’s touch.
"Chérie!" The two of them turn their heads to see an attractive looking man with a white turtleneck and black trench coat approach them, his arms extended out beside him in a grand gesture. "YN, my darling." Harry feels cold from YN removing herself from his side. He watches as a man takes a hold of his YN’s shoulders and kisses both of her cheeks. Harry’s jaw locks in an instant.
"James, I'd like to introduce you to—"
"Monsieur Harry Styles." The man's thick French accent rings within the space between them. It takes all of Harry's might not to harden his stare but his patience begins to deteriorate by the second as he sees the French man slide his hand onto the bottom of YN’s back. "I cannot tell you how incredibly honored I was to hear of your arrival."
"The honors all mine." Harry's smile tightens as he extends a polite hand to James. YN knows that no matter how bothered Harry might be, he’d never not show the common courtesy of showing kindness to others. "Y’got a lot of great work displayed here."
"Ah yes, I wish I could take all the credit but it is my father's work showcased tonight. Speaking of which...YN there are many people waiting to meet you.”
"Sounds lovely, Chéri.” Harry can feel his blood boiling under his skin at the pet name she used for the man, a pet name that used to belong to him. “I'll be with you in just a second, I was just catching up with—"
"Oh, there's no need.” Harry interjects. “Don't let me be the one holding you up for the night.”
"Harry.” YN gives him a pointed look.
“You are more than welcome to join us, Monsieur Styles.”
"Thank you, but there are some people of my own that I need to catch up with. Excuse me.”
YN watches as Harry turns to walk in their opposite direction, her nostrils flared in knowing full well that she'd rather be in his company more than anyone else’s. If he wasn't so stubborn from his jealousy, he'd consider how cute she looked at that moment. Her cheeks had the lightest shade of pink and her eyes had a fire behind them.
YN puts on a smile instead and lets James lead her away to a waiting group of people.
Turns out Harry’s company had arrived a lot sooner than he realized. Jeff just didn’t want to interrupt the couple’s reunion. When confronted about knowing that YN would be at the gallery tonight, Jeff just shrugged his shoulders and said “It’s basically a crime to not come to an art showing when you’re in Paris.”
Harry knew his manager was lying from the smirk on his face but he could care less. What mattered to him now was keeping a watchful eye on YN as the group of his own moves around the gallery. Harry’s gaze lingers on her when she laughs at jokes one of the people in her group made, wishing he could be physically closer to her enough to hear the beautiful sound. He sees how YN puts a hand on the French man’s shoulder, moving her other hand animatedly as she tells a story. Harry can’t look away from looking at her profile as the group talks about a painting the couple already reviewed.
But what Harry doesn’t know is that when he finally finds the strength to look away, YN looks to him with the same longing.
He watches as YN says something to the group before departing from them and going through one of the glass doors that lead to the balcony. Harry doesn’t pay much attention to the group he’s in as he dismissively mutters to Jeff that he’ll be right back and follows where she exited.
Once he’s pushed open the door, he’s immediately encapsulated by the serenity of silence. He sees YN with her hands leaning against the stone balcony as she looks out to the riviera.
YN quickly straightens up at the sound of the door opening but her shoulders deflate at the sight of her best friend.
“Harry, I just,” YN sighs. “I just need a minute.”
“You alright?" He asks, walking to stand next to her. Reading her, he knows better not to ask but decides to anyway despite his better judgment. The scoff that comes out from the back of her throat further proves his thinking.
"No, m'mot alright. Harry, you can be the most frustrating person sometimes. Acting so childish. Selfish.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you! I spent practically the whole night being with you and talking to you but the second I go to talk with other people you act this way? Really?”
“It looked like you were having a great time anyways.” Harry says bitterly. “Looked perfectly fine being snuggled up against that French bloke.”
“Are you serious?” YN scoffs. She should have known he’d act this way. Part of her knows that she can’t blame him because she’d probably have acted the same way if the roles were reversed. But she doesn’t want to acknowledge that or even think about Harry with somebody else. Even if he’s technically not even her’s to begin with. “M’allow to have friends other than you, Harry. Contrary to popular belief.”
“Well it certainly looked that way. Looked like you didn’t need me while you seemed to be at your best.”
“Oh please! You and I both know that couldn’t be farther from the truth. You know that I would rather spend all my time with you than the rest of those snobby people inside.” Harry wants to dismiss and deflect from this conversation. He can be the most frustrating person? He has never met anyone more infuriating and vexing and...loving person in his life. His gaze softens and his heart immediately breaks at the sound of her voice cracking.
“M’missed you, Harry.” YN’s eyes begin to go glossy. “But you clearly must have not missed me from the way you pushed me away like that—”
Harry cuts her off by bringing his hands to cup her jaw, making her look up into his eyes. “I have missed you so much you have absolutely no bloody idea.”
Their breaths begin to grow heavy in the small space between them. Harry’s thumb wipes a rogue tear that spilled its way onto her cheek and YN can’t stop herself from leaning more into his touch. They’re so close now that one little head tilt can connect their waiting lips.
“What’re we doing, H?” She says, her eyelids flutter close at the feel of his breath moving down across her jaw to below her ear. His lips ghost over her sweet spot and her hands grip the open flaps of his suit coat, needing something to stabilize her.
“I dunno.” YN’s lips fall open in a small gasp as she feels him press a kiss to her neck. “But ‘ve missed you.”
A sigh falls from Harry’s lips at the feel of her hands running up and down his torso. He slides his hands down her sides and he grabs her hips tightly. When he brings his mouth to hers, he’s stopped by YN pressing a finger to his lips.
“Not here.”
Too overcome with his emotions, Harry almost forgot they were in a public space. A crowd full of people just on the other side of the doors.
Both knew how dangerous it was to be seen this way by anybody. Rumors would spread, social media would have a field day, multiple accusations—especially against her—and their entire world would crumble around them. On top of everything, the both of them love the privacy of their relationship and personal lives. It’s obvious to the world that they’ve been best friends since 2010 being in One Direction together, but what was kept behind closed doors needs to remain there.
