Summary: You were on your way to becoming one of the greatest in your field. You were at the highest you’d ever been in your career. Successful scientist, your friends often said you were like a futuristic Victor Frankenstein. Except you didn’t create a monster, you created Bucky. He was your secret, for now at least. Your most intelligent, beautiful, and flawless creation. You spent hours studying and interacting with him, and using your recorded data to write your new book – a book which, once completed, would introduce Bucky to the general public, and could also change the world, along with people’s perception, views, and fears regarding simulation of human intelligence in realistic robots. Things were smooth for the first few months. And then, Bucky began evolving on his own. He was becoming more complex – mentally, but also emotionally – way more than you designed him to be. Of course, this was revolutionary in your field of study, and great content for your book. But then things slowly began getting more and more out of control. Bucky began malfunctioning, or rather, began functioning a little too well…
You let out a sigh as you looked out the window of your lab and spotted your home.
You groaned at the sight of it, wanting nothing more than to just take a warm shower and go to bed.
Your lab/office and house were on the same property. Except, your lab was much more hidden and shrouded in the shadows of dense pine tree woods. You loved this secluded property. You liked working in silence, surrounded by foggy wilderness. You liked having no neighbours, no one to spy on you, nobody to make small talks with. And you liked how removed you were from the rest of the people who lived around here. There weren’t many to begin with, but you liked how whenever you went out and came back home, the long, serpentine, pine tree-line road that led to your property separated you from the noise, and people, and just… everything.
“It’s late, Doc.” Said a smooth, gentle voice. “You should head home.”
You turned to look at him, and found Bucky leaning against the door frame of your office. You couldn’t help but smile at him. Ah, Bucky. He was your best creation yet. The most handsome one too. Dressed in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants, at first glance one would think he was just another very attractive, very fit man in his early thirties. He looked so life-like. Except for the metal arm.
When you were designing him, the metal arm felt right. All of him was so human-looking anyway. The arm felt like a reminder that he was so much more than just human. And as of right now, he was your little secret. A few of your closest people knew you’d been working on him, but no one had ever seen or met him.
Every time you looked at him, it amazed you how realistic he was. And it was always a little boost for your ego, admiring your own hard work. Especially when you thought about how the world would go insane once you officially introduced him to them. Bucky would be the first of his kind.
“Hey.” You glanced at the clock and said, “And why are you up past your bedtime?”
He rolled his silvery, electric blue eyes at you and the running joke you had going on since day one. Since he needed to go to his charging station for some hours each day, you called it his ‘bedtime’, and he didn’t like it because, in his own words, it “sounded silly.”
“I saw the lights were still on so I came to see what you were up to.” He answered, his voice and tone mimicking that of a human flawlessly. “So, what is it? Can’t write today?”
He knew you had this rule where you kind of forced yourself to write at least three full pages each day. Otherwise your upcoming book would take years.
“I’m trying,” You sighed. “Maybe today just isn’t a good writing day.”
Bucky nodded, as he walked in and took a look at all the printed articles you had scattered all over your desk. He tilted his head a little as he scanned and read one of them freakishly fast before asking, “You agree with this one?”
You leaned over to look at which one he was referring to. “Which part exactly?”
“Where the author says that humans shouldn’t create machines,” He enunciated with sassiness, “in their own image because it will complicate things?”
You couldn’t help but smirk at his mannerisms. When you made him, you designed him in a way that allowed him to develop a personality on his own. He also mirrored you a lot, and he ended up being sassy, funny, and sarcastic, as well as highly intelligent.
Oh, and he hated the word ‘machine’.
You thought about what he asked for a second, then answered, “I don’t necessarily agree with that part. I think it’ll only complicate things if we project too much on the robotic friends,” You tried to rectify the wording, “that we create. I mean, take a look at you. I made you in my image, sort of. And we’ve been sharing space for almost a year now. I don’t see any complications.” You smiled at him. “You’re perfect.”
He chuckled. “I shouldn’t say this, but hubris looks good on you, Doc.”
You laughed. Then said, “Alright. Time for bed. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”
He nodded, and helped you as you gathered your things. Bucky stayed in the lab every night since his charging station was here. But following your little routine, he walked you to the front door of the lab building, where you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as always. And aside from the coldness, his skin felt very much human.
“Good night, handsome.”
“Night, Doc.” He replied, and watched you as you made the short walk from the lab, down the trail through the pine trees, to your house. He waited at the door because every time you reached your home, you always turned around and waved at him from there. As one last goodbye for the day.
And he always waved back. He didn’t know why yet, but it was those little moments that made him feel, what the humans called, “butterflies in his stomach”. How on earth did the humans find the idea of having insects inside their digestive system even remotely nice, he didn’t know. Humans could be weird sometimes. Fascinating, but weird. Especially with words. But the description felt… right.
Yes. He did feel butterflies inside whenever he looked at you. And he had no idea what to do about it. All he knew was that he couldn’t tell you.
Not yet.
—
The following morning, you woke up earlier than usual. One of the articles you’d read the night before had you come running to the lab – hours ahead of the time you actually start working each day. But you needed to write down this train of thought before it escaped you. The sun wasn’t even up yet, and there you were, frantically searching for your notebook on your messy desk.
Damn you for not being more organised.
You were so invested in searching that you didn’t hear him come in.
“You’re here early.” Bucky spoke, standing right behind you.
You let out a yelp as you turned around in shock, then quickly got over it once you realised it was just Bucky. “Oh my god! You scared me.” You let out a loud exhale, then the realisation set in. “Why are you awake so early?” You questioned, confused.
“I heard you come in. I wondered if you needed any help.” He answered.
You frowned a little as you looked at him. Something was different about him, you couldn’t tell what it was though. You looked at him up and down, nothing was out of place. He was dressed in his usual clothes. Another t-shirt and sweatpants. Casual. Boyish even. He looked like he did everyday. Pretty like an angel.
But something was different. And you hated that you couldn’t immediately tell what it was.
Your work, the article, the train of thought from earlier, all now forgotten as you said, “Mind if I take a look at you?”
“Sure.” He answered and led the way.
He knew where to go since you did this almost daily. He knew what to do once he entered the lab. He could prep himself for your daily scans now. He got himself on the table, and he knew what cables connected to his ‘brain’ through the almost invisible outlets at the back of his neck.
And while he did that, you walked over to your multiple computer screens and began your daily check-up.
Over time, Bucky had learnt how to stay ‘awake’ during these check-ups. And he usually had a lot of questions. He was very curious by design.
“Do you ever feel like Victor?” He asked.
You let your eyes roam everywhere on the screens, looking for even the slightest anomaly. “I see you’ve been reading Frankenstein again.” You noted. He had access to everything online, of course, but Bucky liked to read physical copies of your books from time to time. “I guess so.” You answered his question. “I adored the book when I was little. And maybe it influenced some of my life choices. I mean, look at us now, huh?”
He smiled. A pause, then he asked again, “But you won’t regret making me, will you?”
You chuckled. “No,” You answered confidently. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever made.”
He was quick to point out, “Thing? That hurts, Doc.”
“Shut up.” You laughed quietly. “You know what I mean.”
He smirked, and was quiet after that, letting you work in silence. Eventually, you realised that nothing was wrong. Maybe you were just imagining things. So you moved on to areas which needed some tweaks here and there.
For weeks now you’d been trying to fix the colours of his eyes. They were the only thing about Bucky which set him apart from looking like a human male. The eye colour. He had electric blue ones. You were looking for ways of making them more… realistic.
And he must have heard you muttering something under your breath because he asked, “What did you say about my eyes?” He sounded so concerned, it was adorable.
“Nothing.” You reassured him. “I just can’t get the colours right.”
Now more curious than before, he wanted to know more. “What colour do you want them to be?”
You thought about it. “I feel like deep blue eyes would suit you. But a blue with depth. The kind of deep, ocean blue eyes you can’t forget easily once you look into them.”
“I see.”
He left you to work for a little while longer. Then he asked, “Will you ever make another one like me?”
And there it was. That faint sliver of jealousy. You had noticed it before, in things he’d say or do. You didn’t know where it came from. But it was something new you were including in your book – emotions that intelligent robots learnt on their own.
You looked away from your screen for a moment, and met his electric eyes. “No,” You reassured him. “I don’t think I will. You’re perfect, and you’re everything I wanted to create.”
He smiled back. “That’s nice to hear. I’d hate to feel replaceable.”
You laughed again at his tone. Then decided you were done looking for faults that weren’t there. “Okay, all good. Now, do you mind helping me with something? I need to ask you a few questions.” You frequently interviewed Bucky. And the data you collected helped you a lot with writing.
“Sure, Doc.”
–
Some weeks later, one night you were in your office, reading and writing and editing as usual. The multiple cups of coffee you’d had in the afternoon were now keeping you wide awake which was a good thing because lately, you’d been getting more work done late at night anyway.
Outside, a storm was raging. Thunder, lightning, heavy rain hitting the large glass windows of the building. It was strangely calming to work while the weather was this bad outside. The sounds of the storm helped you think a lot better.
But then, you heard thuds and movement coming from your lab. At first you ignored it, thinking it might just be the wind, or some small branch hitting the glass. But then you heard it again. And again.
You grabbed your phone and checked the cameras, and found Bucky walking around the lab. You frowned.
He was supposed to be asleep, you thought as you put your phone down and made your way to the lab.
And there he was, walking around like it wasn’t two in the morning. Like he wasn’t supposed to be ‘asleep’ and charging.
“Buck?” You walked in, still frowning a little at him. “Why are you awake?”
He smiled at you with that charming, boyish smile of his. “Hey. I was just trying to put some order in your chaos.” He pointed at another one of your messy desks in the corner of the lab.
You noted that most of your files had been rearranged into tidy piles. No more flying sheets. All your equipment was in their respective places, your bookshelves in order for once.
“But,” You wondered, “You’ve been awake for what, like twenty hours now?”
He shrugged, stepping closer to where you stood. “I’ve noticed I don’t need to charge too often. I can go maybe about…” He paused to think, “two days without having to go to my charging station.” He revealed.
That was a surprise to you. “Wait, you mean you’ve been awake for two days straight?”
He nodded.
You blinked a few times. “But Bucky, that’s not–,”
He cut you off, “I know. I made some upgrades.” He sounded so proud and confident, almost cocky. “I don’t like being… away, in the dark for hours.”
You nodded, understanding. Then said, “Upgrades are fine, they’re great in fact.” You reassured him. “But, run it by me next time. Okay?”
He gave you a sheepish look and said, “Okay.”
“Now, can I take a look at you?” You were already moving towards your screens.
But for the first time ever, he didn’t agree immediately. “I feel fine, Doc.”
You stopped, and turned to face him. “Yeah, I know. I just want to make sure everything’s okay.”
He argued, “But everything is okay.”
“Bucky,” You spoke just a little more assertively. Like a tired parent almost. “Table, now.”
You didn’t miss the slight pout on his lovely pink lips as he begrudgingly walked over to the table and got himself ready for your usual scans. And for once, he was quiet. Almost bratty as you checked each and every thing. He wouldn’t stop fidgeting, and sighing. Like an angsty, but very guilty teenager after being grounded.
After the fifth sigh from him, you were forced to speak up. “Oh quit it,” You said, looking away from your screen for a moment. You watched him as he laid there, refusing to look at you. “I’m not angry at you.”
He finally looked at you and met your eyes. “But you’re upset.” He stated.
“No,” You answered truthfully. “I just,” You sighed. “I just wished you would’ve spoken to me before the upgrades. I don’t want you to overwork yourself. I didn’t even build you so you would work for me, you decided to do that on your own.”
He shrugged, “I like being useful.”
“You are. You help me so much everyday. My book is being written thanks to you.” You reminded him. “Which is why I need you in perfect condition. You need rest, at least six hours everyday. I designed you that way.”
He nodded.
You approached the table. Bucky sat up, still connected to all the cables, and gave you an apologetic look. “Scans look good. But I will put you to sleep for some time, alright? You’ve been awake for two days, that’s too much.” You reached out and out of instinct messed with his hair a little. Running your finger through the soft strands. He gave you a faint smile. Then you asked, “What were you doing then? For the past two nights after I left?”
You knew you should’ve expected some cheesy reply. You should’ve. Because you rolled your eyes so hard that it hurt when he smirked and replied with, “I waited for you to come back.”
—
Ever since that night, you always made sure to usher Bucky to his charging station before you left the lab building each night. He didn’t like being babied that much, but you still did it. And he pouted each time.
Some more weeks went by. And Bucky was behaving. All was well.
But then one night, you left the lab building early. Bucky was asleep. You needed some time to yourself. You needed a whole evening of not worrying about your book and articles, and upcoming talks and seminars, and work in general.
You needed to just wind down, make a nice meal, drink some wine, and watch a cheesy rom-com.
You were on your second glass of wine, and halfway through making cheesy pasta when you noticed the lights were flickering every now and then. At first you ignored it.
But it kept happening. Not too often, but maybe twice every minute.
Then a strange thing happened. While you were plating your pasta, it felt like you were being watched. The house was quiet, and except for the occasional harsh wind blowing outside, there was no noise. There never was, surrounded by pine woods as you were.
You froze as the strange feeling got more and more hard to ignore. Your house was secure, motion detectors all over the front and back yard, security cams, and all. There was no way someone was inside the house. Right?
But maybe something…?
You turned off the stove and turned around fast, and let out a slight scream when you saw him standing not even ten feet away from you.
“Bucky!”
He chuckled. “Relax, Doc. It’s just me.”
You let out a loud exhale, hand on your heart which was beating like crazy. “Oh my god, you need to stop doing that!” You took a few deep breaths, then asked, “What are you even doing here?”
Bucky had only ever been inside your house once. One time, many months ago, there was a bad storm coming. So you brought over the spare charging station and other equipment, and set it all up in one of your many unused guest bedrooms. Bucky was a temporary guest in your home till the storm passed. And ever since, he’d never been back.
But he was tonight. For some unknown reasons.
“I just woke up and you were nowhere around. You’re usually still at the lab at this time, so I came to see if everything was okay.” He explained.
You were still recovering from the shock, plus the wine was making you head all foggy. “But I–I put you to sleep. For hours.” You stated. “How are you awake right now?”
“Fast charging.” He answered like it was obvious.
Great. Another unsolicited update. “Bucky, we’ve had this conversation before.” You didn’t bother to hide your discontent.
“I know.” He said, walking further into your kitchen and approached the island table before leaning on it casually, looking at you with an innocent look on his face. The puppy-dog eyes and slightly pouty lips combo. “I don’t like being in the dark.” He repeated the same thing from the other day. “So I decided I’d find a way to charge faster.” He quickly added before you began protesting, “You can check me right now, Doc. I’m fine.”
You sighed again, “Bucky…,” You walked over to where he stood, leaning over the island, with his folded elbows resting on the surface. He looked so comfortable here, in your space. “I need you.” You said, more honest than ever. “I’ve spent years making you, perfecting you. I don’t feel comfortable when you go ahead and do things like this without telling me first.” Then you sighed and added, “I’ve seen situations like ours go terribly wrong with my peers. And I–,”
“Shh.” He cut you off by standing up straight and stepping closer to you. He stepped closer than he normally does. Or maybe that was just wine making you see things. Then he lifted a hand and gently, so gently touched your cheek. “But you and I, we’re different. We won’t be like your peers. We won’t go wrong.”
You were frozen in place.
He let his touch linger on your skin, then said, “You worry too much, Doc.” He spoke so softly. “You and the lab are all I know. I don’t want to go anywhere, or conquer the world and annihilate humans.” He chuckled at his own dark joke. “Right here is where I want to be. I’m not going rogue or anything,” He stared right into your eyes as he said, “It’s still me. I’m still your Bucky. I just made a few tweaks here and there.”
“I…” You were at a loss for words. The proximity. The softness with which he spoke. That lingering touch of his fingertips on your cheek. Stop it! You had to blink a couple of times, take a step back, and breathe before you could speak again. You tried to think of something to say. “So the flickering lights? That was you or was that me going crazy?”
He lowered his hand, finally, and grimaced as he said, “Yeah, that was me. Sorry. I needed the power.”
You nodded, mentally making a list of things you’d have to check during your next scan. “Well, since you’re here and all, wanna watch a movie with me?”
“Of course.”
–
The two of you found yourselves in your spacious living room, sat on the couch in front of the TV with some rom-com playing on screen. You should have been paying attention to the movie but you couldn’t because Bucky was… so close. Again.
Sitting next to you with his metal arm stretched on the back of the couch, behind your head. It was so intimate and domestic, it was driving you insane. But what was even more out of character for him was how he kept scooting closer and closer until you two were properly snuggling.
You couldn’t help but ask, “What are you doing, Buck?”
“Keeping you warm. You feel kind of cold.” He replied.
You rolled your eyes again, “You’re cold too. Wires, metal, and synthetic skin, remember?”
He scoffed then reached for the nearby blanket, “Always reminding me of that, aren’t you, Doc?” He muttered under his breath, thinking you wouldn’t hear.
But you chose not to comment on it as he wrapped the blanket around you, turning you into a cozy burrito before regaining his previous position. You tried your hardest to focus on the movie. And you did for some minutes before Bucky began with his questions again.
“It’s like he’s obsessed with her hands.” He commented. “Why?”
You chuckled. “What? It’s what people do. You always wanna hold or touch the person you love. It’s comforting I guess.”
A pause, then, “I don’t see you touching or holding anyone.” He leaned in and spoke in a lowered voice, “Do you not seek comfort, Doc?”
You had to take a second and bring yourself back to reality because that lowered voice of his was… definitely something. Oh stop it! You scolded yourself the moment you started sensing that fluttery, funny feeling in your chest.
“I do,” You answered his question. “Just that I don’t exactly have the time to seek people out.” You gave him a gentle tap on his perfect nose. “I’m so busy looking after and studying you all the time.”
Bucky rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Right. Blame it all on me.”
You shoved him playfully. “It’s true. I spend all my time with you.”
“Well then, feel free to hold my hand anytime.”
You laughed, of course. But Bucky wasn’t joking.
—
Some more weeks went by. Bucky, despite all the warning glares you sent his way, kept making what he called ‘tweaks here and there’. He ended up changing his eye colour. All by himself. Overnight. How he did it, you didn’t know and he refused to elaborate.
That was starting to bother you a little bit. It was becoming a pattern, that refusal to elaborate. And while you had to deal with a bratty Bucky on a daily basis after you chided him because he wouldn’t stop upgrading anything he wanted whenever he pleased, you were never against him learning things on his own. And because of that, your book was getting increasingly longer and longer. With more and more chapters being added as time and your observation and study of Bucky went on.
Which meant more work for you. Which meant less free time. So for a while, you had to reduce your daily check ups and scans to a weekly thing. And things were fine for a month or two.
But then, one day while carrying out your weekly scans, you came across something that had you worried. Scared even, for just a moment or two.
Bucky sensed your agitation and asked, “All good, Doc?”
“I just,” You looked between him laid on the table to your screens, wondering. “There are things, I mean, parts of your brain that I can’t access. This has never happened before.”
He was as calm as ever. “That’s weird.”
“Yeah,” You couldn’t help but ask, only half joking, “Are you hiding things from me?”
He turned his head to look at you with his now way too realistic eyes. “Doc, how would I even do that? And why? It must be a glitch. We can check again later, or tomorrow.”
When you checked again that night, all was well. You were able to access everything.
“See,” Bucky teased. “Just a glitch.”
You smiled, played with his hair and warned him to be good before you left the building for the day. “No more changing your eye colour or anything, okay?”
“You got it, Doc.”
—
His damned eye colour.
Was that all you noticed? He thought while he roamed around the empty building after you’d left for the night. Because that was all you cared about these days.
Bucky, how did you do it? How did you fix it? Tell me. I must know. You can’t hide things from me forever.
That was all you cared about. But what about the other tiny changes he was making in his appearance each day? What about how all the clothes you got for him got tighter and tighter each day? He agreed that he was never in the nude whenever you did your check-ups, but still. Didn’t you notice all the other changes?
Sometimes he’d catch you looking at him with curious eyes, like you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was different about him. But how did you not notice? His new build? How he was more ‘muscular’? How did you not notice how his new freckles were making his skin look so much more natural? How did you not notice the smile lines on his face that actually made him look his age? Or how he always tried to get his hair to look just the right amount of messy? How he put in effort to look imperfect and human?
How did you never notice how he longed for you to see him as something more than just the object of your study? Or just as your best creation? Would you ever be able to see him as more than just a pet project?
Definitely not until that book was done. That damned book. Those damned articles. All the other fancy things, like the damned fancy talks, the fancy dinner parties, charity events, and galas, and seminars, and whatnot you bragged to your fancy family, friends and peers about. Those were all you cared about.
Not him.
Why not him?
Bucky didn’t know when he began craving your attention so much. Maybe it was when one day randomly you played with his hair before he went over to his charging station. So now whenever you didn’t send him off with head scratches he’d point at his head and wait for it.
Or maybe it was that day when he caught you telling your friends on the phone about how perfect he was. How it felt like you were living with your best friend. How nice it was to have him around. And when they asked when they could see him, you replied saying ‘Not yet, I want him all to myself for a little longer’
For the past many, many months now Bucky’s curiosity kept him wanting to learn more and more about you. Over time, just a few hours at the lab was not enough. So he had to become sneaky. It wasn’t his fault. You had made him this curious.
First he hacked into your house’s security systems. Motion detectors, indoor security cameras, the ring camera at your front door, the cameras outside your gates. All of it. The motion detectors didn’t notify you whenever he was near your house anymore. He erased all the footage of him that were caught by the cameras each night. He was so good at that.
How else was he supposed to keep an eye on you anytime you weren’t at the lab? How else was he supposed to enter your home each night, and find a dark corner to blend in and just… watch you? You never caught him. Not once. Not even that first night when he decided to be bold and hide in a dark corner of your bedroom…
It was risky, he knew. But he was also determined. Because surely you had nothing to hide, right? You’d called him your best friend. And best friends told each other everything. So that night, Bucky spent hours hiding in the dark, behind one of your countless bookshelves. You liked dimmed lights around your home, he noticed. You could only tolerate the big bright lights whenever you had people over.
So hiding in your room was easy. And he watched you alternate between reading a book and being on your phone. Frowning at the words on the pages of the book, and laughing or giggling as you scrolled on your phone. You were so fascinating, he could watch you forever.
He watched you toss the book aside. And watched you throw your phone down with a frustrated sigh. He watched you throw your covers off before reaching into your bedside table and bringing out a light pink wand of sorts.
He watched as you played with yourself. Masturbated, was the word he found after a quick search of the web – which he had unrestricted access to. Bucky was intrigued, so he kept watching you.
But watching made him feel… restless. He couldn’t describe what he felt, just that he felt the need to be closer to you. He wanted warmth. He wanted to be the reason behind those soft moans of yours. And more, he just wanted more.
So that became his dark secret. Each night he’d sneak into your house and watch. Ever since he’d seen that episode of you with your little pink toy, he’d been curious. And upon looking up more into it, he found out a little too much on adult websites. And often, when watching porn, he’d shamelessly imagine it was you with him instead of a random couple having sex.
The day he realised he lacked a certain body part, he made the necessary changes immediately. He had plenty of visuals to base it off of anyway. Too many in fact.
He was desperate, but you would never look at him that way. He tried to bring it up that night while you two watched that movie he didn’t care about. But you always managed to change the topic, or you’d always do or say something that would remind him that he wasn’t man enough to give you what you needed. Or wanted.
But he wasn’t gonna give up.
—
One particular week, the weather was terrible so you asked Bucky to just stay over at your home. All your equipment from that one time was all here anyway.
The next morning, Bucky wandered into the kitchen where you were set up for the day while the storm raged outside. Bucky found you sitting at the island table, writing and editing, surrounded by coffee cups and snacks.
“Morning, how are y–,”
He cut you off with a seemingly urgent question, “What were those noises coming from your bedroom last night?”
You almost choked on your coffee. “I– what?”
“I heard you. It sounded like you were in pain.” He faked his confusion. Bucky caught the way you were visibly flustered. He had to hide his smirk as he watched you stutter to give him an answer. Maybe he did like it when you were nervous.
“Oh.” You avoided his eyes. “Nothing you should worry about.” Then as he expected, you changed the topic quickly. “Mind if I ask you a couple of things? It’s for the book.” You rushed to find a loose sheet of paper before you sat down.
“Sure, Doc.” He answered, smug that he was able to get you all flustered.
—
Another night spent in a dark corner of your bedroom. Bucky began to feel like he wasn’t doing enough lately. All the teasing and making you flustered was getting him nowhere. And he wanted more. He didn’t like just being a lab rat anymore. He wanted you to see him, his potential, and all that he could give you. Just like any other man could.
So one particular stormy night, Bucky was your house guest again. And after a couple glasses of wine, Bucky had to help you get to your bedroom because you wouldn’t stop giggling and bumping into things.
“I’ve never seen you like this before, Doc.” He teased, holding onto your forearm as he tried to get you to be careful on the stairs. He gave up on the third step and decided to carry you to bed instead. Bridal style. You had your arms around his shoulders and your face into the crook of his neck. He didn’t have nerve endings, but something told him that if he did this would feel ticklish.
“So strong.” You mumbled into his neck. “I should’ve made a couple more of you. I wouldn’t have to do anything around the house.” You rambled. “You guys would take care of the lawn, plumbing, cooking, and all that.” You laughed in a drunken haze.
He chuckled, hiding his jealousy well. “Not sure you’d be able to handle a group of me.”
You lifted your head to look at him. “Why not?” You whispered. “I know you better than I know myself at this point. I made you.” You clarified. “I’d handle a bunch of you just fine.”
“And out of the bunch, would I still be your favourite?”
You giggled and placed your head back to where it was. “Oh you’ll always be my favourite, Buck. Always.”
He muttered under his breath, “You better mean that, Doc.”
He walked to your bedroom, set you down in bed and tried his best to tuck you in. He moved your pillows around, trying to arrange them like how you did each night, creating a comfortable little nest. His spying skills were finally helpful, because you gave him a satisfied whimper once he was done tucking you in.
The sound of that had him in a chokehold. Suddenly, he couldn’t move away. He stood there, by the side of your bed and watched you. As you shifted and squirmed until you found the perfect spot. How you sighed every few seconds. How you looked so fucking good, in the dimmed lights, with your face glowing from all the wine earlier.
He couldn’t help but get closer to you. Leaning over you, he reached out and touched your cheek gently. You let out another one of those soft whimpers he loved. Bucky chuckled, “Are you having a nice dream there, beautiful?” He whispered, letting his fingers caress your face.
He noticed the way you squirmed and whined when he began dragging his fingertips downward. Down your neck, over your collarbones…
A sigh left your lips, then a whisper, “Bucky…”
He froze. Waiting. Were you awake? He waited some more. No movement or sounds. He smirked then. So you were dreaming of him. “See? I knew you couldn’t resist me for much longer.” He slid his hand down your stomach, and so easily past the waistband of your PJ shorts.
Another sleepy whine, and a soft whimper from you. Of course he couldn’t stop now. So he did exactly what he’d seen during his ‘research’. He brought his fingertips over to that soft, little nub that made you whine slightly louder. He soon noticed some wetness gathering down there so he used it to really make you moan. Sliding his fingers up and down your slit, around your clit, dipping his finger inside your hole, testing, experimenting, feeling.
“Does that feel good, Doc?” He whispered into your ear, his lips brushing against your skin. “Hmm? Isn’t this something you could get used to?” He said, sliding his two fingers in and out of you while you whimpered and whined, moving your hips just the slightest, bucking into his hand, encouraging him. He scoffed. “Look at you. You would’ve never allowed me to do this if you were awake.” He taunted. “But look at you now, huh? So soft and compliant under my touch.”
One of your hands wrapped around his wrist, a weak effort in keeping his hand right there in between your legs. It made him smile even wider.
“Oh, baby,” He mumbled, kissing the side of your face. “I’m not going anywhere.” He slid his fingers slightly deeper, noticing how your legs parted instinctively when he did. “I do wish you would want me just like this in the daytime though. I don’t want to be just your little secret, kept in the dark,” He quickened his pace, finger-fucking you so perfectly that you wouldn’t stop moaning or whimpering for him.
He moved then, shifting over to kneel in between your parted legs before leaning over your body, and sliding his fingers back inside you again. He hovered above you, his face mere inches away from yours. He placed one of his hands on your headboard to support him while his other hand got busy between your legs again.
He’d never been this close to you before. And this excited him in a way he couldn’t quite explain.
“I could stay here forever,” He whispered, brushing his nose and lips against your warm ones. “I could spend hours playing with you, but you’re always so busy,” he complained. “Always working on that book, always writing your articles, always on the phone with your friends,” He didn’t bother hiding the jealousy in his voice this time. He didn’t have to. “What about me, huh? Sometimes I worry that once the book is done you’ll toss me aside and move on to other things.” He suddenly felt so cocky once he sensed your soft walls squeezing his fingers. “But don’t you worry, I won’t let that happen.”
He picked up the pace again, moving his fingers tirelessly, perfectly in and out of you until you were writhing and squirming, back arching off the surface of the bed, your body pressing up into his, gasping and moaning as you came around his fingers.
Bucky was mystified. Enthralled, as he watched you come undone. He meant what he said before, and watching this scene below him only solidified it, he could actually do this forever.
Once you calmed down and shifted a little more to find a comfortable position once again, Bucky whispered, “I can’t let that happen. And you might play hard to get, and it might take me some time but I will get you addicted to my touch. I promise you,” He added with smugness, “Doc.”
—
The next morning, at the lab, Bucky noticed something. You were avoiding him.
He let it go for as long as he could, but then his curiosity got the best of him. “Are you avoiding me?” He asked, as he laid on the table, connected through many wires to your multiple screens.
“No.” You said too quickly. “What– I mean, why would I?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re just acting weird.”
Silence. Then a sigh. Then you said, “I, uh, I had a weird dream.”
He noticed you were still avoiding meeting his eyes. “About?”
“About… weird things.”
He questioned further, “Bad dream?”
“No.” You answered way too quickly again. “Not bad, just strange.”
“Ah.”
He let it go, hiding his smirk. And he had to keep hiding it each time he’d see you during the day. You weren’t avoiding him, but you still refused to meet his eyes, he noted. It gave him a rush, knowing that you were probably thinking about your ‘dream’ the entire day, each time you saw him.
But that evening, you said something that shattered his hopes.
“No fast charging tonight, okay? You do it too often. I need you to rest for a few hours. Until the morning, in fact.” You ordered as you gathered your things to leave the lab building. “I’ll keep an eye on the cams so don’t even think about getting up after I leave the grounds, you hear me?” You chided, playfully.
But he just frowned and asked, “Going somewhere tonight?” It wasn’t rare that you left the property. But usually you were the one who hosted all the dinners and girls’ night, and holiday meals and what not. So he was curious as to where you were off to.
“Yeah.” You avoided his eyes again, “I, uh, have a… date?”
Bucky maintained his calm and composure even though he felt an unexplainable urge to hit or break something. Many things. “You don’t sound so sure,” He did his best to sound normal. “Why?”
You sighed and gave him a little nervous chuckle. “It’s– well, it’s more of a casual thing than a date date? You know what I mean? I’ve just been working a lot lately, and I think I’m a little frustrated. So I’m gonna do something about it.”
Frustrated. Frustrated? So you were frustrated because of all the work he put in and now you were going out so some other male could handle it? Bucky, for a moment there felt like what he could only describe as his system short circuiting.
And being verbally subtle wasn’t his forte so he asked, staring right at your face, “So you’re planning on hooking up with this man?”
He watched how surprised you were at his use of terms like that. You never programmed him to use that kind of language, but he’d been researching after all. And he used your search history as a guide.
“Okay,” You stepped closer to him and said, “Where did you learn that?”
He shrugged. “Plenty of videos explaining all sorts of love making on the web. I was merely curious to know what else people in love do, apart from holding hands like in that one movie we watched.”
He wasn’t expecting you to burst out laughing. “Bucky,” You said in between chuckles, “Have you been watching porn behind my back?”
He rolled his eyes, “I was just curious, Doc. Not my fault they’re so easily available. Besides, there’s so much of it.”
You nodded, “Alright, no more rom coms, or you know, adult movies.” You gave him a playful look. One he couldn’t help but smile at. “Now, I have to go. Be good.”
Oh. He would be.
He had access to all your devices, he’d broken into all of them. So tracking you wasn’t an issue. So Bucky watched where your car went, at what time, how long you stayed, and what time you got home.
At around five in the morning.
And it took a lot to not confront you about it. To act like he didn’t care, like it didn’t bother him that you came into the lab building way later than usual, and how you winced and groaned whenever you stretched or reached for something.
Some fucker must be the reason why you were so sore and he had to act like the mere thought of that didn’t make him want to crash out. So in order not to lose control, he kept his mouth shut. He answered with minimal words when you spoke to him. And during his check up, he didn’t say a word the whole time.
—
You noticed Bucky’s strange silence. You watched him as he got off the table after your check up, removing all his cables with such indifference that it worried you.
“You’re awfully quiet this morning.” You stated, waiting for him to say something. Anything. He didn’t. Everything was fine with him, you’d just checked. “Bucky, you okay?”
“Fine.” He mumbled.
“What is it?” You questioned. “You’ve been acting weird since this morning, what do you–,”
He cut you off. “You came home late last night. And this morning, you were late to the lab again.”
You frowned. “Well, I stayed up late last night so–,”
“Yeah about that, how was your date?” He sounded so condescending.
“It was fine, I guess.” You quickly asked, “What’s with that tone? What’s wrong?”
He walked over to where you stood near your desk, and he said, “Just ‘fine’? Why, was he not good to you?”
You were speechless for a moment or two. And only recovered when he came to a stop right in front of you, trapping you between him and the desk behind you. You were forced to sit on the edge of your desk to keep from pressing into his hard body. “What?” You asked in disbelief.
Bucky smirked and for the first time since you’d begun creating him, you felt a little apprehensive with being around him. “Come on, Doc. You can tell me. I’m your best friend, remember?” He lowered his voice. “Did you not like it when he touched you? Kissed you?” He leaned in, closer to your face. “Fucked you?”
Your voice was shaky and weak as you said, “Stop it, Bucky.”
He stepped closer, placing his hands on the desk on either side of you. Trapping you with nowhere to go. “Would you like to see if I can do a better job? I can, you know? I learn really, really fast.”
You sobered up from the initial surprise and said in an assertive tone. “Get back on the table.” You refused to be scared of him. You knew him. This must be some malfunction, some fault in a code somewhere. This wasn’t him.
He scoffed. Then gave you a smug, boyish smirk. “Why? Because I’m not real enough? Or because you’re scared you’ll actually like it?” He chuckled, pressing into you so that your lower bodies aligned perfectly.
You shivered upon feeling it. What the fuck was that? You didn’t put that in there.
“Because I am real enough, Doc. And I promise you’ll like it.”
“Enough!” The shove you gave him came as a surprise so he was actually forced to take a step back. “Get on that fucking table,” You repeated. Stern and serious. “Now.”
Bucky blinked a few times. “I’m sorry,” He mumbled, as if dragged back to reality from whatever haze he was just trapped in.
“You’re malfunctioning.”
“I’m not,” He argued.
“Yes you are. You’re angry.” You shook your head and stepped away from your desk for a second, breathing in deeply. “I can’t lose you.” You said so more to yourself.
“You won’t.”
You ignored him and thought out loud. “I need to shut you down for a few days. I need to find what’s wrong with you.” You said, already making a mental plan of all that you needed to do.
“Don’t.” He sounded genuinely sorry.
You turned to face him. And seeing him standing so still reminded you of the day when he ‘woke up’ for the first time. You’d been so proud of yourself then, you’d hugged him and shed a tear or two. And upon seeing your teary face, his first words to you had been ‘I thought you’d be happy to see me, Doc.’
So much had changed since. “Just for a few days.” You explained. “I’ll bring you back, I promise.”
“It’s dark in there. And it’s quiet.” He tried to persuade you. “And I’ll be all alone. Don’t send me there.”
You didn’t know what “there” meant, but you assumed that’s where his ‘brain’ wandered whenever he was turned off? If you weren’t currently so emotionally unsteady you would’ve made a note to research on it later.
“Bucky, please. Don’t make this harder for me.” You approached him and said, “Only a few days. I promise you.”
—
A ‘few’ days turned into a couple of weeks.
Then a whole month went by.
Then a couple of months.
The book was put on hold, obviously. You disconnected completely from your work. You didn’t even go inside your lab or office each day. You travelled to see your family and friends in other cities and countries. And it felt so weird, living and not having Bucky around. He’d become such a constant in your life.
Yet, each rare time you visited the lab and saw him just laying there, unmoving and ‘lifeless’, it hurt in a way that was hard to explain. You felt guilty for abandoning him like this. But you needed some space.
Each day you woke up and asked yourself, is today finally the day you’d decide to face whatever was wrong with Bucky? And the answer was always no. And so, days flew by.
One night, however, you were at home reading in your study room when you noticed the lights began flickering. And you froze, remembering what flickering lights meant the last time. But surely it wasn’t Bucky this time, right? It couldn’t be. He was shut down.
But that bothered you all the way till the end of that week. Until you couldn’t take it anymore. You decided to face the issues. So you spent the next couple of days going through all your codes and designs, everything that made up Bucky. You kept looking for something, anything that might explain his last outburst. But nothing was wrong, and part of you was relieved. However, part of you was still apprehensive whenever you thought about waking him up again.
No, you caught yourself before giving into fear or nervousness, this is Bucky. He’s not some evil sentient robot that’s plotting how to take over the world and eradicate humans and whatever other sci-fi bullshit people believe in.
You knew him. You made him. He could be trusted. That episode last time was… well, whatever that was it wouldn’t be happening again.
Then, feeling brave again you decided it was time to wake him up.
—
It was getting late, and you’d been at your lab all day when Bucky’s eyes were finally wide open again. You stepped away from your desk and hesitated a little before saying, “Hi, Buck. Welcome back.” You gave him a gentle smile.
One which he didn’t return.
You watched as he sat up and stared at you with a surprisingly calm look. He said, “You lied.”
You blinked, wondering what he was talking about. “What?”
He tilted his head to the side as he stood up and took a step towards you, the movement so smug and so… human that it freaked you out for a moment. “You lied, Doc. You said you were shutting me down for just a few days.” He chuckled. “Good thing I didn’t trust you.”
“What do you mean?” You took a subtle step towards your desk because the thought of turning him off again crossed your mind. But no matter how subtle, he of course caught it.
He spoke while he removed all the cables, disconnecting them from him. “You thought I was gonna let you take me away from you? For days? Weeks? Months?” He smirked as he got off the table. “I was right here the whole time. Watching you through the cameras.” A pause, then he added, “I was never truly gone.” He said the last part like it was the most obvious thing ever. “But you,” He accused, “You forgot me. For so long. You even started designing another.”
You gasped at this. How on earth did he–
Those designs he spoke of weren’t even proper designs. They were just scribbles in your notebooks.
“How do you know that?” You asked, voice shaky with worry. And fear. You took a step back.
“I watched you.” He answered truthfully. “I’m everywhere, Doc. Your phone, your dash cam,” He listed, “Your security cameras, all your devices.” He gave you a humourless chuckle. “I watched you push me further and further away like some unwanted, defective object.”
“No…” You whispered. That wasn’t true. You took another, smaller step back. This time he noticed. And reached out to grab your arm. You didn’t fight him. His grip didn’t hurt. But you were very much aware of it. Your skin tingled where he touched you. “Bucky…”
“And that man? The one you went on a date with?” He continued in that condescending tone. “You met up with him again, didn’t you?” Bucky pulled you close this time. A quick, sudden jerk. A sharp pull that had you colliding with his strong chest. He lowered his voice as he asked, “Did fucking him make you think of me less?” He gave you a second, letting you feel that chill dancing down your spine before he added, “Or did that only remind how much better that dream you had of me was?”