YN moves her hand from his jaw to the back of his neck. She can’t think straight, but she knows that he’s here and that she can’t bring herself to part from him; not after being away from him for so long and not after admitting that he’s missed her just as much as she did him.
Harry rubs his pinky over the skin that’s exposed from the slit of her dress as he thinks of his next move.
“Then let’s get out of here, yeah?” There’s that smile that can bring any man to his knees.
“Just give me two seconds. I need to go tell James—”
“No.” If she mentions that name one more time, he’s going to lose it. “Let’s leave right now.” Harry says with a sly smirk on his face, tugging her hands as he begins to walk backwards towards the side exit of the balcony.
“Monsieur Styles.” YN teases. “You’re really being serious right now.”
“Deadly.” Harry intertwines their fingers together, locking them together as they quickly descend down the side staircase on the side of the building. YN thinks about how much their cheeks are going to be sore the next day from smiling so much. They leave their worries along with a room full of people behind them as they headway towards Harry’s Range Rover, driving into the night towards YN’s Paris apartment.
YN’s eyes flutter open at the sound of Harry strumming a guitar. She turns her head on the pillow to see Harry sitting criss-cross on the bed so he faces the headboard. His briefs lazy tugged up his hips. His phone lays in the space in front of him, recording himself on his notes app. Harry looks up at her sleepy smile and can’t help but give a soft one back.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.” Harry whispers, placing a hand on her thigh above the sheets. YN hums as he rubs his thumb softly over her leg and relaxes deeper into the comforters.
“You didn’t,” YN whispers back, basking at the warmth his hand brings. “That sounds really beautiful.”
“I was just messing around.” Harry loves the sight in front of him: his love just having woken up, the gray light of the early morning casting over her face as she looks back at him with so much love in her eyes. So much love for him. He wants to look at her forever like this. This is her naked. Not just physically, but emotionally. And he loves her so much that his heart can burst. He wishes this could be his forever but they both know it’s way too complicated than that.
“Will you play more for me?” YN says with her eyes closed.
A bit after Harry continues to play, YN pouts as she blindly reaches for her phone on the bedside table.
“What’re doin?”
“Gotta call James. He was my ride home and he’s probably wondering where I went last night.” When she sees Harry begin to tense up, YN adds, “He probably got too preoccupied with his boyfriend to even notice my leave.”
That makes his strumming come to a stop.
“Boyfriend?”
YN nods with a small, knowing smile, bringing her phone to her ear. “Boyfriend.”
“Huh.”
YN resists the urge to roll her eyes at the man in front of her. She knows that this added bit of information eased Harry's jealousy from creeping back into his brain. Even after they spent the night indulging in one another, she knew him like the back of her hand. After four rings, she hears James’s groggy morning voice come through the speaker.
“Coucou!” YN says excitedly over the phone. “Tu dors? Oh, j'suis désolée...Bah non.” She giggles sheepishly for waking her friend so early. “Nan, c'est pas important...Ouais, on a été à la plage, et maintenant on—” YN makes eye contact with Harry. He raises an eyebrow in suspicion, picking up a few bits of their conversation.
YN continues to giggle under his gaze, not wanting to further spread any of their business to anyone. “Tant pis...Ok Chéri. Je t'aime. Bonne nuit.”
When she ends the call, YN feels a shift in the bed as Harry crawls up to rest his body above her’s.
“Have I ever told you how sexy you sound when you speak French?” Harry questions, rubbing their noses together.
“Maybe once or twice.” Harry can’t help but nip at her bottom lip. Taking it between his teeth, pulling back to only watch it bounce back into place.
“Maybe we should go again once or twice.”
YN giggles against Harry’s lips, humming at the feeling of his hands running up the length of her sides before he tugs the silk sheet off of her body.
“Parfait! Allez!”
-2019-
“Once we were in the studio it was probably the rawest I've ever been with someone on an emotional level. At the time of recording it in the studio, I already had the guitar melody but the lyrics were only partially written...”
“Hey, you're in my spot.” YN smiles at Kid as she walks into the home studio in Malibu, her laptop pressed against her chest. Kid leans back in the swivel chair and smiles back at her.
“And to think that I was just beginning to miss working with you.” YN meets him halfway and gives him a low five that turns into a fist bump.
“Oh stop, you love me.” She says, grabbing another swelling chair as she gets situated.
“Unfortunately.”
YN places her laptop on top of the large studio console and begins setting up her editing software.
Harry and Mitch are on the other side of the glass window in the recording room. Harry notices her presence yet tries to not draw too much attention to his actions. This certainly doesn’t go unseen by Mitch though.
“Think you’re developing a staring problem, dude.” Mitch says, snapping his friend out of his trance. “Thought you said you guys were platonic right now.”
“We are.”
“Right.” The guitarist drags out the word. “Whatever you say, man.”
“You know what? I feel that this could really work between us. It’s definitely going better than I thought it would go.” It both comforts and terrifies the ex couple that the men here know about their circumstances. It was hard enough that they were trying to figure things out for themselves that it doesn’t help much when they have a looming group of close friends wanting to meddle their way into their relationship. Whatever the status of said relationship was on didn’t matter. “Like yesterday, when we all sat together and wrote Golden. I dunno, it just felt right.”
“So I heard from Harry that we were going to pick up on Watermelon Sugar from like a bazillion years ago?” YN says before looking over to Kid to see him on his phone.
“We were but there were some instrumental issues Ty and I still aren’t too happy with yet so we’re gonna move on to another song H has been working on.” Kid says. “He had sent me a voice note with it earlier today. I haven’t had a chance to have a listen but I'll send it to you right now.” YN nods and looks over to where Harry is sitting on the other side of the glass window.
Harry and Mitch laugh at something that she can’t quite hear yet it puts a smile on her face to see him happy. She knows that not being together at the moment has been hard for the both of them, especially Harry from what Mitch has been telling her. It was nice to know that they were able to keep it professional at the moment as she’s basically an employee for Harry as a vocalist, writer and now music producer.