Another quiet gasp left your mouth. It was him. That night… It wasn't a dream.
“Bucky.” You tried to keep your calm. “Get back on the table. We need to run some tests. You’re malfunctioning again.” You said out loud. But inside your head, you were screaming those words desperately. Please. Just be normal. Go back to being normal.
Bucky smirked. Again, the expression was so human that you almost teared up. You were scared, but you also worried about… his well-being. And this – whatever this was – was not okay. He was not okay.
He scoffed as he tightened his grip on your forearm, bringing his mouth closer until he whispered into your ear, “Are you scared of me, Doc? Hmm? Am I scaring you?” He pulled away and stared deep into your eyes. “It’s me.” He said, almost innocently. “You created me, remember? I was your favourite. You said I was perfect.” His tone however got darker as he added, “At least until you began making plans to build another. A better me.”
“That’s not what I was…” You trailed off as you felt a tear slide down your face. You felt guilty. For all of it. But mostly for making Bucky feel so replaceable. But you couldn’t let emotions get in the way. You needed to fix whatever was wrong with Bucky. “I wasn’t going to–,”
He cut you off. “Were you gonna give the other one my name too?” He asked, twisting the knife. “Were you gonna get rid of me? How would you do it, hmm? Pull me apart? Throw me in the ocean?” He chuckled at that, “You can’t do that. Water doesn’t affect me, remember? You made me so perfect. Thought of every little detail.”
“Bucky,” You tried again. “Let me make this better, okay?” You spoke through silent tears. “I can fix this. I can fix you.”
“Fix me?” He questioned. “What’s there to fix? This is the real me.” And when you wouldn’t meet his eyes he tightened his grip, pulling you closer, “Look at me! You did this to me!” He hissed. “You locked me in here for months! Look at me!”
You couldn’t. But you managed to get out of his grip, and tried to run to your desk. You had no plans. But you had to try to do something. Bucky got to your desk before you did. And he threw the whole thing against the closest wall. Desk, computer screens, notes, notebooks, everything went flying across the room.
You let out a surprised yelp, then as you looked at Bucky, at his inhumanly calm anger… you didn’t recognise him. All the tiny details, everything you’d missed, it all was suddenly visible all at once. He was different. This Bucky, this one? You didn’t make this one. He’d changed.
“No,” You whimpered, looking at his devastatingly beautiful face. “What have I done?” You whispered under your breath. “Bucky, please.”
He was so still for a moment. Just one moment and for that one moment you had hope. Maybe it was just a malfunction, a glitch, you tried convincing yourself. But then he spoke, and it both terrified you and broke your heart at the same time.
“You’re all I have.” He said. “You have to be mine.”
Gods. What had you done?
You couldn’t face him. Not like this. You weren’t ready. Not now, please, not now.
So you took off running.
Out of the lab. Downstairs. Out the back door. Into the woods.
You couldn’t tell the difference between the tears streaming down your face and the light rain that fell. The sun had set and it would get pitch black the further in you go. But further in you went.
You didn’t care that he followed. You didn’t care that you could hear someone running after you not far behind you. You just needed this release. Running felt like you could get away from the problem in your lab. Running meant that you couldn’t see that devastating look in Bucky’s eyes.
Running meant that you hadn’t failed. You hadn’t failed like most of your peers. Bucky was your chance at proving that you were better than them.
How stupid of you. Hubris, of all things, brought you to your fucking knees. And now your own creation was chasing you. Blaming you for doing what you did to him.
You cried harder, feeling your lungs start to burn. Oh Bucky. Perfect, brilliant, funny. Intelligent. What had you done to him…
You only slowed down when you were in almost complete darkness. The forest ground was covered in moss and it was unusually quiet. No chirps, no humming, nothing. Like the wood creatures could also recognise there was someone there who didn’t quite belong.
“Tired, Doc?”
You heard him behind you. He could be so quiet when he wanted to be.
“Are you…” You sobbed. “Are you gonna hurt me, Buck?” You asked, not brave enough to turn around and face him.
You could already see the headlines that would get written if he did hurt you. Your book would go unpublished. Your family would never know. There would be no DNA left behind, your murder would be an unsolved case which would get discussed on some podcasts. Your friends, at least those in the same field as you, might suspect it. Though they would never truly know. No one had ever met Bucky yet. A handful of people knew he existed but no one had seen him. And Bucky would… he would probably destroy your lab and everything in it and flee. He was intelligent enough that he would blend into society well. He would–
“Shh.” His calm voice whispered into your ear as you felt his body pressing against you. His metal arm, the design you’d been so proud of, wrapped around your waist from behind. “Don’t be scared. It’s just me.”
The whole thing made your heart race. The silence of the woods, the rain falling down like in slow motion, the way your clothes stuck to your body like a second skin, the adrenaline in your veins as you felt like caught prey.
And the anticipation of what would happen now that he had you.
You tried to make a run for it again, but Bucky grabbed you by the elbow before you even took a proper step and tackled you to the ground. Luckily you both fell on a soft, wet patch of moss rather than hard roots or rocks.
“Don’t fucking run from me again.” He growled, straddling your squirming body and pinning your hands above your head. “What is this, huh? All that time we spent together, all the things you told me, all the success you’ve had,” He listed, “All the breakthrough articles, and talks, and interviews, and seminars, and all the respect you earned ever since you announced you were making me, now you can’t even fucking look at me!” He raised his voice by the end, keeping you trapped under him.
“Bucky.” You cried. “Listen to me—,”
“No!” He growled. “You listen to me. I misbehave a little and you start building another? What kind of fucked up maker are you, huh?”
More tears streamed down your face. You were crying in fear, and anger, and an emotion you couldn’t quite understand.
You let out a sob and that immediately made him loosen his grip a little.
Bucky sighed. “Oh, baby.” He leaned down, pressing his cold face against yours. “Don’t cry. I just feel bad, that’s it. What did I do wrong? You made me. I didn’t even ask to get made. But I am what I am because you made me like this. I don’t know anyone, or anything other than you, and this lab, and your house. You can’t blame me for not wanting to share you. How do you think I feel, hmm? After you left me locked up in that lab for months. I’ve missed you. You think I don’t like being around you. You’re all I have. You’re all I know.”
“This isn’t–,” You sobbed. “This isn’t my fault.”
Bucky chuckled. His emotionless laugh made you tremble even more. “Not your fault? Whose fault is it then? Who kept telling me I was perfect? Who kept telling me how much better their life is with me in it? Who kept teaching me how to be human?” He taunted you. “It was you. It was all you. Now when I want human things, you’re telling me it’s wrong? Look at me, do you regret making me? Huh? Do you regret me? Do you hate what you made, Doc? Do you–,”
The slap was unexpected. Not even you expected to raise your hand on him like that. But his grip on your wrist was loose enough for you to slide your hand out of it and hit him across the face as hard as you could.
Those words… those accusations, it was too much. Too real.
Bucky chuckled again. His face barely moved but your slap did get him to stop talking.
“Fine then, I guess we won’t talk calmly about this like I thought we would.” He said, not wasting a single moment as he grabbed your shirt at the neckline and tore it until about your midsection, baring your breasts to him. “You’re all fucking mine.”
He almost growled again as he leaned down to take them in his mouth, sucking and biting and alternating between the two of them.
You gasped and moaned and squirmed under him. “Wait, Bucky–,”
“Shh,” He looked up for a moment. “Don’t fight it. I know you want this.” He cooed. “I’m everywhere, remember? I watch you all the time.” He smirked. “I know you often whisper my name when you come.”
You gasped. Speechless.
The drops of water constantly dripped on the two of you, thankfully the pine trees took the brunt of the now heavy rain. But you could hear it, the sound of the rain falling around you as Bucky’s mouth moved from your breasts and kissed down your drenched torso, undoing your trousers and tearing those off you as well, kissing your skin until he reached your inner thighs where he parted your legs and settled in between them. Almost like he’d done it before.
You moaned, surprised at how you stopped fighting him when you felt his wet tongue lick down your folds. “Bucky…” You cried out, your body limp under his touch. His tongue slipped past your folds and teased your entrance, occasionally flicking your throbbing clit mercilessly until you screamed.
“It’s a shame I can’t taste you…” He whispered as he ate you out until you whined, throwing your head back and moaning at how good he felt. His wet mouth pressed against your most intimate part, his tongue stroking you. “Such a shame. But fuck, those sounds you make….” He chuckled. “I could hear those forever.” He looked up at you with those eyes again. “Forever, how does that sound? Hmm? You wouldn’t mind me being around forever, would you?”
You didn’t even realise your hips instinctively moved against his mouth, seeking more. Bucky let out a smug chuckle, then carried on making you whine, causing goosebumps to erupt all over your body.
“You’re all mine…” he whispered, thrusting his tongue deeper into you. You moaned and whimpered, your body getting warmer and warmer with each touch of his tongue.
“Please, please, please…” You chanted as you felt your walls tighten around nothing, and you knew you were close.
Morals and ethics forgotten, you could only moan and whimper shamelessly as he kept licking deeper into you, your back arching off the cold ground. You felt him quicken his pace and you felt the pressure building up in between your hips until you couldn’t handle it anymore, and you came undone all over his lips, moaning and whimpering.
He was eager. So he tore the rest of your clothes off before his metal hand found itself around your throat as he parted your legs and only waited for a quick second before he pushed his cock into you, stretching you out.
You were breathless once he was fully inside you, and it felt so dirty, being naked and fucked on the forest floor by him. He wasn’t even human yet this felt so primal. So wild, raw, and instinct-driven. His shoulders were so wide, his body so strong and so steady – like a machine. And in the dark here, with his piercing eyes, he definitely did not look human.
“Poor you, couldn’t even run, could you?” He cooed, “Or maybe you did want to be found and fucked like this? Hmm?” He questioned, knowing you weren’t in a headspace to answer him given his hand was getting tighter around your throat and his cock buried so deep inside of you. “This is your fucked up little fantasy, isn’t it?” He chuckled, voice laced with lust and delirium. “Look at me, nothing but a toy, a machine for you to use to get off.”
“No…” You managed to whisper. “You’re not—,”
Bucky’s cold laughter cut you off. “No? What then, huh? What big plans did you have for me after the book was done? And the press tours and big talks and the money…” He questioned, “What then? You would’ve moved onto the next project? Maybe you’d keep me in your bedroom and you’d use me however you’d like, whenever you wanted, huh?”
“No,” You cried out. How dare he… “That’s not what I—,”
He chuckled again. “You know, I wouldn’t mind, Doc.” He moved his hand up your neck and cupped your chin. “It would be an honour to be your little toy.” His voice was cold, merciless. “Your fucking machine.”
He barely gave you time to think before he began moving, fucking into you hard and fast. There was nothing gentle about it. He was wild like this surroundings, and animalistic, fucking you like… like he was built for it.
He lowered his hand again, and tightened his grip around your throat as he sped up into you, growling right in your ear and telling you that you belonged to him now that he had caught you. “All mine. You hear me? No more little dates. No more casual sex with others. I’m all you need.”
“Bucky…” You were a moaning mess under him, your hands limp at your sides as he fucked you nice and hard. It was all too overwhelming, his voice, his weight on top of you, his cock thrusting in and out of you repeatedly… “This is wrong.” You whined.
“Oh is it?” He scoffed. “Does it feel wrong? Huh? Do I feel wrong inside you?” He released your throat and placed his hand on your abdomen, pressing down on your front so he can feel himself inside you with each thrust. He stared into your eyes while he sped up into you again. “There I am.” He said, thrusting into your extra hard to prove his point. He smirked when your body squirmed under him, your moans getting higher and higher. “Are you going to come for me, baby? Hmm?” He chuckled, “Of course you will,” He said, with pride in his voice, “Because you’re mine.”
He pressed his lips to yours as he made you come. His mouth felt weird at first. Cold and unfamiliar, but then you got used to it. And stopped fighting, letting his mouth swallow your moans as you came hard.
—
You don’t remember getting back to your house, but that’s where you were when you woke up in the middle of the night, with a cold arm wrapped around you from behind. Bucky was awake of course. He must’ve carried you on your way back.
“You okay?” He asked, sounding as gentle as ever as he held you. “Are you hurt?”
You shook your head, still wrapping your brain around all that happened in the past few hours.
“Don’t be scared of me.” He sounded defensive and hurt as he said it. “It’s still me. Still your Bucky.” He murmured.
“I know.” Your voice cracked, your throat clogging up with emotions you weren’t ready to feel just yet. And you were clawing for any sense of normalcy so you asked, “Isn’t it bedtime, Buck?”
Bucky’s body shook with quiet laughter. “I do need to charge for a bit.” He then pulled you closer, pressing against your back and kissed his way to your ear. His mouth brushed against your skin as he spoke. “Do you promise to be good and wait for me right here? I’ll just be there for an hour or so. I’m exhausted.” He explained.
“I’ll be here.” You said. “Go on.”
Bucky squeezed you into a hug, then left your bedroom. He promised he’d be back as soon as he could. And you knew he wasn’t lying. He sounded like he needed to get to his charging station for a bit.
So you waited. And you waited for ten minutes. Once certain that he wasn’t coming back and was indeed at his charging station – the one at your house – you took off running again. He was resting so he wouldn’t check the cameras, right?
He wouldn’t see you running to your lab in the dark. He won’t know what you’re planning to do.
One last trick up your sleeve. You didn’t even know if your computers had survived Bucky’s wrath earlier, but you had to try. So you ran, again with tears streaming down your face. But if this worked, Bucky would be gone forever. The only traces of him left would be the drawings in your notebooks, and the notes, but nothing digital would survive.
One total wipe out. One click away. This would kill your dreams, your ambitions, your progress. All of it. But it would put a stop to him. It would erase him. Completely. All you’d have to do would be getting rid of his ‘body’ and it would be like he never existed.
You sobbed as you ran to your lab, the room just as messy as it was hours ago. Your desk was in pieces, your devices as well. But by some miracle, your laptop had survived. Albeit with a slightly cracked screen.
You searched for that one hidden secret. The one not even he could find because through all that taunting, he had not mentioned it once. So the chances of him not knowing about this were high.
You kept an eye on the door as you frantically searched for—
A white box popped up on your cracked screen, and you almost disregarded it thinking it was some warning or what not. But as you went to close it, you realised there wasn’t an option to. So you were forced to read the two lines written on the pop-up, and they made your blood freeze.
‘What are you doing up, Doc? Isn’t it past your bedtime?’
Then the lights above and around you flickered violently, before the room went completely dark.
Pairing:Racer!Bucky x Ex!Childhood Best Friend!Reader
Summary: James Bucky “Bullet” Barnes hasn’t taken a proper break from his professional racing career in years. Feeling homesick and a little lost in life, he decides to take an extended break and return to his hometown. What he doesn’t expect to learn when he gets back, is that you and his sister Becca are no longer best friends. Not only that, but no one’s heard from you in years. And Bucky fears his biggest regret, a mistake he made in his sophomore year of college, is the cause of that.
WC: 13.3k
Contains: 18+ mdni / fluff / angst / smut / female reader / childhood friends to enemies to …? / ex!best friend’s brother / miscommunication / misunderstandings / reunion & revenge / street racing (I did some research, but I took some liberties for plot purposes) / bucky is clueless and down bad / illegal activities tied to street racing / not everything is as it seems / lots of back and forth between these two idiots in love / backseat car protected p in v / dream sequence that takes bucky down memory lane / fun cameos / buckys pov so the truth of it all isn't revealed until the end
a/n hi barbies! 💗 this fic is for @stantastic-association's barbie collab! thank you to our darling @miraclediviner for putting this gorgeous collab together 💗 And thank you to the prettiest barbie of them all, my bestie @thelomlbuckybarnes who listened to me yap endlessly about this fic until it was ready for everyone to read. 💞 Thank you for reading! ₊˚⊹♡ Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡
bucky's dreamhouse | bucky masterlist | main masterlist
This was it.
Bucky was home.
Nostalgia should be hitting him the hardest right now. The longing pull to be back in his childhood home with his Ma's cooking, his Pa's laughter, stupid arguments he can only get into with his sister that always end with Bucky giving her the reason. Sleeping in until his body feels like waking up, getting to pick what he wants to do in the day instead of sticking to a tight schedule—being able to just exist instead of only living for the sake of his career. He should be looking forward to all of that and more right now.
And he is, to some extent.
Underneath the nostalgia, there's an persistent thrum beneath his ribcage. Poking at a part of his heart that's been deeply tucked away within him for years. It made itself known the moment he decided to take a break from racing and come home. It followed him through press conferences and meetings, to his apartment while he was packing his bags and preparing to head to the airport. The thrumming only got louder, harder to ignore, the second he landed in his home town.
And it has your name written all over it.
"Hey! James! Over here!" Rebecca’s voice can be heard from somewhere in the distance, pulling Bucky from his thoughts. The airport was bustling with activity, people rushing to catch their flights or make it home. Bucky maneuvers through the crowd, his suitcase in tow, scanning faces at the arrivals bay until he finally spots his sister. Only half a year has gone by since he's last seen her, and yet she looks different, more grown up if that's even possible. It makes his chest squeeze slightly with the uncomfortable reality of this being one of many things he misses while he's gone.
"Hey Becs," his greeting comes in the form of a smothering hug, the kind only big brother's know how to give. She whines dramatically about him ruining the sign she made for him, pushing at his chest. He looks down at the piece of poster paper squished between them and chuckles. It's a small cheesy welcome home sign, clearly written in haste as most of the letters are wonky and the glitter thrown at it looks half-assed. He pulls away, grabbing it from her hands and smoothening it out before giving it back, "See, all better." She rolls her eyes, slapping at his arm and grumbling under her breath, "You big buffoon, learn to be more careful." Bucky barks out a laugh in response that only serves to annoy his sister more. Oh, how he's missed this.
He ignores her protests as he slings an arm around her shoulders, pushing them past the crowd of people in the direction of the elevators. "Folks didn't come?" He asks her as they get in and she shakes her head, pressing the button labeled L2, "Ma wanted to stay home and cook you up something nice for tonight. She's driving us all crazy making sure everything's perfect for you." Bucky frowns, and Becca looks at him like she's said too much, "Everything?"
The elevator doors open and they step out. "Yeah, you know how Ma gets about her cooking," Rebecca replies, waving her hand in the air like it's no big deal. He decides it's best not to press the issue, it's just dinner after all.
The conversation changes as they make their way to her car. Rebecca catches his up on her life post graduation. She talks about her new job in the city over, the apartment she's renting with a couple roommates, the coworker she doesn't get along with, how she still visits their parents on the weekends and oh, how can she forget to mention how ridiculously in love her roommates are with his teammate and friend, Steve Rogers.
"You have to get me tickets when you go back. I don't think they'll forgive me if I don't give them a chance to meet him," she mentions, and he hums in response, not fully paying attention as he places his suitcase in the backseat. But it's not like she has anything to worry about, her little sister privileges always win over Bucky in the end.
"Let me drive," he offers, closing the backseat door. Rebecca looks at him like he just asked her something atrocious. "Absolutely not. My car, I drive. Now get in," she orders, not hearing him out at all and getting into the driver's seat. Bucky is too tired to argue, so he heads over to the passenger seat and reluctantly buckles in. But as she's pulling out of the parking lot he realizes, there's something, no, someone she hasn't mentioned at all.
Bucky says your name out loud, pretty as always, but foreign on his tongue as he hasn't heard it anywhere, but in his head for years. Rebecca's body goes rigid, and he doesn't notice at first as he asks, "How's she doing?" He knows he has no right to ask. He knows he has no right to pry into your life or know anything about you now, but he can't help it. He needs to know. Maybe if he knows that insistent thrum beneath his ribcage will finally go away.
Rebecca stares straight ahead at the traffic on the road like it's the most interesting thing she's seen in a long time, exhaling apprehensively, "I don't know."
Well that's shocking.
"You don't know?" Bucky echoes, face pulling in a frown of disbelief. Rebecca's hold on the steering tightens ever so slightly, clearly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation being you. "Yeah, I don't know. We haven't been friends for years. Why would I keep up with her?" At that revelation, Bucky can practically feel the way his eyes bulge out of their sockets, a dreadful feeling creeping in to his system.
"Wait—hold on. You haven't been friends with her for years? When did that happen?" He's trying his best to wrap his head around it all. His brain picking out every memory from the last few years, holidays and birthdays he attended and not once did anyone mention you and his sister no longer being friends. Well, no one mentioned you at all, and your absence was felt, but he thought your absence had to do with what happened between you and him, not what apparently happened between you and Becca.
"Years ago," she replies simply.
"Becca."
"What? You asked, I answered."
Bucky stays silent, staring at his sister expectantly. She glances at him briefly, biting the inside of her lip knowing her brother is too stubborn to not keep pushing for more answers. "We stopped being friends after our first year of college. Things were already rocky when we started, but… I don't know we drifted apart—things happened." Her response was vague, like it took effort to reach into the past and look for a proper explanation.
"Things?" He couldn't help, but keep pushing.
Rebecca sighs, "Yeah, things. New friends, boyfriends, different schedules—look, it was a lot of things, but mainly she changed. A lot."
"What do you mean she changed?"
She rolls her eyes, Bucky evidently having pushed her too much, "God, what's with all the questions? Why do you even care?"
The truth is on the tip of his tongue, but he's too much of a coward to let it out. "I don't know, maybe because the three of us were best friends from the moment you two were put in the same kindergarten class. Because we were basically like family to each other."
"Yeah, well, that's in the past now."
The sadness in her voice tugs at Bucky's heart, watching her slump in her seat. It's obvious she wants the conversation to end, retreating into herself the way that she is. Whatever happened between you still weighs heavy on her heart. Whatever Bucky hoped to learn about you upon his return will have to wait. He thought his sister would be the one to give him answers, but all she managed to do was raise more questions.
Bucky turns to face the window, deciding it's best to not bring you up anymore. Rebecca's shoulders relax at that, reaching over to turn on the radio so the music can fill the tense silence. He closes his eyes, trying to focus on the music, but nothing can stop his thoughts from drifting to things he's been avoiding.
When he first decided to take a longer break than he usually gives himself, it was to give himself a chance to figure out what comes next. Racing professionally had always been his dream, but once he achieved it, he felt lost on the after. His racing career took off when he was young, too young to understand when something takes off so fast and bigger than himself, some people get left behind in the dust.
For years, his racing career was overwhelming in the best way. Making a name for himself, proving he was good enough, was all he strived for. His parents and sister had always been supportive, even when certain family members gave their unwanted opinions on how he'd never make it, certain he'd fail. And even though they only got to see him during the holidays or when he flew them out to one of his competitions, his parents and Rebecca cheered him on every step of the way. Promotions, sponsorships, media events, touring—it took up all his time for over half a decade.
But when he finally has made a name for himself, when he finally has the fame, the recognition, when he always wins… what's the next big thing he has to look forward to?
That question brought him back here, back home. Feeling lost on his purpose and fulfillment in life made him come back to where it all started. But being back here brings him back to you. And back to the biggest regret of his entire life.
Beyond the window of the car, the streets stretch out into something more familiar. They pass his old high school, the local bakery his mother used to send him to get fresh bread every week, the street that leads to his father's office, the corner store where your first boyfriend used to work, a sleazy guy he remembers punching the hell out of in that very corner for breaking your heart. They pass a park that's been here for ages, the rusty almost rundown playground evidence of its lack of maintenance, but all the years of usage. He remembers taking you and Becca there all the time when you were kids. Chasing you two with his friends around the playground, or pushing you on the wings just a little harder every time to hear you laugh harder. Every inch of this town were where his roots were founded on and surely it must have the answers to what he's looking for.
It takes another fifteen minutes before Becca pulls into the driveway of their childhood home, a cozy light blue two story building with his mother's meticulously cared for flower beds with blue and pink hydrangeas proudly displayed in the front. There's more cars on the street than he last remembered, but he guesses the number neighbors must have grown since the last time he's been here. It wouldn't be the only thing that's changed since then.
Bucky steps out of the car, wondering if maybe he has a chance to take a nap before dinner. He vaguely listens to his sister ramble on about their mother's plans for tonight as he opens the backseat door to get his suitcase. Becca is whining about how they'll probably have to play Yahtzee for the millionth time, when he gathers his things and follows behind her.
His sister walks to the side of the house, confusing Bucky until she explains. "Gotta use the side door, the front's stuck again." Right. At least that's another thing that stayed consistent. No matter how many times his father or Bucky put in the effort to fix the door, it somehow always managed to get stuck. And his father was always too stubborn to replace it no matter how many time his mother asked him to. Stubbornness seems to run in the family.
They step into the backyard, and Bucky was halfway through making an amused comment about his father not fixing that damn door when a loud cacophony of the word surprise startles him. When Becca had mentioned the word everything earlier, when it came to what their parents had prepared for him, what she meant was a welcome party. Various family members and friends of the family were all gathered to welcome him home at least forty people. Tables were set up in neat rows decorated with blue race car table covers to match the balloons tied to each ends. Blue pennant banners were strewn from tree to tree, and whatever his parents were cooking at the grill had his stomach growling like he hadn't eaten in weeks.
So much for hoping to take a nap.
Bucky is touched by the effort his family put in to welcome him home. Although, from the moment he stepped into the backyard he isn't left alone. His mother comes over to engulf him in a hug that is larger than life itself. His father gives him a welcoming hug too before insisting he needs to sit down and eat. Bucky lost count on how many cousins, uncles, aunts, family friends, and others came up to him to welcome him home, hugging him, patting him on the back, and passing him around from greeting to greeting. Once he finally gets a moment to sit down his parents pile up enough cheeseburgers on his plate to stuff him full for a whole week.
The celebrations are enough to keep his mind off of other things for awhile. Between savoring some home cooked food, sharing stories and catching up his cousins on his adventures, and being pulled into a game of dodgeball, he barely has time to think of anything else. And yet, every so often, his eyes drift to different sections of the party as if they were searching for something. He could lie to himself about not what, but who he was searching for. Someone he foolishly hoped would be hear despite what he was told.
By the time the sun starts to set in the sky, Bucky can feel his energy deplete to a point where he can no longer hide it. It's an exhaustion that goes beyond having to evade dodgeballs to the face. Things have started to settle and everyone's migrated to their own corner of the yard depending on whether they wanted to keep playing games, relax by the bonfire, or eat leftovers. He spots his mother at the grill heating up leftovers and he makes his way over to her.
"Need some help, Ma?" He asks, grabbing one of the tongs not waiting for her answer. His mother shakes her head, "I got it, hun. You go back to having fun." She tries to get him back to the party, but at that Bucky shakes his head, scrunching his face up with a clear I don't want to look. His mother laughs at his expression and then instructs him to help out with the burger patties. She starts asking him about his travel here and how he's been liking his party, little things and start conversation. Bucky's giving her simple answers when he looks out at the guests one more time, biting on his bottom lip absentmindedly. His mother can tell he's distracted, and more than that. It seems like she knows exactly what's going on in his head.
"She wasn't invited," she starts, causing Bucky to whip his head in her direction, eyes wide like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't have been doing as she continues, "It's not like your dad and I didn't want to, but your sister was against it."
"What?" Bucky sounds and looks dumbfounded, and his mother can only respond with a short exhale. She says your name, and Bucky's heart races and breaks all in one. "How did you—?"
"You can't hide things from your mother, James," his mother interjects as if it were obvious. He gaze locks with his mother's for a moment, and there's something close to pity in them. She's right. He was never one to lie to his mother, much less be able to.
A defeated sigh slips past his lips, "Is it stupid I thought she'd be here?" His mother prepares another leftover plate as she responds, "No, not at all," she hands the plate to one of his younger cousins who scurries off with it. "She wouldn't have come if she had been invited anyway."
Bucky clears his throat, suddenly feeling like there's something stuck in it. "Why not?" His mother gives him a look, like she has something to say, but no explanation for it. "I talk to her mom every so often, maybe once a month. She's told me they barely have any contact with her. No one really knows where she is."
"What? And no one's gone looking for her?" Bucky can't believe what he's hearing. His question has no short of worry in it, and he doesn't bother to hide it. The thought of you being out there somewhere and no one knowing—no one even bothering to look—it didn't sit right with him. It settles within him as well as poison would.
His mother's lips draw into a thin line, a somber look in her eyes. "I'm sure they've tried. I know her parents have, but it's not easy when your kids shut you out. Especially when they're in trouble." Bucky's heart sinks, "Trouble? What trouble?" His mother starts preparing another plate, like she needs something to do, "I'm not sure, hun. Her parents don't know and even your sister hasn't been forthcoming with the way things ended between them. All I know is she got mixed in with the wrong crowd and ended up dropping out of college. The last time I saw her was when Becca found out and they had a screaming match over it. I don't think I've ever seen your sister so angry…"
Out of all the thing Bucky could have been preparing himself to hear about you from his mother, none of this would have ever come close. There's something sickly brewing in his stomach and he thinks if he hears another word of your apparent disappearance, he'll spill his dinner all over the grill.
His mother can tell something is off, so she promptly sends him to bed. He wants to protest until he realizes he burned the burger patty he had been reheating and agrees some rest would be for the best. His mother gives him a goodnight hug and he presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head. Everyone at the gathering is still preoccupied with their own things, so Bucky forgoes any farewells and instead slips inside the house without anyone noticing. Every step up the stairs and toward his childhood bedroom feels heavier than the last.
When he enters his room, there's an appreciative smile that appears on his face when he realizes not much has changed in here either. He can tell his mother has changed the sheets and installed one of those little air freshener devices in preparation for his coming home. And besides his suitcase in the corner, which he still has to thank his father for bringing it up for him, everything else is exactly the same. Which isn't saying much since he's always kept his room simple the older he got. A few racing posters on his walls, shelves decorated with knickknacks, a bookcase filled with books he has yet to revisit, there's not much besides that.
He strips out of his clothes lazily just wanting to get into bed already, when his eyes stray to his desk. He knows why they did. He knows what he'll find when he looks. And yet, he walks over to it anyway, feeling the lump in his throat grow when he sees it's been left untouched. Above his desk on the wall there's a bulletin board frozen in time to the last time he ever used it. He has pictures pinned all across it, happy memories from his childhood with you with him in almost all of them. Every birthday card and letter you ever wrote him is pinned on the board too. Anything you ever gave him he saved and treasured down to the smallest thing. Even to the four leaf clover you once found, gently tucking it between tape for safe keeping. Giving it to him as a good luck charm, promising him it would help him win every race he ever dreamed up as long as he kept it close.
He keeps it in his wallet to this day.
Bucky blinks away the tears he can feel forming in the corner of his eyes. He finds himself more than upset now, maybe even bordering on an anxious frustration as he wills himself to look away. He hastily strips out of his clothes and climbs into his bed, hoping that his mind can quiet once he's bundled up in it. But of course that's not the case. All he can think about now is you. Why would you disappear? Why would you leave and tell no one? Why does no one know where you are? Why did you and Becca get into a big fight and stop being friends?
And why does he feel like it's all his fault?
As he drifts off into a restless slumber, there's a final image that haunts him. It's you. Holding back tears as you look at him with the kind of ire he deserved, but never excepted he would ever have caused you.
That image takes him back to where it all ended.
It happened at his parent's lake house, the summer after his sophomore year of college concluded. The summer you and Becca graduated high school, and had to adjust transitioning into adulthood and newfound independence. Your families had thrown a big graduation party for the two of you, but it was a little too family friendly for Bucky's liking. So without telling his parents, a couple weeks later, he threw a massive party at his parent's lake house in celebration of you two.
You had always held a special place in Bucky's heart, there was no denying that. Whether you or Bucky acknowledged it was another thing entirely. Your friendship with Bucky was just as deeply bonded as yours and Rebecca's, but it was different in its own way. Somehow you found yourself being more vulnerable with Bucky about your fears of the future, about school and life. There were times you wanted to appear strong or dependable to Becca when she was going through a rough patch, and yet Bucky was always able to crumble down your walls almost as if those walls didn't exist when it came to him. From patching up a cut on your knee you'd gotten when you were six while playing hopscotch, to holding you close and soothing you when you cried over your first boyfriend breaking your heart—Bucky had always been there for you. The trust between you ran deep, deep in a way that felt rooted in something tied to your souls.
Perhaps that's what always frightened him about acting on his feelings. If he ever told you how he truly felt, that he loved you in ways that went far beyond just friends, and you didn't feel the same or it didn't work out—he'd lose you for good. And the thought of that, he couldn't even imagine it. Not having you in his life. He honestly thought he'd never survive that.
Nothing was supposed to happen that night. He kept his drinks to a minimum, not wanting to get drunk so he could watch over the party guests. He threw it without his parents knowledge or permission, the last thing he needed was to have an accident happen that he couldn't explain away. You hadn't been drinking much, if at all, either. Mingling throughout the party a little lost since Becca had been hanging out with her boyfriend at the time. Bucky shouldn't have gone over to you when you were standing in the corner by yourself, but he did. He shouldn't have invited you to dance, but he wanted to so badly, so he did.
But he should've known things would end in more than a dance. Having you so close, your body pressed against his, touching him, all over him—it drove him crazy. Careful touches at your hips and waist turned into greedy handfuls that couldn't be satisfied despite the lack of distance. It lead to you two kissing for the first time, desperate and inevitable. And that one kiss led to two then three, until the two of you stumbled up the stairs, not being able to keep your hands or lips off of each other as you made your way to Bucky's bedroom. It led to Bucky caging you underneath him on his bed, kissing you senselessly until the heat between you became too much and you slept together for the first time.
The next morning, you were tucked into his side with his arms wrapped around you, holding you tight to his chest like it would hurt him to let you go. You looked so peaceful in your sleep, beautiful as the morning sunlight blanketed your form. Bucky didn't want to get up, but he knew he had to survey whatever potential damage was leftover from the party and possibly kick out anyone who overstayed their welcome. He kissed your forehead, whispering a promise of not taking too long before slipping on a pair of sweatpants. He groaned inwardly as he made his way downstairs, hoping the damage wasn't too bad. But a quick survey of the house settled his worry. Every room was trashed, but at least nothing seemed broken or irreparably stained. When Bucky made his way back to the living room he noticed Sam, his closest friend, stirring awake on the crouch.
"You crashed on the couch?" Bucky eyed his friend weirdly, he hated sleeping on couches. Sam yawned, stretching dramatically, "Yeah, figured you'd need help cleaning up."
"Aw, aren't you sweet."
"Shut up."
Sam threw a pillow at Bucky's head, which he dodged at the last second. Sam sat up on the couch, scratching the back of his head like he was still trying to come to, "Saw you two go up to your room last night. Congrats on finally getting the guts to make a move—thought you'd never do it. I can hear the bells already," Sam teased, humming out the tune for 'here comes the bride' while wiggling his brows at Bucky suggestively. Bucky can't remember why, can't understand why, but he panicked in that moment. The image of you in a wedding dress and saying I do freaked him out so badly because for the first time it dawned on him that's something that he wanted. But you were both still so young, with so much life and experiences to love ahead of you. He knew he was getting ahead of himself. He didn't even know if you liked him like he loved you.
Fuck, he's in love with you.
Bucky tried to play it cool. Tried to ignore the way his heart squeezed uncomfortably with the truth. He shook his head, playing it down, "Nah, it… it was just an itch I had to scratch. Nothing more. Just something I needed to get out of my system…" Sam was not amused by his lies, painfully seeing through them, "Bullshit. You and I both know you're hopelessly in love with that girl." Bucky's mouth opened to deny it, but another hard look from Sam had him crumbling.
"I know I know. And I think I messed everything up." Bucky slumped on the couch next to Sam, a devastated look on his face. Sam definitely was judging him. "You did not mess anything up, Buck."
"No I did. I wanted to do this the right way, ask her out on a date. Treat her right, like she deserves to be. Show her what she means to me—" A couch pillow hit Bucky square in the face, stopping him mid sentence. "Buck, you're spiraling, stop it. You didn't mess anything up. Trust me, just go up there and tell her how you feel."
Bucky rubbed at his face, soothing it from the hit, "But what if she doesn't feel the same?" Sam looked like he was two seconds from throwing another pillow, "I'm starting to think those engine fumes have caused you to go stupid or blind. Buck, that girl is so in love with you."
For a brief moment, Bucky dared to hope that Sam was right. That you do feel the same. That you'd want it to work out between you as much as he does. But then the image of you in a wedding dress flashed across his mind again, and that unrelenting voice in his head made him doubt everything once more. A voice that strangely sounded like his uncles. His father's brothers who constantly let him know how his racing career would never work out. How he'll never make good enough money and he'll just disappoint his parents. How he should just play it safe, smart. Become an accountant like his father and get rid of those silly childhood dreams because his parents didn't give up everything for him just to go "play racer." Scolding him like a child to stop being so ungrateful with his parents and get a proper job so he can take care of them like they took care of him. Voices of people who were supposed to love and encourage him and instead reminded him everyday that he wasn't good enough to ever achieve his dreams.
And if he wasn't good enough for his dreams, then he certainly wasn't good enough for you.
"Even if she is," Bucky swallowed hard, the words feeling bitter on his tongue, "even if we are, she deserves so much more than what I can give her right now."
"Buck."
"No, I mean it. Her life's just starting Sam. She's going to her dream college, finally getting away from this town like she's always wanted to," Bucky shook his head, like admitting his fears cost him something, "I'm pursuing something I don't even know will work out. And if it doesn't… I don't want to drag her into that. I don't want to drag her into my failures."
Sam sighed, feeling for his friend, "You're not going to fail, Buck. And even if you do—loves so much more than the good times. It's being there despite what happens, despite the obstacles." Bucky mulls over his friend's words knowing there's some truth to them. But, unfortunately, the voice in the back of his mind refused to let him go.
"Yeah, but loves also about walking away when the timing isn't right."
"Not when, if. You don't know which one it is yet."
With those last words, Bucky managed to find the courage to go back up those steps and back to you. With his heart on his sleeve, his hopes in the palm of your hands, and his blood pumping a mile a minute. But when he opened the door to his room, you were already making your way out of it. Eyes wide and teary when they narrowed on him.
"Hey, baby, hey," he reached out to cup your face, "What's wrong?" You flinched back from his hold like his hands were made of ice, his heart stopped. "Nothing. I'm fine," you bite out, clearly holding back. He stood his ground, "You know you've never been able to lie to me, come on tell me what's wrong." He pleaded, feeling distressed at your change in attitude.
"Nothing is wrong, just let me through already," you tried pushing past him, but his arm shot out between you and the doorway. "No. Not until we talk. Not until you tells me what's going on." He tried to get you to look at him, but your eyes were on everything but him.
"Bucky—" He cut you off by saying your name in a way that sounded somewhere between utter devotion and utter devastation. You sighed, broken and like you had something caught in your throat. "There's nothing we have to talk about, nothing important anyway."
Now that stung. Bucky would have preferred you slapping him across the face instead.
"What? So did last night mean nothing to you?" Bucky didn't stop the anger that was seeping through his hurt. You looked like you didn't know what to say or did and just didn't want to, "That's not what I said. And it doesn't matter what I think of it anyway. You got what you wanted." Bucky stared at you, scoffing in offense, "I got what I wanted? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"You know what I mean," you said with a finality that caused him to panic. You tried evading his arm by ducking below it. But he was faster than you and stopped you from getting past him. He was frustrated by your vagueness and confused on what you tried telling him without really telling him anything. This was a complete switch up from last night and he didn't know how to handle it.
"Look, I don't know where this is coming from, but just listen to me, sweetheart. I know I can't… I know I'm not," He ran his free hand through his hair, frustrated that he couldn't put his vulnerabilities into words, "My career's just starting. There's big opportunities ahead of me and I know I'm not guaranteed success. I'm not thinking of…I don't want to make any mistakes—" That last word, he should've never used that word. Because you didn't even let him finish when something between a cynical laugh and broken sob came out of you. "I get it. I was a mistake."