Harry looks away from Mitch and catches her gaze. The smile never fades from either one of their faces.
“Alright, you should have it now.” Kid says, popping the little bubble between the ex couple. She’s the first to break eye contact and focus her attention back to work.
“Cool, I'll get it started then.”
“Just so you know, Harry mentioned that there were some voices laying over the demo so...” Kid smacks his lips together. “More work for you, hun.”
“No biggie,” YN says, searching through her messages. “I'll just work around it.” She finally has the file titled ‘cherry.’ “What's up with this guy and naming his songs after fruits?” She chuckles as she opens the file.
“Styles,” Kid switches on the speaker button on the panel and YN glances at Harry as he turns his head over to look at the two of them. “What’s up with you and fruit, mate?” She smiles back down at her laptop as she loads the audio file to her editing program.
“Eh...dunno,” Harry says with a chuckle. Before Kid can respond, YN plays the voice note bringing Harry to his feet in an instant at the sound. “YN.”
She doesn't look up from the sound of her name being called but instead furrows her eyebrows at the guitar melody being played. It sounds so familiar but she can’t quite place her finger on where she heard it from.
“Coucou!”
YN’s eyes instantly widen as she hears her own voice coming in through the speakers. It clicks in an instant.
“Tu dors? Oh, j'suis désolée...Bah non.”
She tears her gaze away from her screen and looks up to Harry and his sorrowful expression. It hits her that she wasn’t supposed to hear this, at least the demo version. Maybe that’s why he sent the voice note to Kid instead of her.
“Nan, c'est pas important...Ouais, on a été à la plage, et maintenant on—”
YN can feel Kid’s eyes going back and forth between them but she can’t seem to draw her gaze away from Harry's. Her wide eyes start to well up with tears as she remembers the intimate moment between the two of them.
There’s a rough cut in the audio before she hears her voice say, “Parfait! Allez!”
The demo comes to an end and silence fills the recording studio. Harry stays frozen on his feet, wanting to say something, do anything that could take away the hurt YN’s feeling right now.
“I’m sorry, YN. I should have listened to the demo before I gave it to you. I think I was supposed to remaster it be-” Kid’s ramble is cut short by YN shaking her head.
“No, it uh, it's fine.” It takes everything in her to break away from Harry's intense stare and look at Kid. “I’ll uh get started on figuring out the rest of the instrumental and then we’ll go from there.” She quickly wipes away the rouge tears that have escaped her eyes. She hates that I’m crying, that she’s getting emotional. It’s utterly embarrassing but she needs to be professional. She needs to do her job, that’s why she was brought here.
YN clears her throat before looking over at Mitch who’s still standing next to Harry. “Can you come help me with that please?”
Mitch nods quickly and places his hand on Harry's shoulder before leaving the recording room.
“I’ll just-” kid points over to Harry before getting up from his seat to leave. YN just nods her head and begins to fidget with the rings on her fingers. Mitch and Kid meet each other passing through the door and give each other a worried look. She looks back at the panel in front of her and switches off the speaker button.
“I wanted to be true to [the breakup]. I wanted it to be true to how I was feeling then, in that moment. It was all part of being more open and not like, ‘I don’t care.’ You get petty when something’s not going the way that you want, and ‘Cherry' is pathetic in a way.” Harry's index finger rubs under his nose as he tries to hide his sniffle.
Three knocks on the doorframe of the recording room making Harry perk up. YN stands there with her arms crossed comfortably under her chest and a smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “Hey, you.”
“YN, hey.” Harry had a couple of hours to think about what to say to her as she and Mitched worked together. His speech seems to be thrown out the window as all he can think of saying is, “I’m really sorry for all that—”
“You don’t have to apologize, H. I knew you would make that melody into a song sooner than later. It really is beautiful.”
“Are you not upset?” In all honesty, it did hurt. But thanks to Mitch, she started to think about how a relationship takes two people. Harry and YN’s relationship has grown complicated since their trip to Jamaica. It’s grown confusing and the two of them don’t seem to have any healthy boundaries when it comes to one another. Even if it’s not in the romantic sense—that’s a whole different conversation for a different day—there’s no denying that they love each other. They will always be there for one another, drop everything for the other person if need be.
“At first? But who am I to blame you for what happened? For wanting to write from a personal place? We’ve both done it before. M’Just glad you cut out the more...intimate part of that voice memo before the others could hear it.” YN forces out a soft chuckle.
Harry looks down at his fingers playing with the wires from his headphones with a scoff in disbelief. “Dunno how you’re real.”
“But there’s something else still bothering you.” YN’s eyebrows furrow sadly at seeing her best friend release a heavy sigh. “Tell me.”
“I just feel a lot of pressure. Like I should be making these big songs that should be playing on the radio. I have all of these ideas of records I want to make in the next 5 years or 10 years but it’s just...I dunno.”
“It’s pressure, H.” Harry runs a hand over his stressed face. “And while pressure can be good, it can be damaging too.”
“So I’m screwed if I do and screwed if I don’t.” Harry lets out a sad chuckle.
“Hey,” YN walks up to him and he ignores the tingling feeling he gets when the tops of her thighs touch his knees from their close proximity. This doesn’t seem promising as she gently grabs a hold of his chin. “You can’t beat yourself over this, alright? You’re way too good of an artist to do that. You have to block out the world and make the record that you wanna make right now. That’s it.”
“Y’make it sound so easy, lovie.” Harry sighs, taking her hand from his face to intertwine his fingers with hers.
“It can be. Just write from your heart, yeah? As cheesy as that sounds.” Harry huffs and nods to his best friend, her words of encouragement simmering into his chest. “And if you don’t mind, I think I’ll sit this one out. M’sorry I know you hired and brought me here to help you—and I totally will if you need me—”
“YN, yeah I hired you again because you’re super talented but I also brought you here because I wanted you here. You don’t have to do anything you don’t feel comfortable doing. Alright?” Even when YN sadly nods, he wonders how she can still look absolutely breathtaking. A part of him feels dejected at the fact that she won’t be in the studio helping him write; they’ve been doing it for years on end. Yet, a part of him feels some relief in being able to express some of his inner feelings about that night in Paris in the best way he knows how.
“Now go write some sad stuff.” Harry snorts at her comment and the irony of her already knows what’s racking through his mind. “I’m heading off to bed. S’been a long day. See you in the morning?”
“In the morning.” He repeats. With that, Harry feels her give his hand a final squeeze before he watches her back as she walks out the recording room. Once YN has rounded the corner in the empty hallway, she leans back against the wall and releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding.
“I think everyone has a ‘pathetic’ song. I’ve definitely had my fair share in writing a song or two about stuff like this. And it's not that the song itself is rubbish, it’s the way you feel after a break up that feels pathetic when you look back at it. It’s just...” YN begins to fidget with her rings on her fingers. “Weird? If that's the right word, seeing your—just someone who you care deeply for be on the other end of the stick.”
The next day, Harry and some of his crew members are working in the home studio while YN spends some time outside in the huge backyard. She’s decided to take her own advice and write about her feelings; both about their time in Paris and how she’s currently feeling.
YN sits criss-crossed on a blanket, basking in the Summer sun and strumming her acoustic guitar as she sings.
“Hey love, time to get up, I think you've been sleeping too long. My day started when you were still yawning.” YN reminisces on the overcast morning in Paris, waking up to Harry’s strumming.
“One room just ain't enough when it's two folks trying to get along. But it's hard to leave you alone.” It felt so scary yet exhilarating to have set up a boundary with Harry the night before. Even if it was just one so far, it’s still a step in the right direction.
“Oh, love is always better when we take time to get back to who we are. When we are apart, distance makes the heart grow. Even when I'm lonely, happy knowing that your love is never far. When we are apart, distance makes the,” YN continues to sing. Even though it’s going to hurt her, the both of them really, but their love is only going to grow stronger this way.
“It makes the leaves on the trees fall. Makes the hours in the day long. Makes me want to clear my head, find a little café and write the words to a song.” She scribbles down her lyrics in her journal, quickly wanting to pluck the chords again to get back into her groove.
“And I know that I'm still free. Be anywhere that I wanna be,” YN smirks to herself as she remembers how Harry initially looked at her when they reunited in Paris. “Maybe get dressed up, wear something real pretty that you ain't never seen.”
YN jots down her new lyrics in her journal when she hears footsteps approaching from the porch behind her. Harry plops down next to her on the blanket, laying on his back with his hands behind his head.
“I needed this,” He sighs. “Been in that studio for hours.”
“Finish the song?” YN asks, turning her head to look at Harry’s relaxed state. His eyes are closed as he takes in the Californian warmth. It’s one of their favorite things about coming here or really any place that has hot Summers. She especially loves going to Italy with him. It’s the place where he gets the most tanned, leaving his chest bare whenever he has the chance—boundaries, YN.
“Not yet. Still feels like it needs somethin’ just don’t know what.” Harry inhales deeply. “But don’t wanna think about it right now. What’ve you been up to? Anything good?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Would you play some for me?”
YN lets out a long hum in contemplation. Harry opens one eye to look at her. “Come on,” He teases, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” He lets out a laugh when YN hits his side with her journal.
“Yeh such a boy sometimes.” She sits her guitar down and lays down next to Harry.
“Is that a no?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“If it’s good enough to sell.” YN started to write her own songs and sell them to other artists for a couple of years now. She finds it cathartic: being able to vent and figure out her feelings through making music before letting it go out into the world.
“Then I’ll be hearing it soon. Whether that be from you or on the radio.” YN tries to keep the smile from tugging on her lips. It brings a warm feeling in her chest to hear someone support her in the way that he does. It’s crazy how quickly she can feel at ease when he’s near her. She wants to hold onto these moments a little while longer before the world, work, and the rest of reality begins to rear its big, ugly head into her life again.
When she looks over to him, she finds that he’s already looking at her. There she goes again, he thinks. Being as golden as ever.
“You’re going to burn a hole through my head if you keep staring at me all the time.” YN teases. Even with the warm light cascading over his face, she can still see his cheeks turn a light shade of pink. Turns out he wasn’t being as discreet as he thought he was.
“I-I mean, I didn’t mean—” His stuttering gets cut off by her giggles. He can’t help but give her a sheepish smile. “Well can yeh blame me?”
“You’re such a sap.” YN pokes one of his dimples before sitting up and nodding her head towards the house. “Come on. Let’s get to work.”
“But we’re relaxing.” He whines out when she takes a hold of his hands, tugging him up into a sitting position.
“Can’t relax with the sound of those gears turning in your head.” Once they’re both on their feet, Harry helps gather her things before heading inside.
“Y’sure you want to help? There’s no pressure, lovie.” He tells YN once they’ve stopped outside the door of the home studio.
“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to, yeah?” YN feels like she’s in a much better headspace than last night. Especially after her mini self-writing session.
So here she finds herself sitting in the same chair she was in yesterday. Harry’s other producers, Kid and Tyler, sit beside her in front of the huge studio console. Mitch and Jeff sit on the couch behind them. Harry stands off to the side, one arm across his chest while his other hand plays with his bottom lip, anxiously watching YN for her reaction as the song plays through the speakers.
Don't you call him baby.
We're not talking lately.
Don't you call him what you used to call me.
YN is immediately transported back to the art gallery in Paris. She’s meeting James’s parents and his boyfriend. Her eyes spot a head full of familiar curls across the room before politely excusing herself from the group.
I, I confess I can tell that you are at your best
I'm selfish so I'm hating it.
YN remembers pushing through the glass doors to the balcony. The sky is dark and the moon casades its light over the riviera. She invites the cool breeze against her skin. It’s a nice contrast from the suffocating room. She misses him.
Does he take you walking round his parents' gallery?
She sees the red, white, and black splatter painting. The love and passion of it all—the painting, Paris, Harry, their complicated relationship—screaming in her face.