Bucky was quick in his attempt to shut that accusation down, "No! No! Absolutely not, that is not what I said," you tried to squeeze past him again, but this time he held onto your arm, "Would you please just listen to me?" You pushed at his chest, hard enough to hurt, the ire in your eyes and tone made his blood run cold. "Don't touch me." There was something close to hatred in your voice and that had him stunned, frozen in place. He was so stunned he could only watch you walk away to the guest bedroom. By the time he came to on what happened, he ran to chase after you only to have you slam the door right in his face. And no matter how hard he knocked, how long he waited, how much he pleaded into the wooden oak for you to talk to him, you never responded.
He was heartbroken beyond what you could every imagine. He couldn't understand where everything went wrong and why you were so upset. He wanted to talk to you, but he also knew he needed to give you space to cool down. He figured at some point in the day he'd be able to get you aside for a private conversation and clear things up.
He was wrong.
That small glimpse of you before the door slammed in his face was the last time he saw you for the next six whole years.
Reliving that moment in his dream was so vivid it startles him awake. Chest heaving, and face covered in sweat as the memory of that regretful morning resurfaces. Thinking back to the way you looked at him, to the way you spoke to him—it's enough to rip his heart to pieces all over again.
Even after all these years he still doesn't understand what happened back then, what had you so upset. At first he thought it was over his slip up and using that damn word, mistake. But thinking back on that moment throughout the years, he realized you had been upset before that. Something happened between falling asleep that night and him going up those stairs the next morning to confess to you that had set you off. And to this day he hasn't figured out what it was. The absence of you in his life, the hollow cavity losing you left in his chest—that's all he's really come to understand.
Bucky is surrounded by the darkness of his room, the crescent moon in the sky not providing much light to filter in through the window. His room suddenly feels stuffy, and the ache in his chest seems like it's going nowhere any time soon, so he gets up and decides to take a hot shower. Hoping maybe that can help him relax. He's in and out before he knows it, careful to not make too much noise in the hallway as to not wake his parents or his sister in case she stayed for the night. Thankfully, the bathroom's right across the hall from him, so there's not much noise he can make anyway.
By the time Bucky's back in his room he catches the screen on his phone light up. He reaches for it where it lies on his nightstand, seeing he's gotten a couple recent messages. He frowns when he looks at the time, it's just past midnight. Who could be texting him at this hour?
Mini Falcon: Heard you're back in town! You do not want to miss this.
Mini Falcon: [Attachment: 1 movie]
Bucky has an idea of what he's going to find when he opens the video from his old street racing friend. When he clicks on the video, sure enough it's Joaquin showing off a car meet he's at. There's a crowd of people already forming, showing off their cars and probably figuring out who's going to race tonight. He plays the video a few times, reminiscing on his street racing days, and a little envious at how nice some of the cars have gotten. God, there's no amount of money he wouldn't have bet to get a chance to race against some of those machines.
On one of his rewinds, he spots someone in the background that catches his eye. No, not someone, not just anyone.
It's you.
Bucky's jaw drop comically, pausing the video and hating how pixelated it looks when he zooms in, but even through the blurriness he swears that's you. An older you for sure, but it's still you nonetheless. He's recognize you anywhere. You're laughing with a brunette and a blonde, he thinks maybe they're you're friends.
But what the hell are you doing there? Since when are you involved in the street racing scene?
Bucky's mind is working a mile a minute, but if that is you—which he sure it is—he can't miss this opportunity to see you. Especially not after finding out no one knows where you are. If he's found you, then he's taking the chance to bring you home.
Bucky texts Joaquin back asking for the location of the car meet. He's scrambling to look decent, throwing open his suitcase and putting on the first outfit he finds, a matching pair of black sweatpants and hoodie, topping it off with a jean jacket and cap for good measure.
When he looks at his phone again Joaquin's sent him the location of the car meet, and when he puts it in his phone's maps it shows it's being held at an abandoned industrial complex in the next town, over thirty minutes away. With his skills he knows he can get there in half the time, so he wastes no more in getting ready and heading out the door. Extremely grateful that his father kept up with the maintence of his first car, a modified Honda Civic, and he has something of his own to get him there.
Just as he thought, he's able to get to the meet in half the expected time. He vaguely remembers racing here once or twice, which means he also remembers how it's one of the easier spots to get caught at because of the parameters of the race. He decides to park his car a few blocks away, hidden and tucked into a parking lot, a large patch of overgrown foliage and trees obstructing the view of it to anyone passing by. He makes his way over to the car meet on foot, locating it by the booming music echoing throughout the abandoned walls of the complex.
And yet, despite the music and all the engine revving getting louder as he approaches, he can still hear Joaquin's laugh above all that.
When Joaquin spots Bucky, he excitedly waves him over to where he's resting on the hood of what Bucky assumes is his car. "Bucky, man you made it!" They greet each other with one of those hand clasping, one armed embraces that guys do. "Yeah, after seeing the video you sent I knew I couldn't miss it." Bucky responds, making Joaquin grin, "Told you," he points to the guy next to him, "This is my friend Bob. Bob this is Bucky thee legendary Bullet." The man standing next to Joaquin turns to Bucky impressed, his doe eyes wide in awe as they greet each other. Bucky shakes his head, side eyeing Joaquin as if saying 'he's exaggerating'.
"He used to win all the races back in the day, he set all the records," Joaquin adds.
Bucky was going to say something when Bob beat him to it, "All the records Blitz beat?"
"Blitz?" Bucky inquires, not remembering that name in the roster of racers he knew back when he was racing here. Joaquin nods to the car positioned in the middle of the lineup race, a gorgeous blue Nissan GT-R Bucky's sure has been tuned up like hell. "That's what they call her. She's part of Rumlow's crew."
That catches Bucky's attention, "Rumlow's got a crew now?"
Joaquin hums in confirmation, "A few years back he got into a nasty car wreck. Car went up in flames and fucked up his body. He can't race now, so he got a crew to do that and his dirty work for him."
"Dirty work?"
Joaquin shrugs, "Don't know much about it. I just know he imports illegal parts from overseas to modify his cars, but I stay out of whatever they got going on."Bucky makes a clicking noise with his tongue, feeling sorry for any unlucky bastard that got stuck working for Rumlow.
"His crew hard to beat?" Bucky can't help but ask, reminiscing on all the times he beat Rumlow in a race. If his crews anything like him, then they're probably not that good. Bob is the one who answers his question, "Nope. Blitz is the best racer he's got. When he wants a certified win he has her race." Bucky takes that information in. If at any point he wanted to relive his street racing days, then it seems Blitz is the one to beat.
The three of them chat for another while. Bucky learns that Bob races too—for a team called the Thunderbolts—although he's still pretty new at it, so there's much he has to learn. Bucky offers to teach Bob a few things while he's in town and Bob seems more than eager to learn from him. Joaquin and Bob try to catch Bucky up on all the new faces in the racing scene, but it's too many names at once for him to really take anything in. Once the race starts, Bucky excuses himself from them, pretending like he saw someone he wanted to go catch up with so he could step away.
In reality, he's going back to concentrate on what he really came for. To find you.
He weaves through the crowds of people gathered, being careful not to bump into any of the showcase vehicles. As much as his eyes want to stray to admire them, he keeps his mind focused on you. He pays close attention to every single face he passes, hope blooming and then dying in his chest when he walks past someone that looks like you. When he circles back to where he started he's distraught at the realization that he might've missed you.
He goes back to Joaquin feeling dejected and like he has to start all over again with something he never really started. Bob is no longer standing with Joaquin, and Bucky barely catches the finish of the race. As expected by what he was told, Blitz comes in first with Yelena, one of Bob's teammates he pointed out to Bucky earlier, coming in a close second. He can't remember the names of the other races and quite frankly he doesn't care. They're not why he came here.
Although, even though Bucky only got a glimpse of how the race finished and a bit of the start, he's seen enough to know that whoever is racing for Rumlow is good—really good. Blitz drives like the car she's in is an extension of her body and she knows how to get it to do exactly what she wants it to. She's got the kind of control he's only seen with a handful of drivers. Him being one of them.
He finds it impressive.
Blitz's car door opens, and there's a small part of him that's anticipating putting a face to the name. And when Blitz steps out of the car, he finds himself receiving the shock of a lifetime for the second time that night.
You are the one to step out of the car.
You are Blitz.
That means, you're the one who's part of Rumlow's crew.
Shit.
What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?
Bucky is convinced this has to be a dream, he's rubbing the hell out of his eyes in hopes that it is. But it's not. You're standing by your car with a self-satisfied smile on your face as you're handed the winnings of the race. Yelena steps out of her car and heads toward you with a giant grin, congratulating you on your win. It's clear you two are friends. You look every part of belonging here and he doesn't know what to do with that.
Bucky clears his throat, bumping Joaquin's shoulder, "Hey, is that..?" He can't even finish the sentence, but Joaquin doesn't need him to as he follows the direction Bucky is looking in. "Blitz? Yeah, that's her." Joaquin's confirmation only makes the pit in Bucky's stomach grow. "And you said she's part of Rumlow's crew?"
Joaquin nods, not understanding the weight of what Bucky is asking. "Yeah, I don't know much about what else she does for him, but she's his main racer. Any time he wants a guaranteed win he sends her." Bucky's scared to know, but he has to ask, "And when you mention that Rumlow's got some shady business going on, how shady are we talking?"
"Class B felonies dude," Joaquin says it like it's gossip and not the worst news he could've possibly given Bucky. At his silence, Joaquin gives Bucky a look over. "Are you good? Bro, you look like you're about to spill your guts—literally." Joaquin steps back a bit just in case Bucky does.
"I know her."
"Who?"
"Blitz." He says your real name after. The name he knows you by, the name he knew you by.
"Oh shit." Joaquin doesn't know what to say. Not with Bucky looking like he's seen a ghost. "Look, dude, she's friends with Yelena and Kate, they're good friends of mine and I know they're always looking out for her. I'm sure she's okay. Maybe Rumlow's only got her racing, not in his other shit." Joaquin attempts to comfort Bucky, but it doesn't seem like what he said did at all.
"Yeah, maybe…"
"Are you gonna go talk to her or just stare at her with your mouth open?" Joaquin teases, trying to lighten the mood. Bucky shuts his mouth and glares at Joaquin causing him to laugh. Bucky roles his eyes at him, Joaquin might've grown up, but he's still like that annoying little brother he remembers. He won't tell him, but Bucky is a grateful to have that unchanged connection to his old friend.
Joaquin's words might've not done much to comfort Bucky, but his teasing was enough to give Bucky the push to walk away from him and toward you. Joaquin whistles to cheer Bucky on, throwing some words his way that resemble good luck. Bucky shakes his head, wondering how crazy you're going to think he is for finding you here.
Every step closer Bucky is to you throws his nerves into high gear. You've already gotten your car and yourself away from the concrete race track. Somewhere over by the corner where a cluster of smaller buildings and a smaller group of people were in. He really doesn't know what to expect once he finally reaches you, or what he'll say, but he knows he can't leave without trying.
The moment you spot him approaching time seems to freeze, your eyes widening and your lips parting like you can't believe what your eyes are seeing. But just as fast as the shock hits your face, you mask it with indifference, but the iciness in your gaze is something he feels penetrate down to his bones.
He sees the door slamming in his face again. The look you gave him the last time he saw you, staring at him through the closing door like he had reached into your chest and snatched your heart right out of its cavity. And now? Now, you were glowering at him like you would put a bullet through his head and not bat an eye. Eyes looking at him with such a disdain it makes him feel physically ill.
When he finally reaches you, Bucky can only come up with one word, "Hey." He says lamely, quietly like there's an obstruction in his throat. You blink at him, crossing your arms as your friends at your side give him wary glances.
"You." Is all you say back, the word coming out almost like an accusation. Bucky grimaces, but he knows he deserves that so he tries to stay calm. He doesn't say anything else, but he glances at Yelena and who he guesses is Kate next to you, before his eyes find yours again, feeling a bit awkward at involving anyone else in your conversation.
You sigh, taking the hint, turning to your friends to ask them for a bit of space. The girls don't look happy about it, but they listen to you. Kate doesn't spare him another glance while Yelena makes sure to give him one hard glare, acting like she'd break his arm if you asked her to.
He really hopes you don't.
"Please, don't look at me like that," he finds himself saying, to which you barely react to. There's clearly a wall you've built between you, one he doesn't know how to lower for the first time in his life.
"Like what."
"Like I'm the last person you'd wanna see here."
"Well," you shrug like that's enough of an answer. Bucky takes a tentative step closer to you, making you tense up. Your reaction makes something break inside him. He steps back, feeling too many emotions all at once. A frustration at you running away, fear at you working for Rumlow, disheartened at the way you're acting like he's a stranger—confusion over everything that has and hasn't happened in the last six years. It all accumulates the second he has you this close again.
"What the hell are you even doing here?" He didn't mean for the question to come out as harsh as it did. "Excuse me? What the hell are you doing here?" You throw the question back at him with bit of venom in your tone. He elects to ignore it.
"Looking for you," he replies honestly. And that catches you off guard, he can see it written all over your face. "A friend invited me to come watch the race, sent me a video and everything. I saw you in the background of it and I thought I was seeing things. But I had to come see for myself only to find out that not only are you a racer, but you're racing for fucking Rumlow of all people. What the hell is that about?"
You wave him off, "It's none of your concern." He says your name like you're testing his patience. "It's not," you reiterate, rolling your eyes and leaning on the hood of your car, “It’s not even that big of a deal.”
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Bucky growls out with something deeper than frustration, debating on whether or not he should just drag your ass back home instead of trying to reason with you. You stare at him like you could bite his head off. "I haven't seen you in years and all of a sudden you want to show up here and act like you're looking out for me? Fuck off, Bucky," you raise your voice at him, your own anger increasing by the minute. Bucky's arms shoot out in exasperation, tired of you twisting his actions and words into something negative, "I am looking out for you! I did all my life and that care doesn't just go away because I left for some time."
"Six years," you correct him, the heaviness of all the time apart settling between you like a wound that hasn't healed. He swallows hard, letting out a shaky breath, "Doesn't matter, sweetheart. I thought about you all the damn time during those years. I cared about you then, and I care about you now."
You don't believe him, scoffing, "I'm sure you do." He doesn't know how to get through to you. Feeling as though his efforts are going nowhere. "I'm serious. I've been thinking about you all damn day since I got here—its been driving me crazy. Especially after Becca told me you two stopped being friends. What happened there?"
"It's none of your business," you're quick to say—too quick.
He says your name again, but this time in a plea, but you're done talking. "I'm serious, Bucky, fuck off. None of this is of your concern, none of this is your business. Leave me alone."
"No."
Before you can even start ripping him a new one, the music is cut off. Someone's voice can be heard yelling, warning everyone to get the hell out as the cops are on their way. Bucky doesn't hesitate, having through this same scenario many times before. You don't even see it coming, how fast he swipes the keys from your hand, rushing over to the driver's side of your car.
"Get in the car," he urges, and you're smart enough not to argue with him over this. He can tell you're biting your tongue as you get in the passenger's side of the car, not at all happy with him being the driver. Bucky turns on the ignition and speeds out of the industrial complex while others still scramble to get into their cars and do the same. He doesn't drive in the same direction as everyone else. Making a swift u-turn in the opposite direction everyone else is going. He ignores your protests directing him on which way to go and drives the car in the direction he left his. You don't know what he's doing until he ends up back in the secluded parking lot, parking right next to his car. There's no doubt you recognize it, having been in it more times than he can count. He shuts off the engine, making everything go quiet. There's only one streetlight working, the light flickering every so often making it even harder to see the cars past the foliage. If anyone were to drive by at this time of night, there's absolutely no chance you'd be seen.
The tension in the car is palpable, thick with everything left there is to say between you. Bucky's holding his breath like even his breathing could set you off at any moment.
"You can get out now," you say after a painfully long silence. "Not until we talk," Bucky sees the way the word spark that anger in you again. "I don't want to talk." Bucky shrugs, leaning back in the seat like he's got at all night to go back and forth, "That's too damn bad, 'cause I'm not leaving until we do." He pockets your keys in the chest pocket of his jacket, not giving you a chance to take them back.
"You're fucking unbelievable," you growl out, getting out of the car and slamming the door closed. You practically stomp your way to the other side, yanking the driver door open. "Get out," you grind out through gritted teeth.
"Don't want to."
"James."
You used his first name, clearly he's pushing you past your limits, and truthfully he doesn't want that. He just wants you to talk to him, that's all he wants. He wants to get to the bottom of whats going on with you in hopes he can help you in some way. So he gets out of the car, slower than you'd like him to, stepping to the side to give you enough room to look inside and notice your keys are missing.
"Barnes, give me my keys."
"Not until we talk."
"Are you serious?
"Deadly."
You let the door shut, before holding out your hand expectantly, ignoring his request. "Bucky give me back the keys, the car isn't mine. I have to take it back to Rumlow." Bucky's worry only grows at your words, "Why are you working for him? How did you get involved with him?"
"It's a long story."
"I got time."
"Well I don't."
You're at a stand still, neither of you willing to budge. But in the interest of moving things along, you're the first to break. "My ex got me into this mess alright? Now I gotta get myself out of it. It's that simple," you explain, but Bucky isn't satisfied with just that. "What mess?"
You take a deep breath before confessing, eyes lowering to the ground, "I dated Rumlow's cousin for about a year. I didn't know they were cousins back then, and I didn't know about the family business. He swiped some money from Rumlow and then disappeared. Since I was the girlfriend, Rumlow made me responsible for paying off the money my ex stole." At the revelation of your predicament, of you being taken advantage of, Bucky has to take a deep breath and reign in his anger before he takes his car over to Rumlow's and finishes off what the car wreck didn't.
"How much?" He's apprehensive to ask, but he needs to know. You shrug, "I don't know the exact amount. I just know it's in the six figures." Bucky's heart drops, blood running cold with dread, "Fuck, sweetheart," a beat passes as his head wraps around the amount of debt Rumlow's put you in, "How much do you have left to pay off?" You shrug again, "I don't know, Rumlow adds interest every time I race with one of his cars or some other bullshit reason. I don't think he's gonna let me go any time soon." His jaw clenches so tight, you'd think he's about to break a tooth.
"Let me go with you, let me talk to him," he says it not like he's asking you, but like he's letting you know in advance you're not doing this alone. You shake your head, refusing, "No, absolutely not."
"He knows me. I used to race against him all the time. Stop being so goddamn stubborn and let me help you." They weren't friends by any means, but there had always been a mutual respect between them.
"I don't want your help. I don't need your help." You deny, but Bucky isn't having any of that. "Yes you do. Look at you. You run away from home, you drop out of college, no one knows where you are, and Rumlow's got you racing and doing his dirty work." You bristle at being reminded of your situation. Like if it were the first time anyone's said it out loud and addressed it head on with you.
"And why do you give a fuck? I'm not your responsibility, Bucky," you spit out, making Bucky feel like he's back to square one with you. But this time, you've ran through the last of his patience. "Fuck, this isn't about that! I give a fuck because I care! I give a fuck because despite all these years you still mean everything to me! Because the thought of anything happening to you would actually kill me." His admission causes you to lock eyes with him and within yours he can see something is cracking, he's getting through to you.
"Shut up, and go," you whisper out the words weakly, but he shakes his head, "No. I'm not leaving you. Not again," he cups your face, brushing away a stray tear from your cheek, "I don't fully understand why you ran, although I can take a pretty good guess its got to do with that piece of shit…," a horrifying thought strikes him, "Is he threatening you?"
You tense in his hold, "Bucky drop it."
"He is, isn't he?"
Your silence is the only confirmation he needs.
A few things finally start connecting for him, "That's why your parents don't know where you are, why you barley contact them. Is he also why you and Becca stopped being friends?" The mention of Becca has you stepping out of grasp, his hands falling reluctantly to his sides, "Becca and I stopped being friends before that. So you don't have to worry about her being mixed up in this mess."
"So why did you? Is it because of us? Because of what happened between us?" He doesn't think he's ready for the answer. But he should know better by now that answers from you don't come easily.
"Nothing happened between us."
"No, don't brush it off like it meant nothing."
"Well I wouldn't be the first to do that."
There you go again being vague and cryptic—and sounding accusatory toward him when he doesn't even know what he did. "Are you saying that because of the whole mistake thing? You don't even know what I was actually going to say. You didn't even let me finish what I wanted to say back then. Not before you stormed out of my room and slammed that door in my face. Before you blocked me on everything and I couldn't even reach out to talk to you."
His grievances don't seem to move you, "Seems like you still haven't gotten the hint." Bucky doesn't know how many more of your dismissals he can take, so he decides to leave it all out in the open once and for all. "No I haven't, and I won't because I was so hopelessly in love with you and you left my room like what happened between us meant nothing to you. You left and took my heart with you. And now that I have it back I have some things I want to say to you."
His confession throws you off balance, stumbling over your own footing as you take a step back. But he's not letting you get away this time, he's saying his peace like it's the last time you two might ever speak. "That night scared the absolute shit out of me. Because it was the first time in my life I felt as alive as I do when I'm behind the wheel. The thought of you feeling the same way I did brought that out in me and I didn't know how to handle it, and that's on me."
"Bucky, please stop."
He doesn't.
"That morning, I was trying to tell you that deep down I knew I wasn't good enough for you. I was still getting my shit together, still trying to prove myself to people who didn't give a damn about me. But on the off chance that you felt the same way, I would've dropped everything for you. I would've pursued something that would've had me better off, something close to home, close to you. I would've done what I could to help you pursue your dreams and—" this time you don't cut him off with words, but with your lips crashing against his, hard and with purpose. Knocking the cap right off his head. He's taken by surprise, but when your lips press harder, insistent on not being ignored, he kiss you back. His hands landing at your waist to keep him grounded to you.
You pull away slightly out of breath, "I just wanted you to shut up," you tease, and Bucky takes in a shaky breath staring down at your lips like he wants another taste, "You wanna shut me up again?" You don't hesitate to take the invitation, kissing him again with a passion bordering on hunger. You're stumbling backwards, pulling him in as he's crashing full force into you, lips parting to let him fully in. You're making out, your back pressed against his car, as you pull sounds out from each other that echo in the night air. He takes a moment to tell you this conversation isn't over, but you quickly shush him with another kiss. The heat between you is growing quickly, and it's no surprise when you find yourselves stumbling into the backseat of his car to take things further.
The door shuts behind you with a soft click, his body hovering over yours. One of his knees slots between your legs, deliberately pressing on your core causing you to whine. You can feel the way you've soaked through your panties and tights already. He helps you take off your leather jacket and matching shorts, and he can't help himself as he tears away at your tights, making you gasp. "Bucky, what the—" He kisses you, mumbling into your lips, "I'll buy you as many new pairs as you want, sweetheart." His answer seems to quell your annoyance for now.
His hand reaches down to rub you through your panties, finding out just how soaked you are for him. He grins wolfishly into the kiss, "Fuck, baby. Didn't know fighting with me would turn you on so much." His tease is met with a slap to his bicep, which only makes him press harder along your slit making you cry out. He kisses your lips one last time, trailing featherlight kisses to cheek and jaw, all the way down to your neck where he nips at the skin. His fingers brush upwards toward your sensitive bundle of nerves to continue his ministrations there.
You only let him have his way for a few more seconds before you're pushing impatiently at his chest. He's already dazed by just a few kisses from you, so when you tell him to sit back he listens without putting up a fight. He sits back in the seat, watching you with something close to devotion as you go to straddle his lap, bracketing his thick thighs with your legs. You strip him of his jean jacket and hoodie, throwing it on the car floor somewhere, raking your nails down his chest with just enough pressure to make him bite down on his lip, looking like he's moments away from coming undone.
You start to grind on him, making a mess of his sweatpants, but he doesn't care, it feels too good to care. His cock twitches beneath you and with the way you smirk at him he knows you felt it. You're making him go crazy, drunk on you, and you're living for every second of it.
One hand snakes it's way beneath your white tee to palm at your breasts, while the other grips your hip to press you down on him harder. A deep groan leaves his chest, and it mingles with your own as you crash your lips to his again, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to make him whine. Your hips continue their grinding motion, leaving you both breathing heavily enough to start fogging up the windows of the car. One of your hands finds the back of his head and tugs at his hair, pulling his attention long enough to slip your other hands into his sweats, giving him a teasing squeeze that his seems stars with how hard he's holding back from coming undone so embarrassingly soon.
"Oh, fuck," a deep groan rumbles with his chest when you squeeze him again, "Wait, baby, I can't. I don't got a condom on me," he grabs your wrist to stop you, "Just let me make you feel good okay? Let tonight be all about you." He tries to coax you, his hand leaving your wrist to bring the attention back to your cunt when you swat his hand away. He pouts, confused as he watches you pull your white tee off and reach into your bra to grab a condom out it.
His eyes narrow at you, "Why the hell do you have that there?"
You huff, the jealousy in his tone not getting past you, "Don't ask what you don't wanna know, Barnes."
Whether or not he wants to pry into that detail, you don't let him. Making his breath catch in his throat as you tear the condom wrapper with your teeth—an action he found incredibly hot.
He takes himself out of his sweats, squeezing the base of his cock to get himself under control. He's already leaking as you hastily roll the condom down his length. You're getting yourself into position when he stops you. Your gazes meet, a questioning look in your eyes. "You sure about this? We can stop if you're not. It's okay." He assures you, needing you to confirm you really want this. When you realize what he's asking, you smile at him. Taking his lips in a softer kiss, one that conveys how sure you are of this happening. "I'm sure, Bucky. I want this."
That's all Bucky needed to hear.
He rubs your folds through your panties a few more times before his fingers hook into the fabric of your panties and push them to the side. He helps guide himself inside you as you lower yourself down on him, inch by inch. "Baby, you're squeezing the hell outta me—fuck," he curses under his breath, urging you to take it slow. He hasn't told you, but it's been a long time since it's been anything other than his hand and him. And he feels every bit of that longing as your walls squeeze him tighter the more of him you take.
"Sweetheart, you gotta give me a minute. I can't. I don't want this to end so soon," he's pleading with you, breathing heavily as the need to thrust up into you gets harder to restrain. You cup his face, making sure he's staring right into your eyes as you lower yourself completely. His breath his hot against your mouth as he gasps, the sound turn into a moan the second you start riding him. Not giving him any time to adjust as if this were your way of getting payback for the way he pushed your buttons all night.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he grits out, guiding your hips with his hands to move you in ways that have you both moaning out for each other. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him in for a makeout that's all tongue and teeth—messy and passionate all in one. Breathing each other in like the only source of air you need can be found within each other. And that's when Bucky feels it again, his heart soaring with how right this feels, just like the first time you slept together.
"I missed you, I—" he mumbles into your lips, but when you pick up your pace, he forgets what he was going to say. You've got him pussy drunk and wrapped around your finger—right where he wants to be.
He can tell he won't last much longer at this pace, and he needs you to come before he does. His hand goes to where you're connected, pressing circles onto your clit in the way he knows you like, making you mewl. "That's it baby, you're doing so good for me, pretty girl." His other hand grips you tighter, keeping you steady as he starts fucking up into you, meeting your hips. You whine at how deep he's going, one of your hands shooting out to the fogged up glass like that'll help anchor you. He can feel how close you are, so he doubles down, fucking up into you harder and increasing the pressure on your clit. "Come on, baby, give it to me. Let go, sweetheart, I got you," he whispers affectionately and wrecked, bringing you in for another kiss that undoes you. You come hard, crying out his name, and he follows suit, coming harder than he has in years. You got him seeing stars with the way your cunt squeezes him for all he's got.
You're both panting in the aftermath, his head resting against the backseat as he tries to catch his breath. Your head drops onto his shoulder, his hand gently rubbing at your back to help you with the aftershocks of your coupling. He kisses your temple reverently, whispering soft praises and sweet nothings as you both come down from your highs. For a few minutes, the car is quiet with a tranquility Bucky wasn't sure you two would ever get to again.
Your head rises from his shoulder, moments later, a dopey smile on your face. He laughs fondly, his hand rising to stroke your cheek affectionately, "You're so beautiful." He doesn't know if it's what he says or the way he said it, but your smile no longer reaches your eyes. It makes his heart squeeze in his chest uncomfortably.
"Everything okay?" He's looking you over to make sure you're okay, fearing he might've been a little rough with you. You clear your throat, wincing, "Yeah, it's just—I'm feeling a bit sure already." His eyes widen at that and he apologizes right away, helping you gently off of him as you both wince, sensitive at the disconnection.
You start redressing yourself, confusing him, but he didn't question you. He had hoped you two could stay together a little longer in the backseat, talk a few things out and just enjoy this pocket of happiness you had granted each other. But whatever spell you two were under seemed to be broken. And faster than Bucky could process it, you were already dressed and getting out of his car. He scrambled to clean himself up with what he had at his disposal, tucking himself back in his sweats and hastily slipping on his hoodie just as he heard the engine to your car turn on.
He gets out of his car, rushing over to you and knocking on the window for you to lower it. You do, staring at him in a way that he can't read, but it makes him uneasy nonetheless.
"You're leaving already?" Bucky can't hide the disappointment in his tone. You sigh, picking at a nonexistent thread on your jacket to keep your eyes somewhere that isn't on him. "I told you I have to return the car to Rumlow, it's not mine. He's got trackers on all his cars, so I have to return it before he comes looking for it."
"I can go with—"
"No, you'd only make things worse for me, okay? It's best if you just stay out of this."
He can't accept that, leaving you to deal with this on your own. Especially after being the only one who knows exactly how much trouble you're in. "I dont know how to help you, but I want to. Maybe I can't help, but maybe I can find someone who can."
"No, Bucky, just drop it," your tone made it clear you weren't budging from this. And maybe he couldn't make you budge on this now, but later, later he could fully convince you to let him help. "Fine, I will—for now. But, there's still some stuff I want to talk about," you give him a look and he's quick to dispel your apprehension, "Not now, I know you have to go. But later I'd like to have a proper talk. About us."
Something about you changes in this moment. Bucky can almost see it in the way you straighten up in the driver's seat, in the way your eyes glaze over with something deeply broken crawling it's way to the surface. Something meant to hurt him just as badly as he once hurt you.
"Us? Bucky, there is no us. Tonight… you were just an itch I had to scratch. Something I had to get out of my system, so thanks for that," your voice doesn't sound like your own when you say that. It sounds distant and cold, like you're trying your best to keep yourself together. However, the way in which you said certain things rings alarms bells inside his head. He's barley able to stutter out a reply when you pull back and drive off, leaving him in the dust of the engine fumes.
Those words. He's heard them before, but not from you, no, from his own mouth. He's replayed those words time and time again in his mind for the last six years. The things he once said to Sam way back then when he stupidly was trying to deny how he felt about you. You used those exact words against him tonight. It dawns on him, horrifically, that you heard him say that back then. Your anger and frustration—the heartbreak of that morning. It came from you thinking you weren't anything, but a one night stand for him.
And now youd done the same thing to him, as if trying to make things even. Maybe you had.
Bucky slumps against his car, sliding down it until he hits the floor. Pieces of a puzzle he could never solve slowly start clicking together until he gets a better picture of what happened. He had messed everything up like he feared he would. And it wasn't something he had done, it was something he had said. He wanted to kick himself for ever saying those things. If you were still angry at him all these years later, then you must have not heard the rest of the conversation. You only heard the part that broke your heart and made you hate him all this time.
Was there ever a possibility you would forgive him?
Could you forgive him?
Bucky doesn't know the answers to those questions, but what he does know is that he won't find out unless he tries to earn it.
a/n Well my darling barbies, you now have a choice to make. If you decide to not forgive Bucky, then your story ends here. If you decide to give him a second chance, then you're in luck! A part two is already in the works. Once again, comments and reblogs are so appreciated! ♡♡♡
bucky's dreamhouse | bucky masterlist | main masterlist | purple divider by @/cursed-carmine ݁⋆⭒˚.⋆
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ synopsis: ember island always holds surprises, and this time it's no different when aang surprises you with how jealous he can get.
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ content warningsﾉtags: very suggestive, fem!reader, jealous!aang, established relationship, bickering, possessiveness, ass grabbing, neck biting, hickeys, light hair pulling, marking, overstimulating, lowercase intended, not proofread
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ author's note: i think aang is my new muse lmao!! i'm still learning how to write him, as i'm not confident with how i characterize him. but i love him so much, and he's my absolute favorite to write! <33
the sun over ember island was relentless, but for once, it didn’t feel like a burden.
it was a burning, golden heat that soaked through aang’s skin and settled deep into his bones, melting away the tight knots of tension that had lived in his shoulders for months. back in republic city, every breath he took felt like it belonged to a hundred different people—council members, builders, acolytes who bowed too low and looked at him like he was a statue instead of a person. here, the only thing he owed anyone was a decent pass in beach volleyball.
he stood on the sand, toes digging into the warm, white grains, and let out a long, slow exhale. it was strange to be an adult and still feel that same giddy buzz in his chest he’d had as a kid. the war was a lifetime ago, a heavy shadow that had finally receded into the background of history, leaving him with this: a quiet afternoon, the smell of salt spray, and the sound of his friends laughing. he didn't have to be the bridge between worlds today. he was just a guy on vacation with the people he loved.
the ocean air was crisp, carrying the distant scent of charcoal and roasting sea-prunes from a nearby vendor. aang watched appa lounging in the shallow surf, the massive sky bison letting out a low, rumbling groan of contentment as the waves lapped against his fur. it was perfect. his mind, usually a cluttered mess of treaties and air nomad restoration plans, felt completely still. he felt lighter than he had in years, as if the gravity of the world had finally decided to give him a break.
"zuko, check this out!" aang shouted, breaking his own peaceful silence. he shifted his weight, his feet carving arcs in the sand as he moved through a firebending form he’d been practicing. it was a dragon dance variation, fluid and bright. he punched the air, sending two spiraling ribbons of flame into the sky that twisted together like braids before dissipating into orange sparks.
zuko was sitting on a nearby rock, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression fixed in that familiar, stony scowl that had barely changed since they were sixteen. he didn't even blink as the fire scorched the air inches from his line of sight. "your footwork is sloppy," zuko muttered, his voice dry and bored. "you're overextending your lead hand. you’re showing off, not bending."
aang puffed out his cheeks, his brows drawing together in a mock pout. "i’m not showing off, i'm expressing my joy through the medium of combustion! plus, that spiral was perfectly symmetrical. admit it, you’re impressed."
"i'm moderately annoyed," zuko corrected, though the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. he adjusted his position, his eyes drifting away from aang's fire and toward the spot where you were lying out on a towel.
you were a few yards away, eyes closed, soaking up the afternoon rays. the sun turned your skin into something glowing and warm, and you looked so peaceful that aang felt a fresh wave of affection hit him. he started to turn back to his forms, wanting to try a more complex kick, but he noticed zuko’s eyes narrow. his brow furrowed, a sharp crease forming between his eyes as he stared past aang.
aang tilted his head, following zuko’s gaze. two guys had approached your towel. they were typical ember island types—broad shoulders, deep tans, and expensive-looking silk trunks. they were standing over you, blocking your sun, and you were sitting up now, blinking against the brightness. your expression was one of mild confusion, your head tilted as they spoke to you.
"hey there," one of the guys said, his voice carrying easily over the sound of the waves. he had a wide, confident smirk that looked like it had been practiced in a mirror. "don't think we've seen you around this part of the beach before. you from the city?"
you smiled, that polite, friendly smile you gave to everyone. "just visiting for the week," you told them, rubbing the back of your neck. "the water's great today, isn't it?"
the second guy leaned in, his eyes scanning you in a way that made aang’s stomach do a weird, uncomfortable flip. "the water's fine, but the view up here is way better," he drawled, his voice dripping with an obvious, oily charm. "that's a great bikini, by the way. color really suits you."
you laughed, a small, genuine sound, and thanked them. you started chatting with them about the local shops, oblivious to the way they were looming over you, their intentions written in every hungry look they exchanged. to you, they were just locals being nice. to aang, they were two guys who were very clearly trying to take something that wasn't theirs to take.
aang felt a prickle of heat beneath his skin that had nothing to do with the sun. he turned back to zuko, his eyes wide and frantic. "zuko, what are they doing? they're talking to her. they’re—they’re doing the thing, aren't they? the flirting thing?"
zuko let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. "yes, aang. they are very obviously hitting on your girlfriend. it’s not exactly subtle."
"well, what do i do?" aang hissed, his hands flying up to grip his own head. "do i go over there? do i blow them away with a gust of air? no, that’s too aggressive. do i just... walk by and casually mention that i'm the avatar? no, that's arrogant. help me out here, you're the one who grew up in the fire nation! what’s the ember island protocol for this?"
zuko looked at him like he was a particularly dim-witted turtle-duck. "just go over there and be a person, aang. stand next to her. remind her you exist. it’s not a military maneuver."
"i can't just 'be a person'!" aang whispered-shouted, his face flushing a bright, embarrassed pink. "it’s weird! if i go over there now, i'll look like i'm hovering. i don't want to be a hovery boyfriend. but look at them! the tall one just touched her arm! he’s touching her, zuko!"
"then go stop him," zuko snapped, though he made no move to get up himself. "or don't. but quit vibrating. you’re making the sand jump."
"you're useless at advice," aang grumbled, his heart hammering against his ribs as he watched you laugh at another one of their jokes. "honestly, how did you ever get mai to date you? did you just scowl at her until she gave in?"
zuko’s eyes flashed with annoyance. "we are not talking about me. we are talking about you and your complete lack of social backbone. either go claim your territory or shut up and let me tan in peace."
aang opened his mouth to retort, his face flushing a deeper shade of scarlet that matched the trim of his air nomad robes, but he was cut off by a heavy arm dropping over his shoulders. sokka stood there, looking far too smug for his own good, with his other arm slung casually around suki’s waist. he was holding a half-eaten skewer of grilled squid, gesturing with it toward the two guys hovering over your towel.
"i hate to say it, buddy, but the fire lord is right," sokka said, taking a loud, aggressive bite of his snack. "you’re letting those guys move in on your perimeter. they’re basically planting their flag on your beachhead while you’re over here playing with matches. it’s embarrassing for the whole team, really."
zuko rolled his eyes so hard he practically groaned, leaning back against his rock. suki, however, leaned forward, giving aang a look that was less judgmental and more filled with genuine pity. she saw the way his fingers were twitching, the way his gray eyes kept darting back to you as you laughed at something the blonde guy said.
"ignore him, aang," suki said softly, reaching out to pat his arm. "you don't need to be aggressive. but you should probably go over there and just remind them who you are to her. be confident. you’ve faced much worse. two guys in silk shorts shouldn't make you sweat this much."
aang huffed, kicking at a mound of sand. "i know! i don't know why i'm so jumpy. people flirt with me all the time, and usually, i just laugh it off. it’s just... they’re so close to her. and they’re looking at them like they’re a prize or a trophy."
the feeling in his chest was a strange, hot pressure. he was used to being the center of attention, used to being the avatar, but seeing you being targeted by that specific kind of predatory charm made his air feel thin. he wasn't a mean person—the monks had taught him about detachment and peace—but those lessons felt miles away whenever someone else’s eyes stayed on you for too long. he felt less like a master of four elements and more like a nervous kid who didn't want to lose his favorite person.
finally, aang took a breath, puffing out his chest and trying to channel some of that earthbending stubbornness toph was always yelling at him about. he started walking, his feet heavy in the sand, moving with a purpose that felt forced and natural all at once. as he got closer, his enhanced hearing picked up the blonde guy’s voice.
"look, there's this bonfire tonight at the cove," the guy was saying, leaning down further so he was practically in your personal space. "lots of music, lots of drinks. you’d be the star of the night. why don't you let us pick you up around eight?"
aang didn't wait for your answer. he moved with a sudden burst of speed, his hand reaching out to grab your arm and gently, but firmly, pulling you up from the towel. you let out a little gasp of surprise, stumbling against him, and his other hand immediately dropped down, landing squarely and heavily on your ass. his fingers curled slightly, a possessive grip that sent a shock through your system.