“Any ideas?” Kid’s the first to speak up. It’s a beautiful song. Painful and captivating all at the same time. And yet, even with Harry’s heart-breaking yelling at the end of the song, it can still use something...
“How vulnerable are you willing to go with this song?” YN finally looks up at Harry.
“Very. Why? What do you have in mind?”
“I think you should add in the voice memo.” The men look at her with shock, clearly not expecting that answer.
“You’re okay with that?” Mitch says from his spot on the couch.
“I am. We could distort my voice enough so it can be unrecognizable. But it’s still up to you. It’s just an idea.”
“What do you say, Boss?” Tyler spins in his seat to look at Harry. Everyone is.
You have to block out the world and make the record that you wanna make right now. That’s it. YN’s words from last night ring through his head. He gives her a look, silently asking for approval. When she gives him a reassuring nod, that’s all he needs.
A/N: thank you lovies for all your support. i can't express to you all how much i love and appreciate you so much!! 💚
SUMMARY: YN and Harry have known each other since 2010 when they were put in a band together called One Direction. Since the band split up, YN and Harry have kept in close contact, may or may not have grown deeper feelings for one another and have continued to help each other create music. After having helped Harry with HS1, he has invited YN back again to Malibu to help make Fine Line. This was how Fine Line was made. (5.2K)
GENRE: harry x 1dbandmember!reader, friends to lovers, slow burn
WARNING: lil angsty, questionable relationship traits
side note: italicized is voice over commentary (I wrote this kind of like the Behind the Album documentary)
MASTERLIST Previous Song 🎹
—2018—
They’ve been teasing each other all night. The short skirt she wore was already getting Harry excited by how it easily swayed every time she walked. Before the show as YN walked with him backstage, she made sure to give him a longer, slower kiss than usual. In return, he made sure to perform a little extra tonight: grinding on his microphone stand slower than usual, running his hands down his body more often, and always sending a smirk her way on the sidelines.
The adrenaline that was running through his veins once he was off the stage only spiked up higher as they ran hand in hand to his dressing room.
It’s been like this for the past two years, this on and off, borderline friends-with-benefits-relationship between them. Hiding behind closed doors lies more than just the Harry Styles and YN LN persona that the world likes to perceive.
It’s where the media don’t get to see the way his mouth clings to hers as he presses her up against the dressing room door. Or the way her fingers tug on the roots of his hair as he kneels in front of her after lifting her onto the vanity, and rips her panties from her hips to dive into her. Or how all of the items of the desk shake and topple over once he’s inside her. And they certainly don’t get to see his ring-covered hand over her mouth, his teeth biting at the skin of his knuckles there, as they both come undone.
“Hey, um, wanna go take a shower with me? Save some water or however that sayin’ goes.” Harry huffs out a chuckle after buttoning up his blue trousers. He waits anxiously for her answer as he watches her fix her hair in the mirror her back was pressed up against not even three minutes ago.
Ready to dismiss her pre-planned schedule, she looks at him through the mirror and gives him a cheeky smile. “I would actually—”
Three loud knocks on the dressing room door and Jeff’s voice comes out all muffled.
“Wrap it up, Love Birds! Time to head out!”
“Duty calls.” YN says with a small chuckle, making no move to actually leave her spot. She knew she needed to leave a bit earlier than usual due to having to prepare for her own show the next night—hence a quickie rather than heading back to his hotel room for the whole night—but now that she’s being told to so, she just wants Harry to hold her tight and hide them away from the rest of the world.
In a lot of ways, it’s like nothing’s changed since their One Direction days. Being pulled away before anything serious would happen, using their busy schedules as an excuse to not get the chance to fully say anything that they wanted to.
YN sees the way he hasn’t made any move to leave either, still playing with the glittery cuff of his suit jacket.
“Still coming to the show tomorrow night?” She asks, putting a hand over his fidgety ones like he always does with her.
“Course.” He gives her a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes as he tries his hardest to not show her how bothered he is. He should truly know better than trying to hide behind a smile in front of her, but he knows she has tells too. By her not teasing him about the front he’s putting up lets him know she’s crouching behind her own brick wall too.
And like every goodbye since Jamaica, they share a quick kiss before reluctantly forcing themselves to part ways. He truly doesn’t think twice about cupping her jaw to keep her there, turning his head to deepen the kiss. Unlike it was five minutes ago, this kiss isn’t rushed or filled with lust. Instead of pulling on the damp curls on the nape of his neck, her hands rest gently on his hips, thumbs rubbing on the stubborn squishy part of his hip bones. Instead of his fingers encircling around her neck, they softly caress her cheeks.
Sex seemed like the only possible way to have YN as close as he could, as he wanted it, as a means to pretend to live in a world where they’re an official couple.
Three more loud knocks ring from outside the dressing room door break their passionate kiss.
“YN, it’s time to go!” Jenny, her manager, yells. “Don’t make me pull you out of there myself.”
“Hey, we’re alright yeah?”
And that’s how it always goes. Whether it be a late night together in a hotel room or a quickie after a show like this, when it’s time to leave each other YN never fails to reassure him that everything is good between them. While it can be a relief to know that despite the back and forth of their romantic relationship they can still hold that closeness of friendship.
But what has him feeling broken is the fact that she reminds him of that. That no matter how on and off they go from being friends to something more, there is never a moment where they officially cross the fine line of friendship. They stay floating there, never drifting too far off one end to ever put a label on anything.
She uses it as a means of reassurance. So Harry uses this line after these times to convince himself that they’ll be alright for now.
“Always.” He huffs out a smile. He knows she can see right through him but he’s thankful she doesn’t have time to call him out on it.
Now as he watches her exit his dressing room, he repeats her infamous phrase between them to himself.
“Yeah, we’ll be alright.”
—2019—
Harry shakes a towel through his hair as he walks from the backyard beach to the kitchen. After last night's antics—and a couple of drinks later—sleep was in no way a possibility. He had spent all afternoon in the water like she would do in the mornings.
Was it a pathetic way to feel some part of her still there? Maybe.
Did it make him even sadder than he was before? Possibly.
The whole day was just a big mess. When he got in the recording booth, his vocals were all over the place. He couldn’t remember the chords to Falling and started to get frustrated when no one else couldn’t figure it out. And when he tried to move on to a different song, he still couldn’t figure out what Watermelon Sugar needed.
“Wha’s going?” Harry questions as he watches his production team chatting away as they file out the front door.
“Come on, get dressed.” Mitch says, quickly tucking his phone into his back pocket. “Everyone’s gonna head out to that restaurant that’s on the way up here for dinner.”
“M’good mate. Have fun.”
“You don’t wanna come with? It’ll do you so good, man.” Mitch tries to persuade him but only receives a sad shake of his friend’s head.
“M’gonna go work on the album some more. There’s a couple of things I wanna add and fix and all that so...”
Harry can feel that his friend has some hesitancy with leaving and almost wants to reassure Mitch with the classic I’m fine line that everyone knows means the opposite. But he internally releases a sigh of relief when Mitch eventually does leave.
Once he hears the car start and back out the driveway, he tries not to think about how familiar it sounded the night before. Dragging his feet down the hall towards his room, he pauses right outside the room she inhabited during her stay. He’s lost count of the amount of times he’s been standing in this similar position: their stay in Jamaica, her dressing room at the venue she’s performing at, hotel rooms, her yellow house door.
Always just one door away from being with her, from being home.
He’s about to pull himself away from his spot at the door but he hears some rustling from inside.
Harry pushes the door open the rest of the way to find an empty room and sees nothing that looks out of the ordinary. He thinks he might just need some sleep to help shake off some of the nerves. Especially when he sees YN come out of the connected bathroom, shoving her toiletries in the duffle bag in her hand. Or when she looks up at him with those tantalizing eyes that manage to take his breath away every single time. The same eyes that are now puffy and dark from lack of sleep or crying, probably both. No doubt his look the same. Yeah, he must be dreaming.
“Mitch told me you weren’t gonna be here.” YN wrings out a t-shirt in her hands, now looking everywhere but his eyes. “Sorry, I’ll be out of your hair in a sec. Came to get my things.”
He doesn’t say anything, he wants to more than anything but he can’t seem to get the words out. So instead, he just watches as the woman in front of him moves around the room as she gathers her clothes.
He doesn’t mean to pick a fight with her. Honestly, he’s just happy to be in the same room as her again even if she wants absolutely nothing to do with him right now. So he truly doesn’t know why the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, “Did I not mean anything to you?”
She scoffs, not even looking up at him as she shakes her head. “M’not gonna answer that.” When she’s met with his silence and lifts her head up to see how uneasy he looks, she can’t help but roll her eyes. “That’s a stupid question and you know it. Of course I do. Harry, you...” YN closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in to try to calm herself from raising her voice. “You mean so much to me.”
“If I mean so much to you then why didn’t you tell me how you felt? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Why didn’t you?” She snaps back, forcefully throwing a pair of shorts into her bag as she’s already getting flustered from being in the same room as him. “Y’know what? Nevermind, I don’t wanna start whatever this is—” YN waves her hands in front of her, “—up again.”
“And what exactly is this? Because it sure as hell isn’t just a friendship and it’s clearly not an official relationship either.” Harry runs a frustrated hand down his face when she purposefully ignores him and continues to go about the room. It’s in these moments where he can’t decide whether her stubbornness is his favorite or the most frustrating thing about her.
He knows that she can leave any time she wants, that he’ll move out of the way and let her walk out the front door if she told him to. So there’s an odd sense of relief knowing that even after she’s zipped up her duffel, she hasn’t moved from her spot next to the bed and continues to avoid his gaze. So he takes the opportunity to say what’s been on his mind for a while now.
“Y’know, I’ll be strong enough to admit that yeah, I was taking advantage of you. Having you here with me, making music with you, being physically and emotionally close to you as we were without putting a label on anything. It wasn’t fair to you, but it wasn’t fair to me either.” He walks over to where she faces the sliding glass doors in the bedroom, looking out to the sun set above the sea line. “YN, you’re my best friend—”
“No, not this again.” YN turns to face him with a sharp tone. “Harry enough—”
“Maybe if you just listened to me—”
“I don’t want to listen to you—”
“Why do you always have to be so stubborn!”
“I don’t want to keep going in this cycle with you!”
“I thought you moved on!”
“Does it look like I’ve bloody moved on?” YN lets out a dry laugh.
“I love—”
“No. I know what y’going say and don’t. Please don’t say it.” She begs, her voice cracking at the end.
Normally he would respect and honor her plea, especially when her glossy eyes flicker back and forth between his. But he can’t hold it back anymore, he can’t keep it locked inside of him any longer when the words are busting his heart seams open.
“No, I will say it. I love you. I love everything about you. And I’m going to keep saying it until it gets through that stubborn, little head of yours.” They’re so close to each other now that they can feel each other’s breath fan over their lips. “I love you, YN.”
Without giving himself time to think about it, he cups her jaw in his hand and presses his mouth to hers. He’s missed her so much and the way her lips taste are intoxicating. It isn’t until he feels her hands push against his chest that he takes a step back, both slightly out of breath.
He can’t make out her emotions, her lips parted and eyes wide in an unreadable way. Judging by her silence and the fact that she pushed him away, he knows he’s messed up and possibly made things even worse.
“Sorry. Sorry I shouldn’t have—” He gets cut off by YN gripping the back of his neck, pulling him down to her level to reconnect their lips and pressing her body so close to his that there is no room left between them.
Harry furrows his eyebrows as he pants into his mouth, already getting unbelievably lost in her. He wastes no time by bending down into her to grip the backs of her thighs, lifting her off the ground to lay them both on the bed.
With every hair pull, every nail digging into their skin, every kiss and gasp is filled with a type of love that can only be expressed by their suppressed emotions finally being released into the open.