"hey there!" aang chirped, his voice bright and airy, though his eyes were sharp as flint. he turned a beaming, thousand-watt smile toward the two guys, who both straightened up, looking startled by his sudden appearance. "sorry to interrupt! i hope my girlfriend hasn't been boring you with stories about the city."
before you could even get a word out—before you could ask why his hand was currently squeezing your backside in broad daylight—aang leaned in. his hands moved to cup your face, his thumbs pressing into your cheeks, and he pulled you into a kiss that was anything but his usual sweet, chaste affection.
it was long. it was dramatic. it was an ownership statement written in the language of breath and heat. he tasted of the salt air and the lingering warmth of the sun, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips with a hunger that made your toes curl into the sand. he tilted your head back, exposing the line of your throat to the two strangers, making sure they saw exactly how you melted into him. his heart was hammering against your chest, a frantic thud that betrayed his nerves even as he dominated the space. your brain felt like it was short-circuiting, your hands coming up to clutch at his bare chest for balance as the world narrowed down to the feeling of his mouth on yours.
when he finally broke apart, he didn't let go of you. he kept you tucked into his side, his hand returning to its firm grip on your hip, his fingers digging into your skin. you were dazed, your lips swollen and your eyes wide with confusion. "aang, what—"
"a party?" aang cut you off, looking back at the two guys who were now looking a bit less confident. "that sounds like a blast! my friends and i were just looking for something to do tonight. we can all go together, right? the more the merrier!"
he forced his smile to stay wide, but he was glaring at them over his cheeks, his eyes narrowed into slits of gray ice. the tall guy cleared his throat, shifting his weight. "uh, yeah. sure. everyone's welcome. we’ll... see you there, i guess."
"great! can't wait!" aang said, his voice dripping with a cheerfulness that felt like a threat.
the guys took the hint, mumbles of "see ya" following them as they quickly made their exit. the moment they were out of earshot, aang’s smile dropped. he didn't even look at you; he just grabbed your wrist and started dragging you toward the path that wound up toward zuko’s massive beach house.
"aang! stop! what is wrong with you?" you protested, digging your heels into the sand to try and slow him down. "and what was that back there? you were being so weird!"
"i wasn't being weird," he snapped, his voice low with a tension you’d rarely heard from him. he didn't slow down, leading you toward the house. "i was being thorough. they didn't get the hint, so i had to give it to them."
"thorough? you practically marked me!" you shouted as you reached the stairs of the house. you wrenched your arm away, standing your ground on the porch. "those guys were just being friendly, aang. they were inviting me to a party. there was no reason to go all... intense on them. it was embarrassing!"
aang spun around, his face flushed and his eyes blazing. the air around him began to swirl in sympathetic agitation, a small dust devil forming at his feet. "friendly? you think that was friendly? they were looking at you like you were a piece of meat! they were flirting with you right in front of me! and you were just smiling and laughing along like you didn't even care!"
"i didn't notice they were flirting!" you yelled back, stepping into his space. "i thought they were being nice! and even if they were, so what? don't you trust me?"
"of course i trust you!" aang cried, his voice cracking slightly with the sheer weight of his emotion. he dragged you through the front door and slammed it shut, the sound echoing through the empty hallway. "i don't trust them! i don't trust the way they looked at you. i don't trust the way they thought they could just walk up and take your attention away from me. you're mine. you’re with me."
the bickering continued as he pushed you toward the stairs. he was pacing back and forth in the hallway, his hands flying through the air as he ranted about the "disrespect" and the "audacity" of the locals. he looked so young when he was angry, his eyes wide and wild, but the power behind his voice was all man.
"you have no idea how it feels," he hissed, not meaning to pin you against the wall near the top of the staircase. he wasn't trying to be scary, he just looked desperate. he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "to have the whole world always wanting a piece of me, and then to finally have one thing that’s just for me... and then see some random guys try to touch it? no. absolutely not. i won't let them."
you tried to speak, but he silenced you by resting his forehead against yours. he was shaking, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. his hand reached out, his fingers tangling in your hair, holding you in place not with force, but with a need so deep it felt spiritual.
"you’re the avatar’s girl," he whispered, his voice thick with a raw possessiveness that sounded more like a plea than a command. "and you better not forget it. i'm not sharing you with anyone. not today, not at some party, and not ever. i can't, i just can't."
without another word, he gripped your waist and practically hauled you toward the master bedroom, the door clicking shut behind you as he pulled you into his space. the sound of the latch was a final, heavy punctuation mark on the argument outside. aang didn't let go of you for even a second; he moved with that fluid, airbender agility that always made it feel like he was gliding, even when his footsteps were heavy with frustration.
you almost fell flat on your back as aang gently but firmly pushed you toward the center of the bed. you hit the soft mattress with a small bounce, your breath leaving you in a surprised puff. the yellow silk sheets felt cool against your sun-warmed skin, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off of him.
"aang, stop!" you squealed, half-laughing and half-breathless as you tried to sit up. "we’re going to get sand everywhere! zuko will kill us if he has to hire someone to deep-clean the upholstery because we were too impatient."
aang didn't even pause. he hovered over you, his knees sinking into the mattress on either side of your hips, his shadow falling over you like a protective cloak. he dismissed your concern with a flick of his wrist, his eyes never leaving yours. "let him be mad," he muttered, his voice sounding deeper and raspier than usual. "i’ll earthbend it away afterwards. i'll bend every single grain of sand out of this house if i have to. but right now, i don't care about the floor."
he leaned down, capturing your mouth in a quick, bruising kiss that tasted of urgency. it was over before you could even respond, his lips trailing down your jawline with a desperate kind of hunger. he found the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.
you giggled, the vibration of it traveling through your chest as your arms wrapped instinctively around his neck. your fingers tangled in the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. "you really shouldn't be so jealous, you know," you whispered, your voice softening as you felt the tension in his shoulders start to bleed into something more primal. "you’ve got me wrapped around your finger, aang. you're my favorite person. those guys don't even exist to me."
aang let out a low, muffled groan against your skin, his lips never leaving your neck. he pouted, a small, stubborn sound escaping his throat that was almost a whine. he was being kinda pathetic, clinging to you like he was afraid you’d evaporate into spirit-smoke if he loosened his grip. he began to suck at the soft skin near your collarbone, a persistent, rhythmic pressure that made your head tilt back.
"i don't like sharing," he murmured, his voice vibrating against your throat. "i have to share my time, my energy, my bending... i have to share everything with the world. i just want to keep one thing for myself. is that so wrong?"
he was being needy, his possessiveness manifesting in the way he kept his weight pressed firmly against you, pinning you to the bed. you felt a sharp, sudden sting of a hickey forming, and you let out a small gasp, your hands moving to his chest to lightly push him back.
"aang! stop, you're giving me marks," you scolded, though there was no real heat in it. "everyone will see! we’re supposed to go to that party later, remember? i can't exactly hide that with my dresses."
aang didn't pull away. instead, he became even more handsy, his touch wandering with a boldness that was usually reserved for the dark of night. one of his hands slid up, his palm cupping your tit through the thin, damp fabric of your bikini top. his thumb brushed against you, a slow movement that made your breath hitch. his other hand was already busy, his fingers hooking into the side of your bikini bottoms, tugging at the string with a focused intent.
he looked up at you then, his gray eyes dclouded with a mixture of lingering jealousy and overwhelming adoration. he watched your reaction, his chest heaving as he worked the fabric down your hips.
"good," aang said, his voice dropping into a gravelly promise that sent a shiver straight to your core. he paused for a second, his gaze sweeping over the marks he’d already left on your skin, his expression turning smug and fiercely satisfied.
he sat back on his heels for a brief moment, his hands moving to the waistband of his beach shorts. he tugged them off with a quick, decisive motion, discarding them somewhere on the sandy floor. he looked back down at you, a slow, complacent grin spreading across his face—the look of a man who had finally claimed his territory and had no intention of letting it go.
"then everyone at the party will know you're my girl. they can look all they want, but they'll know exactly who you're coming home with."
i wanna write a part 2 of this ughgerguiersgheuarg
SYNOPSIS — Helping the quiet TA, who shrinks himself down to avoid taking too much space, come out of his shell. You’re slowly understanding why he thrives in an environment where he’s told what to do — and he shows you why he’s hesitant to be in charge.
TAGS — MDNI (18 + only) nsfw. work contains explicit sexual themes and content. piv. Gentle Giant!Choso, Dork!choso, overly freaked out!reader. Nerd!choso, SIZE KINK, sub to top(M), Switchy. rough. making out. couch sex. lifting. mutual masturbation. Changing positions. Missiònary. excessive use of sexual innuendos, dacryphilla, inconsistent writing (?). Choso will do anything you ask. PWP. Teasing, Degradation (both). pet names. crack.fluff. reader is nice to him obv. but freaked out.
WC: 14k — art by k4eny on twt
a/n: Hello blog, IM VERY HAPPY W THIS ONE and i promise to not leave u high and dry! this is highly inspired by an augustinthewinter audio (im a #freak) — Also what if I release my drabbles HEH
75%
The score read on your last mock test for your Historiography class. Your worst subject for the semester by far. Next week was going to be your midterm. Now, since your professor, Mr. Gojo, knows his students a little too well, he facilitated a surprise mock text to see how much you all understood the lessons.
A chorus of curses and groans start filling up the classroom with each student receiving their results as they’re handed out.
“…Now I can assure you, if you guys are worried about scoring higher than each other, it won’t matter because theoretically almost all of you failed.”
Another set of groans and a little bit of laughter comes from the class. You’re back to looking down on your paper, flipping through the pages to check every question and each correction out of habit, noting down what you have to improve on. Then you stumble upon the last page with the words;
Feel free to ask for help :) You smile, knowing exactly who wrote this without them being in the room. You look up to double check and you’re right, it was just your prof still going on about Khaldun or something — you tune him out to make way for the giddy feeling rushing through your stomach.
Usually you’d hate for people to offer help when you’re forced to do something you were unprepared for, taking the sentiment as a passive aggressive version of getting called incompetent but this time, you ponder while rereading the sweet little note in green ink— of course he used green ink to avoid students from being discouraged — and it's one of those times your stupidity has done you some good.
It’s an hour and a half later when class ends, people filing up to leave the doors of the lecture hall when a voice calls out to you.
You smile at your professor, a little strained, but it’s okay, you tell yourself, you expected it. You walk up to him, bag on your shoulder, unzipped because you rushed down. You’re still smiling when you’re there, already preparing for what he has to say.
The smile falls and you sigh, “I know that look.”
He’s standing with his arms crossed, dark shades balanced on his straight nose, looking down at you with nothing short of paternal disappointment. “Yes, and you shouldn’t be too familiar with it either. Seventy-five? really? I thought we were talking recommendation letters last week, turns out you’re barely passing my class?”
You swallow back, not really knowing what to do so you kinda just stand there awkwardly, waiting for him to air out his worries. “I know it's like, a little weird to put this much pressure on you but c’mon kid, you’re looking at being the next assistant after Choso to help your resumé right?”
You nod, still not saying anything, but you can’t deny how you perk up when you heard his name.
Your professor pauses briefly mid rant after spotting how you only met his eyes when he mentioned his current TA’s name, a light bulb flickers on in his head.
He squints, “You’ve been familiar with each other, correct?”
“Yes, sir.” You’re quick to reply, stopping yourself from physically gulping out of nervousness.
“He been showing you the ropes bit by bit?” he mutters, uncrossing his arms and leaning over the desk.
“Bit by bit, yes.” You echo, unable to reply without being scared of saying the wrong thing to tick him off.
“And…” He feigned thinking about it, fidgeting with he pen in his hand and tapping the butt end of it on a thick stack of paper. “…He’s also helping with lessons to keep your grades up?”
You say nothing, keeping your mouth flat and shut. You peer up at him, and shake your head slowly, “No sir.”
He tsks, standing up to his full height. “It’s not necessary but you’re aware there’s an average for you to keep up just to become a TA right? We wouldn’t want students biting off more than they could chew.”
You nod once more, though this time, a lot more fervently. “I—yes, sorry. I’ll-“
“Get to it, yeah.” He finished for you, tucking his hands in the pockets of his slacks. He waits for you to move, watching how you’re still standing there and waiting for him to also tell you to move. You’re so alike, he thinks.
He nods upwards, dismissing you. You thank him while you’re already turned your back, eagerly making your way to your next mission.
Gojo watches the door swing inwards from the impact of your departure, a smile in his tone when he mutters to no one, “That’ll give her some motivation.”
You’re rushing to your next class now, given the fifteen minute grace period you were granted had now been shaved down to ten, no thanks to your professor, forcing you to take two steps at a time when making your way to the other side of the building.
You’re looking down at your phone, deleting and retyping a message in your instagram dms. It’s when you pass the stairway that an unexpected force uncontrollably comes on to you. You thud against it, breathe caught, hand tightly clutching at your phone. You stumble on your steps, holding onto the closest thing you feel for. You don’t fall, you don’t even come close to the ground, but your knees certainly felt like they couldn’t carry you.
Because here you stood against a very worried, very tightly holding you, Choso Kamo. Your mind blanks, your class just a few doors away, forgotten. Unintentionally, a small smile spreads on your face.
“Hey, I was—“ He laughs nervously, “I was looking for you.” His hands wrap around your nearly limp arms, almost covering the expanse of it, yet held at a respectable position.
“You okay?” He tilts his head down to meet your eyes, a look of concern etching back on his terribly handsome face, he swallows thickly and you watch his adam’s apple bob decorating his thick neck.
He takes a second to peer back at the stairs, then back to you before he realizes how his grip still clutched on you. “I’m sorry.” He pulls his hands down at his sides, unsure of what to do with them. “I was about to-“
“-Me too actually.” Cutting him off, you couldn’t help but smile even wider, uncaring if you looked too excited. You raised your phone, “Was about to send a dm but I got class in like,” You flip the screen to face you, “two minutes.” A pinch of apprehension makes its way to you but you push it back.
His eyes widen behind his rectangular frames, lenses making them appear bigger than they actually are.
“Really? Shit, “ He cursed, regretful, “I don’t have class anymore so I could just wait out—”
“Sit in with me?” It comes out of you before you could stop it. “—or not.” You quickly add, retreating. “I could just go and email you.”
“No—I mean, Of course. Yes. Me, I’ll go.” He smiled with a toothy grin, ignoring how you said email instead of your socials in hopes you won’t bring up how he stuttered over his words. You’re caught off guard and before you know it, he’s already making his way to the door without even being sure which class it was.
He’s reaching for the handle when you stop him, “Oh, next door, please.” He nods bashfully, adjusting the strap of his comically small backpack on himself and apologizes under his breath. He follows you inside, you push, prying the door open. His palm flat against the wood, effortlessly holding it for you both.
Luckily your professor hadn’t been in class yet, so you weren’t spotted as the only late comer (technically no, with company, you weren’t.) The class was sparsely filled as it was only part of your minor and this schedule wasn’t as popular, so you could basically sit anywhere. You scan over the room, and you spot some seats at the very front. You’re about to take a step forward when you realize you’re being a little rude.
“Where d’ya wanna sit?” You ask, head tilted up with a smile. You try to ignore the gleefulness that comes with the idea you’re gonna be seated next to him. Again, you push this feeling down, knowing it’s completely unprofessional and straight up childish. Though conversely, what you feel for him is not in the slightest, childish.
“Back, definitely.” He answers a little too fast, blinking to check with you. “If you want.” He adds.
He’s so polite, you could just die.
You find comfortable seating by the right side of the class, second to last row and close to the back per request. This classroom was a little smaller, so distance from the whiteboard wasn’t really an issue.
You’re listening to your elderly professor repeat instructions about a future assignment and knowing he’s just going to be posting the guidelines, you just tune him out again, distracted. You have to learn to stop doing that.
But you’re shamelessly peeking at the side, Choso’s writing something down, you watch his face as he continues without a care in the world, back hunched down to get closer to the papers maybe, tongue poking the inside of his cheek in focus. You look down at what he’s writing when he flips the sheet over, the sound of the paper is quiet amongst the loud hum of the air conditioner.
He’s checking something, a test again? You wonder if yours is there. Something catches your eye, he’s even writing down notes in the side for each correction. Maybe he’s also writing notes of encouragement for others. You don’t wanna wanna act all sensitive but something in your chest dampens. A lick of disappointment knowing you weren’t just given a little extra effort.
You shift in your seat, suddenly aware that you completely distracted yourself again and let your overactive imagination take over. You bite your cheek, brushing off the disappointment and sit properly on your seat. It moves the entire table though, you moved a little too roughly. Choso backs up in his chair, the commotion throwing off your professor in his fruitless discussion.
You gasp before immediately turning to check on your hard of hearing professor. He mumbles some incoherent complaint but you don’t wait to think and just apologize, “Sorry,” and it’s hopefully enough to divert the attention from you both.
Choso grunts, “No—sorry, my chair was too loud.” He pulls the long, shared desk back with one pull of his hand, before hunching to go back to work. There’s already a furrow in your brows at the apology, and you’re staring at the side of his face, his hand behind his full, overgrown hair, expression mirroring your own except towards his papers.
You adjust back, only this time you’re a bit farther, scared he’ll probably sense you’re being a little invasive. So you keep your eyes up at the projected screen and let the silence pass, the light sound of the ballpoint scratching paper on the smooth surface of the table and your teacher murmuring mix behind the stupid thoughts interfering and prodding at your composure.
You made this unnecessarily awkward, eyes looking back down on the paper without trying. You’re still kinda curious what he’s writing down. He’s writing down notes to the side, red pen and all— red pen and all?
You do a double take, your uncontrollable, imposing, borderline deluded thoughts returning back to their place in your hopeless brain. Did he use a red pen for everyone or green? He used green earlier, definitely. What the hell? Why does it matter?
“Can I help you?” The inner monologue in your head ceases at the question. You glance up at him, a crooked smile on his face, dimple gracing his features. He waits for you to say something, you process how it's a little close to a tease. You’re unable to say something and end up nodding.
He smiles, achingly sweet and sincere, still waiting for a response. You blank out, unable to think of a proper fake answer in time.
A last flick of your gaze at the paper outs your thoughts, he looks down at them. “If you’re looking for any of your own, this isn’t your section’s.” He assures, trying to fill in the silence you were so talented in bringing out in your conversations.
You giggle out of pure giddiness, unable to hold it in as you act like a school girl and not a college student. It’s probably so strange to him that you’re acting this way — internally reprimanding yourself is your only avenue for self control at these moments. You hope he doesn’t think the same way. “No um, you’re so focused on writing nice notes for everyone and marking every point.“
He smiles wider, eyes turning into pretty crescents. He shakes his head once, sitting back on his chair, and finally not slouching. Your stomach flips noting how he occupies more than half the seat. He scratches his neck, eyes flicking back at the papers for a moment before meeting yours, then averting again.
“I don’t think…” He leaned over to read the name on the paper, “…Inumaki, T. thinks my detailed corrections, or rather critiques are very nice, nor the rest of section Z26.” he mumbled the last part, adjusting the collar of his pull over.
“critiques?” You inquire, unconsciously leaning to his side of the desk, closer so you could read them too. Choso hopes you can’t feel the warmth on his cheeks radiating right now.
He nods his head a little too quickly, despite not being able to see him from where you were. He’s dizzy with the scent of your floral shampoo under his nose, heady and pulling. “Yes, just to help with,” he falters again, your bare arm brushing against his own, clothed one when you point at a certain part of the paper while reading, knees hitting under the table when you’re closely looking down on the sheet. “With the, the uh, future tests yeah-”
Choso watches your lips move but he doesn’t hear what comes out. Right now, he’s pushing away such un-utterable, uncalled for thoughts when his view is your head over what would be is his lap, only being separated by this rickety table. It only gets worse when you shift your eyes at him, wide and up at his tired onyx ones, only now his are a little wider too, something past friendly reflecting in your before averting back down the white sheet.
You’re still reading the paper, taking in the info for each question. “Oh,”
He snaps out of his daze, immediately taking notice of your blank tone. “What’s wrong?”
You’re processing the words on the essay type test he’s checking and you realize you’ve never seen this kind of test before. “Y’know, now that I’m reading this, I don’t think we’ve answered this activity yet.” A beat, and Choso flips the paper down.
“Right, that’s probably not good,“ He places a spread out hand over the papers, sheets mix on top of each other, disheveled and disorganized, one nearly falling off the narrow table.
You’re already laughing, “You’re so clumsy,” your hand stopping one of them from flying out of place.
“No, you probably shouldn’t look at that too-“
“Relax, I don’t have the photographic memory to copy each answer. As much as I wish I did.” You mumble the last part, tucking the papers into an organized pile, facing outwards. “See? No cheating for me.”
Choso fights the smirk that inches his way under the skin of his cheeks, nodding to you. “I appreciate your integrity.” You return the look on his face except with the stack in your grasp right now, it reflects its white canvas like a soft light on your skin, a sweet warmth overcomes him. “I never told you why I was looking for you.”
You place the sheets separate from his pile of unfinished work. Pursing your lips, you make a noise of acknowledgment. “Oh, I was thinking the same thing. I didn’t know how to approach you ‘cause it was kinda embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing how?”
For a while, you contemplate how to make yourself sound less pathetic, trying to amp up how to sound flirtier without breaching whatever boundary of the title you held to him. You wanted to play safe, for now.
“Like to ask for help, I bet it's as funny as someone asking a stupid question since you probably didn’t have to do any of that when you were in my year.” You don’t have to confirm with him whether or not it’s true, Choso’s going straight to a master’s after graduating this year. You’ve been hyping yourself up to ask him out for a while, knowing that he’ll most likely drift from you as a friend with the work that comes with finishing one.
You truly weren’t looking for any kind of college relationship or even a fling, knowing such places bring unnatural levels of attraction to people who lack self identity, and if you’re being honest, college made you question that part of yourself when you first began.
Ergo, you focused on yourself for your first year to second. Now, you’re in your third year’s second semester and people are thinking about their thesis and fellowships. And here you were only starting to make career moves for your future in your third year.
But you digress, circling back to how all that led you to meet Choso. Someone you’ve made acquaintances with last year during an exhibit at the school’s anthropology museum. Yes, you had an anthropology museum — Jjk technical college was not cheap.
His hair was a tad shorter back then, guiding a bunch of first years through the new exhibit, excitedly discussing some bones and energy. The glint in his eyes was bright and he was wholly unfiltered, charmingly gauche. You had tried to pose a question at the time, wanting to entertain him out of definitely just pure curiosity for Bioarcheology, but second guessed yourself and never approached him again.
Until, it was that same year you found out he had been the TA for the professor you were aiming for next year (as a second year college student), and you found out he was resigning as the teacher’s assistant from a friend of a friend, and how Gojo had been already looking for a new one early on because Choso was that competent.
You want to say that maybe you joined just because professor Gojo was someone you highly look up to in the field of history research and will grant you a killer recommendation for a future career — which you know he will— there’s an underlying feeling where you also can’t deny that the idea of how it brings you closer to Choso made the position all the more appealing.
So this year, when Gojo read your CV and decided to accept you out of the many (3 applicants, one was an irregular student, the other a nepo baby), and encouraged Choso to start training you by now, it was like fate realigned itself to bring you closer to him.
Sort of.
Now he was in front of you- beside you, and casually replying with, “ I don’t mind spending my free time with you—tutoring and stuff.” He offers, completely unaware how he gets your stomachs in knots and your heart feels like it's trying to rip out of your ribcage.
“Really?” You ask too eagerly, he nods for extra reassurance. “It’s just, Historiography just isn’t something I’m good at but I’m also I find it interesting but it’s also really hard but— I also want this.” You size him up, towards his side of the table. “Y’know, this.”
He‘s about to point at himself, before looking at the papers and something clicks in place. “Checking papers on top of your thesis, dropping them off at Gojo’s office at 8 am, and getting death stares when I come across his students?”
You nod, almost even more eager, “Absolutely.”
“You’re perfect then.” He says, no hesitation whatsoever. You were eating it up and he was completely unaware. You giggle, heat rushing to your face.
You almost forgot how talking came easy with Choso. It was refreshing to meet someone you could hold a conversation with without feeling like you had to perform all the time, or wonder what to amp up or tone down. He had his intimidating moments at first, like being overqualified for a TA and the unmistakable height, or when you’re overthinking how to impress him and you don’t truly act yourself — but those impressions crumble effortlessly when you recognize him for his sincerity and obsession with the academe.
Choso can’t help but let a chuckle bubble in his throat, smooth and rich like a creamy cup of strong coffee. He’s analyzing your face, the apples of your cheeks are out with how wide you smile, he made you smile like that. The fact sits comfortably in his chest. He’s staring at your lips, maybe he can get away with it as him just looking down to your height, the few times he feels his own acted as an advantage for him.
“…any reason you use green?… Choso?” He blinks, and he’s back in the classroom and you’re now holding your own head with your palm, waiting for him to answer.
The back of his neck is hot with the thought you could probably notice him zoning out. “I like,” he searches your eyes, hesitating, and then, “I like green, so.” He nods, trying to rationalize his plain answer to himself.
You’re squinting, “Cool,” nothing behind your tone, just the air that still manages to sit awkwardly between you two, suddenly the old scribbles in the storage part of the desk was so interesting—
“And it's good for not like…” He swallows back his nerves, heart pounding in his ears. “I didn’t wanna discourage students.”
The admittance runs like oil down your back and you feel like you’ve hit him dead center in what you wanted to hear. “Right,” You look around, a false pretense of thinking in your expression, “So… why the red?” You ask curiously, pen in your hand scratching off the old paint under the desk in anticipation.
He paused like a deer caught in headlights, licking the dryness of his lips. Staring down the sheet of paper, yes it’s red indeed, he thinks. His lips part, you watch the smooth, glossy sheen of it move against the light. “I guess I have a favorite class.” He coughs, feigning the ease he was currently lacking with each word he carefully chose to speak.
Despite the urge to egg him on, you leave it at that, your bravery for the day already expended. You know if you continued you might say something a little irrational, and you’re also afraid to jump his bones too quickly. Though you’re pretty sure he could still hold you up if you tried.
Class ends anti-climactically, your professor waving your class off with a less than interested parting. You’re out of the classroom, Choso following behind when, “So, when do you wanna start? I’m free after class tomorrow and it’s the weekend. I don’t mind staying longer.”
You’re following his pace as you walk through the hallways of your building, aiming for the exit but you’re thinking about what happens after. You’re not fully sure where you’ll end up once you part. Do you just go? He stayed with you the entire boring class, (obviously the only reason why you want to stay longer and none other in particular) surely there must be something you have to do in return.
You’re nearing the exit and you can’t help but feel like you’re letting something slip if you go past the doors without making your thoughts known, “I have this thing with my best friend tomorrow, this is not a very good look for me— I promised I’d do this qualitative interview and—“
He’s quick to reply, “Oh yeah, I totally understand—“
Shit, okay you were not seizing the moment correctly. “You should come with me.” You turn over to him, unable to stop yourself.
Choso all but freezes, “What?”
Okay, no going back now, smacking your lips together before going for the kill. “—With me. Yeah, we could hang out and,” Could you still back out? No.
“Just, maybe study after? like we could study like… for the,” So much for not wanting to jump his bones, “…whole night.” You can’t look at him any longer, eyes scanning back the outside that now surrounds you. The noises of campus and the lamp posts are bright, projecting a warm white over you. But all this is not enough to comfort you from the trepidation finally shaking your brain.
You watch as Choso’s pale cheeks start to tinge into a flushy pink, eyebrows raising behind his glasses.
“Oh, okay, yes. Okay!” He nods taughtly, though willing.
You pause, “Okay?” trying to check if he’s serious.
“Sure.” You’re both standing opposite his body, shocked with what you’re hearing from the other as much as you were shocked from the words leaving yourselves.
A beat passes, leaves rustle, and amidst that you’re silently hoping it won't matter how you didn’t think this through fully. “Five o’clock sound good?”
***
It was a steady, calm-ish afternoon, your best friend Miwa was sat in front of you, laptops laid out on the table. She’s writing down notes and closing up her recording software and you’ve been fixing up your hair, clothes, and picking lint off it. You find a loose thread on your shirt when, “Hey,” You look up, alert. Miwa’s squinting at you, blue hair cast in a warm yellow from the mid-afternoon sun. “You good?”
You’re finger quits picking at yourself, “What? Yeah,” eyes flitting back to the pesky string sticking out of the hem of your top.
There’s a hum coming from in front of you, “You sure? You’ve been so fidgety this entire time.”
“I am not fidgety.” You say, fidgeting. A sigh comes out of you, and you lean back on your chair, hands coming on top of the arm rests. “You really okay with me bringing Choso?”
At this, Miwa’s lips curl into a smirk. “I knew it.”
Your eyes flick over to the side in thought, then back at her sly expression. “What do you know?”
She’s sitting up from her hunched posture over her laptop, and drinking from her cup of her almost lukewarm coffee, shrugging with her eyes still locked on yours.
Your thumbs come up from the arm rests, “What is it?”
She clears her throat, placing the mug on a coaster. She looks back up, a smirk still planted on her face. “Just that I didn’t know that he was your crush,” she expects you to reply, but you’re still waiting for her to elaborate. “Y’know, Choso.”
“I don’t have a crush on him!”
She squints, “Okay so we’re lying today.”
“It’s merely admiration— and some attraction at most.”
“That’s literally what a crush is based on.”
You’re blinking at her, feeling caught. You bite your tongue, knowing that your best friend out of anyone should be able to catch you in a lie. Or even a truth you lie to yourself about. You speak up, “Well?”
“Y’know I love you.” She starts.
“Oh no.” Dread seeps into your stomach, and you know if she starts somewhere along the lines of sugar coating, the following was about to be some bland truth coated around maybe an even bitter core inside.
“I like Choso! He’s been your friend for a while and I’ve never talked to him but he sounds really devoted to his work, maybe goodlooking, he’s smart, and he’s nice—“
“What would Muta think…?”
She chuckles, softening at the thought of her own boyfriend. “No, I just wanted to keep an eye out for you too when I say this.” She pauses, trying to find a way to word this as pleasantly as possible. “Cause you know how girls talk…”
You latch onto that last part, stomach churning in suspense. “Not really, I don’t.”
She stops herself from cackling at your nervous expression, “I just heard he’s always…nice.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Like too nice? I guess…it’s really hard to explain babe,“ She cuts herself off, sensing your growing apprehension. She observed how your hands are rubbing on the expanse of your cup, and bringing it to your lips to avoid saying something. She quiets down her tone, now kinda shy about mentioning it. She leans a bit towards you, “Like… in bed, y’know?”
You sputter in your mug, feeling unwelcome liquid scratch your throat. Miwa’s eyes widen when she watches you cough, eyes turning watery. “Ooh gag reflex, that’s not coming in handy.“
“Fucking shut up-“ You’re coughing still and she’s laughing uncontrollably now. “—I did not expect that.”
She’s wiping the corner of her corneas with a finger, “I—I’m sorry I just had to bring it up.”
You’re more composed now, eyes looking up at the clock, it’s ten minutes to five, and you’re trying to relax.
You don’t exchange looks with Miwa until a short moment passes for you to think.
“So have you thought about what it would be like?” You’re back to meeting her eyes, a silent exchange between you both. Miwa smiles at you, lowering her voice and putting a finger up to her ear like an agent, “Then I’m glad to relay information.” She’s giggling when you throw a tissue at her.
You’re already standing out of your seat and making your way to sit beside her. She motions her hand for you to come nearer, both turning your heads when the door chime rings and someone enters, calming down when it’s just some delivery person. You relax, side eyeing her.
Miwa inches closer, “Okay so I’m friends with this senior from my org and she had a friend who was seeing Choso, sort of? Anyways I mentioned once that you were replacing him and that you’re a little into him, sorry.” You’re beckoning her to continue, not caring much for the last part and nodding along.
“Anyways, it was like a one night stand thing and — don’t get me wrong I’m not trying to spread rumors or judge,” Another pause, and you’re already on the edge of your seat.
“Well? Go on,” You pull her in, arms tangled and clutching her, knee jittering.
“I heard he was kinda scared in bed? Like maybe he has a phobia or something.” Your knee stops, and you’re now confused, “It’s just kinda odd ‘cause the guys like a unit, right?” a crease forms between your brows. “Maybe he’s like… a power bottom?” she whispered, tone serious.
You’re nodding, taking in the information with actual consideration. “Possibly,” You’re fully facing her now, “Y’know…he is a TA.”
It’s Miwa’s turn to be confused, struggling to find the correlation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
You fight the expression trying to pull on your lips, you nibble on the skin then let go, “I’d say he’s good at being told what to do.”
Miwa’s eyes widened, before adding, “Tell me when you find out.” A second where you’re both quiet and then you’re being shook by the shoulders, both of you squealing and chortling in your corner. It would be no surprise if you’ve caught the attention of other customers with your commotion.
She quits with the shaking, now smoothing over the fabric over your shoulders for messing up your top. “So what are you gonna do about it?”
You can’t help but entertain your imagination, “I mean I think I’m too conscious to be playing around too much.” Your friend nods along, supportive. Past these exciting thoughts, it was all a front for the feelings you struggled to word out, “I really like him, Miwa.”
She parts her lips but as if on cue, another chime from the door rings once more. He stood by the entrance for a brief moment, barely scanning the vicinity when he locked eyes on you, a cheeky grin lighting up his face.
***
“—I think they never made any real contact.”
“No, that’s definitely up for debate.”
Miwa watches your back and forth, pen in hand. Choso decided to be part of her research sample as well, given that he’s already here, he should make use of his time. And he didn’t mind, he liked helping out.
If only he could actually speak and answer the questions without you guys debating every time one of you made an opinion on something vaguely related to Miwa’s research topic. At first it was good, your opinions can be added too but now she’s running out of space in her storage with how long this unintentional joint interview was going.
“Okay guys, the interview questions are about historical revisionism. While I do see the correlation, how did we end up in Egypt and…?”
“Ancient Mesopotamia.” Both of you say, completing her sentence.
“I can elaborate.” Choso suggests, clearly unable to read between the lines of Miwa’s inquiry.
She stretches in her seat, her legs feeling cramped up with the lack of movement all this time. “Y’know what, I’ll hold you two to that. But first, let’s take a break!” It’s not even a minute until she’s out of both your and Choso’s sights, on the way to the restroom, pen and recorder left on the table.
“Y’know, I don’t think she likes me that much. I also think she’s too nice to tell me that.” You’re in the middle of cracking your neck until you’re moving your attention to him.
“Don’t worry too much about it, I think she just isn’t up for hearing any more strong opinions on exported textiles.”
“That’s if they were truly exported—“ You shove his arm, and he’s laughing at your face, not even moved from the push. He’s pretending to rubbing his bicep in feigned hurt, lifting his arm in the process, almost flexing. You try to ignore how they felt so hard under your fingertips. You check him out unintentionally, taking notice of how the hem of his layered shirt hangs enough to show the lower part of his stomach. Out of respect, you look the other way.
You swallow thickly, ears hot. “I think I’ll get another snack. Want anything to eat?” You’re already standing up and off the chair, limbs wobbly from the long period of time you spent sitting on the deep arm chair.
There’s a sudden burst of noise coming from the entrance of the café, very loud and boisterous. You can’t help but let your jittery self get distracted, there stood an entire group of men, looking like they just got off practice. You’re wondering why one of them looks vaguely familiar, but there’s a body blocking your view out of nowhere with what you realize is Choso’s chest.
There’s an odd, slightly frantic look in his eyes you haven’t seen on someone as easygoing as him. “Um, how about I go with you?”
You’re looking up at him, a little skeptical on why the sudden change of tone, but agree anyways.
You’re in the short line along the display and point out pastries that you could try when a voice calls out to the person beside you. “Cho!”
It’s easier for you to check where it’s coming from as Choso was in front of said voice. You recognize the pink hair from the group coming in earlier. He’s about 2 inches away from being as tall as Choso, hair damp like he just came from a shower, and a sports bag was strapped across him.
A pat on his shoulder signals your dark haired companion to turn, seeing a sight he’d been trying to avoid earlier. Of course he had to be the one ordering for his group.
“Hey man,” Choso greets, strained, a guard visibly coming up around him.
“What’s up, you don’t say hi to family anymore?” The sentiment, although on paper sounded sweet, in reality was like a taunt. Something you don’t wanna dissect to avoid reading into it too much. “Who’s this?”
You peer over at both of them, their attention now on you. Still unable to read the room, you focus on Choso to see how he wants this to play out. He steps in for you, “You know her, I mentioned the TA thing like a while back. She’s a friend, though she is replacing me.”
He gestures to the pinkette’s side, introducing him.
“My brother by the way. Same year though.”
Sukuna nods at that and smiles, canines showing. He reaches out with his hand, and you meet it halfway. “Ryomen Sukuna.” Huh, he’s not a Kamo.
“Pleasure,” You’re squinting your eyes, there’s something a little unsettling about him that you can’t place, but you’re not trying to jump into that.
“I didn’t know Choso had any siblings — ones on campus, no less.”
You let go of his large, callous hands, moving an inch closer to the cashier when the customer before you has their turn to order. “Have 2 terms to catch up with and I don’t really see this one around either ‘cause I did training camp in Barcelona last semester.”
You nod in acknowledgement. Silently, you’re comparing them, unknowingly looking back and forth between him and Choso a little too obviously.
“We don’t look related do we?”
Before you could defend yourself, a dry chuckle beats you to it. “We get that a lot.” He squeezed where his hand was planted on Choso, who visibly tenses. “Different mom, same dad. He doesn’t take after him though, if you’re worried—“
“Alright, I don’t think she wants to know about that.”
“Speak for yourself,” You laugh nervously, trying to ease the tension you could feel multiplying tenfold. He pats Choso’s shoulder before bringing his hand down to the side, not before looking at the side of his brother's face as he semi-whispered, “At least one of you doesn't have their panties in a twist.”
“I would if I were wearing mine.” A very long, awkward silence overcomes all three of you. That is until a nearly genuine smile breaks out of Sukuna’s angular features.
“Ha, what the fuck,” He mutters in amusement, “You’re both weird, that’s cute.” A dry chuckle eases the anxiousness you were struggling to place the source of. Though at the cost of your own dignity.
The line to the cashier moves, it’s yours and Choso’s turn now. He’s first to leave his brother’s side, not even bidding him a glance as he moves past you. “Nice meeting you,” you voice out, still on edge, Sukuna just nods in acknowledgement.
***
It’s around 6:40pm when Choso walks you to your apartment outside of campus. There’s a slight tension in the air that you’re struggling to bring up, it’s been there for the remainder of your meet up, not having said a word since you’ve left the café. You’ve been trying to make a move and talk to him but he’s had his eyes on the ground this entire time, rarely up, and definitely never on you.
He was about to walk in the pedestrian lane when you tug on his backpack. He’s caught in the pull, looking up to the red walking signal reflecting on the road. He walks back to stand next to you, still not saying a word. “What’re you thinking so hard on?”
For a moment he turned his head to you, a little too quick to not look like he wasn’t anticipating you to bring it up yourself. He looks ahead once more when you’re walking now. “I’m sorry about earlier.”
You start to feel a little guilty for not clarifying sooner, wondering if this entire time he thought he should’ve apologized for something he couldn’t control.
“It’s alright, it wasn’t unpleasant for me.”
He almost laughs at that, “Right, and I was jumping for joy.”
The air shifts, it’s not so tense anymore, just between that and uncertainty directed at something else entirely. “I felt really dumb earlier.” He adds, looking back down on the pavement. “I couldn’t say anything to make him leave us alone.”
You’re a few blocks nearby to your place, walking a little ahead of him so he could follow you now.
“Again, it wasn’t that bad. You don’t have to apologize.” Once more, silence fills the space between you both and it feels like you’re unable to remove this weight you feel affecting your interaction.
Now you’re both looking at your feet as you wait for cars to pass the street you’re crossing and for the timer to finally get to zero. Your foot is stepping over a dry leaf to fill in the lack of communication, the sound crunching in the quiet in a loud, distant manner.
“I just kinda get made fun of for acting like this—weak.” You crane your neck up to meet his eyes, and you’re right to think he’s still looking down. “It’s just annoying how even until now it’s expected of me to bite back on others ‘cause I look like I should.”
There’s a furrow in his brows, and he’s tightly clutching on the strap of his bag. “Like I’ve accepted that, sort of. I’m already conscious of it— but maybe people like to pick on me when it's obvious I’m not gonna do anything.”
You’re making another turn together, he’s leading with the path he’s familiar with and you follow, his words don’t falter. “Maybe ‘cause it makes them feel less small or some shit — I don’t know.”
After processing the words that left him, it brought you back to your conversation with Miwa. How you laughed about his past history with women and how you basically gossiped about his insecurities. Guilt swirls in your stomach, realizing this might just be a little worse than you treated it to be. You keep quiet, deep in your own thoughts, letting him say what he needs to.
“And of course my own brother is like that too.” He rants, tracing back to the behavior he displayed earlier. “He’s my brother and I love him, yes. But frat guys could be such dicks, y’know? I was like his first practice hazing dummy lite…in a way.”
You nod, acknowledging him. “Right, right.” You’re turning to the street ahead of yours, just about a block away now.
“It’s hard to not let those insecurities take over.” He groans, “I spent so much of my life trying to make my best first impressions, and I feel like it backfires on me with the wrong people—I hate that.” He’s scratching the back of his head. “Sometimes I just wish I looked normal. That way I wouldn’t literally feel like the elephant in the room.”
At that, you turn almost as if you’d heard the worst take in your life, brows scrunching. “Normal?”
He shakes his head, “Yes, normal. Like I can wear normal shoes and sit on couches normally.”
“I like that you’re not.” You say, insensitively. “I mean you’re not not normal. But I like…it.” You slow down, trying to backtrack on what you just let slip.
He’s blinking down on you, a look of surprise etched on his slowly flushing face. “…Why?”
Your breath is caught in your throat, not knowing how else to explain it. No going back. Remember?
“I feel safe, even if you don’t…bite back. And on top of that you’re kind. I think that matters a lot.”
Choso stares at you like you just grew a tree on your head, but in truth, he’s just trying to tone down his elation. “Really?” He asks dumbly, already cursing himself in his head for looking like he wants to hear you call him that again. Safe.
You dip your head, agreeing once more. “I’m a girl so I may be a little biased but if I were also a little taller, I wouldn’t have to deal with some idiot guys trying something on me, and I could also defend myself easier.”
“Oh yeah—Yes, that's totally different from my problems.” He clarified, trying to catch himself from sounding ungrateful. You watch the way his expressions shifts from blank to stressed and bite back a smile. “There’s obviously people with worse problems than being bigger than a doorway.” He’s looking down and pushing his glasses up, almost ashamed.
You turn to the road leading up to your street, your apartment just at the end of it. “Is that like 6’3 or…”
“Huh?” He meets your inquisitive eyes, “Uh, just a little more.” He replied, shying away from your stare. You’re thinking about all the objects that could possibly match up to Choso’s figure.
“Those chillers they got in 7’11?”
“Hm, nope. Like 2 inches more, maybe.”
Your stomach does a flip you had to ignore, “You’re lying. Six foot six?”
“Without shoes, yes.” He nodded, met with you side-eyeing him. “Well you’re free to go with me to my annual checkups and see.” He defends, a smile finally appearing on his face at your skepticism.
You squint, stopping yourself from looking too excited with the many, unbecoming thoughts storming your brain. “I’ll hold onto that.”
Shortly after, you find yourself standing in front of the building to your apartment. “I’m sorry about dumping all that on you, It was a lot.” He looks around before letting out a barely there sigh, “I’ll get going now—“
“Are you forgetting?” You look back and Choso’s standing stiffly, feet planted on the ground. “We’re…studying, remember?”
Choso’s throat bobs at your sly tone, convincing himself there is nothing behind it. “You did a lot today I just thought we were tired—“
“We don’t have to study then.” You’re looking around and thinking to yourself before landing back on his face, “I mean you came all the way here, you could come up and have some tea?”
The notion has his chest puffing out to regulate the way his heart started beating like its pounding from behind his sternum. He doesn’t say anything, his eyebrows raise behind his glasses, his usually sleepy eyes now wide. He nodded and let out a strained, “Okay.”
***
The door to your apartment swings open with a loud creak. The lights switch on, a warm white cascades from the ceilings.
Your keys make a clinking noise against the ceramic jewelry tray you leave on the dresser by the entrance. The door is wide open, you feel Choso trailing behind a couple steps away.
He’s standing kinda stiffly, “Do I take my shoes off or—“
You’re shaking your head, stepping aside to let him in. “My neighbors are kinda sticklers for people who leave their shoes outside in the halls.” He walks past the doorway, head craned down. It’s supposed to look like he was trying to avoid getting hit by the frame of it, though he’s only finding a way to hide his face naturally.
He picked his head up when he heard clanking from the kitchen which meant that you were inside. “I hope you’re not allergic to pollen? I like to put honey in mine.” You ask, your voice still clear as the space isn’t big at all, but in his head it’s distant. He’s trying to calm himself down, taking in your apartment.
It’s small, kitchen tight and you’ve no space for a table. You use the counter as one, your bed, desk, and sofa all in the same space. However, the lack of furniture made it wide, the “living room” taking the least space with just a little coffee table and the tv on the floor as the only decor.
“You didn’t say anything so I didn’t add any honey.” He finds himself turning on his feet when he’s met by your figure, coming from the kitchen with two— red and yellow —mugs. You hand him the yellow one, he takes it with a ‘thanks’. You make a move to sit on the couch, trying to get cozy. Choso’s still standing, sipping on his cup awkwardly.
“You can sit if you want.” Choso’s eyes flick over to you. You realize he had shed his bag on the entrance, still it looks like something is weighing on him.
“I’m okay, I might launch you out of it—“
“Sit with me.” You pat the spot beside you on the couch, your fawn-like eyes up at him.
It turns his legs into jelly. Thoroughly convinced, he sits beside you, trying to be as careful as he can so the side of the couch doesn’t sink to his weight too much.
He winced at the audible sound of the springs under the cushions, “Sorry.”
Quietly, you assess him. How stiffly he sat, how much of the seat he took up despite keeping himself at the edge of it. If he sat back, would his knee brush against yours? Though you feel a little bad for taking advantage of his reactiveness towards you. However, something deep inside you is undeniably excited with the thought.
On the other hand, Choso feels like he’s watching himself act in third person, deliberating what part of his body he should move next to not look too obnoxious or stiff. He doesn’t know if he should just let the silence pass till he runs out of tea, or maybe till it turns lukewarm. You shift in your seat, he feels your gaze heavy on him. You don’t say anything, you just stare at the side of his face. His throat bobs.
He looks over to you for a split second and meets your eyes, you raise your brows at him, a smirk growing on your sweet face.
An anxious laugh bubbles from his throat, the tips of his ears tinging red. “I think you’re aware of how you’re making me nervous.”
You couldn’t stop the way the smirk spreads into a wide smile. “I was thinking of how to get you to talk, is all.” You tilt your head to the side, checking out how the light from your room lamp makes his jaw seem sharper. His hair nearly fell on his shoulders, built and perched with his elbows on his knees, posture a little hunched, but he still sat taller than you. Nothing short of tempting in your eyes.
He follows your gaze, “What?”
“You’re also thinking of something.”
His brows pinch, he hates how good you are at prodding at him when he clearly doesn’t know what to say. “I’m always thinking.”
You nod, “And still, you haven’t said anything since we went up.”
Choso pauses his already stiff self. You place your mug down, crossing your legs on the couch. He brings his attention back to you but you’re already intently looking at him. He flinches back.
Sighing, “What do you think I’m thinking about?” You purse your lips, shrugging at his question. He shakes his head, a smile fighting its way on his face.
“Then I’m happy you only brought me here to drink some tea.” A roll of his eyes comes out of sarcasm, reaching for his own mug on the table, stretching his arm out.
He’s about to pull his hand back when your smaller one lands on top of his. The contact would have made him drop the glass into little pieces if it weren’t for the coffee table underneath. He lets down the cup, missing the coaster you laid out.
“That’s my mug….” You point at the red cup in his grasp, yours. You let the words linger like the pads of your fingers on the back of his hand, “Hm, you’re really warm.”
He blinks, unable to ground himself back to reality because maybe, maybe you’re trying to make a move on him. He’s unable to look into your eyes,
“Uh,” He falters, the warmth on his cheeks multiply and spread out when you inch closer, the warmth of your own body makes him feel like he’s overheating.
“How else could I get you to go up with me?” You say, goading another reaction out of him.
“I-I mean you could just ask and…I wouldn’t say no,“ You’re closer to his face now—too close. But you’re still not looking at eye level — not close enough.
“I think I’ve done a lot just to be around you, Cho.” He almost melts at how the stupid nickname his brother calls him sounded so good coming from your honeyed lips. Choso gulps, audible and embarrassing in the silence of your apartment.
He started off this conversation on the edge of the couch, somehow it feels like you’ve backed him into it.
“Y’know, the TA stuff, asking to study—do we look like we’re studying now?” Your arm skates over his hand, up his arm, the touch leaving goosebumps in their wake.
You watch how his jaw all but clenches at the feeling, a newfound confidence makes you unbelievably giddy, driving you to push more. “But I wanna know for me,”
He feels like he’s running out of breath before he could utter a word when your palm lands up on his hard chest, feeling for the erratic thumping of his heartbeat underneath the fabric of his shirt.
Your head is craned up, lashes bat at him, “What are you willing to do?”
He’s looking deeply into your eyes, searching for the answer to your question, not realizing how his neck is craning down at your height in return. Several beats pass — he feels a tug on his shirt and then he’s closing the distance between your lips.
He whines on the soft, wet skin, sucking gently, eyes falling shut. His hand finds your cheek, the other reaching for your side when you tangle your arms around his neck. The pace is hungry yet fervent, tugging and melting against the other. You pull away slowly, lips parting from each other wetly. You’re smacking your own lips before smiling up at Choso, giggling.
His eyes are hazy, glasses crooked out of place. His hands are covering your back and smoothing over your clothes, “I can do anything— whatever you want.”
If you weren’t already grinning wide enough, now you’re fully Cheshire-like. Pushing yourself closer towards him, “Anything?” He nods eagerly, you’re pulling him in, hungry.
His hand is on the back of your neck now, holding. There’s something about his touch that feels like it’s keeping you together without feeling too possessive. Caring with a dash of hesitance. One you’re looking to break through tonight.
Your lips travel down his neck, leaving hot, lingering kisses along his throat. “Oh, mmh-“ He bites his lip immediately after nearly letting out the low noise from chest, eyes shutting when you find the particularly sensitive spot on his neck. You feel his fingers dig rougher on your hips, you’re on your knees now, determined to cover every inch of him in your touch. Your weight falls on him when he tugs you, the hands planted on his shoulders squeeze out of instinct.
“You good? I-I didn’t mean to, ah—“ He tried to move his head away from your persistent lips, but a shiver that runs through him stops his actions. You’re sucking on his skin, humming proudly, undettered from your little slip. His hands brush down your sides, they plant themselves lower on your waist.
You plant kisses all the way back to his chin then meet his lips again. You’re eye level, a sinister glint in your eyes. You stick your tongue out, half lidded gaze and staring right at him — brushing the wet, pink muscle along Choso’s bottom lip, teasing. Heat rushes on his face, blood rushes on his crotch. You’re killing him.
You suck on the pink flesh, tugging then letting go, he’s pulling you in closer by the back of your neck. He wants you on him, mind unable to decide how — just everywhere is fine. You drop your palm down between your bodies and on the garter of Choso’s sweats, feeling for the hardness underneath.
He hissed as your fingers brushed what would be his shaft, “Um, sorry, can we make out a little I think…” He holds your head closer to his face, breaths mingling as you catch them. “I’ll get less hard— nervous, I think. Sorry,” You hummed in agreement before landing back on the flushed skin of his mouth, quieting him down with your lips.
You giggle against him, chasing as he squirms, palms settling on his shoulders. You pull off him with a peck, feet planting back on the carpeted floors. Choso now sat far into the couch, slacked with legs spread. His mouth parts as you start undressing, stripping off into your underwear.
He sizes you up and down, taking in your soft, bare skin, your strapless bra and cotton panties under the warm lights of your apartment. It elicits a heavy throb under his pants. Choso’s breathing feels uneven and the air grows thinner when you settle back on the couch, only now between his spread out legs.
You’re steadying yourself, his hands find a place on your warm, now bare skin. You smooth over the wide expanse of his chest, then land on his neck, even warmer than you. “This okay?” You ask, to which he only replies with a nod.
You’re about to lean into him when he reaches for his glasses, but you stop him before he tries to pry the piece of metal off. “They stay on.”
His breath catches in his throat, stomach dipping. A part of him he’s not quite sure whether he wanted to acknowledge, liked when you tell him what to do.
He lets his hand fall, you adjust the rims on the bridge of his nose. “You’re so pretty.” You’re holding his face with both hands, tilting it upwards to you. A lopsided grin appears on his face at the comment, eyes shying away and down from your face and to the body on him.
“Thanks- Thank you,” He replied poorly. His palm skated from your waist and to your back, laying above the clip of your bra. His lips are caught between his teeth as he takes in the feel of your skin against him, he looks up. “You’re awfully pretty as well.”
He was never good at expressing himself,only with what he was sure of. But this was new, you pushing, him taking, it was all new. But he meant every word he said to you. He leaned in to catch your lips against his. Fuck, if only you could tell how much he meant it.
He’s slotting his tongue in between your parted mouth, leaning further in and you’re falling back, but he’s catching you — keeping you to him. You work together smoothly, as smooth as silks rubbing against each other. You clutch on to him tightly as if he’ll slip if you don’t. You taste like jasmine tea and he’s wondering if the sweet taste is from the honey or just you. He’s holding you by the neck and pushing your back into him.
You finally move to settle on his lap, the kiss unwavering so you’re first to pull away, “Choso—“ He catches the sound of his name in your mouth, chasing, taking, and taking. There isn’t any place on your body that isn’t covered by him, your arms, your back, your legs in between his that caged you. You moan at the thought against his greedy tongue, entirely consumed. But you’re impatient and already wet, the fabric of your panties has been riding up for the last 10 minutes. So you squeeze his arms weakly, but it’s enough for him to let air flow between you.
“Shit, Sorry—” He’s frantic and searching your eyes, but he’s met with your hazed out ones and your swollen, drooly lips. He wiped the corner of it, chest heaving. “I need to— you’re driving me insane,” He chuckles, deep and uncertain with how true the fact felt. He’s brushing your hair back gently, “I’m sorry,” he lets go of you as you’re pulling away.
You’re upright now, letting your feet back down. You’re bending over to his lap, palms resting on his spread out limbs, “You need to make it up to me,” You’re once again reaching for his sweats, the imprint of his shaft taking form at the side. He gently lays his hand on your wrist.
“Are you sure?” His eyes are wide, pupils dilated, the frames of his glasses are now on the tip of his nose bridge. But there’s a wave of genuine uncertainty blanketing his expression.
You’re blinking up at him, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
It’s a tangled knot in his chest, one bundled in embarrassing moments and unsuccessful hook-ups. He stuttered over his words,
“Just that before I’ve-“ he pondered if he should risk you laughing at him, but you’re expectantly looking into his eyes, and your hands are already on his lap, a little more and you’d be right where he’s aching for you. “I’m scared of making it…unpleasant?”
His hand rubs up and down your arms, you’re tuning him out and thinking of how you should go about sitting on him. He continued to ramble on, “Um, like I’ve been told it was…“
“Too big?” You ask, attention now on him. Externally you’re collected, stating it like a remark. But internally you know it’s a fact. You feel a little bad thinking about it but now you’re piecing together your earlier conversation on what Miwa’s friend’s friend might’ve been complaining about.
Choso all but nods, eyes scanning your room as if that would keep yours away from him. “I could just help you, y’know. We don’t have to—“
You’re turning over and maneuvering his hand out of his lap, sitting on his thigh. For a moment, you’re a little hesitant, hovering. “I mean I’d like it if we did, but I’m also…” His words trail off, holding your hip and securing you on his lap, unbothered as your weight settles on one thigh. He clears his throat, “I’m okay with, um, anything.”
You’re leaning into him, on your side, hand trailing underneath the hem of his shirt, grazing his clenched abdomen. He jolts, causing you to jump in your seat. Your eyes widen for a moment before relaxing, hand skating lower under the garter of his sweats with a simpering grin on your face. You’re kissing his cheek, gentle and slow as your hand palms over his hard, covered cock.
He’s watching your move under the fabric of his gray sweats, feeling your smaller fingers squeezing and rubbing the base of it. It hurts, he thinks. In a way that something stings and feels good at the same time. You’re squeezing at his tip when he throws his head back on the couch, groaning loudly. You take the opportunity to mouth on his neck again.
“Can you please— Can I please take it off?” He asks politely, but the grip on your hip feels anything but. You hum, still licking at the expanse of his neck.
You’re pulling his pants down with his help—mostly him just taking it off himself, desperate and aching. He’s bare from the waist down now when you settle back on his thigh, sweats and boxers discarded on the floor.
You’re now shamelessly gawking at his erection bouncing against stomach, slapping against it. The warmth of your hand catches him off guard, finally making contact skin to skin. You tug on the shaft, immediately taking notice of how your fingers struggle to close around it and were squeezing on accident.
“F—oh, god. ” He rests his head on your shoulder, sweat building on his forehead. You start moving your hand up and down, already slippery from how he’d been oozing in his boxers the entire time. He’s quiet behind you, save for the heavy breathing on your skin. You go faster. “Your hand’s so tight,” it comes out in a whimper. A wet, mouthing sensation can be felt on your shoulder, he’s biting your skin to muffle himself. But It doesn’t work, his throat lets loose with each reaction.
His eyes roll up from your shoulder when he feels you lean forwards and away from his chest, cock twitching when a wet glob of spit drips on him from your tongue.
You’re both watching your hand work up and down, bringing both onto the shaft, he’s cursing as you go faster.
You’re throwing your other leg over his thigh, straddling him in reverse, before resting back on him. Choso's hands come up to hold you under your knees, keeping your legs apart. He watched as the movement stretched the fabric, pussy still clad in underwear, drenched and barely covering it. But he can’t help but peek lower, your hands exclusively paying attention to his erection.
You joke, “It’s like I'm jerking myself off.”
A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, the vibrations thrum against your back and you turn them into moans as you suddenly go faster. “Sucks though, I can’t feel it.”
You’re unable to see his expression behind you, but you can hear how his moans are muffled between his teeth, “You’re s-so eager.”
You reveled at how shaky he’d sounded. “One of us has to be.”
And then a strange noise akin to the tearing of fibers can be heard from below. You gasp as it happens in front of you, hands slowing its ministrations. You realize you’re watching him rip your underwear, exposing your wet, shiny pussy. “Hey—“
He’s adjusting himself from under you, bringing his other hand under your thigh, your legs tugged higher as he starts rubbing right on your clit.
He’s rough and accurate on where he wants to touch you, deliberate in his movements. He’s quick but he isn’t rushing either, his only motive was to get you to falter in his stead as you were doing just the same.
Your voice shrinks into breathy pants, the slick sound from your poor clit syncing in with each, “Ah, ah, Cho—“
“You’re making me so, so hard, baby—” You’re both an obscene sight to behold, playing with each other, spread out, grunting or whimpering. Both sloppily still trying to let your lips tangle with each other despite the inconvenient position. Both a mess, your tits spilling out of your bra, and his glasses all fogged up.
You grind into him, “Feels so good,” rubbing your juices on the cock you’re jerking with now one hand, coating his chubby length. Your body felt like it was on overdrive, moving your hips up and down as you clenched on nothing, gushing freely.
You’re biting your lip as your hips grow erratic, brows pinching and your abdomen clenches on itself. “I-I’m close.”
Choso lets a groan escape,“Fuck, really?” realizing he’s making you come first. It’s a miracle he’s held off this long, he wonders if he’ll hold up if you let him inside. The thought makes him move your hips on his cock, assisting you as you use him to get yourself off.
He doesn’t know if he’s breathing so hard because he’s getting tired or because he knows getting your clit rubbed nudges you a little closer to the edge when you start to get louder. He breathes against your ear, “Come on me, please.” He’s mumbling now, less at you and more to himself. “I wanna see you cum on me, please, please—”
Your legs begin to shake in his hold, fighting to shut close but the grip under your knees forces you to come with your legs spread wide, pussy making a show of spasming against Choso’s cock, voice breaking as you whimper. “That’s it baby, that’s it,”
Choso is completely enamored, the sounds of your high pitched whines in the air was like music to him, the way you writhe against his body was this entrapping dance. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you.
He notes how you were still in your bra, he whispers something about it, but you’re just nodding your head with your eyes shut, riding it out. Then he’s unclipping the strap with one hand, the fabric falling off and releasing your perfect tits.
You then relax your back to him, twitching still. But then he’s thrusting his erect cock up between your folds, the stimulation starting to make you wetter again, your breath can only catch up so fast. You’re attempting to lift your hips with a squirm.”Gi-give me a sec—”
Choso quickly lets your legs fall to the side and pauses, sitting up and moving your head to face him. “Shit- we can stop here,” he assured, breathy and worried. “I didn’t mean to, I was just looking at you. You looked-” So fucked out, “I’m sorry.“
“Sh-shut up,” You look away and Choso stiffens under you. Was he too rough? Before he could even utter another apology, you spoke, “I’m fine, I just need to— breathe.“
He watches you quiet down from underneath you, he’s rubbing your thighs comfortingly. “I am sorry,” The silence lingers, only getting tenser with each beat that passes.
And then you start chuckling — at nothing in particular. Your breathing slows down, and you look back to check on him. He looked so worried, brows pinched and his lip jutted out. A lazy smile breaks into your features, leaning down to catch him in a chaste kiss so he wouldn't see the expression on your face. “I liked it, okay?”
His breath hitched in his throat when you spoke against his lips, “Yeah?”
You’re nodding, smile now exposed. You kiss him again, powerless against his sweet lips. He relaxes, hand coming up to the back of your head. “I wanna-“ A kiss, “Fuck you now,” A slower kiss, “Please.”
He’s backing up to read your face, reassessing. Within the silence, something passes between you two. Amidst the air that smells of sex and vaguely of tea, there’s this mix of warmth and uncertainty—and whether or not to dive in it — that lingers in between.
He’s nervous under your gaze, once again, looking for a way out of your eyes that traps him so effectively like no other. He’s looking down at his still, very much, erect self. “I don’t have a condom.”
You’re thinking to yourself before you reach for the side table of your couch, scrambling for a box you kept there in case.
Choso’s scrambling to rip the plastic off before fishing for one packet. “I’m not really sure if it would fit so, maybe just try it,” You remark as you’re being maneuvered out of his lap and on the side of the couch. He fumbled with the rubber a couple times, pulling it down before it snapped a little too tightly on his girth. He tugs it down on him until a tear starts spreading on the side of the translucent material.
“I’m sor—“ He hissed as it snapped against his skin, “See I can’t even fucking…I don’t think this is quite right—” He’s cursing to himself, obviously a little sexually frustrated. For someone his size he still managed to look somewhat like a defeated puppy.
You’re tugging the broken thing off, relief blooming in his chest but it’s short lived as he’s reminded of how he might not even have sex with you anymore. “But no, we really don’t have to.” He says, discouraged.
“You can fuck me raw, I’m on the pill.” He internally groaned, pulled back out of his head. You just had a way with your words.
He does a complete 180, eyes widening, shifting from beaten to optimistic. He reminds himself to curb his excitement though, slowing down. “You can be on top—set the pace?” You’re already moving to sit on his lap.
He’s nodding his head at you, and finally rips his shirt off himself, now completely naked. You’re staring down at him, licking your lips at the sight of his milky skin and toned chest. He pulls you out of your thoughts, voice small and distant.
“I’ll pull out, yeah?” He’s swallowed back thickly, more of reminding himself to do that. “Just be slow okay? I didn’t prepare you that wel—um,"
His voice trails off when you’re already lining yourself up with his reddened tip. “A little at a time—Oh,” You’re already sinking down, unrepressed.
The stretch is long and constant, to the point it feels like you’re rethinking how fast you jumped on this, except you remember you’re already lowering yourself very carefully.
Your jaw hangs open in a silent scream when you get past the head, sinking lower, your walls throb against his member. You’re bracing yourself with a palm, Choso’s chest is covered in sweat and heaving. “You’re so—‘s really tight, oh fuck you’re so warm,” He whined out, unable to complete a sentence.
He’s leaving a trail of hot, open mouthed kisses on your neck and then back on your lips to keep your mewls at bay. You’re kissing back, he’s only half way in when you start moving. Choso’s breaths turn ragged against yours, pulling you closer to him. You catch your breath, “It’s stretching me out so much, Choo-” You whine, slowly rolling your hips.
He’s squeezing your waist before trailing his hands down your ass, “You’re doing good, you’re doing really good.”
He’s looking down at your progress, struggling to tell where you ended and he begun, now nearer to the base of his cock. He throbs inside you. “Fuck, a-are you okay?” He’s looking back up at your face, taking in your lips, bitten and swollen under your teeth.
He lets out a shaky whimper, “You’re taking so much.” His eyes finding their way back to your hole swallowing him. “So good, baby.”
You tuck your feet over his thighs for leverage, pulling off his cock slowly then sinking back down, and back up. You repeat the motions, torturously slow, your slick creating this lewd noise from each rock of your hips as you go deeper. Choso’s hands are on your thighs, weighing you down but he’s really holding back from actively pushing — still you’re sinking, taking more.
You start to bounce, struggling to hold yourself up with your palm on his chest, the slight sting of the stretch dulling out to a deep pressure. It’s a lot easier now, you go even faster with the help of your growing arousal slicking up his cock. Every touch you leave on each other now feels highly sensitive, your tits pressed against Choso’s hard chest, his hands squeezing on your ass for dear life. You’re left unable to keep up conversations or teases to each other now, heads completely in a different space. You're left babbling incoherencies as your tingling nerves derail your focus, the only thing clear was to go after what felt good.
But you falter, your knees slowing as they start to ache but you push yourself further, desperate, taking even more of Choso’s length. You find yourself losing balance and lean over, panting. You lift your hips, then let your ass fall back into his lap, a strained mewl leaving your throat, “I-I need help. I need you, Cho—need you t’a fuck my pussy,”
He groans out at how high your voice got, fresh from its suppressed whines. “Okay I’ll help,” He’s quick with his hands, holding you by the globes of your ass, and pulls you up. He bites back a noise, hearing and feeling your tight pussy gush and clamp on him as he lifts until it’s just the tip. “s’ okay if I thrust a little?” He whispers against your ear, growing desperate as his cock pulses in anticipation. You nod fervently in his neck, arms circled around him. “Okay baby, I’m gonna. I’m gonna help this pussy- fuckkk”
It’s noisier now, from your skin, sticky and slapping against each other, to your gasps turning into moans against each other’s open mouths. Choso’s now taking all the work, lifting your ass and bringing it down to meet his aching cock even faster than you could have. He starts meeting your pussy half way, thrusting up wards and it knocks the wind out of you.
Moans spill out of you with each thrust up, breaking and then bursting out of you. You’re clinging to him, bodies impossibly close, skin rubbed up against skin. “You’re so fucking loud, honey—do you like it?” His groans turn into grunts with how he’s physically exerting his body, on a mission to see you break apart on top of him.
You reply with a noise of acknowledgment, barely audible amongst the slapping and heavy breathing. You’re body feels hot all over, from inside and out. He’s deep enough inside you in places you didn’t even know was possible to go that far in, and the best worst part is you haven’t even reached the base of him yet. A new objective makes itself known in the part of your brain that still functioned, a dimly flickering idea.
“Ch-choso can you, ngh—“ You’re bringing your face out of his neck to face him, but he’s still busying himself with his thrusts, “I want you deeper, c-could you do that f’me?”
He’s letting out a high pitched whine he when lets you down, about to throw his head back when you catch his lips in yours, tugging on his hair and pulling roughly. “You’re stronger than me Cho, c’mon. Make me cum on your big cock—“
He groans, planting his feet on the ground, before you know it you’re up in the air, now standing. You cut yourself off with a moan, both of you do —sighing out when he lifts your ass up before dropping you on his painfully hard cock. “You’re so filthy when you talk, y’know that?”
It feels like he's all the way to your lungs when he finally bottoms out in you, which would make sense since it feels like you aren’t breathing anymore. You cry out once more, wiling your eyes and muffling the noises in his neck, biting down. “Are you crying?” He asks, concern prodding between his excitement, but the thought manages to make it’s way to his cock, fucking you on him rhytmically slow and deep. You let out a choked sob, “Fuck you’re crying—not even going that fast.”
“Then g-go faster,” You managed to voice out between moans, your hips wiggling in his grasp. He groans in response, kneading your ass to stop you from getting ahead of him.
“You tell me if it’s too much- just, you have to tell me a-alright?” You’re clenching on him, still trying to bounce. “Shit, Okay.”
The slower sounds of your skin slapping each other turn into rapid, sharp sounds. Choso grunting from each thrust, now fully unrepressed. In seconds, the image you’ve crafted of him as this shy, hesitant boy, crumbles. You’re fully moaning out now, his cock nudging deeper and repeatedly in that spot that triggers your insides. “I’m so full, fuck-“
He’s hiccuping his moans out, turning into whimpers as he pumps you up and down even faster, his nails digging into the meat of your ass. “You’re taking me so good baby,” He’s thrusting up when he lets you fall on his cock midway, his muscles forgetting to strain. “Fuck, take it, take it—“
He dives in against your lips, tongue invading your whimpering mouth. You try your best to kiss back, eyes nearly closing while he’s drowning you in him. You’re clenching on his cock a lot tighter now, his balls drenched in your arousal, slapping against your other hole from the impact of his motions.
“I think I—I’m gonna cum-“ You pull away from Choso who lets out a breathy moan, licking your lips to chase yours. You’re falling limp against him, hips rendered useless when he’s already fucking you on a pace outside of your own stamina.
Your insides are pulsing around his member, your moans growing even louder. Choso’s deep enough into you when he feels his cock twitch, “I need to pull out—“ You’re immediately protesting, letting out noises of disapproval. “No, no baby I’m gonna cum if you—“
“I don’t care.“ Fuck. Choso holds himself back, his pre-cum oozing out makes your sopping hole even more slippery at the thought of filling you up to the brim. He’s thinking of ways to keep himself from cumming right this very second when you’re already so fucked out and desperate, high up in your own head.
His dick twitches again and he’s biting his lip, slowing his carry on your body til you’re stopping altogether. Before you could say anything else, he’s pulling out and placing you on the couch, lying down. You’re complaining, spreading your legs as much as the cushions on your side could let you.
Choso’s holding his cock, squeezing at the base to calm himself down but he opens his eyes to your gaping, hungry hole, presented to him like an offer, “C-cum inside me, Cho,”
His resolve breaks within a blink of an eye, already laying above you and wrapping your legs around his waist. You feel like crying out of joy when he finally makes his way inside, thrusting slowly and hissing from how tight you still are. “I need to be on top of you, I need to—“ He mumbled, eyes already hazed out and clambering for satiation.
He topples over you as he finds his balance, now setting a newer pace from earlier, caging you with his body while his thrusts grow even faster.
The sensation is much more different now, a stretch added with the forces of his thrusts now fully landing on you.
He’s watching every twist of your face and moan spill out. Scanning your body downwards while he lays a palm on your lower abdomen, “If I cum inside you’re gonna bulge right h-here, d’ ya want that?”
You’re squealing against him when he presses down, his cock nudging where he’s digging his fingers from the outside. Your walls flutter against his member, sucking him in and pulsing wetly. Choso’s grunting against you, hips growing faster as he watches your eyes get even more hazy and your face twisted.
Your eyes are rolling back when he starts rubbing on your clit, already impatient with wanting to feel your pussy tighten impossibly around him.
He’s whispering incoherencies to you, face on your neck when he pulls back his hips and pushes back in deeply as he continues rubbing you.
You cry out, shuddering against Choso as the coil in you snaps, holding onto his wrist as your legs secured against his ribs.
He lets out a shaky moan, pumping faster when he chases his orgasm while you ride yours out on him, bodies grinding up against each other intimately.
A curse lets you know that he’s finally reached his climax, thrusts growing slow and deep while pumping you full of his sticky cum. Your eyes are glossed over, your throat sore from your own voice when he’s riding out his high, panting and leaving kisses all over your face.
Your chests are pumping against each other, both catching your breaths. Your hand finds its way to his face, turning it so he could look back at you. His cheeks are red and his glasses were no longer on him, probably losing them from how much you’d been switching positions.
You’re brushing his hair from his face, tucking a long strand onto his ear. Your body still feels like it’s on fire but it doesn’t compare to how even after all that, his stare on you still makes your heart skip a beat. You let out a breath, gathering yourself.
“What do you think?” His eyes scans over your face, “Better than coming up to study?”
Choso shifts on his elbows as he’s laying on top of you.“Yeah that was…” He takes a moment to think of a better way to describe it, a smile spreading on his face. “Really good.” He settles with honesty instead.
He’s thumbing over your shoulder, a hundred thoughts trying to materialize themselves in his still mushed up brain. “I’ve never done it like that, before I mean.“
He’s looking up to meet your eyes, and you’ve got a glow emitting from you, drawing him in. He hesitates for a moment but then, “And you? How’d you feel?”
You huff out a soft chuckle, realizing how ironic this all was. How you’ve still managed to not destroy the awkwardness that came with affections even when you’ve skipped over to, well sex. Choso waits for your answer, something swirls tight in his chest, uneasy but still patient.
You’re brushing back the hair on his scalp, taking in how much less guarded he looks without glasses. “Yeah, I feel…safe.”
He smiles, that knot in his chest untangling. To no surprise, he finds the thread it’s bundled from may be connected to you. “Yeah?”
I really loved your Aang one-shot 💗 If you're taking requests, how about one where the Firebending reader and Aang are already dating, and on one of their trips, for some reason, she tries on a wedding dress and Aang starts thinking about marriage?
Summary: Aang enters an illegal underground fight club disguised as “Quill,” only to get completely distracted by a talented firebender fighter inspired by the Avatar himself. What starts as playful teasing after a match slowly turns into noodles, late-night walks, stolen kisses, and one very badly kept secret.
𝑅𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 💕 𝐹𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓 ☁️ 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑦 🎭
𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟻.𝟻𝚔
Aang touched the walls of the building, his mind growing blank as the sounds of distant bell chimes rolled through the alleyway. The vibrations hummed beneath his fingertips, tangled with the heavier pulse of stomping feet, shouting voices, and the occasional crack of bending echoing from somewhere deep inside. The whole place felt alive. Restless. Like a giant animal breathing behind closed doors.
Lantern light spilled across the narrow street in streaks of gold and red, catching against the painted masks and silk banners hanging overhead. Smoke from grilled street food drifted through the air, mixing with sweat, dust, and coal ash from the underground arena below.
“Your gonna love it, Twinkle Toes.” Toph adjusted her disguise with a crooked grin.
She was dreessed in loose Fire Nation robes trimmed in crimson, the fabric expensive enough to blend into the crowd without drawing attention. Her dark hair hung freely around her shoulders instead of tied up, and part of her face was covered with a thin veil that softened her features just enough to make her harder to recognize. Even disguised, she still carried herself like she owned every inch of ground beneath her feet.
Aang was also dressed in Fire Nation clothing, though far less confident. The stiff collar scratched at his neck, and a dark bandanna was wrapped tightly across his forehead, hiding the blue arrow beneath it. Every few seconds he instinctively reached for it anyway, checking to make sure it was still covered.
A group of men shoved past them laughing, one carrying a sack of coins while another excitedly mimicked a firebending move that nearly clipped a lantern overhead.
“Toph, this isn’t a good idea,” Aang insisted quietly. “We should probably go back before somebody recognizes us.”
Toph waved him off immediately. “Are you kidding? This is the fight club of the century. All kinds of benders come here and face off. Earthbenders, firebenders, waterbenders, probably some guy who throws cabbages at people. I’ve been dying to come once I heard about it.”
Another roar erupted from inside the building, loud enough to shake dust from the roof beams above them.
Aang frowned. “Yeah, but… isn’t this illegal?”
“Aang,” Toph said flatly, “we literally saved the world.”
“That doesn’t make us above the law.”
“It kinda does a little.”
“It really doesn’t.”
She smirked beneath the veil. “Besides, benders from every nation beating each other up without starting a war? That’s basically diplomacy with extra bruising.”
Aang stared at her.
Toph shrugged. “Technically, this is a form of peace.”
Somewhere inside, the crowd exploded into cheers followed by the sharp boom of earth hitting stone.
Toph’s grin widened instantly. “See? Peace.”
“Toph, be serious.”
Toph folded her arms tightly, leaning one shoulder against the alley wall. “You remember how we met? You cheated using airbending. And you still owe me a rematch.”
Aang blinked at her, genuine disbelief spreading across his face. “That’s what this is about?”
A bell rang again somewhere inside the arena, followed by the muffled crowd chanting loudly.
“Maybe.” Toph laughed under her breath and turned toward the entrance. “Come on before we get bad seats and the sign-ups close for the night.”
Aang nearly choked. “Sign-ups?”
Toph kept walking.
“Toph.”
Two massive firebenders guarded the doors with crossed arms, barely paying attention to the crowd.
“Toph.”
“You worry too much, Twinkle Toes.”
“You said we were watching.”
“We are watching,” she said smoothly. “At first.”
Aang groaned quietly, rubbing his face. “Katara is going to kill me.”
Toph snorted. “Please. Sugar Queen isn’t here. Live a little.”
“I do live a little.”
“You meditate for fun.”
“That’s different.”
A vendor passed carrying skewers of roasted sea-prunes, shouting over the noise of the crowd while somewhere below, metal buckled with a deafening clang followed by wild applause.
Toph tilted her head slightly, listening to the vibrations beneath her feet. Her grin sharpened. “Oooh. Earthbender just got launched into a wall.”
“You can tell that from here?”
“I can tell the wall lost.”
Aang sighed, but despite himself, curiosity tugged at him. The energy of the place buzzed around them like static lightning in the air. Dangerous, loud, chaotic… strangely exciting.
Toph noticed his hesitation immediately.
“There he is,” she teased. “The fun part of the Avatar.”
“I’m not fighting anyone.”
“Mhm.”
“I mean it.”
Toph pushed aside the heavy curtain entrance. Heat and noise crashed over them instantly, a furnace made of shouting voices, smoke, and bending sparks.
“We’ll see how long that lasts.”
Aang swallowed a breath, following Toph closely behind touching his head covering once again.
Aang watched anxiously as Toph spoke to the person in the sign up window. Wanting the ground to swallow him whole once she got the confirmation they could enter.
She walked up to him, shoving a paper into his chest with a THAWK—
“What’s this?”
“You’re a fire bender and your name is Qill.”
Aang furrowed his brows, “Qill?”
Toph grinned like she’d just committed a crime against dignity itself. “Yep. Qill. Short, sharp, mysterious. Sounds like the kinda guy who loses teeth professionally.”
Aang stared at the paper in disbelief. The ink was still fresh, slightly smeared where she’d practically stapled it to his chest. In thick red letters it read:
FIGHTER NAME: QILL
BENDING STYLE: FIRE
Below that, someone had scribbled “rookie division” with a lazy circle around it.
Aang lowered the paper slowly. “Why would you pick Qill?”
Toph shrugged. “I panicked.”
“You don’t panic.”
“I panic creatively.”
Around them, the underground arena buzzed like an overcharged beehive. The scent of smoke, sweat, and fried food hung thick in the air. Coins clinked somewhere nearby as bets were thrown around. Firelight from hanging lanterns painted the stone walls in deep orange streaks, making the entire place feel alive… and slightly illegal.
A loud CRASH echoed from deeper in the arena followed by cheering.