So when Harry finally presses into her, leaving them moaning out into one another’s skin, they know its intentions are not out of a place of lust or a quick need for a release, but out of something both of them longed for and practically dreamt of doing with one another. Something only reserved for the one you plan to spend the rest of your life with.
It’s not merely sex; YN can feel that it's something more when she doesn’t feel the need to tell him to go faster because the slow movement of his hips are blissfully enough. Or to even think about loosening her hold on his back because having him chest to chest with her, having him so close to her, is something she wants to feel forever.
She knows it’s something way beyond anything she’s ever felt before because it has her whispering out the words that have been locked away in her heart since she was sixteen.
“I-I love you.”
Harry stops all of his movements. He lifts his head from the crook of her neck and pants as he looks down at her wide, scared eyes. YN is both paralized in fear and feels an unbelievably heavy weight being lifted from her chest. She’s said these three little words to him countless times throughout her years of knowing him, but this time, it’s been said in a way that feels both foreign and like she’s been saying it her entire life. Never has she ever meant them in this context, never have the words ever perfectly described what she feels for her best friend.
She internally begins to panic when he hasn’t said anything yet, not even so much as moved an inch from his position above her. She thinks she might have done something wrong but then he slowly builds his pace back up, going faster than he was before.
“Again.” He rasps out.
YN gasps, suddenly at a loss for words. The feeling of him against her with her true feelings finally out in the open has her arching her back up, rolling her eyes back and squeezing them shut in pleasure. That is until he grips her jaw roughly in his hand, making her look into his hazy jade eyes, “Tell me again.”
“I love you.” She quickly pants out. “I love you, Harry. So much.” Her words get muffled by him bringing his mouth to hers, swallowing down all her moans and whimpers.
He immediately repeats the words back to her and it’s a broken record, declaring their love for one another over and over again as they continue to get lost in each other.
...
Harry stirs around on his stomach with his cheek pressed against the pillow. He takes in a deep breath in through his nose as he starts to wake up from his sleepy state of mind. The blinding light coming in from the sliding glass doors let him know that the day has begun itself again.
When his left hand aimlessly moves to the other side of the bed and feels its emptiness, he quickly moves his head in that direction in confusion. He almost begins to panic but is immediately soothed over by the sound of the soft strumming of an acoustic guitar.
“Hey.” YN whispers, pressing the button on her phone to stop recording her voice memo.
“Well this is some reverse deja vu shit.” Harry says, bringing a soft smile to both of their faces as they remember their time in Paris the previous year and what would later turn out to be Cherry.
“Just doing what we do best.” YN sighs, resting her guitar against the bedside table. She lets him pull her back down to him until his body is practically on top of hers.
“And what’s that? Mhm?” He hums, brushing his nose against her cheek so he can kiss her jaw.
“Making songs about our fucked up situation.”
“Oh, is that what this is?”
“Harry?” He lifts his head to fully face her worried expression. “What happened to us?”
He’s a little taken back by her question. He knew that they would have to talk about their current situation eventually, but her question goes farther back than he would like to admit. He would like to say that life happened, they grew up, or just fully put the blame on their management. And for the first time in a long time, no matter how scared he is, he tells her the truth.
“I fell in love with you and never told you about it. I felt like, every time I was with you or wanted to tell you to be mine, I paniced.”
“And I’m as much to blame for pulling myself out of our relationships. Or whatever we were at the time.” YN avoids looking at her love in the eyes and plays with the chain around his neck. “I just...I’ve never really cared about anyone in the way I do with you. And I started to think about that cheesy saying ‘if you love someone, let ‘em go,’ and when I started to picture my life without you in it, it scared me.” She whispers her last words. YN tucks her lips in as her eyes get glossy again.
“It scares me, too.” He reassures her. Even if she didn’t reciprocate his love for her, he would gladly suck it up, put on a smile and be the friend she needed. Hell, he’s been doing it for almost a decade at this point.
“But...we’re alright now, right?”
“Don't ever say that to me again.” Harry chuckles, knuckling the sleep away from his eyes. When he’s met with a confused furrow of her eyebrows, it occurs to him that she doesn’t know what that phrase has done to him. He nervously clears his throat, “Well, whenever we finished having sex during our on and off phases, you would always say that. That thing of ‘we’ll be alright’ no matter what. And while it was nice to know that through everything our friendship wasn’t ruined, it made me feel like you were okay with us not being officially together. Like you were okay being fuck buddies and nothing more when...when I wanted more.”
“I’ve always wanted more, too. I just was too chicken to say anythin’ because I...I dunno. I thought you didn’t want tha’ too.”
“Couldn’t be farther from the truth.” Harry seals his statement with a kiss and literally melts when she keeps him to her with her soft hands to his cheeks.
“Give me a reason to fall out of love with you.” YN mumbles against his lips.
“I can give you a million.”
“Is this healthy?”
“Probably not. But loving you, and now knowing that you love me in the same way I do you, gives me so much life.”
“How ‘bout we just take things slow this time?” YN nervously suggests. “We’ve always gone in feet first with this kind of stuff and look what happened.” They both let out a light chuckle as they both come to realize the truth behind her words. After leaving their old management and too caught up in the excitement of it all, they went into this romantic relationship with one another that they didn’t even discuss what one another wanted. They knew they wanted each other—and while at the time that seemed like enough—they both failed to realize how they were in a position to fully devote themselves to one another so much to the point where it scared them enough to pull themselves from the relationship and lose who they are as individuals.
“Slow is good.” Harry agrees.
“So...now we’re really alright. Alright?”
“Alright.” Harry echoes with a smile, bringing his lips down to hers again.
“Alri—” She giggles against his mouth but it turns into a soft sigh when Harry lays them on their sides, a hand gripping the back of her thigh to wrap around his hip.
“Did you Love Birds finally kiss and make—woah!” Harry quickly throws his body on top of YN’s, pulling up the sheets to cover as much of her as he can; he could care less about himself.
“Fuckin’ hell, Jeffery!” Harry yells at his manager who now has his hand over his eyes. All the while YN is laughing into the crook of his neck.