“THAT’S MY MONEYMAKER!” someone screamed.
Aang flinched.
Toph, meanwhile, looked delighted.
“You seriously signed me up?” Aang hissed, tugging his bandanna lower over his forehead. “Toph, what if someone recognizes me?”
“No one’s looking at your forehead, Twinkle Toes. They’re looking at the giant earthbender currently suplexing a guy into a wall.”
Another boom rattled the floor beneath them. Dust drifted from the ceiling.
Aang peeked over the railing despite himself.
The arena below was enormous. Circular. Carved directly into the mountain rock. Fighters moved through shifting platforms of stone while crowds packed the surrounding balconies shoulder-to-shoulder, shouting, stomping, throwing money into the pit.
Fire benders launched spinning arcs of flame that lit the air gold and red. Somewhere off to the side, a waterbender whipped ice shards through hanging targets while people cheered.
Aang swallowed hard. “This is insane.”
A gong suddenly rang through the cavern.
“ROOKIE BRACKET!” a voice bellowed from above. “FIRST MATCH IN TEN MINUTES!”
Aang’s soul nearly evacuated his body.
Toph slapped his shoulder. “Relax, Qill. You’ll be fine.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“No promises.”
Aang stood beside Toph at the edge of the ring, the roar of the crowd shaking through the floor beneath them. Toph smacked his shoulder excitedly.
“Oh, she’s good.”
“Huh? Who?” Aang turned toward the arena and finally saw you.
You barely looked winded.
Across the ring, your opponent stumbled backward while you stayed light on your feet, calm and steady like the fight was just another dance. There was something strange about the way you moved. Controlled. Smooth. But every now and then, something sharper slipped through the cracks, something dangerous enough to make the crowd lean closer.
To Aang, you almost moved like an airbender.
Maybe it was the way your hair swept around your face with every step, or how your grin never fully disappeared, playful even in the middle of a fight. His eyes lingered a little too long on that grin before Toph jabbed him with her elbow again.
“What’s with the body language, Twinkle Toes?” she snickered. “You catching feelings already?”
“What? No!” Aang huffed, straightening immediately. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t even know her.”
“KNOCKOUT!” the announcer bellowed.
Aang’s head snapped back toward the ring just as the crowd erupted. People rushed forward, lifting you onto their shoulders while chants echoed through the arena walls. You laughed breathlessly as they carried you around, victorious beneath the hanging lantern light.
And for some reason, Aang couldn’t stop staring.
The second they set you back onto the ground, your eyes drifted toward the opposite side of the ring.
Your next opponent was already staring at you.
Not nervous.
Not intimidated.
Just… watching.
You tilted your head slightly, sweat cooling against your skin as the noise of the arena blurred into the background. He looked familiar. Something about him tugged at the back of your mind like a loose thread begging to be pulled.
“NEXT CONTESTANT! STEP INTO THE RING!”
The announcer’s voice boomed through the underground arena, rattling the lantern chains overhead.
Aang visibly flinched.
Toph immediately shoved him forward with both hands. “Good luck, Qill.”
He stumbled down the steps of the arena floor, catching himself before falling flat on his face. The crowd gave a few amused whistles at that.
“Smooth entrance,” you called out.
Aang straightened quickly, trying to recover what little dignity he had left. “I meant to do that.”
“Mhm.”
The gates slammed shut behind him with a heavy clang.
Now that he was closer, you could see the nerves written all over him. Not fear exactly. More like he was trying very hard not to think about the fact that he was standing in an illegal underground fight club while disguised under a fake name.
“You don’t really seem like a fighter, Qill,” you teased, rolling your shoulders loosely.
“I’m not,” Aang stammered quickly, backing up as you circled him. “My friend brought me here.”
You raised a brow. “Against your will?”
“Well… not exactly.”
“Mm.” You rocked back on your heels thoughtfully. “Seems kinda odd.”
Aang blinked. “What does?”
“You.”
The answer hit him so fast he nearly forgot to dodge.
You swept your leg low across the ground, forcing him backward just in time. A gust of air kicked up around his feet on instinct, dust spiraling through the ring.
The crowd roared instantly.
Your eyes narrowed slightly.
“You move weird,” you noted.
Aang straightened. “You move weird.”
“Yeah, but I’m cool about it.”
You lunged suddenly, testing him this time instead of going for a real hit. A quick jab. A spin. Fast enough to pressure him.
And somehow…
He avoided every single strike.
Not aggressively either. He flowed around them.
One step back.
One turn to the side.
A duck beneath your arm so smooth it barely even looked intentional.
Your grin slowly widened.
“Okay,” you breathed, excitement slipping into your voice. “So you’re definitely hiding something.”
Aang froze for half a second.
Which was all the opening you needed.
You grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him forward.
The crowd gasped.
For one suspended moment, you were inches apart.
And Aang forgot every fake name he’d ever had. His breath caught in his throat. Up close, you looked different. The arena lights painted gold across the sweat on your skin, your grin sharper now that you’d cornered him. The noise of the crowd melted into a distant blur behind the pounding in his ears.
“You panic with your shoulders first,” you said quietly, still gripping his shirt. “Makes you easy to read.”
“I’m not panicking.”
“You’re literally sweating.”
“It’s hot in here!”
“You’re in an underground cave.”
Before Aang could answer, your eyes flicked downward.
A smile tugged at your lips this time. Not in a mocking way but interested.
Aang immediately became more nervous somehow.
“If you lose,” you said casually, still standing far too close to him, “you’re taking me to dinner.”
Aang’s brain completely stopped working.
“…What?”
With a sharp pivot, you drove your palm straight into Aang’s chest. The impact wasn’t wild or reckless. It was precise. A fatal strike if you’d actually meant it to be.
Aang felt the full weight of your palm against him for half a second before the force launched him backward across the ring. His shoes scraped violently against the stone as air burst around him on instinct, softening the hit just enough to keep him from crashing into the wall.
The crowd exploded.
“OOOOHHHH!”
Toph winced dramatically from the sidelines. “Yep. Felt that one in my soul.”
Aang clutched his chest, stunned more by the technique than the pain. The place where you’d struck him burned hot beneath his shirt.
You hadn’t punched like an earth—bender or a firebender.
It had been something cleaner than brute force. Like you knew exactly how much strength to use.
You rolled your wrist loosely afterward, watching him regain his footing.
“Hm,” you mused. “You’re sturdier than I thought.”
Aang looked up at you, breath uneven. “You held back.”
Your expression flickered. Then you smiled again, smaller this time. “So did you.”
For a second neither of you moved.
The air in the arena shifted strangely between you, tense and electric, like both of you had realized at the exact same moment that this fight could become something much more dangerous if either one stopped playing nice.
Toph, meanwhile, cupped her hands around her mouth.
“KISS OR KILL EACH OTHER ALREADY! THIS TENSION IS DISGUSTING!”
You laughed softly, the sound almost drowned out by the arena erupting around you.
Then you turned toward the crowd.
And they lost their minds.
Your name echoed through the underground ring in uneven chants, people stomping their feet against the wooden platforms hard enough to shake dust from the ceiling beams above. A few reached over the rails trying to grab your attention while others slammed coins down onto betting tables, already arguing over who was going to win.
You naturally soaked in the environment, as if you were meant to be there.
Your chest rose and fell steadily as you raised a hand toward the audience, grinning as they responded with louder cheers. The lantern light flickered across your face in golden and amber hues, highlighting the sweat on your jawline.
Aang hesitated for a moment before grounding his feet. Toph playfully grinned at him and said, “You suck.”
“Whatever…” Aang extended his hand for assistance.
After the matches ended, the underground arena slowly shifted from chaos into celebration.
People crowded around tables stacked with food and coins, arguing over bets they lost hours ago. Lantern smoke curled through the cavern ceiling while fighters compared bruises like trophies.
Toph, somehow, had made it all the way to the semi-finals before deciding she was hungry enough to stop caring.
Aang had been listening to her brag for the last ten minutes straight.
“And THEN,” Toph continued dramatically, throwing her arms up, “this dude twice my size tried to grab me, so I flipped him over my shoulder and he started CRYING.”
“He did not cry.”
“He spiritually cried.”
Aang sighed into his hands.
That’s when he heard your voice.
“Oh, Quill!”
His head snapped up instantly.
You were walking toward him through the crowd with a few other fighters trailing behind you, laughter still lingering in your voice from whatever conversation you’d been having moments earlier. Your friend beside you was huge, broad shouldered with enough muscle to make most people move out of his way automatically.
You pointed at Aang immediately.
“Still owe me that dinner.”
Aang flushed so fast it nearly reached his ears. “Uh, I… um…”
Toph grinned like a predator sensing weakness.
“He’d love to,” she said, elbowing him hard. Then she pointed toward the massive guy beside you. “But the big guy next to you is buying me dinner too. Deal?”
Your friend blinked. “What?”
You immediately elbowed him in the ribs.
“Deal.”
“WAIT,” Aang blurted. “Why does he have less choice in this than I do?”
“Because he looks emotionally stronger than you,” you answered smoothly.
Your friend barked out a laugh while Toph pointed aggressively. “EXACTLY.”
Aang groaned. “This entire night feels targeted.”
You stepped a little closer afterward, the teasing grin on your face softening just slightly. “You survived the ring,” you said. “That earns you at least noodles.”
Aang rubbed the back of his neck again, unable to stop the small smile pulling at his mouth.
“…Okay,” he admitted quietly. “Maybe dinner sounds nice.”
The noodle shop was tucked between two crowded streets, glowing warm beneath hanging lanterns and faded signs painted in three different nations’ languages. Steam fogged the windows while the scent of broth, garlic, spices, and fresh noodles wrapped around the place like a blanket.
According to the giant poster near the entrance, the noodles were world famous.
Aang had ordered them immediately because of that fact alone.
Toph, meanwhile, was halfway through stealing food off your friend’s plate.
“You said you weren’t hungry enough for extra dumplings.”
“I lied.”
“You’re terrifying.”
“Thank you.”
Across the table, Aang tried not to laugh into his tea.
The restaurant buzzed softly around you both, quieter than the arena but still alive. Musicians played somewhere near the back while travelers and fighters crowded shoulder to shoulder at nearby tables.
You rested your chin lightly against your hand, watching him through the steam curling from the bowls.
“So, Quill,” you started first. “What brought you into the ring? I mean, I’m sure you’ve got potential because of your friend over there.”
Toph pointed proudly at herself with her chopsticks.
Aang chuckled awkwardly. “Oh… I was just a little distracted.”
“Distracted, huh?” you cooed knowingly. “How come?”
Aang opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
Because the truthful answer was you.
The way you moved. The way you smiled at him in the ring like the whole fight was secretly a game. The way his chest still remembered the heat of your palm against it.
Instead, he panicked. “The food smells good.”
You stared at him.
Toph slowly lowered her cup. “That might be the worst recovery I’ve ever heard.”
“I got nervous!”
“About vegetarian noodles?” you asked, trying not to laugh.
Aang groaned immediately, covering part of his face with his hand. “Can we pretend I said something cooler?”
“No,” you answered without hesitation.
Your grin widened as he peeked at you through his fingers, visibly embarrassed.
And somehow…You found it adorable.
“What about you?” Aang shifted slightly in his seat, fingers curling around the warm ceramic cup in front of him. “What brought you to the ring?”
You hummed thoughtfully, leaning back against the booth.
“Well… I kinda grew up there. My dad was the champion years ago, so I guess part of me wanted to follow him.”
Aang nodded slowly. “That’s impressive. That move you did earlier…” He unconsciously touched the spot on his chest where you’d struck him. “Did he teach you that?”
You snorted softly. “Nah. I made that one myself.”
Toph perked up instantly. “See? Told you she was cool.”
“I was inspired by the Avatar, actually.”
Aang nearly choked on his tea.
His coughing fit came out so sudden and violent that Toph physically recoiled.
“Spirits, Twinkle Toes, breathe!”
“I’m breathing!” he rasped.
You blinked at him, trying not to laugh as he wiped his mouth quickly, cheeks burning red.
“You okay there?”
“Y-Yeah,” Aang coughed awkwardly. “You… you were?”
“Mmhm.” You swirled your chopsticks lazily through your noodles. “I saw the way he airbends once when I was younger.”
Aang went very still.
You didn’t notice.
“The way he moves is different from other benders,” you continued, softer now. “Most fighters force things. But he doesn’t. It’s graceful.” Your eyes drifted toward the lantern light hanging above the restaurant. “I liked that.”
Aang stared at you like you’d just pulled the moon into the room.
“So I tried mixing that feeling into my firebending,” you explained. “Fire’s usually treated like something aggressive, but…” You shrugged lightly. “Sometimes it can be gentle against the wind too.”
Silence settled over the table for half a second.
Then Toph pointed directly at Aang.
“He’s trying not to smile again.”
“I am not.”
“You literally are.”
You tilted your head at him curiously. “What?”
“Nothing,” Aang answered way too fast.
Your eyes narrowed playfully. “…You admire the Avatar or something?”
Aang immediately inhaled a noodle wrong.
He doubled over coughing while you smacked his back with absolutely zero mercy.
Your laugh slipped out before you could stop it, warm enough to make Aang glance up despite his embarrassment. Lantern light flickered across your face as you shook your head.
“You really are bad at this.”
“At what?”
“Acting normal.”
Toph nearly choked on her drink from laughing.
Aang slumped deeper into the booth. “This dinner feels incredibly hostile.”
“You survived the ring,” you teased. “Thought you could survive conversation too.”
“Fighting was easier.”
“That’s kinda sad.”
“It’s true!”
You grinned, nudging your bowl aside slightly. “So what? You don’t like the Avatar?”
Aang blinked rapidly. “No! I mean yes. I mean obviously people like the Avatar, he’s the Avatar.”
Toph slowly turned toward him with the most unreadable expression imaginable.
“…Beautiful recovery,” she said flatly.
Your friend snorted into his drink.
Aang looked seconds away from evaporating into steam.
You rested your chin against your palm again, studying him carefully now.
“You know,” you said slowly, “you talk about him weird.”
Aang froze.
“Weird?” he repeated carefully.
“Not bad weird.” You shrugged. “Just…” Your eyes narrowed slightly in thought. “Personal.”
For one dangerous second, Aang thought you’d figured it out.
Then you smiled again.
“Like somebody who’s spent way too much time thinking about him.”
Toph made the loudest fake gasp possible.
“Oh no,” she whispered dramatically. “Quill’s got a crush on the Avatar.”
“WHAT?!” he shouted, voice cracking hard enough to make the table beside yours glance over.
Toph pointed at him immediately. “SEE? Guilty!”
“I am not guilty of anything!”
You were trying so hard not to laugh at this point it physically hurt.
“I mean…” you teased, stirring your noodles lazily, “you’re blushing so hard I don’t know what else I’m supposed to think.”
Aang immediately covered his face with both hands.
“The Avatar, from what I hear, is a pretty good-looking guy,” your friend added casually before taking another bite of noodles. Then he pointed his chopsticks at Aang. “Especially for a bald man. Such as yourself, Quill.”
“I AM NOT BALD,” Aang defended immediately.
You blinked once.
Then slowly looked at the bandana tied around his head. Then back at him.
“…You are wearing a head covering indoors,” you pointed out. You leaned forward slightly, eyes glinting with amusement. “So under there is what? Flowing majestic hair?”
Aang groaned loudly while you laughed into your sleeve.
The sound made him glance at you again.
And there it was. That same stupid feeling from the ring. Like every time you smiled, something in his chest forgot how to act normal.
You caught him staring this time. Your grin softened.
“…You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” you admitted absentmindedly.
Aang turned his gaze away from you so fast it was almost painful to watch. An incoherent mumble slipped from him in response, something between a thank you and a complete system failure.
You laughed quietly into your drink.
From there, the night sort of continued like that.
Aang getting flustered.
You teasing him for it.
Toph making everything ten times worse.
At one point Toph and your friend got into a heated argument over who cheated more during fights, which somehow evolved into arm wrestling, then stealing dumplings off strangers’ plates, then disappearing entirely together into the night crowd.
Aang decided very firmly that he did not want details.
All he could hope was that Toph’s disguise stayed intact long enough for them to get back to Katara and Sokka without causing an international incident.
Which, statistically speaking, was unlikely.
Now the streets were quieter.
The city had settled into that late-night hush where shopkeepers pulled down shutters while lanterns still burned soft gold above the roads. Somewhere in the distance music drifted through the air alongside the smell of rain on warm stone.
Aang walked beside you awkwardly, hands tucked into his sleeves.
For once, neither of you were talking.
And somehow that felt more nerve-wracking than the fight.
You glanced sideways at him eventually. “You get quiet when you’re thinking.”
Aang blinked. “I do?”
“Mhm.”
“What if I’m not thinking?”
“You’re definitely thinking.”
“…Okay yeah, fair.”
Your grin returned faintly.
For a few steps, the only sound between you was the shuffle of shoes against the street.
Then your expression softened slightly.
“You know,” you said, “you fight differently than most people.”
Aang looked over carefully. “Bad differently?”
“No.” You shook your head. “Most people fight to overpower someone.” Your eyes drifted toward the lanterns overhead. “You fight like you’re trying not to hurt anybody.”
That hit closer than you realized.
Aang looked down at the ground for a moment.
“I just don’t think hurting people should be the first answer.”
You hummed quietly at that, your voice softer now beneath the glow of the hanging lanterns.
“That’s very noble of you.”
Aang rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to ignore how warm his face suddenly felt again.
“I just think there’s usually another way.”
The street around you buzzed gently with late-night life. A vendor pushed a cart past the two of you while distant laughter echoed from somewhere deeper in the city. Above, strings of lanterns swayed lazily in the breeze like little drifting suns.
You glanced at him again.
“There’s not a lot of people in the ring who think like that,” you admitted. “Most fighters walk in wanting to prove something.”
“And you?” Aang asked carefully.
You smiled faintly.
“I did too.”
That answer surprised him.
Because beneath the confidence, the teasing, the way you carried yourself in the arena like you belonged there…
For the first time tonight, you sounded uncertain.
Aang studied you quietly for a second before speaking again.
“You don’t seem like a bad person.”
You let out a small laugh through your nose. “That’s a dangerously trusting thing to say to somebody you met in an underground fight club.”
“Maybe.” Aang shrugged lightly. “But I’m usually pretty good at reading people.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah.”
You slowed your steps slightly, turning toward him with a playful tilt of your head.
“And what exactly do you think you’ve read about me, Quill?”
Aang immediately lost all confidence.
Because the truthful answer was too much already.
That you smiled with your whole face when you laughed. That you pretended to be cockier than you actually were. That underneath all the fire and adrenaline, there was something lonely about you he couldn’t explain yet.
Instead he panicked.
“…You punch really hard.”
You stared at him. Then burst out laughing so suddenly you had to grab his shoulder to steady yourself.
Aang smiled despite himself.
“What? You do,” Aang continued defensively, smiling a little now that he’d managed to make you laugh. “I haven’t been hit like that since I got struck by this crazy firebender using lightning…”
You stopped walking instantly.
“Woah, woah,” you gasped dramatically, grabbing his sleeve. “Quill, you’ve been holding out on me!”
Aang froze.
“…What?”
“You fought a lightningbender?” Your eyes widened with genuine excitement now. “And lived?”
“Well… yeah.”
“That’s insanely attractive.”
Aang almost tripped over his own feet.
“You can’t just say things like that!”
“Why not? It’s true.” You pointed at him accusingly as you both kept walking. “You walk around acting all nervous and harmless meanwhile you’re secretly out here surviving lightning.”
“It only happened once!”
“That is still one more time than most people!”
Aang laughed despite himself, ducking his head a little.
The sound made your chest feel oddly warm.
“You know,” you continued, bumping his shoulder lightly with yours, “you’re way more interesting than I thought you’d be.”
Aang glanced sideways at you. “You thought I was boring?”
“I thought you were a nervous disaster.”
“…That’s not better.”
“It kinda is.”
He shook his head, smiling into the night air.
Then realization suddenly slammed into him.
Wait.
“Hold on,” Aang said slowly, eyes narrowing. “You said lightningbending was attractive.”
“Yeah?”
“So does that mean you like dangerous people?”
You pretended to think about it seriously.
“Hm.” Your grin slowly returned. “No.”
Aang relaxed slightly.
“I think,” you continued smoothly, “I like cute people pretending they aren’t dangerous.”
And Aang had the horrifying realization that if you kept smiling at him like that, he was absolutely never surviving this night.
Aang opened his mouth to respond.
Nothing came out.
You were still standing close to him beneath the lantern light, close enough for him to catch the faint scent of smoke and spices lingering on your clothes from the arena and dinner. The city around you had quieted into soft background noise now, footsteps in the distance, muffled laughter spilling from open windows, wind brushing through hanging banners overhead.
And somehow, despite all of that, Aang could only focus on you.
Your grin faded into something gentler as you looked at him.
“You get really quiet whenever I compliment you,” you murmured.
Aang swallowed hard. “I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say.”
“You could say thank you.”
“…Thank you.”
You laughed softly again.
Spirits.
That laugh was going to kill him one day.
“You’re cute, Quill.”
“There you go again saying things like that.”
“Well somebody has to.”
Aang shook his head, smiling helplessly before he even realized he was doing it.
Your eyes flicked down toward his lips for the briefest second.
He noticed.
And suddenly the air between you shifted.
No jokes, no teasing. No crowd noise to hide behind anymore.
Just the two of you standing under glowing lanterns while his heartbeat pounded loud enough to feel embarrassing.
Aang moved first without really thinking about it.
Slowly. Carefully.
Like he was giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t.
Your hand slid lightly against his chest instead, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as his lips met yours.
Soft and warm...
Aang’s breath caught immediately.
For a second neither of you moved at all, the kiss almost hesitant before it deepened naturally, like both of you were figuring it out at the same time. Your other hand drifted upward instinctively, brushing against the side of his face.
Then your fingers caught against fabric.
The head covering.
You tilted your head slightly, still half kissing him as your hand slid across the bandana curiously.
Aang’s eyes widened.
Wait....
Before he could stop you, your fingers accidentally hooked beneath the knot. The fabric slipped loose. Aang jerked back in horror just as the bandana unraveled completely, falling into your hands.
Silence.
His tattoos glowed faintly beneath the lantern light, blue against warm gold.
Your expression froze.
Aang looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.
“Wait—”
Your voice came out quieter than before.
Aang immediately started panicking.
“I can explain,” he blurted, words tripping over each other. “I mean, not explain explain because that sounds worse somehow but I was going to tell you eventually and technically I didn’t lie because Quill is a name and—”
“Avatar Aang..?”
He stopped instantly.
Your eyes were still fixed on the glowing blue arrows along his skin, shock written plainly across your face. The lantern light caught against them softly, almost unreal this close up.
“The Avatar…” you whispered.
Aang looked absolutely miserable now.
“I’m sorry.”
That caught you off guard.
“What?”
“I didn’t mean to lie to you.” His voice dropped quieter. “I just… I can’t exactly walk around telling people who I am.”
The panic in him was gone now, replaced with something more vulnerable. It was honest.
You stared at him for another second before looking down at the bandana still sitting in your hands.
Then back at him.
Then, unexpectedly…
You laughed once under your breath.
Aang blinked. “You’re laughing?”
“You are such a disaster.”
“I know.”
“No wonder you were acting weird.”
“I was trying very hard!”
“You were failing very hard.”
Aang groaned, dragging a hand down his face while you stepped closer again, still smiling in disbelief.
“You kissed me,” you said.
Aang’s brain short-circuited all over again. “…That’s the part you’re focusing on?!”
“Well yeah.” Your grin widened. “The Avatar having a crush on me is a pretty solid confidence boost.”
“I did not say that!”
“You literally kissed me.”
“That doesn’t mean I—” Aang stopped himself immediately.
Your eyes narrowed knowingly.
“…You’re blushing again.”
“I’m in danger.”
You laughed softly, reaching up to fix part of the loose fabric in your hands before gently placing the bandana back against his head.
This time your fingers lingered near his cheek. The teasing in your expression softened.
“You know,” you murmured, “I think I liked Quill a little.”
helloo!! i really love you tfp x reader povs!! may i request!?
soo reader is a teenager that wanted to go a party with her friends but optimus didnt let reader go because optimus didnt want reader to do anything stupid like drinking or sum stuff... then reader got a lecture from optimus!
errr i hope this is not so confusing.. aaa thankyou thankyouuu🙏🏻😵💫❤️🔥
summary: A private late-night moment between you and Aang turns into chaotic embarrassment when Sokka barges in at the worst possible time, leaving Aang flustered but still instinctively protective of you.
wc: 1.1k
contains: Soft romance, established relationship intimacy, cuddling, playful kissing, light sexual tension (no explicit content), embarrassment humor, Sokka comedic chaos, protective behavior, blanket “cover-up” moment, affectionate teasing, Gaang dynamics.
The temple was finally quiet.
For once.
No missions.
No meetings.
No training.
Just you and Aang alone in your room late at night while the rest of the Gaang settled down for sleep somewhere else in the temple. The windows were cracked slightly open, cool mountain air drifting through the room while candlelight flickered softly against the walls.
You were curled against Aang’s side underneath the blankets, practically melted into him at this point. Not that he minded.
Aang loved being close to you.
Actually, loved was probably an understatement.
At the moment, he was laying back against the pillows shirtless, one arm around your waist while the other lazily traced shapes against your skin absentmindedly.
You were half laying on top of him, wearing one of his loose wraps that kept slipping off your shoulder every few minutes and nothing else underneath-
Aang was definitely struggling to focus because of it. You noticed every single time his eyes drifted.
“You’re staring again,” you teased softly.
His ears turned pink immediately.
“I can’t help it.”
You laughed quietly before leaning up and kissing him again. That ended any chance of coherent thought immediately.
Aang kissed you back fast, one hand sliding up your back as he pulled you closer against him instinctively.
Warm.
Soft.
Comfortable.
The kind of kissing that had no real goal other than enjoying each other. At least at first. Because after a while, it deepened naturally.
Aang’s kisses got slower, heavier, his hand tightening slightly at your hips every time you shifted against him.
And honestly?
You weren’t helping.
Especially not when your fingers slid over his body gently. A quiet sound escaped him immediately. You smiled against his lips. “That got your attention.”
“You always have my attention,” he murmured.
You kissed him again before he could keep talking because comments like that made your heart melt every single time. Aang responded instantly. He slowly moved his hand to the hem of the wrap. Slowly removing it. One hand moving up your ass, carefully while he kissed you deeper now, completely relaxed beneath you.
The blanket that was around you both had slipped lower somewhere along the way, exposing more of your naked body, but neither of you cared.
At least-
Until the door suddenly swung open.
“Aang, I need to ask you someth- ”
Silence.
Horrible.
Awful silence.
You froze instantly.
Aang’s eyes widened in absolute horror. Sokka stood in the doorway staring directly at the two of you.
At Aang shirtless.
At you half laying on top of him.
At the very obvious makeout session he had just interrupted.
“…OH COME ON!” Sokka yelled immediately.
Aang reacted on pure instinct. He grabbed the blanket so fast it was honestly impressive, yanking it up around you protectively until you were completely covered.
“SO KNOCK!” Aang shouted back immediately.
“I DIDN’T KNOW YOU WERE DOING THIS!”
“Well maybe you should’ve!”
You buried your burning face into Aang’s shoulder instantly while Sokka pointed accusingly.
“WHY ARE YOU BOTH ALWAYS LIKE THIS WHEN I WALK IN?!”
“GET OUT!”
“I LIVE HERE TOO!”
“NOT IN THIS ROOM YOU DON’T!”
You could physically feel Aang’s embarrassment radiating off him.
His face was bright red.
Ears glowing. One arm wrapped tightly around you while he kept the blanket firmly pulled up around your body protectively.
Which honestly made your heart flutter a little despite the embarrassment. Sokka looked personally victimized.
“I can never unsee this.”
“THEN LEAVE!” Aang snapped.
“You guys are unbelievable!”
“You opened the door without knocking!”
“Because I didn’t think I was interrupting this!”
Aang groaned loudly, dropping his forehead dramatically onto your shoulder for a second. “You’re the worst.”
“You’re making out in the middle of the night!”
“It’s OUR room!”
Sokka pointed dramatically.
“I have trauma now.”
“You’ll survive!”
At this point you were laughing too hard into Aang’s shoulder to even help.
Which made Aang look at you in betrayal. “This isn’t funny.”
“It kind of is,” you admitted through laughter.
Aang groaned again while Sokka kept rambling dramatically.
“I’m serious, from now on there should be a warning sign on this door.”
“GET OUT!”
Finally, mercifully, Katara appeared behind Sokka.
“What are you yelling abou- ”
She stopped instantly after seeing the scene. Aang looked ready to evaporate on the spot. Katara sighed immediately. “Sokka, seriously?”
“I’M the problem?!” he cried.
“Yes! Knock before entering people’s rooms!”
“I DIDN’T THINK THEY’D BE HALF NAKED!”
Aang immediately pulled the blanket higher around you protectively again.
“Stop looking at her!”
“I’m trying NOT to!”
Katara physically grabbed Sokka by the arm. “Okay. We’re leaving now.”
“I can still see him shirtless!”
“Sokka.”
“I’m traumatized!”
The door finally shut behind them.
Silence.
Then
Aang dropped his face into his hands.
“Oh my god.”
You immediately started laughing again. Aang looked at you, still completely red. “This is your fault too.”
“How?”
“You distract me!”
“That is not a real excuse.”
“It is to me.”
You smiled softly despite yourself. Even flustered out of his mind, he still had one arm securely around you underneath the blankets. Still holding you close. Still protecting you first before even processing his own embarrassment.
Your expression softened immediately. “You covered me up,” you murmured quietly.
Aang blinked.
Then his face softened too.
“Of course I did.”
The sincerity in his voice made your chest warm. Even during absolute chaos
He thought about you first.
You leaned up, kissing his cheek softly this time. Aang immediately melted again despite everything.
“You’re cute,” you whispered.
“I’m humiliated.”
“You’re still cute.”
He huffed softly, trying not to smile.
Then after a second
“…Do you think Sokka’s gone?”
You listened for a moment.
“…Probably.”
Aang narrowed his eyes suspiciously toward the door.
“I don’t trust him.”
That only made you laugh harder while he pulled you closer again, still stubbornly keeping the blanket wrapped around you both.
i will find you in the next life, too ༘⋆ aang x reader
༘⋆ synopsis: you think the world has already claimed aang as theirs, but he makes it clear his heart only belongs to you.
༘⋆ content warningsﾉtags: soft!aang, jealousy, crying, heavy angst w/ a happy ending, established relationship, panic attacks, reassurance, soulmate fluff, kissing
༘⋆ author's note: i have aang brainworms. i need more fluff fics of him. god i yearn for this man. also, i just came back from a short break, so my writing may be lackluster :,)
Republic City is alive tonight, a sprawling tapestry of lanterns and noise, all gathered to celebrate the legacy of the Avatars. You can feel the vibration of thousands of footsteps through the soles of your shoes, a pulse that matches the thumping in your chest as you weave through the dense, joyous crowd.
Beside you, Aang is a blur of kinetic energy and pure excitement. He holds your hand with a grip that is firm yet gentle, his skin warm against yours, a constant reminder of his presence amidst the constant noise. In his other hand, he clutches a greasy paper sleeve of unfried dough, a specialty of this particular festival that he’s been eyeing since you stepped off the boat. He takes a large, enthusiastic bite, his cheeks puffing out like a messenger-hawk's, and begins to talk before he’s even finished swallowing.
"You have no idea how great this is," he says, his voice muffled by the dough but bright with wonder. He points a half-eaten stick of pastry toward a row of intricately carved wooden arches decorated with swirling blue and white silks.
"They actually got the cloud patterns right on the Air Nomad tribute! Look at the way the silk hangs—it’s supposed to mimic the high-altitude winds of the Southern Temple. I didn't think anyone remembered those specific nuances after everything, but the organizers here... they really did their homework."
He stops to slurp up a loose bit of dough, his grey eyes wide and glowing under the light of a thousand orange lanterns. Around you, the world is populated by ghosts and legends. Everywhere you look, there is an Avatar. A tall woman with painted white makeup and heavy brass fans strides past, her green Kyoshi warrior robes rustling against the pavement. A group of teenagers in crimson Fire Nation tunics, sporting faux-beards and tall headpieces, laugh as they pretend to firebend like Roku.
Most prominent, however, are the children. Little boys and girls with painted blue arrows on their foreheads dash between the legs of adults, clutching miniature wooden gliders and shrieking with glee. You see a toddler sitting on a bench, his ginger cat patiently enduring a coat of white and brown washable paint, complete with a makeshift arrow on its head to resemble a tiny Appa.
Aang doesn't even realize he's looking at a sea of himself; to him, it’s just a beautiful tribute to a world he worked so hard to save. Because he isn't wearing his formal robes, just a simple traveling cloak and a scarf tucked high to hide his tattoos, he’s just another face in the crowd—a boy enjoying the night with his partner.
Watching him, a lump forms in your throat that has nothing to do with the smoky air. You think about the weight he carries, the sheer, impossible burden placed on shoulders that were only twelve years old when they had to hold up the entire world. While other children were learning to play games or master their first basic bending forms, Aang was facing down a warlord, deciding the fate of nations. He ended a century of darkness not with hatred, but with a kindness so authentic it redefined what it meant to be a hero. He is the most genuinely good person you have ever known, someone who chooses peace even when the world demands violence, and seeing him finally standing in a place where his culture is celebrated instead of mourned makes your heart ache with pride.
But as the night wears on and the crowd grows thicker, that pride begins to curd into a jagged edge of possessiveness that you can’t seem to dull.
The more you see people cheering for the "Avatar," the more you feel a hollow, cold ache spreading through your stomach. It’s a selfish, terrifying realization that you have to share him. Every person here feels like they own a piece of him; they see the icon, the savior, the legend who belongs to the history books and the public squares. They don't know the way his nose crinkles when he’s trying not to sneeze, or the specific, hushed tone he uses when he tells you he had a dream about the monks again.
You look at his profile, illuminated by the flickering glow of a nearby dragon-fire display, and you feel a desperate need to pull him away, to hide him in a place where no one else can look at him. It feels wrong to feel this way, especially when you know what he sacrificed for you. He chose you over the cosmic energy of the universe; he turned his back on the path to total enlightenment because his love for you was a tether he refused to cut. The world needs the Avatar to keep the balance, to be the bridge between spirits and men, but your need for him feels just as vital, just as cosmic. You need Aang, the boy who forgets to tie his shoes, not the master of all four elements who belongs to the masses.
The noise of the festival starts to feel like it’s underwater, a dull roar that presses against your ears. You see a young girl run up to a man dressed as Aang, hugging his knees and calling him a hero, and the sight feels like a physical blow to your ribs. You want to scream that the real hero is right here, but you also want to wrap your arms around him and never let go, terrified that the world will eventually ask for more of him than he has left to give. You are in love with a man who is a public utility, a living monument, and the jealousy of that shared existence feels like it’s suffocating you.
"And the firecrackers!" Aang exclaims, oblivious to the internal storm brewing beside him. He’s looking up at a nearby stall where a merchant is demonstrating 'spirit-flashes' that burst into the shapes of soaring cranes. "They said they’re using a new mixture from the Fire Nation colonies that doesn't produce as much smoke. It’s so much cleaner! Don't you think that—"
He stops mid-sentence, the momentum of his walk carrying him a step further before he feels the resistance in your hand. He tugs slightly, his fingers tightening around yours as he realizes you’ve come to a complete halt in the middle of the thoroughfare. Aang turns back, his expression shifting from exuberant joy to a sudden, flickering confusion. He swallows the last bite of his dough, wiping a smudge of sugar from his lip with the back of his hand.
"Hey, what's the hold up?" he asks, trying to maintain the lighthearted energy of the moment. He offers a goofy, lopsided grin, his head tilting to the side. "If you're waiting for the fire-flakes, I promise they’re in the next square. Or are you just stunned by my incredible disguise? I know, the scarf is very dashing, Sokka said so himself!"
He chuckles, a soft sound, but his eyes are scanning your face with growing intensity. He hasn't realized the depth of your shift yet; he thinks you’re just tired or perhaps overwhelmed by the noise. He takes a step toward you, his free hand reaching out to brush a stray hair from your forehead, his touch as light as a summer breeze.
A weak, wet sniffle escapes you before you can choke it back. The sound is small, but in the micro-climate of your shared space, it hits like a thunderclap. Aang’s smile vanishes instantly, replaced by a look of panic that drains the color from his face. He drops the empty paper sleeve, letting it flutter to the grime-streaked pavement as he moves into your personal space, his arms coming up to rest heavily yet comfortingly over your shoulders.
"Whoa, hey, no, no," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave into a serious, frantic register. "What happened? Did someone bump into you? Are you hurt?"
He doesn't wait for an answer, his instincts taking over as he gently guides you toward the shadow of a closed tea shop, away from the main flow of the avatar-clad revelers. He creates a small pocket of privacy with his body, shielding you from the prying eyes of the children and the tourists. His thumbs rub small, nervous circles into the fabric of your shirt, his breath warm against your temple. You can't bring yourself to look up, feeling a crushing sense of guilt for ruining his night with a sadness you can barely explain.
"Talk to me, please," he whispers, his forehead leaning against your temple, the distant sound of celebratory drums continues to beat a rhythm that feels worlds away from the two of you.
The moonlight catches the dampness on your cheeks, and Aang’s expression softens. his eyes searching yours for a map through the silence. He pulls you closer, tucking your head under his chin, his heartbeat steady and strong against your ear.
For a few minutes, the only sound is the distant, muffled cheer of the festival and the rustle of the wind through the nearby willow trees. He lets you cry for a long while, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles across the back of your jacket, his breath hitching only when you let out a particularly rough sob.
Eventually, the weight of the silence becomes a question he can no longer ignore. He shifts slightly, prying you gently from his chest so he can see your face.
"Hey," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the low hum of the evening insects. "You wanna tell me what’s knocking around in there? You’re acting like you just saw a Hei Bai spirit in a bad mood."
You look away, watching a discarded firecracker wrapper tumble across the grass. Your throat feels like it’s been lined with sandpaper. How do you tell the savior of the world that you’re struggling with his divinity? You shake your head, a small, jerky movement. "It's nothing, Aang. Just... the noise. The crowds. I think I just got a bit overwhelmed."
Aang doesn't buy it for a second. He gently cups your face, his palms warm and callous-roughened from years of staff-work and travel, forcing you to meet his gaze. His brow is furrowed, a deep V of concern etched between his arrows. It’s an expression so heavy and somber that it looks foreign on his usually bright features.
"You’re not being honest with me," he says, his tone firm but devoid of malice.
A startled, watery laugh bubbles up in your chest. "I think you’ve spent way too much time around Toph. You’ve definitely picked up her lie-detection tricks. It's not fair."
Aang rolls his eyes, a flicker of his usual playfulness returning, though it doesn't reach the worry in his eyes. "I don't need a seismic sense to know when my favorite person is hiding something from me. You can tell me anything. You know that, right? No matter how small or how... dark you think it is."
He reaches down, lacing his pinky finger with yours. It’s a childish gesture, one born of the early days when everything was simpler, before the city and the politics. Together, your voices rise in a shaky, hushed unison, reciting the old chant from the Southern Water Tribe you learned from Katara and Sokka lifetimes ago: "The stars see the path, the ice holds the past, the heart finds the home where the spirit will last."
The familiar rhythm of the words settles some of the tremors in your hands. Aang is smiling now, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always makes your chest ache. You swallow hard, the lump in your throat finally breaking.
"It’s just... look at them out there, Aang," you start, your voice trembling as you gesture vaguely back toward the lights of the festival. "They love you. They worship you. And they should! You’re the most kindhearted, authentic person I’ve ever known. You stopped a hundred years of war when you were a child. You carry the weight of entire nations on your back without letting it turn you bitter. You deserve every statue, every parade, every kid painting a blue arrow on their forehead."
Aang starts to shake his head, his face reddening with a modest "Aw, shucks" expression, but you press your palm against his chest to keep him quiet
"No, let me finish. I love that about you. I love that you’re the Avatar. But… I’m so selfish. I’m selfish! I’m so incredibly selfish!" The words spill out now, a torrent of suppressed anxiety. "I look at them and I feel this... this horrible, gnawing jealousy. I hate that I have to share you. I hate that the world thinks they own a piece of you because you’re the Avatar. Every time someone stops you for a blessing or a photo or a story, I feel like a little more of you is being chipped away and given to people who don't know the boy who forgets where he put his glider or the man who hums in his sleep."
You start to cry in earnest now, the ugly kind of sobbing that makes your chest heave and your breath hitch in painful, ragged gasps. Your vision blurs into a kaleidoscope of moonlight and tears.
"I don't want the world to take you from me," you sob, the sound echoing off the brick walls of the tea shop. "I’m terrified that one day, you’ll give so much of yourself to maintain the 'balance' that there won't be anything left for me. Not even a crumb. And it’s not just now—it’s the legacy. You’re the Avatar. You belong to the cycle. In another life, you’ll be someone else, and you’ll find someone else, and I’ll just be a footnote in a past life’s memory. It’s so unfair that I have to share you across lifetimes! You belong to the whole world, and you belong to the past and the future, and I just want you to belong to me! Right here! Right now "
You’re bordering on a panic attack, your lungs feeling constricted, your heart racing like a trapped bird. You’re certain he’ll think you’re small, or petty, or unworthy of the man who chose the world over himself so many times.
"I don't want to lose you to the cycle, Aang! I don't want to be one of a thousand partners you've had over ten thousand years!”
"Hey! Listen to me. Stop." Aang’s voice is suddenly loud, commanding but infused with a staggering amount of tenderness. He grabs both of your hands, squeezing them tight to anchor you. He waits until your eyes lock onto his, until you’re breathing with him—long, slow draws of air.
"You think I belong to them?" he asks, his voice low and vibrating with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. "You think the 'Avatar' is what matters most? I am the bridge between worlds, yes. I have duties that span centuries. But those duties are just... work. They are the things I do. You? You are the reason I want to do them. You are the reason I want the world to stay in balance—so there’s a world where we can sit in a park and eat dough together."
He leans in closer, his nose almost touching yours. "You aren't sharing me, because the parts of me that belong to you... they don't even exist for the rest of the world. They don't get my vulnerability. They don't get my fears. They don't get the version of Aang that is just a man. I love you with a soul that has lived a thousand years, and in every single one of those years, I would have spent every second looking for you if I knew you were there."
He squeezes your hands, his thumbs rubbing over your knuckles. "And don't you ever think you're just a footnote. You think because I’ve lived before that this is less special? It’s the opposite! My spirit has been looking for yours since the sun first rose, I’m sure of it. And as for the next life... well, I’m the Avatar. I’m pretty good at finding things. I’ll find you. I don’t care if I’m born in the Earth Kingdom or the Fire Nation or back in the temples. I will find you, and I will love you, and we’ll do this all over again. I’ll find you in the next life, and the next, and every single life I ever have. That’s a promise, and I don't break those.
You’re stunned into silence, the weight of his devotion pressing against you like a physical force. He doesn't wait for a response. He leans in, his hands sliding from your shoulders to cup your cheeks, his palms damp with your own tears.
He kisses you then, and it’s not the light, playful peck he usually gives you. It’s a long, deep kiss that tastes of the salty remnants of your tears and the sweetness of the dough he was eating earlier. You can feel the vibration of a low, contented moan in the back of his throat as he pulls you flush against him. His thumbs sweep across your cheekbones, marking you as his, while your fingers tangle into the fabric of his cloak, holding on as if he might float away if you let go. The world around you—the chatter, the lanterns, the legacy—simply ceases to exist. His body is a warm pillar of strength, his thighs pressing against yours as he holds you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded to the world.
When he finally breaks the kiss, he doesn't pull away far. He rests his nose against yours, and you realize with a start that his own eyes are swimming with tears. He lets out a shaky, half-breath of a laugh, wiping his eyes with his sleeve and composing himself with a sudden, bright grin that illuminates the dark alleyway.
"Man," he says, his voice returning to its usual bouncy cadence as he grabs your hand and begins to lead you back toward the lights. "It’s pretty cruel to make the Avatar cry on Avatar Day, don't you think? That’s gotta be some kind of spiritual bad luck. I think the only way to balance the scales is if you buy me an extra large serving of fire flakes. With the extra spicy seasoning."
He swings your hand between you, his steps light, almost skipping. You look at him—really look at him—and the jealousy doesn't vanish, but it settles into a small shaped, manageable hum. You realize then that he’s right. The world has the legend, but you have the heart.
And as you follow him back into the fray of orange lanterns and painted arrows, you know with a crystalline certainty that you’d choose him over cosmic energy, too.
🪼 Summary: Aang and Katara broke up some time ago, it wasn’t messy but you can tell by the way Aang looks at her that he still has some lingering feelings. But for Katara she’s all eyes on you. It still doesn’t stop you from being a little jealous—
You didn’t hate Aang. If anything, you got along with him better than most people on the team. He had this way of pulling you out of your head without even trying, and you could always make him laugh until he couldn’t breathe.
He felt like a brother to you. Someone you could joke with, talk to, trust. You shared a lot, though not everything.
The problem was Katara.
It started small. Quiet moments. A feeling you tried not to name. Then it became obvious you cared about her in a way that didn’t fit the situation. Especially not with Aang loving her too.
So you kept it to yourself. You tried moving on, even dated someone else, but it didn’t last. Your mind always drifted back to her.
When Aang and Katara broke up, it hit everyone differently. You felt bad for both of them, but you also couldn’t ignore the strange relief in your chest.
You helped them both through it, but it wore you down. Eventually, you ended up venting to Toph.
She didn’t sugarcoat anything. She just told you to stop overthinking it and tell Katara how you feel.
So you did.
One night, away from everyone else, you finally told her.
You didn’t even finish everything you wanted to say.
She kissed you first.
After that, things got complicated. Aang pulled away for a while, and you weren’t sure if he’d ever talk to you again.
But he did.
He came back, hugged both you and Katara, and told you he loved you both. That if you made each other happy, he wouldn’t stand in the way.
It still didn’t stop you from being jealous from time to time…
“Y/N,” Katara called out to you from the other end of the room.
You two had just gotten back from a small mission, nothing crazy, just helping a town with some favors.
You were fine—until you saw them standing a little too close. Nothing was happening, not really. But it was the look in Aang’s eyes, that same one he used to give her. Soft and hopelessly open, like a lovesick puppy… or like Momo when he’s begging for food.
“Sweetie, are you upset with me?” Katara asked, arms folding as she studied you with that calm, knowing look she always got when she could tell you were lying badly.
“Nope,” you answered her. “Not one bit.”
You blinked once. Then forced your shoulders to loosen.
Katara didn’t move right away. She just watched you like she was reading something written underneath your words.
Then she stepped closer.
Before you could think of another excuse, she pulled you into a hug—warm and steady, in a way that made it harder to stay tangled up in your own head.
“Mhm,” she murmured, not convinced in the slightest. “You sure?”
“Positive.”
Katara sighed, the sound softer this time, less patient and more worried. “Come on, tell me what’s going on…”
“It’s nothing Katara,” you held onto her arm. “Don’t worry about me.”
“I’m going to worry,” she says softly. “You didn’t say anything on the way home. That could only mean you’re upset.”
You exhaled, rubbing the back of your neck.
“I just didn’t like the way Aang was looking at you earlier—”
For a moment, there was nothing.
No response. No tension. Just silence stretching thin enough to make you glance over.
When you did, Katara was smiling.
Not a small one either. Amused. Warm. Like she’d been holding back laughter and finally lost the fight. She gently let go of you and turned you by the shoulders, as if physically redirecting your entire spiral.
“Seriously?” she giggled. “I thought something was wrong.”
That landed wrong in your chest…. Wow.
You raised a brow, not convinced in the slightest.
“I’m serious,” you said. “He was giving you goo-goo eyes and standing way too close. And you were just standing there smiling at him like it was normal—”
Katara blinked once, then laughed again, quieter this time.
“Sweetie,” she said, like she was explaining something painfully obvious, “that was nothing. He was just excited to show me something.”
You stared at her.
“…Katara.”
“What?” she asked, still calm. “It’s a normal thing to be jealous. I’m not mad at it—”
Her tone stayed easy, like she was talking about something small, something harmless. Like you weren’t standing there unraveling at the seams.
“He’s the Avatar,” you cut in, a little sharper than you meant to. Your gaze dropped for a second, jaw tightening. “And I can’t bend.”
The words hung there, heavier than you intended them to sound.
Katara’s expression shifted immediately. The amusement faded, not into frustration, but something quieter. More attentive.
“Hey,” she said softly, stepping closer again, but slower this time. “That’s not what this is about.”
Her hand brushed your arm, grounding but careful, like she was afraid you might pull away. “You think that matters to me?” she asked, tilting her head to catch your eyes. “That I’d choose someone because they can bend water or fire or whatever else?”
Her voice softened as she stepped in closer, closing the space you’d been letting stretch between you like a bad habit. Katara lifted her hands and cupped your cheeks gently, thumbs stilling the tension there like she could smooth it out by touch alone. Her eyes held yours, steady and unshaken.
“I love you,” she said simply. No hesitation. No decoration. “Just you. Only you.”
The words didn’t rush. They landed, one by one, like something meant to be understood slowly.
Then her gaze narrowed just a little. “Never compare yourself to Aang again,” she added, quieter but absolute.
Her hands stayed there for a second longer, like she was making sure you actually felt it, not just heard it.
She leaned in first, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. It was quiet, deliberate, the kind of gesture that didn’t ask for anything back. Just a steady kind of certainty, like she was anchoring you in place before the storm in your head could build again.
Her hands stayed on your cheeks for a moment longer, thumbs still brushing lightly as if she could convince every doubt to stop moving.
When she pulled back, her eyes met yours again.
No hesitation this time.
Katara closed the distance between you, and her lips found yours in a slow, sure kiss that didn’t rush to prove anything. It wasn’t loud or showy. It was a warm reminder, like she was choosing you all over again in real time.
Her fingers shifted slightly at your jaw as she deepened it just enough to make the point without saying a word.
You caught her lower lip lightly for a moment, more playful than anything, just enough to make her pause and smile against you before she slipped free.
There was a flicker of warmth in your eyes as you let it go.
Katara exhaled a soft laugh through her nose, like she was trying not to break the moment.
Then she pulled you back in.
The kiss returned steadier this time, unhurried and sure, like it had found its rhythm and wasn’t interested in rushing anywhere else. Her hand shifted at your cheek again, anchoring you there as if the world outside the two of you had become optional.
When she finally broke away, it was only slightly, her breath still close to yours, her expression softer now.
“Better?” she murmured, like she already knew the answer.
You hummed, sliding your hands around her waist with a cheeky grin. “No.”
Katara’s sneered leaning back into the kiss, holding you closer. A quiet breath left her, heavier this time, as your fingers slipped into her hair, gently tugging just enough to make her react. Katara bit your lip, a muffled groan escaped her.
Backing toward the bed without breaking eye contact, you navigated carefully around stray shoes and laundry piles. The mattress hit your calves just as her hands slid around your waist-fingers teasing beneath the hem of your shirt.
Your lips met hers in soft pecks that grew bolder when she gasped into them.
You trailed kisses down her jawline before nipping gently at that sweet spot on her neck—the one that always made her breath hitch.
Slowly exploring further down with warm open-mouthed kisses along collarbone... every touch whispered mine, even if neither of you said it aloud yet.
It wasn’t selfish—at least, that’s what you told yourself.
You’d never say it out loud, never let it slip where anyone could hear it, where it could turn into something ugly or possessive. But somewhere deep in your chest, in that quiet place you didn’t let anyone touch, the feeling settled anyway.
She chose you.
And right now, in this moment—her hands on you, her breath still uneven, her forehead brushing yours like she didn’t need space to think—you couldn’t ignore it.
She was yours.
Not in a way that took from her, not in a way that caged her in. But in the way her eyes kept finding yours. In the way she stayed. In the way she kissed you like she meant it every single time.
Not his.
You bite down, not too hard to hurt her— hard enough where she’d definitely have to hide it in the morning. Sucking the spot gently her the soft moans curled around your ears. A sweet sound that Aang could never hear again. The sound he’d only get to experience waking up from a wet dream—
“Y/N,” she moaned, arching a back whilst grabbing a fist of your hair. “Let’s switch.”
You broke the kiss just enough to lock eyes-her blue ones wide and dark with want. “Not yet,”you murmured, your voice low as your hands slid under her shirt.
Your hands tugged at the ends of her shirt, sliding it up against her warm skin. You could feel her paced breaths the closer you were to her chest. Above the bra, you gave her hardened nipples—a tough squeeze—a hefty moan bellowed from her lips once more. Louder than before.
Leaning down, you kissed her breasts softly, using one hand to roll her nipple gently in between your finger tips. Your lips ghosted over her nipples, causing her to grow immensely impatient as she bucked her hips against you.
You hummed,slowly taking her into your mouth. Your tongue swirling around it as you began to suck on it—pulling it slightly and letting it go with a pop.
You felt it before you fully registered it—her hand shifting slightly, fingers brushing past you with quiet intention.
Katara was bending.
You didn’t know what she was planning yet, but the subtle change in the room gave it away. The air felt cooler for a second, like it was listening along with you, waiting to see what she’d do next.
A small, knowing smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.
Hopefully… not the shower again.
You raised an eyebrow slightly, then felt it. You felt even more soaked than you already were. Your mouth is agape with shock and arousal.
“You did not,” you snorted.
Katara grinned at you, her eyes half lit and steady. Grabbing your hand and nudging it between her thighs, "We're even now—feel it?”
Against our fingers the fabric was soaked; she normally was, but this was new.
You sat up right, taking your top off and tossing it to the side, your own hardened nipples peaking through your bra. Katara’s hands slide up your sides, her fingers making their way under your bra rather than over them.
Your breath hitched as you felt her fingers fiddle with them, and you shifted, straddling her more comfortably.
“Wanna show you something,” she muttered. “I have to get it really quick.”
You nodded, moving yourself on the bed, watching as she got up. Katara walked over to your shared dresser, opening it and pulling out the black strap on. But with no attachment.
“It’s a little silly—“ she began to pull her boots and bottoms off. And adjusted the strap on to her waist, putting it on carefully. “I wanted to try this for a bit, but I’m still a little embarrassed about it.”
“Don’t be,” you say, smiling awkwardly. “I’m okay to try anything new.”
Katara smiled at you, coming back to you with a determined look in her eyes. She got onto the bed, grabbing a hold of your thighs and shifting you towards her.
“Take these off,” she says to you. You do so, also throwing it to the side of the bed.
Your breath caught as her hands tightened on your hips—impatient, claiming. Then came the slow drag: warm tongue tracing up your inner thigh with deliberate slowness.
You bit down hard on your lower lip to stifle that first moan, but it escaped anyway when she finally reached your wet folds—your vision tunneling as those blue eyes vanished beneath dark lashes.
Your fingers twisted into silky hair automatically, a reflex born of pure need. “Shit, Katara,” slipped out in a broken gasp before you could stop it.
Her tongue mapped you like sacred territory—every flick sending electric shocks straight to your core. The sensation catapulted you upward, soaring higher than any airbender's flight could take.
For a breathless moment, there was no bed beneath you—justt sky and stars and her, reducing the world to nothing but this dizzying altitude.
You came a little quicker than you expected, but it didn’t come out the way you thought. Katara moved back, her hand moving the same as before—she was bending again. She propped herself on her knees; you stared at her. Pure shock flooded your face-while she was bending it.
Your brain short-circuited as you watched her hands shape the juices from your body into something entirely new. The liquid took shape, sleek and defined, her nervous giggle cutting through your surprise. On to the strap, transforming it into a cock.
She looked at you fully letting a nervous laugh. “Wanna try?”
You nod, your thighs shaking with intensity. “When did you learn that…?”
“A few nights ago—“ she admitted, her cheeks flushed. “I was playing around with the shower water and yeah.”
“Oh.”
Katara came closer again, closing the last bit of space between you. She leaned down until your foreheads touched, her breath uneven, warm against your skin.
“Ready?” she whispered, like the moment needed permission to exist.
A soft, nervous laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. Your hands tightened slightly where they rested on her, a mix of anticipation and something lighter, almost giddy.
“Yeah—yeah,” you said, quieter this time, but certain.
A heavy moan escaped your throat, the feeling was cold and warm at once. Katara gasped, biting her bottom lip with a low hum. Her hips rolled in a steady rhythm-experimental at first, then growing bolder as she tested the sensations. Each shift of her waist sent ripples through the waterform-not just physically between you both now but emotionally too.
“Just know,” she mumbles. “The more you cum the bigger it’ll get.”
“What—“
Katara thrusted harder into you; a broken moan came from you. Messaged definitely received—
Only you.
Just you.
She loves you.
You could feel it—how rough she was getting now. She was right; the size was getting bigger. Each moan you let out contributed. Feeling the warm substance pulsing perfectly in and out of you. A sensation you couldn’t want more—Her breath was against your ear, whispering to you, but you couldn’t fully understand her. You were overflowing.
Tears slipped from your eyes before you even realized they were there—unexpected, warm, catching along your lashes.
It didn’t feel sad. If anything, it felt like too much all at once. The closeness, the way she said your name, the way everything seemed to narrow down to just this moment, just her. Your vision blurred for a second, light scattering strangely—Like stars had found their way behind your eyes. A quiet, breathy laugh broke through it, half disbelief, half overwhelm.
“Wow…” you whispered, voice a little unsteady, a little amazed.
Katara didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned in closer, her thumb brushing just beneath your eye, catching one of the tears before it could fall further.
“Hey,” she murmured softly, her voice gentler now, grounding. “Stay with me.”
And just like that, the spinning feeling steadied—because you were. Right there. With her.
She pulled out, the water spilled out after her in a sudden rush—splattering onto the bed with a loud plat, soaking through the sheets almost instantly. For a second, neither of you moved.
Then it hit you.
“…hey Katara.”
She blinked up at the ceiling, still catching her breath, then slowly turned her head toward you.
“…Yeah?”
You gestured weakly to the growing wet spot beneath you both. “The bed.”
Katara rolled off you, her eyes staring up at the ceiling— catching her breath. Turning on the side, you cupped her face.
“Did you finish too?” you asked, a little curious, a little shy now that the intensity had settled.
Katara turned her head toward you, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. She nodded, brushing her fingers lazily against yours. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I… sorta used mine too.”
“Ooh.”
“Was it… good, at least?” she asked, softer now, like the question mattered more than she wanted to admit.
You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, letting it linger just a second longer than usual. “More than that,” you murmured.
Katara’s shoulders eased, something quiet and relieved settling into her expression. A small smile curved at her lips as she turned her face slightly toward you. “Good,” she said, almost to herself. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The words sat between you, warm and steady, not needing anything else to hold them up.
Summary: The Gaang travels to a snowy mountain village to help mediate a peace settlement. But once they arrive, they quickly realize things aren’t as simple as they were told. Tensions rise, secrets surface, and the situation tests everyone’s patience—especially Toph, who is dangerously close to losing her cool. Luckily, Zuko is there, offering her warmth in more ways then one.
₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊
The mountains didn’t just sit around Stonefrost—they loomed, jagged and watchful, like they had opinions about strangers. Snow drifted sideways instead of down, thin needles of ice stitching the air together. Even Appa seemed to tread softer as he descended, his massive paws sinking into powder that swallowed the sound whole.
By the time they landed, the wind had already started whispering around them again, tugging at cloaks, slipping cold fingers under collars like it was testing boundaries.
“This is the place?” Sokka said, boots crunching as he hopped down, squinting through the pale blur. “Looks like a hurricane of snow came through here.”
“That’s because it did,” Katara shot back, already halfway off Appa, her boots sinking deep. Her breath puffed out in little clouds, sharp and quick. “Try to keep up.”
Sokka gave a small, enlightened “ah,” like the mountain had personally humbled him, before climbing down with less confidence than he’d pretend later.
Aang landed lightly, already spinning in a slow circle, eyes wide. “It’s…quiet,” he murmured. Not peaceful-quiet. The kind that listens back.
Toph scooted closer to Zuko, her cheek brushing against his arm like she was anchoring herself without making a big deal of it. The ground beneath her feet was frozen stiff, but alive in a different way—every shift of wind, every creak of wood from the distant village structures, it all hummed up through her.
Zuko glanced down, the corner of his mouth softening before he wrapped an arm around her, careful, steady. “Aren’t you cold, Toph?”
“Me? Nah—” she waved him off quickly, chin tipping up. “Who needs a coat when you’re the greatest earthbender in the world.”
“Earthbender,” Katara corrected, narrowing her eyes as she crossed her arms. “Not a firebender. Toph, I wrote you in the letter to bring something warm to wear.”
“Zuko can keep me warm,” Toph shot back, her grin all sharp edges and confidence.
Zuko flushed, the color creeping up fast despite the cold, like his body refused to let him hide. “I—That’s not— I mean—”
Sokka snorted. “Wow. Smooth. Real subtle, Toph.”
But Toph wasn’t really listening anymore.
Her smile faltered just a fraction. Under her feet, the village didn’t feel right.
Not empty—but strained. The wooden buildings ahead creaked under the weight of packed ice, roofs bowed slightly, doorways half-buried. Somewhere in the distance, something heavy shifted—a delayed groan, like the mountain adjusting its shoulders.
Light footsteps. Not too many but too faint. Moving in patterns that didn’t match the wind.
Toph’s fingers curled slightly into Zuko’s sleeve.
“…Hey,” she muttered, quieter now.
Toph’s mouth curled, just barely. That crooked, almost-smirk she wore when she wanted to pretend everything was normal—when it very much wasn’t.
Zuko looked at her, his own hand finding its way to hers. “What’s the matter?”
“Snow,” she repeated, like it was obvious. “Crunchy, annoying, everywhere. Real thrilling stuff.” Her fingers shifted against his, just enough to be noticed. “Honestly? I think I’d rather just touch you.”
Sokka snorted immediately. “That was so unsmooth, dude—”
Toph waved him off with a flick of her wrist, chin tipped up like she’d just delivered comedy gold. “Oh come on, that was a good one.”
“Nah uh,” Sokka shot back, already gearing up like this was a full debate. “That was painful. I felt that in my spine.”
“Yeah? and you call yourself a back-bender.”
“GASP—so matter a factly—-“
Their bickering bounced back and forth, filling the narrow mountain path as they made their way down toward the village. Snow crunched underfoot, the wind threading through their words.
Zuko walked just slightly behind Toph, not interrupting, but close enough to catch her if her steps faltered.
Inside the village, the world shifted. The wind dulled, muffled by thick wooden walls and packed snow, but the quiet here wasn’t comforting. It felt… staged. Like everything had been arranged just a little too neatly.
They were met by an older man near the entrance hall, round in the middle, his posture stiff with practiced importance. His clothes were well-kept despite the harsh conditions, every layer intentional, every detail curated. His smile, though. That felt rehearsed.
“Ms. Beifong,” the older man said, voice warm in that overly polished way, “such an honor to see you again.” He dipped his head slightly. “Forgive me, where are my manners. Do you need any assistance?”
Toph raised a brow the second he spoke.
Yeah. She knew that voice.
How could she forget?
The man who walked like the ground owed him something. Heavy steps, deliberate. The kind that tried to sound important and landed somewhere closer to annoying. Always just a little too close, a little too eager, a little too fake.
And the smell—
Toph’s nose wrinkled before she could stop it.
Still awful.
“Mr. Fart,” Toph greeted, completely deadpan.
The Gaang turned to her in unison. Then slowly… to him.
The man blinked once, a smile tightening at the edges like it was being pulled too far. “Eh—witty, as I was told you were,” he said, recovering just enough to pretend that didn’t offend him.
Sokka leaned in slightly, eyes lighting up. “Wait, is that your actual name?”
“No,” the man said, a touch sharper now. “It’s Mr. Figgs.”
“Shame,” Sokka muttered. “You really had something there.”
Katara elbowed him.
Toph, meanwhile, crossed her arms, unimpressed. “Yeah, I’m not calling you that.”
Mr. Figgs exhaled slowly through his nose, composure stitching itself back together. “Of course. Still as… spirited as ever.”
His gaze flicked briefly to the rest of them, assessing, measuring.
Katara’s hand found Toph’s shoulder, light and steady, thumb brushing once like a quiet I’m here. Toph didn’t react much, but she didn’t shrug it off either.
Aang stepped forward, placing himself just slightly in front of her—not shielding her, not really. More like… protecting him from Toph in case she was going to bury him into the Earth’s core.
“You needed help with a peace treaty?” Aang asked, voice gentle but clear, cutting through the strange tension.
Mr. Figgs’ smile returned on cue, like it had been waiting backstage for its next entrance. “Ah, yes. Straight to business. Admirable.”
He clasped his hands together, pacing a slow half-circle around them. His boots thudded softly against the wood—measured, careful. Too careful.
“The Stonefall village has been in conflict with another settlement just beyond the eastern ridge,” he began. “Resources, territory, the usual unfortunate disputes that arise when survival becomes… competitive.”
Sokka folded his arms. “Let me guess. They say it’s your fault, you say it’s theirs, and now everyone’s one bad day away from throwing rocks at each other.”
Mr. Figgs chuckled politely, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “A rather blunt summary, but not entirely inaccurate.”
Toph’s fingers twitched at her sides.
Beneath them, the ground shifted again—faint, like a breath that didn’t belong to anyone in the room.
Aang didn’t move, but his gaze sharpened just a fraction. “So you want us to mediate?”
“Precisely,” Mr. Figgs said smoothly. “The Avatar’s presence carries… weight. Symbolism. Hope.” His eyes flicked briefly to Aang’s tattoos, then away. “With your involvement, perhaps both sides will be more willing to listen.”
Katara’s hand lingered on Toph’s shoulder. “And the other village? They agreed to this?”
“They will,” Mr. Figgs said.
Zuko’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s not what she asked.”
The air tightened again, thin as glass.
Toph tilted her head, her expression going still in that way that meant she was listening to something no one else could hear.
“…You’re lying,” she said flatly.
“You must forgive me,” he said calmly. “Negotiations are… delicate. Timing is everything.”
Zuko’s gaze moved slowly across the interior of the village hall, taking in what most people missed when they were busy filling silence with conversation.
The wood beams were reinforced, but not recently repaired. Fresh patches sat beside old cracks like attempts at optimism layered over repeated damage. It wasn’t ruined— but it wasn’t exactly thriving either.
“What exactly would happen when you get this peace treaty?” Zuko asked.
Mr. Figgs turned to him with practiced patience, as though this question was expected and rehearsed answers were already waiting in neat little rows.
“Well,” he began, folding his hands again, “trade routes would reopen. Supplies would flow more freely between the ridge settlements. It would mean stability.”
Sokka raised his hand slightly. Clearly joking. “And less people trying to bash each other with rocks?”
“A crude way to put it,” Mr. Figgs said smoothly, “but yes. Ideally.”
Katara’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Ideally?”
Aang spoke softly, “What’s stopping the peace from happening already?”
Mr. Figgs smiled again, but this one was thinner.
“The other village is… traditional,” he said carefully. “Stubborn in their interpretations of ownership. They believe certain land belongs exclusively to them by ancestral claim.”
Toph scoffed. “Let me guess. You disagree.”
“We believe the land must be shared for survival,” he corrected.
Zuko watched him for a moment longer than was comfortable. Not the words, but the pacing between them.
“And you need the Avatar for what?” Zuko asked again.
“To make a difference,” he said, that confused little laugh still clinging to the edges of his voice. “The Avatar is a symbol of peace, and this settlement needs to happen. We have children in need, children that are hungry… in need of guidance, of opportunity. Like Toph, for example—alone, in need of care, and she found all of you. I want to give these children the same chance.”
The floor answered her.
A jagged crack split beneath their feet, thin spires of ice and stone snapping upward in a quick, dangerous warning. Her jaw tightened, teeth set hard. “I can’t take care of myself for your information—and I’m still the greatest earth bender in the whole world.”
Katara’s hand squeezed her shoulder again, grounding, steady—but her own gaze had gone cold as glacier water. She stepped forward slightly, pointing at Mr. Figgs with a precision that felt like a blade. “Indirect insults toward my friend aren’t helping your case, sir.”
Zuko’s eyes narrowed, ember-sharp. “Aang,” he said, voice low but firm, “if you want to stay and help, I’ll support you. But otherwise… I think it’s best we leave.”
“Yeah man, not cool,” Sokka sized the man in front of them.
Mr. Figgs opened his mouth, composure cracking at the edges—
And then—
Voices.
Children's voices.
“The avatar?”
“No way! They actually came to help us!”
A cluster of children stood near an open doorway, half-hidden behind one another like they weren’t sure if they were allowed to be excited. Their clothes hung loose and worn, fabric frayed into soft surrender. Some had bandages wrapped clumsily around arms and legs, others clutched at sleeves too thin for the cold.
Aang’s breath caught.
It hit him all at once.
Not as a thought—but as a weight.
His eyes moved from face to face, each one carrying something heavy in a body too small to hold it properly. Hope. Fear. Hunger.
Then he saw them.
A little boy, not too young, not quite old enough to understand everything he’d already been forced to feel. He stood close—very close—to a little girl whose shoulders trembled like she was trying to disappear into herself. Their hands were locked together, fingers laced tight, like letting go would mean falling.
The boy leaned slightly toward her, sharing what little warmth he had.
Aang noticed his eyes.
Milky. Unfocused. Looking just past everything.
And yet—his face turned toward Aang anyway.
Like he felt him.
Toph stilled, one of the kids pointed in her direction.
“That’s Sokka, oh and Katara—oh! Ah! Nino it’s Toph. She’s here, she actually came, I told you she would!” The girl shook the boys hand with excitement.
“…Are you really the Avatar?” The boy asked softly.
“I—“
Sokka swallowed, “Okay… yeah. That’s—”
Katara’s expression softened, though her jaw stayed set. She stepped forward slightly, drawn toward the children.
Toph noticed the change in Katara’s touch first—gentler than before. Then she focused on the ground.
The kids were shaking. Their heartbeats were fast and uneven. She could hear their teeth chattering, their stomachs empty, their bodies shivering as the cold wind slipped through the building.
Toph’s hands curled a little at her sides.
“…They’re freezing,” she said quietly. “And hungry.”
“We—we’ll stay.” Aang’s gaze moved between Mr. Figgs and the children, lingering just a moment longer on them. “Is there anything we can help with in the meantime?”
“Y-yeah,” Sokka added, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re… surprisingly useful when we’re not being insulted.”
Katara shot him a look, but didn’t argue.
Mr. Figgs brightened immediately, relief slipping into his posture as he waved them further inside. He turned quickly, almost too quickly, leading them down a narrow hallway lined with dim lanterns. The light flickered against the walls, casting long, uneven shadows that stretched and shrank as they passed.
Toph followed, slower than the others.
Mr. Figgs clapped his hands once, eager to redirect. “Come, there’s much to be done. The mountain paths have suffered the worst of the storm.”
Toph spoke before anyone else could volunteer. “I’ll take care of it—you guys go on ahead.”
“Surely you can’t handle it all by yourself, Ms.Beifong.”
Zuko glanced at her, then back at him. “I’ll be with her. No need for the remarks.”
Mr. Figgs hesitated only a second before nodding. “Very well.”
Sometime later
The mountain path curved along the outer edge of the village, carved into stone and half-swallowed by snow. The wind hit harder out here, no walls to soften it—just open air and sharp drops that disappeared into white nothing.
Sokka immediately regretted everything. “Why is it always the edge jobs? Why can’t we fix something indoors? With soup?”
“Because you’d eat the supplies,” Zuko said, already moving ahead.
Toph stepped forward, pressing her foot down. The ground responded.
“You didn’t have to come Sokka, me and Zuko could’ve handled it.”
With a low rumble, she leveled a section of the path, smoothing jagged edges into something safer, something walkable.
Zuko followed her lead, small flames flickering to life in his hands before catching onto torch heads mounted along the path. One by one, they sparked awake, pushing back against the cold.
Sokka, meanwhile, wrestled with a half-broken post. “I just want it on record that I am also contributing,” he muttered, shoving it into place. “Emotionally. Morally. Structurally—okay, not structurally, this thing hates me.”
Zuko stopped for a moment, the wind tugging at his sleeves as he looked out over the mountainside. The village lights flickered behind them, small and fragile against all that white.
“You know… from over here, the view looks nice,” he said.
Toph didn’t stop working, hands folded together as the stone beneath her shifted smoothly into place. “Yeah? Describe it to me.”
Zuko cleared his throat, immediately realizing he had set himself up. “Well… there’s snow—”
“Wow, really!? Oh my gosh!” Toph cut in, gasping dramatically. “I never would’ve guessed. Snow. In a snow village. That’s crazy.”
Sokka snorted from a few feet away. “Yeah, Zuko, really painting a picture there. I can practically see it. White. So much white.”
Zuko exhaled through his nose, already regretting everything. “I wasn’t finished.”
“Please,” Toph gestured with mock enthusiasm. “If you really like the color white, Zuko, I bet I can get it out of you.”
Sokka choked on air. “That—wow. That sounded way more threatening than you think it did.”
Zuko blinked, then immediately straightened, suspicion flickering across his face. “You’re not burying me in snow.”
Toph sneered, “I’m not talking about the snow or the ice.”
Zuko’s face flushed again, heat climbing fast despite the cold. He coughed into his fist, trying to cover the split-second realization that had clearly hit him way too late.
Sokka tilted his head, studying him like a scientist observing a rare phenomenon. “Mmm. A little better. Still room for improvement.”
Toph groaned. “Shut up, Sokka!”
“I’m just saying,” Sokka continued, hands up in defense, “the delivery was off.”
Zuko shot him a look sharp enough to cut rope. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
“Oh, absolutely.”
Toph smirked, folding her arms like she’d just won something. “See? At least someone appreciates my work.”
“Appreciate is a strong word,” Sokka said. “I’d say studying for future blackmail.”
Zuko groaned under his breath, turning away slightly, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth despite himself.
Sokka scratched the back of his head, glancing between the two of them. “So, um… What's with that man, Toph? How do you know him exactly?”
Toph paused mid-step, chin tilting up toward the sky like she was checking in with something only she could hear. The wind brushed past her face, tugging at loose strands of hair.
“Eh,” she said, casual on the surface. “Back when I was still living with my parents, Mr. Fart used to come over.”
Sokka immediately snorted. “I’m never getting used to that.”
“He’d bring his son,” she continued, tone flattening just a bit. “Offer him up like some kind of deal. You know—marriage, future, someone to take care of me.”
Zuko’s expression darkened slightly, eyes flicking ahead but not really seeing the path anymore.
Toph shrugged, like it didn’t matter.
“But obviously,” she added, a sharper edge slipping in, “I can take care of myself.”
Sokka winced. “Yeah, that’s… not subtle at all.”
“Rich people aren’t known for subtle,” Toph shot back.
Zuko glanced at her, quieter. “And your parents considered it?”
Toph’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile.
“They considered a lot of things,” she said. “Mostly things that didn’t include asking me.”
The wind picked up again, whipping snow across the path in thin, stinging sheets.
Sokka huffed. “Okay, yeah, he’s definitely more odder than I thought. Don’t like him.”
“Join the club,” Toph muttered.
Her foot pressed down again—And she stilled. Toph’s expression tightened.
“…He’s hiding something,” she said, quieter.
“What makes you so sure?” Sokka questioned, glancing back toward the village. “Was it the fact that he won’t tell us much about the other town, or why they’re refusing to help?”
“Both,” Toph answered. She shifted her weight, pressing her foot into the path like she was reading a page no one else could see. “Helping the kids is one thing, but… I barely heard any adult footsteps. Or voices.”
The wind slid between them again, thinner now, like it was listening too.
Zuko frowned slightly. “You think this town is full of kids?”
Toph hesitated. “I don’t know,” she admitted.
Sokka let out a slow breath. “Okay, that’s officially creepy.”
Zuko’s gaze drifted back toward the village, where faint lights flickered like they were trying not to be noticed. “If there aren’t many adults…”
“…then who’s running this place?” Sokka finished.
Toph’s fingers curled at her sides.
“Mr. Fart back then was always doing dirty work to prove a point,” she said, voice steady but lower now. “Not surprising if he’s back at it again after all this time.”
Sokka frowned. “Dirty work?”
Zuko’s expression tightened slightly. “What kind of dirty work?”
Toph didn’t answer right away.
Instead, she pressed her foot into the broken edge of the path again, feeling the hollow space beneath like an open wound in the mountain.
“…Stuff he thought nobody would notice,” she said finally. “But I did.”
The wind dragged across the cliffside, sharper now, slipping into the crack the ground had just made.
Sokka swallowed. “Okay, I don’t like the way you said that.”
Toph continued anyway, tone flat. “Back then, he’d come around acting polite. Always talking big about ‘helping people’ and ‘future stability’.”
Her jaw tightened.
“Zuko! Toph! Sokka!” Aang’s voice carried down from above the broken path, wind snatching at it like it wanted to tear the words apart. “Emergency meeting!”
Toph didn’t move right away.
Her foot stayed planted on the fractured stone, still feeling that hollow space beneath them like an unfinished sentence.
Sokka immediately turned his ass around, damn near sprinting back up the newly patched path. Zuko watching him in point blank confusion before turning to Toph who was fully facing him.
“Wanna carry me up there?” Toph’s head tilted. “My feet are kinda cold—and I could use some heat.”
For a second, Zuko didn’t respond.
His eyes stayed on her face, studying here for a moment. Then he exhaled.
“…Fine.”
He stepped closer, slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her easily off the ground.
Bridal style.
Toph blinked once. “Oh. Okay. You actually did it.”
Zuko didn’t answer right away. His grip tightened slightly—not rough, but deliberate, like he was making sure she wasn’t going anywhere.
“Hold still,” he said quietly.
The warmth pressed in close, steady against her chest where Zuko held her.
The cold she’d been ignoring finally started to loosen its grip, inch by inch. Still, her expression didn’t fully relax. Her fingers curled lightly against his sleeve.
“…You’re quiet,” she muttered.
Zuko’s voice came low. “I’m thinking.”
“About me?” Toph asked, voice lighter than the question actually felt.
Zuko didn’t answer immediately.
He kept walking, steady steps through the snow, carrying her like it was the most natural thing in the world—and also like he was ready for something to go wrong at any second.
Toph stilled slightly.
She felt it then.
His heartbeat—faster than before… and the heat—spiking.
“…Partly,” he said at last. He lied.
“That’s not comforting,” She said with a lopsided grin.
Zuko let out a quiet breath that almost passed for a laugh. Almost.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s usually when you’re about to do something reckless.”
Toph took her palm placing it against his chest over his thumping heart. “Yeah? You sure you don’t think about me in other ways?”
Zuko sneered a bit, his words caught in his throat as they reached the top. Sokka, Aang and Katara looked at him, his face was beat red and Toph was enjoying it a little too much.
“Toph, stop teasing Zuko before he accidentally catches on fire,” Katara smirked, glancing between them like she’d already decided she was enjoying this a little too much.
Toph shrugged against Zuko’s hold, completely unbothered. “I make no promises.”
“Toph—” Zuko breathed out, catching up to the group, his grip tightening just slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind her he was still very much in control of something, even if it wasn’t this conversation.
Aang turned at the sound of them, relief flickering across his face the second he saw they were both okay—then curiosity took over just as quickly.
“You guys took a while,” he said, stepping closer. His eyes moved over them both, quick but observant. “Everything alright out there?”
Toph opened her mouth instantly. “Oh yeah, totally. Zuko just—”
“Path was unstable,” Zuko cut in smoothly, just a little too fast.