“Oh shit, sorry! Sorry! But I’m happy you guys made up.” Jeff gives a blind thumbs up and stumbles his way out of the room, slamming the door behind him. “Mitch, you bitch why’d you let me go in there!”
The couple can barely make out Mitch’s causal, “I didn’t know they’d be fucking naked,” muffled through the door.
The couple slightly jumps when more knocks and whistles sound through the other side of the door before hearing the other producers shouting, “Good to have yeh back, YN!”
Harry drops his head on her shoulder with a groan while YN lets out a string of giggles.
“Come on, let’s get to work.” She pushes at his shoulder to try to get him up but it just makes him let his full body weight on her.
“Really? M’naked on top of yeh and y’wanna start working?”
“Really?” YN mocks back with a sassy shake of her head against the pillow. “Our co-workers just walked in on us and you still wanna stay in here?”
“Eh, so what? They already know.” He playfully shrugs and goes in for a kiss only to be met with her hand.
“Nuh uh. Nope. M’not doing that.” YN giggles, trying to keep his face from hers.
“Just a quickie.” He teases, hands moving to her sides to wiggle his fingers in her ticklish spot just to make her laugh.
So far it’s been a busy few days. Since getting back on the team, there were a lot of things that needed to get done. It was all a game of catch up at this point: add some finishing touches on To Be So Lonely, officially recording and producing Falling, and now onto start working on the song Fine Line.
YN sits on the electric piano bench inside the recording room. One side of the big studio headphones is pushed back behind her ear. After finishing up her bit with Falling, she tilts her head as an idea comes to mind.
As she waits to do another take, she mindlessly presses her fingers against the keys while she hums out the melody that’s in her head. She plays each note with careful thought as she tries to figure out a new melody. This same melody would later be replicated over various stringed and brass instruments.
“It started simple with an acoustic guitar YN had and it had a very mellow melody to it that the song begins with. but I wanted to have this big epic outro thing. And it just took shape as this thing where I thought, ‘That’s just like the music I want to make.’ I love strings, I love horns, I love harmonies — so why don’t we just put all of that in there?
The team sits in the living room while they all have lunch. YN sits criss-cross on the floor in front of the couch in between Harry’s legs as she rhythmically strums her guitar to the melody she was playing the morning after making up with Harry. It’s been stuck in her head ever since her and Harry were able to put some lyrics down on paper.
Put a price on emotion, I'm looking for something to buy
You've got my devotion but man, I can hate you sometimes
I don't want to fight you
And I don't wanna sleep in the dirt
We'll get the drinks in so I'll get to thinking of her
We'll be a fine line
Since the house was scattered with instruments lying around, Tyler sets down his plate on the floor and plugs in a Casio piano. After wiping his hands on the sides of his jeans, his fingers play the slow melody she did earlier that day.
Test of my patience, There's things that we'll never know
Having helped Harry write the song earlier, she can’t help but join in and sing along to her shared words and emotions.
You sunshine, you temptress, My hand's at risk, I fold
She can’t help her eyes close, furrowing her eyebrows as she sings from a vulnerable place.
Crisp trepidation, I'll try to shake this soon
Spreading you open, Is the only way of knowing you
We'll be a fine line
The couple sings the line over and over again, being reminded of how much they went back and forth, on and off, over and over again to the point of losing track of themselves.
Soon enough, Mitch stands up from his spot on the single couch, plugs in one of electric guitars he brought with him to an amp in the corner of the room and begins to riff some melodies that go well with hers.
“It was always gonna be the last song on the album.” Harry nods to himself. “It felt like it described to me the process of making it and how the album felt in terms of the different kinds of songs on it.”
“A girl loves her harmonies, what can I say,” YN smirks at the camera. “And once H explained to me what he envisioned for the song to sound like vocally, he really just let me have fun with it. And you know I give him shit for it but his falsetto is just really good. Truly.”
Harry sits in the swiveling chair next to YN’s in the studio. She’s scrolling through the many stacked layers of all the harmonies he just recorded. He points out a couple that he likes and some he wants to tweak.
He had mentioned to her how all of the layered harmonies is kind of like a reflection of how many layers their relationship has. There’s too much context to just look at where they are now and make a sound decision of what their relationship entails. Their history is long, complicated, but overall full of love.
Harry even suggested having her get in the recording booth to record a couple of harmonies for the we’ll be alright section of the song since it basically became her trademark.
“I had said to her earlier how this song is basically her baby in the way she arranged all of the harmonies together. Other than Watermelon Sugar, this was one of the songs that took a while to finish but the end result is insane. It’s one of my favorites—no I think it is my favorite off the album.” Harry chuckles.
After having a demo version of the various horns and string elements done through a sound effect setting on an electric piano, there’s really no way to describe how it feels to actually hear it live through professional musicians.
Harry has his arm lazily over YN’s shoulder as they stand on the other side of the glass window in the recording studio. As the rest of the production crew is scattered around the room, Sammy Witte, their sound engineer, moves the various sliders around the huge panel in front of him.
She wipes a happy tear from her cheek before tucking it back into her crossed arms again. The making of this song has been an overwhelming process; from how the song came to be through its meaning, her and Harry still testing out the waters for the future of their romantic relationship status, actually figuring out their emotions through song making, to finally seeing it come into fruition.
Harry notices it and decides not to call her out on it. Instead, he just pulls her in a little closer to his side and a smile tugs on his lips when she wraps an arm around his back.
“So what does it mean to be a fine line?”
YN blows out a raspberry as she adjusts herself in her seat, trying to not make her glance at Harry who’s sitting on the sideline be anything more than subtle. “I mean, my whole philosophy of making music is that it’s really open for interpretation. But I know that’s not the answer y’all wanna hear so I think the song is about how there’s that line between friendship and being something more, right? And you’ve never had the guts to officially cross over it but you’re also not just friends. So being a fine line is being the exception, I think. Yeah.” YN ends with a chuckle, well aware of how her answer is going to be perceived.
But how can she care about any of the consequences when the love of her life is looking at her with a soft smile on his face.