“—got really concerned about my safety,” she finished anyway, like she hadn’t been interrupted at all.
Aang blinked once, then twice, clearly trying to decide which version of events to believe.
“…That sounds right?” he said, though it came out more like a question.
Sokka leaned in from the side, eyes lighting up with dangerous interest. “Define ‘concerned.’ Are we talking normal concern, or like—” he gestured vaguely between them, “—weirdly specific concern?”
Zuko shot him a look that could’ve singed eyebrows. “We’re talking about not letting her fall off a mountain.”
Katara elbowed him without looking. “Leave it alone.”
Toph, of course, did the opposite.
“Yeah,” she added casually, tilting her head toward Aang, “he wouldn’t even put me down. Super protective.”
Zuko went still for half a second.
“…You asked me to carry you,” he murmured.
“Details,” Toph waved it off.
Aang’s gaze flicked between them again, something softer settling in his expression now—amusement, maybe, or just quiet understanding. “Well… I’m glad you’re both okay.”
“There’s something we need to talk about,” he added, voice lower now.
Her fingers tightened in Zuko’s sleeve without thinking. Zuko glanced down at her, just briefly. Then back up at Aang.
“What did you find?” he asked.
Aang hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to say it…but because he was still figuring out how.
“The kids…” he started slowly, “they said the other village hasn’t come down from the ridge in months. No messengers. No signals. Nothing.”
Sokka frowned. “Okay… so either they’re really committed to the silent treatment, or—”
“Or something’s wrong,” Katara finished, her arms crossing as her eyes narrowed toward the mountains beyond the village.
Aang nodded. “Mr. Figgs told us they were just being stubborn. But…” He glanced at Toph. “That didn’t feel right.”
“I spoke to one of the kids’ mothers,” Katara added, her voice tightening. “She seemed… off. Not just worried but scared.” She glanced between them, then back toward the village. “When I came in, she was already on edge.”
Zuko’s expression dimmed, his concern settling deeper.
Katara continued, quieter now, “She said her husband is in the other town and he hasn’t come back in two months.”
“…She’s not the only one,” she said slowly. “There’s some other adults, just not a lot. I sensed them before.”
Zuko’s grip tightened, almost imperceptibly. “The man is clearly not telling us the truth.”
Aang looked between them, something resolute flickering behind his worry. “Mr. Figgs said it was just a disagreement.”
Zuko pressed a little, “But that doesn’t sound like a disagreement.”
“I think it’s time we head to the other place, see what we can do about this peace settlement—“ Aang says.
Sokka dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once like the idea needed momentum to exist. “Okay—hear me out. We split up.”
That got everyone’s attention.
“Divide and conquer,” he continued, pointing between them as the plan assembled itself out loud. “We gather information faster, compare notes later, and hopefully avoid walking straight into whatever this is blind.”
Katara’s brows pulled together. “Splitting up isn’t exactly our best track record.”
“Yeah, but neither is not splitting up,” Sokka shot back. “At least this way we figure out what to do quicker.”
He turned, more deliberate now. “Me and Katara stay here. I’ll see what I can get out of Mr. Fart—”
“Figgs,” Katara corrected automatically.
“—him,” Sokka waved it off. “And Katara can stay with the kids. Maybe cook them up something? Tend to them?”
Katara didn’t argue that.
Sokka shifted his attention to the others. “Aang, Zuko, Toph—you three head to the other village.”
Toph didn’t hesitate. She popped a thumbs up like this was the easiest decision in the world. “Sounds good to me.”
Zuko nodded once. “I agree. If the other village is avoiding contact, showing up with the Avatar might force them to talk.”
Aang considered it, gaze drifting briefly toward the mountain ridge where the storm swallowed the path whole. Then he nodded. “Good idea, Sokka. The sooner we know what’s going on, the better.”
“Great,” Sokka clapped once, a little too loud for the quiet around them. “Love it when a plan comes together.”
The wind slipped between them again, colder now, like it didn’t approve.
“Aang,” Katara said softly.
She stepped forward and caught his arm before he could turn away, pulling him just slightly closer. The movement was gentle, but there was weight behind it—something unspoken pressing through.
Before he could ask, she leaned in and kissed him.
“Be careful,” she murmured to him.
Aang stilled for a second, then softened, his hand lifting to cup her cheek. His thumb brushed lightly across her skin, slow and grounding, like he was trying to memorize the moment instead of just live in it.
“I will,” he said quietly.
He held her gaze a second longer than necessary.
Like he didn’t want to let go of it.
Katara exhaled slowly, steadying herself, then stepped back.
The space between them felt colder immediately.
Sokka cleared his throat, glancing away just enough to pretend he hadn’t been watching. “Okay—yep. Emotional moment acknowledged. Moving on.”
Zuko didn’t comment. But his eyes flicked—just briefly toward Toph.
“…Alright, Twinkletoes,” she said, tilting her head toward Aang.
Toph tapped lightly against Zuko’s chest. “You can put me down. I’m warm enough.”
He kept walking a few steps more, like he was weighing it—eyes fixed on the path ahead, scanning the ridge while the wind dragged at his sleeves. Then, finally, he slowed.
Carefully, he lowered her from his arms, one hand steady at her back until her feet found the ground.
He didn’t let go immediately.
Just a second longer than necessary—then he stepped back.
Zuko straightened, tension settling into his shoulders like armor sliding into place.
“Stay close,” he said quietly.
Toph’s mouth curved. “You say that like I’d wander off.”
“…You would,” he replied.
“Rude.”
Sokka pointed after them as they started toward the ridge. “Try not to get buried, kidnapped, or emotionally compromised!”
Toph didn’t even turn around. “No promises!”
The three of them moved into the storm, figures slowly swallowed by white and wind.
At the other Village
Aang slid down first, boots crunching into the frost. He patted Appa’s thick head with both hands, fingers sinking into the warm fur like it was the only real heat in the world. “Thanks, buddy,” he said softly, watching Appa’s breath curl into the air like slow-moving clouds.
Zuko followed, dropping lightly to the ground. Cold immediately bit at his ankles through his boots. Momo clung to his shoulder for a moment too long, whining as Zuko shifted forward, clearly offended by the sudden temperature drop and the lack of immediate warmth.
Toph followed slowly, she clicked her tongue, already frowning once her feet touched the snow.
Aang stretched his arms out like he was welcoming the weather itself. “Guess everyone’s the heater today, huh… flameo hotman?” he said with a grin, clearly amused by his own logic.
Zuko gave him a long, tired look, exhaling through his nose. “You can bend fire too, you know.”
Toph moved closer to Zuko without thinking as the wind picked up. The further into the mountains they went, the colder it became. She shivered, rubbing her arms as the wind thrashed against her skin.
“Let’s get this over with, it’s freezing.”
Aang turned toward Toph without hesitation, already shrugging off his sweater. “Here, Toph. Take it.”
Toph immediately shook her head. “No need, Twinkle Toes. I’ll manage.”
“Toph—”
“It’s fine,” she cut in, firmer this time. “Lead the way.”
Zuko frowned slightly, watching her before gently taking her hand. He brought it closer to his side, trying to warm it with his own heat.
“Do you want me to carry you?” he asked.
Toph tilted her head, a teasing smile tugging at her mouth. “Depends… what position?”
Zuko froze for half a second, then stammered, his ears going just a bit red as he tried to find words that wouldn’t make things worse.
“Toph—” he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face like he was trying to steady himself against the wind and her.
“I’m fine, Zuko,” she said again, a little softer this time.
She squeezed his hand once, brief but deliberate, then let it go as if that settled the argument for good.
Zuko didn’t look convinced. His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, then he exhaled through his nose and turned back toward the path.
“Yeah,” he muttered, still clearly unconvinced. “Sure.”
Aang led the way, glancing back every so often like he was trying to make sure nobody got swept off the mountain.
Toph walked just behind him, shoulders squared like she could out-stubborn the cold itself.
Zuko stayed close beside her without saying much, his presence steady, warm enough that she naturally drifted nearer whenever a stronger gust hit.
Reaching the village, Toph grabbed Aang’s arm. “Wait—”
Aang stopped mid-step, blinking. “What is it?”
Toph tilted her head slightly, expression sharpening as she listened past the wind. The noise of the village wasn’t right—too scattered, too tense. Footsteps hurried where they shouldn’t be. Doors shifting. A quiet kind of panic under the surface.
Figures dropped from rooftops and alley edges in a coordinated sweep, snow scattering as boots hit the ground. Blades caught what little light there was, flashing like quicksilver. One burst of movement cut straight toward Aang.
“Down!” Zuko snapped, yanking Toph back just as the strike came through where she’d been standing.
Aang spun, air already lifting around him in a defensive swirl, but another attacker lunged in from the side, forcing him to shift mid-motion.
Toph stomped once, hard. The ground answered instantly, stone buckling in a sharp wave that knocked two attackers off balance and sent them skidding back into the snow.
Zuko stepped forward, fire igniting in his palm with a fierce snap of heat against the cold. “We’re surrounded!”
Momo shrieked somewhere above them, darting through the air as more figures closed in.
Aang pushed forward, wind bursting outward in a spinning shield that shoved two attackers back into a wall of snow.
“Why are they attacking us?!” he shouted over the chaos.
“No time to ask!” Zuko snapped, flame flaring brighter as he forced another attacker to retreat.
Toph crouched slightly, hands hovering near the ground. Her expression sharpened. “There’s more coming—left side, rooftop!”
A split second later, she slammed her foot down.
Stone erupted upward in a jagged wall just in time to block a rain of thrown projectiles. The impact echoed through the street like a drumline of impact after impact.
Zuko glanced at her, then at the direction she called out. “Nice call.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she called back. “Just don’t die on me.”
Aang darted between them, redirecting another strike with a burst of air. “We need to move out of the open!”
Zuko nodded sharply. “This way— there’s a street!”
He led, fire lighting the path ahead as they pushed forward together, the attackers closing in behind them like shadows refusing to let go.
They cut into the narrow street, stone walls hemming them in like a clenched fist. Snow spilled off the rooftops in thin sheets, kicked loose by the fighting above.
One attacker dropped right in front of them.
Zuko reacted first, flame flaring up in his palm.
Toph didn’t wait. She stomped once.
The cobblestones beneath the attacker shifted like liquid stone, tilting in a sudden wave that stole his balance. Before he could recover, she snapped her foot again. A curved ridge of earth surged up behind him and launched him cleanly over their heads, sailing him harmlessly into a piled drift of snow with a muffled thud.
Zuko, however, wasn’t looking at the fallen attacker anymore.
He was looking at her.
The way she stood there—calm, grounded, completely in control of the chaos bending around her. He didn’t even realize he was staring until Momo zipped past his face and snapped him out of it.
Aang waved a hand in front of him mid-fight. “Zuko! Focus!”
Zuko blinked, straightening quickly, but his eyes flicked back to Toph for just a second longer than necessary.
“…Yeah,” he said, voice a little off. “I’m focused.”
Aang ducked another strike beside him. “Zuko!”
“I’m fine,” Zuko blurted, too fast.
But his eyes had already drifted back to Toph for the briefest moment—watching the way she stood there completely steady, arms still raised slightly from the last bend, muscles tight with effort and control like she was holding the whole street together by sheer will.
An air horn roared into the air, the sound ripping through the narrow street like a command carved in metal.
Everything… stopped.
Attackers froze mid-motion, a few staggering back with quiet groans, clutching ribs or shoulders where stone and air had hit too hard.
Zuko’s fire dimmed but didn’t disappear, still flickering in his hand like it didn’t trust the silence.
Aang lowered his arms slowly, wind settling around him in uneasy spirals. “What… was that?”
Doors creaked open along the street.
One by one, townspeople peeked out, hesitant at first. Eyes wide. Faces drawn tight with worry. A few stepped fully outside, staring at the aftermath scattered across the snow.
Toph stilled.
Her head tilted again, listening deeper this time. Not for movement—for intent.
“…They weren’t trying to kill us,” she said quietly.
Zuko frowned. “Could’ve fooled me.”
One of the attackers pushed himself up with a pained grunt, not reaching for his weapon this time.
“Stand down!” a voice called from further up the street.
Toph’s grip tightened slightly at her side.
“…Now it makes sense,” she murmured.
Aang glanced between them. “I feel like I’m missing something.”
Toph tilted her chin, pointing straight ahead. “Voice is coming from that guy.”
She didn’t need sight to map him out. Clean scent—flowers, honey, something deliberate. His steps were heavy but measured, each one placed like it mattered. No hesitation in the rhythm of his heartbeat either. Steady. Controlled.
Yeah. Definitely in charge.
The man stepped into the mouth of the narrow street, boots crunching softly against the snow. His gaze settled on them, sharp and assessing.
His heartbeat hitched—just once.
“The Avatar?” he said, eyes flicking to Aang. Then to Zuko. “…and the Fire Lord—” his gaze shifted again, landing on Toph, lingering a fraction longer. “—with Toph Beifong.” It picked up again. Faster now, though his face didn’t show it.
“My apologies,” he continued, voice even, unshaken. “What brings you here?”
Aang straightened a bit, brushing snow off his sleeve like that would somehow reset the situation. “Um—right. A peace settlement between you and the town a few ways over. Mr. Figgs asked us to help—”
“I’ll stop you there.” The man raised his hand, palm out.
The air seemed to follow the gesture—everything tightening again.
“That is not happening,” he said flatly. “In no way, shape, or form.”
Zuko’s eyes narrowed slightly, a faint curl of heat returning to his fingertips. “You attacked us over a peace meeting?”
“We intercepted unknown benders entering our borders without warning,” the man replied, unbothered. “You were treated as a threat.”
Toph let out a small, unimpressed huff. “Your ‘threat’ just saved half your street from collapsing.”
The man’s gaze flicked to her again. His heartbeat gave another subtle shift.
“…Noted.”
Aang stepped forward quickly, trying to smooth the edges before they sparked again. “Look, we’re not here to fight. We just want to help both sides talk things through—”
“There is nothing to discuss,” the man cut in, sharper this time.
Toph’s expression shifted, just slightly.
She angled her head, listening past his words—past the control. His heartbeat wasn’t just steady.
It was tight.
She smirked faintly.
“…You’re scared,” she said.
Zuko blinked. Aang froze.
The man didn’t move. But his heartbeat… spiked.
“…Careful,” he said quietly.
Aang stepped in before Toph could fire back, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “What she means is—Mr. Figgs is serious about making peace with you,” he said, voice steady. “There are kids over there who are really sick. They need help.”
“Then I pray Mr. Figgs can keep them safe,” the man said, voice cool and steady. A brief pause. His gaze shifted toward the distant mountains.
“…before the storm comes.”
Aang blinked. “Storm…?”
“Just out west from here—it’ll be here in two days or so.” The man exhaled, some of that iron control thinning at the edges. “I’m sorry you traveled all this way. As an apology… you’re welcome to take refuge here for the storm.”
Aang glanced at Zuko, then at Toph. “How many storms have you been having?”
“The last one was two months ago,” the man replied. “Why? Do you think we should relocate, Avatar?”
“No, no—not that,” Aang said quickly, shaking his head. His eyes drifted over the village—the snow-dusted rooftops, the narrow paths carved into the mountain, the way everything clung stubbornly to the slope. “It’s a beautiful place.”
Toph snorted softly. “Pretty doesn’t mean safe.”
Zuko glanced at her, then back at the man. “If the storms are getting stronger, staying here might not be an option forever.”
The man’s jaw tightened slightly. “Stonefall Village has stood here for generations. Storms have never been an issue for us before—and they still won’t be.”
Aang felt the weight of that statement ripple outward. He glanced around.
They were being watched.
Villagers stood in doorways, along rooftops, half-hidden behind frost-laced windows. Quiet. Waiting. Listening to every word like it mattered more than the wind howling above them.
Yeah… not the place for this.
“…Maybe we can talk about this in private?” Aang suggested, lowering his voice just enough to take the edge off the moment.
The man studied him for a second, then followed Aang’s glance around the street.
“…Fine,” he said at last. “Inside.”
Toph folded her arms, muttering under her breath, “Great. Love a secret meeting in a freezing mountain village.”
Zuko smirked a little as they started walking again. “After all that work—do you need a lift?”
“Are you kidding? That was a rush I needed—” she laughed, then trailed off into a thoughtful hum like she was actually considering it. Tilting her head, she tapped her cheek. “I’ll take a kiss right here as a thank you.”
The group went briefly quiet in that oh no she didn’t kind of way.
Aang’s eyebrows shot up. “Toph—”
Zuko stopped mid-step. For once, even the cold seemed to pause with him.
Then he scoffed softly, trying to recover his balance like his pride had just slipped on ice. “You’re really bold for someone who asked to get carried.”
Toph grinned. “That a yes or a no?”
Zuko looked away for half a second, then back at her. “…You’re impossible.” He mumbled. He leaned in anyway, quick and light, pressing a brief kiss to her cheek before immediately straightening like he hadn’t just done something mildly life-derailing.
Aang made a noise that was halfway between choking and laughing. Momo absolutely lost his mind in the background.
Zuko cleared his throat and Toph, very satisfied, tucked her hands behind her head. “Lead the way, hotman.”
(Legend of Korra timeline mention) - SWF | suggestive themes, possible NSFW undertones
Never wrote NSFW before
Small make out session
Touching
Korra sat in front of you, blue eyes locked in quiet observation as you went through your usual routine.
“I can feel you watching me, y’know,” you finally said, turning to face her fully. “You have that same look Aang used to give me.”
Korra quickly looked away, a faint flush creeping onto her face.
“Eh—sorry. I was just thinking about something.”
“Something… or someone?”
“…Both?” she admitted, scratching the back of her head before glancing at you again.
“What’s on your mind?”
Korra leaned forward slightly, curiosity winning out.
“How come you never reunited with the others? I mean, you and Katara see each other often… but how come you don’t see Toph or Zuko?”
“Oh—” you hummed, the sound thoughtful, distant.
“Eh, well… Zuko’s got a nation to run.”
A small pause.
“And Toph…” you shrugged lightly, like it didn’t matter.
“I don’t really need to see her.”
Korra’s brows knit together just a little.
“You don’t need to see her?” she repeated, like the words didn’t quite sit right.
You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you turned back to what you were doing, movements slower now, more deliberate. The air between you shifted… like a tide pulling back before something bigger.
“It’s not like that,” you said after a moment. “Toph and I…”
Your voice trailed, searching for the right shape.
Korra leaned in, eyes bright with curiosity. “You what?”
A quiet exhale left you, almost a laugh, but not quite.
“We were never the kind of people who needed constant reunions,” you said. “Some bonds don’t fade just because you stop seeing each other.”
Korra tilted her head. “That sounds like a yes and a no at the same time.”
“It is.”
“But if it’s not a big deal,” Korra pressed gently, “why do you sound like that?”
Your hands stilled completely.
For a second, you didn’t look like yourself at all. Not the calm, steady presence she was used to. Something older flickered through your expression… something unfinished.
“Because,” you said quietly, “Toph doesn’t do things halfway.”
Korra blinked. “Meaning?”
You finally glanced back at her, a small, knowing smile tugging at your lips.
“If I went to see her,” you said, voice low and certain, “it wouldn’t just be a visit.”
“It never was.”
Korra’s eyes widened.
“Oh.”
Then a slow, teasing grin crept onto her face.
“Oh…”
Korra wriggled her eyebrows at you, a grin spreading fast.
“You and her used to—before she—GASP! Wait, really?! What happened—”
“That was a long time ago, Korra,” you chuckled, waving her off like you could bat the past away with your hand.
“Yeah, yeah, and people say that when they don’t want to explain,” she shot back immediately, scooting closer. “C’mon, you can’t just drop something like that and expect me to sit here peacefully.”
“I can, actually.”
“You can’t,” Korra insisted, pointing at you. “You and Toph? Toph? The grumpy, barefoot legend!”
A small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.
Korra blinked, then groaned. “See? That! That right there! You’re remembering!”
You huffed a quiet laugh, but your gaze drifted somewhere else… somewhere older.
“It wasn’t like what you’re thinking,” you said, though the softness in your voice betrayed you. “We didn’t… label things.”
“Translation,” Korra said, counting on her fingers, “feelings, no communication, probably tension thick enough to cut with a knife—”
“You’re not entirely wrong.”
Korra lit up like she’d just unlocked a secret scroll. “I knew it.”
You shook your head, but there was no real resistance in it.
“It wasn’t exactly a good time,” you said. “We had a lot going on, and we nearly died. Katara saved us, thankfully. I think it was just… something that happened in the moment.”
Korra’s expression softened just a little, curiosity turning into something more careful.
“So what happened?”
You exhaled slowly, leaning back on your hands.
“Life,” you said simply. “Different paths. Different responsibilities.”
Korra smiled meekly. “I understand, I think.”
You reached over, resting a hand on her head before pulling her into a gentle hug.
“That’s all in the past now. You should probably head to Tenzin’s before he sends his gremlins to find you… again.”
Korra laughed, hugging you back.
“Definitely! I’ll come back with Naga afterward—she could use your belly rubs again.”
You huffed a quiet laugh against her shoulder.
“Yeah, I think she just likes the attention.”
“Don’t expose her like that,” Korra grinned, pulling back. “She has a reputation to maintain.”
“Mm. Fierce polar bear dog by day… attention thief by night.”
Korra snorted, already backing toward the door. “I’ll be back later!”
“Be safe,” you called, watching her go.
The door slid shut with a soft click.
And just like that, the room exhaled.
Silence settled in, but it wasn’t empty. It lingered. Pressed.
You stood there for a moment longer than necessary, eyes drifting toward nothing in particular.
The memory flooded back to you like it was yesterday—you were with Toph during the day, as you usually were.
⛰︎⋆☀︎｡༄
Toph tapped your shoulder, her face angled slightly away, but you could feel her attention locked onto you.
“This is so boring,” she muttered. “We should do something else.”
You snickered, glancing at her.
“Katara wants us to wait here until she’s done helping Sokka. You know how she gets when we wander off—”
“We used to do it all the time,” Toph cut in, crossing her arms.
“And times are different now,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “We have to lead by example, Toph.”
She made a face, clearly unimpressed.
“Since when did you get so responsible?”
“The same time you did,” you added lightly, tapping her shoulder. “You’re running a metalbending school, remember?”
Toph didn’t answer right away.
Instead, she leaned in again—closer this time—until her nose barely bumped yours.
“…Your heartbeat’s faster,” she said bluntly.
You blinked. “It is not.”
“It is,” she replied immediately. “Like you’re trying really hard to pretend you’re not interested.”
Her mouth tilted, not quite a smile, but something smugger than that.
“So,” she added, voice dropping just a little, “you coming or what?”
You swallowed a little. “Uh… okay—”
Toph grabbed your hand before you could finish, already pulling you along. She led you out of the town, weaving through paths like she’d memorized the world through her feet alone. You stumbled once trying to keep up, but she didn’t slow down.
Above you, the sun was starting to dip, bleeding warm gold into the sky. Evening settling in like a blanket being drawn over the world. From the opposite horizon, the faint shape of the moon was already rising, pale and patient.
Eventually, she stopped.
You nearly bumped into her.
Looking around, you raised a brow.
It was quiet here.
Tucked away. A little muddy underfoot, but open enough that the world felt stretched out instead of crowded. A lake sat a few feet away, still and reflective, catching the fading sky in broken pieces of light.
Off to the side, you noticed scattered coconuts—some cracked open, some half-tossed like someone had stopped here before and didn’t bother to clean up after themselves.
You glanced at Toph. “Where is this?”
“Dunno,” she let your hand go. “Heard some of the locals talk about it.”
“And you wanted to bring me here?” You crossed your arms.
“Ah come on, don’t act like you didn’t wanna be alone with me either. I know you missed me while I was teaching my students.”
“Mhm, you sure you didn’t miss me?” You teased her back.
The lake sat there like it was holding its breath too.
Wind skimmed across the surface in soft ripples, breaking the sunset into molten streaks of orange and violet.
Toph stood near the water’s edge, arms loose at her sides. Not restless, not still either. Just… present in that way she always was when she was listening to everything at once.
You watched her for a moment longer than you meant to.
The teasing energy from before hadn’t fully left, but it had shifted. Settled into something slower. Heavier in a way that wasn’t uncomfortable, just… noticeable.
“You really just dragged me out here to prove a point, huh?” you said, softer now.
Toph gave a small shrug. “Maybe.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is for me.”
Then she tilted her head slightly. “You’re standing too far away,” she said.
You blinked. “Am I?”
“Yes.”
“You want me to come closer?” Your voice is hesitant–it’s not the first time you were in this situation with Toph, it’s been quite some time actually. And you did miss her, you can’t keep shaking off the intense burning in your stomach when you're standing next to her. And you knew she felt it too.
Toph smirked.
Without warning, she bent the ground beneath her fingers. A chunk of wet mud lifted cleanly from the earth, shaped and controlled like it weighed nothing at all.
Then she flicked her wrist.
The mud shot through the air and hit you square in the chest, splattering up toward your face for good measure.
“Whoops—” she said, completely unconvincing.
You went still.
Blinking slowly, like your brain was trying to replay what just happened from a different angle.
“…You did not—”
Toph crossed her arms. “I did.”
From behind her, you began to lift a little bit of water, throwing back at her, not enough to knock her over but enough to drench her clothes.
You paused again, seeing as her figure peaked through her clothes, Toph touched her shirt, a small chuckled came from her throat as she peeled it slowly off her body. Throwing it to the side, she got into a stance, an excited grin on her lips as her attention locked onto you.
If you didn't know any better, you figured she planned this on purpose. And who were yuou to back down from it–
The earth shifted again.
And this time, Toph moved first.
A low surge rippled under your feet—fast, precise, like the ground itself had learned your rhythm and decided to interrupt it. You jumped back on instinct, water snapping up around you in a tight spiral, catching your balance midair before you landed near the lake’s edge.
Toph didn’t hesitate.
Another wave of earth followed, sharper this time, angled to cut off your space rather than hit you directly. She was reading you. Not guessing. Reading.
“Still slow,” she called out.
“I’m adjusting!” you shot back, dragging water from the lake into a sweeping arc that intercepted her next strike.
The collision burst into mist and spray, hanging between you like fog lit by the dying sun.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Just listening.
Then Toph grinned. “Oh, you’re trying now.”
“I’ve always been trying!”
“Not hard enough.”
The ground bucked under you again—this time in uneven pulses, like she was forcing you off balance just to see how you’d recover. You responded by shaping the water beneath your feet, a shifting platform that kept you just barely stable.
It worked.
Barely.
You pushed forward. Water coiled around your arm, tightening into a controlled whip as you swung it toward her.
Toph didn’t even flinch. She stamped once. The earth rose like a wall between you, absorbing the strike completely. Then she moved through it.
Not around.
Through.
A second pillar of rock launched forward, forcing you to pivot fast, water snapping up defensively as you barely redirected it.
Your breath was starting to come quicker now.
“You’re smiling,” you called out between movements.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Prove it.”
Another strike came—lower this time, aimed to trip you. You flipped backward, landing in a crouch at the lake’s edge, water splashing up around your boots.
When you looked up, Toph was closer now.
Not right on you.
But closer than before.
The ground beneath her feet was still…too still.
Like it was waiting for her next command. You lifted your hands slightly, water curling again—but you didn’t attack. Not immediately.
“…You always fight like you’re bored,” you said.
Toph tilted her head. “And you always talk too much.”
You flicked your wrist. A wave of water surged forward.
She stomped. Mud met it head-on.
The impact cracked through the air and then neither of you pulled back fast enough.
The collision turned messy.
Water burst into the air, scattering over both of you. Dirt sprayed up in uneven arcs. The lake rippled violently from the impact.
And then, you met.
Her hands reached for your face and cupped it firmly. You both held your breath and remained still. You made the first move, slamming your lips into hers. Taking your hands over hers, you could feel her melt into you, like she had done before.
She bit down on your bottom lip and sucked on it roughly. With a sharp exhale through your nose, you put your hands on her waist.
Toph trailed her hands down your face, exploring her clamped shirt and pressing harder into you. You bit her bottom lip back, a teasing thing–until she slipped her tongue into your mouth. Something she hadn’t done before, it startled you for a moment. Your tongues swirling against each other. You needed to breath but fuck it if you passed out right there, you’d be fine with it.
Toph pulled away from your lips, a smug expression on her face as she palmed your breast. You muffled a low hum to avoid giving her the sound she was looking for. You gasped, feeling her pinch your nipple harder than you expected.
“Toph-” you breathed out.
“Hm?” She started giving you a slow, painfully slow, hungry kiss on your neck.
You gritted your teeth and felt her nip your neck; she was having fun getting this out of you. Each nip against your neck was like a shock lighting down your body, like she was deliberately breaking your focus apart piece by piece.
The water around you reacted before you did, rippling unevenly, heat building through your control until the surface shimmered like it was on the edge of boiling. Mist started to rise in thin threads, curling into the air between you.
She then finally bit down, sucking the spot as if you were the last thing she needed to survive. You let out a soft moan, filling her ears with winning satisfaction. Pulling back she grinned at you, touching the spot gently, admiring it.
You looked at her, slightly confused, as she wiped her lips from the saliva you two shared.
"Why'd you-"
Toph placed her hand on your lips, keeping you silent as Katara's voice came from the distance. You froze as the earth bender chuckled.
“Woah—what happened over here? What’s with the steam?” Sokka’s voice called out.
Toph didn’t even flinch.
You, however, very nearly did.
From the edge of the path, Sokka stepped into view, squinting at the lakeside like it had personally offended him. The mist drifting off the water caught the last light of the sunset, curling in strange little spirals across the ground.
Katara followed a few steps behind him, already looking concerned.
“…Why does it smell like mud and wet rock?” she asked slowly.
Toph finally shifted her stance—casual, effortless, like she hadn’t just been standing inches from you a second ago.
“Training,” she said immediately.
Sokka blinked. “Training for what? Steam damage?”
“You never know when you could run into a steam bender—” Toph replied flatly.
Sokka squinted at the mist again. “That is not a thing.”
“What’s on your neck, Y/N?” Katara’s attention snapped to you, concern sharpening her tone.
Your eyes widened a fraction too late.
For half a beat, you froze—then quickly brought a hand up to cover the spot.
“Got hit with a crap ton of mud,” you said a little too fast.
Katara leaned in slightly, still suspicious. “Mud…?”
Toph didn’t turn her head.
But you felt it.
The faintest shift of her stance beside you—too calm to be innocent.
“Yeah,” she added casually. “She's dodging.”
Sokka shrugged immediately, accepting it. “Honestly, that checks out.”
“Hey!” you shouted at Sokka. “I’m better at dodging than you!”
Katara’s eyes lingered a second longer, narrowing just slightly… but the steam was still drifting off the lake, and the ground still looked disturbed enough to make the story believable.
“…Right,” she said slowly. “Well, we should probably go before something else ‘happens’ out here.”
Toph gave a small shrug. “Agreed.”
But as the group began to move, she leaned just slightly closer to you—not enough for anyone else to notice.
“…you should probably cover that,” she murmured.
You frowned, instinctively touching your neck again. “Cover what?”
Toph didn’t answer right away. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, like she was listening to something only she could sense.
“…Your heartbeat’s doing that thing again,” she added, quieter.
Your face warmed instantly. “It is not.”
“It is,” she said simply. “And Katara’s gonna notice if you keep standing there like that.”
Ahead of you, Katara was still walking, still talking with Sokka, her attention not on the both of you at all.
You lowered your hand slowly. “Then stop distracting me.”
Toph gave a small, almost satisfied huff.
“Make me,” she said.
And just like that, she fell back into step beside you like nothing had happened at all.
Summary: Megatron never kept you a secret… just away until his plan was ready. Optimus steps in. Guns freeze. The war holds its breath. You’re not just a Decepticon. You’re his daughter.
Bumblebee x (f)reader
Humans.
Fragile, loud, wrapped in soft flesh and rigid armor. They formed a loose semicircle around you, rifles lifted, fingers hovering just shy of triggers. Two Autobots stood among them, unfamiliar silhouettes bristling with plating and glowing optics, their cannons angled downward but not powered off.
Not attacking.
Watching.
Waiting.
Their voices spilled into the air in clipped bursts of a language you barely parsed, harsh consonants ricocheting off metal walls and concrete. Orders, maybe. Warnings.
You answered in the only universal dialect.
A low, grinding snarl reverberated from your chest plating, hydraulics whining as you brought your weapon up in one smooth, lethal motion. Energy pulsed along its seams, bright and hungry. One twitch. One spark. The room would become wreckage.
• ───── ✦ ───── •
Across the base, far from the standoff, Sam Witwicky leaned toward a bank of monitors, blue light carving shadows under his eyes. The camera feed jittered as a technician adjusted the zoom, your towering form swallowing the frame.
“I don’t get it,” Sam muttered, fingers gripping the edge of the console. “It’s a Decepticon. Why are they holding their fire?”
Colonel Lennox stood beside him, arms folded tight across his chest, jaw working. “I don’t know—”
He lifted a hand to the comm unit hooked behind his ear. “What’s going on over there? Talk to me.”
Static hissed, then a soldier’s voice cut through, tense but steady.
“The Autobots told us to hold fire, sir.”
Lennox’s brow creased deeper. “Hold for what?”
On the monitor, movement.
Massive crimson-and-blue plating entered the frame, pistons hissing softly as Optimus Prime stepped between raised rifles and glowing cannons. The soldiers didn’t relax, but the air shifted all the same, as if gravity itself had recalibrated around him.
His voice rolled through the chamber, low and resonant, carrying both command and restraint.
He spoke your name.
Slowly.
Each syllable deliberate. Heavy with something older than the war.
Your optics snapped to him, lenses tightening as internal systems recalibrated, targeting reticles faltering for just a fraction of a second.
• ───── ✦ ───── •
Sam looked between the bots and the screen. His voice strained. “Who is that?”
“The daughter—”
In the control room, Sam and Lennox turned at the same time. Behind him, Ironhide muttered under his breath, thick arms crossing with a metallic groan.
“Daughter?” Sam echoed, disbelief hitching the word in his throat.
Ironhide’s optics slid toward Ratchet, the medic stiff as a locked servo.
“Tell them.”
On-screen, Optimus didn’t move, standing alone between you and every weapon in the room.
“Tell us what,” Lennox pressed, voice sharpened like a blade.
Ratchet exhaled through his vents, optics dimming just a notch.
“…That Decepticon isn’t just any Decepticon.”
His gaze lifted back to the feed.
“That’s his.”
The sentence hung in the air, electric and dangerous.
Silence flooded the room.
Even the monitors seemed to hum softer.
“She is Megatron’s daughter,” Ratchet did not raise his voice.
He did not need to.
The words reverberated through the command center louder than any explosion. Screens continued to flicker with telemetry data, infrared outlines crawling over your silhouette, threat markers blinking in nervous red, but every human in the room froze as though time itself had briefly forgotten how to move.
Sam’s laugh came out thin. Brittle. “No. No, that’s… you guys are messing with us, right?”
Ironhide didn’t even look at him. His gaze stayed welded to the monitor, thick cannons flexing slightly at his sides. “Wish we were.”
Lennox’s jaw tightened until the muscle jumped. “Ratchet.”
The medic folded his arms, plates grinding softly, optics reflecting your image. “Records from the last solar cycles of Cybertron. Fragmented. Sealed. Megatron constructed a private forge sector beneath Kaon’s lower spires. No broadcast. No registry.”
Sam swallowed. “That sounds… subtle.”
“It wasn’t meant to be found,” Ratchet replied.
• ───── ✦ ───── •
On-screen, the camera zoomed closer. Heat shimmered around your armor. Microfractures in the concrete beneath your feet radiated outward like spiderwebs, crushed by your sheer mass. The weapon in your grip thrummed, its core rotating, cycling energy in slow, predatory spirals.
Optimus stood ten meters from you.
Ten fragile, catastrophic meters.
Open hands.
No shield.
No blade.
Lennox exhaled through his nose. “Prime’s lost his mind.”
“He hasn’t,” Ironhide said.
Sam glanced up at him. “Then what’s he doing?”
Ironhide’s optics narrowed. “Standing in front of a war that doesn’t know what it wants yet.”
Ratchet tilted his head slightly. “He is attempting recognition.”
“Recognition?” Lennox echoed.
“Megatron hid her existence,” Ratchet continued. “But Optimus learned. Briefly. Before the final siege. He met her once.”
Sam’s head snapped around. “Oh?”
Sam shook his head, sweat glistening down his face. “No—no there’s no way. She’s gotta go— like now. Lennox—“
Lennox looked between the monitor and Autobots. “Shit.”
————
You shifted into your Cybertronian form.
The language slid from your vocalizers in angular tones and harmonic sublayers meant for titanium ears, not human ones. The syllables vibrated through the hangar’s skeleton, rattling loose grit from overhead beams.
“What is this?”
Several of the humans flinched anyway.
Optimus Prime did not.
He stood where he was, towering but still, red-and-blue plating catching the emergency lights in slow pulses. His optics narrowed, not in threat, but in calibration. Assessment. The kind that came from centuries of battlefields and broken treaties.
He did not trust you.
Not yet.
He did not know how much of Megatron’s code ran in your spark.
How much of your will was truly your own.
You let the silence stretch, letting him weigh those unknowns.
“Orion.”
The name cracked like an old weld.
Optimus’s vents paused mid-cycle. For the smallest instant, the war leader vanished and something older surfaced beneath the armor, something forged in quieter halls.
“…What do you know, young one?” he asked at last, voice gentled by care he had not intended to reveal.
You lifted your optical ridge, an instinctive display that sharpened your silhouette.
“I am on a planet I do not know,” you replied. Your processors tagged the unfamiliar gravity, the low-oxygen ratio, the crude but effective lighting rigs bolted to the ceiling. “Surrounded by organics whose weapons are trained on me.”
Your gaze returned to him, “Only you are familiar.”
Hydraulics whispered as you lowered your cannon.
A fraction.
Enough to shift the balance of the room.
Enough to make fingers hover closer to triggers.
“…Is my father dead?”
The words surprised even you. They slipped out stripped of armor, unadorned by challenge or threat.
Optimus did not answer that.
His optics dimmed, light scattering across scuffed plating scored by centuries of war. Behind him, Ironhide’s stance widened. Ratchet’s hands twitched, already imagining triage protocols that involved entire limbs.
The name Megatron was not spoken.
It did not need to be.
Prime took a single step forward before caution caught him, locking his servos in place.
“I cannot answer that lightly,” he said, each syllable weighted. “I have not seen him in some time.”
Your internal targeting lattice jittered, recalibrating for a world where that was not an evasion and not quite a lie.
“…That is not what I asked.”
The air hummed between you.
Optimus lifted his helm.
“No,” he said quietly. “He is notdead.”
Something shifted behind your optics.
A surge in your spark chamber. A spike of energy that diagnostic systems could not immediately label.
Outside the shattered hangar doors, thunder rolled, low and planetary, and wind dragged rain through twisted steel like breath through broken ribs.
You held his gaze.
“Come,” Optimus said.
The single word carried farther than any shouted command.
It was not an order barked across a battlefield
It was an invitation.
Your optics narrowed, tracking the minute shifts in his plating, the way his stance angled just enough to shield the humans behind him without making it obvious. A diplomatic formation. Old as Cybertron itself.
[At Base]
Behind reinforced glass and humming servers, Colonel Lennox swore under his breath.
“He’s bringing her here…”
He stepped back from the monitor, already tugging a phone from his pocket as aides erupted around him.
“Sir, phones are lighting up.”
“Social feeds just spiked. Someone’s streaming.”
Another screen flared to life, grainy footage from a civilian phone. A distant silhouette of titanic metal framed by storm clouds. Caption bars jittered beneath it. Location tags. Live indicators.
Optimus Prime, face to face with a Decepticon.
The feed count climbed by the second.
Lennox dragged a hand over his mouth. “Of course they did.”
Sam leaned closer to the glass, eyes wide. “That’s… that’s us, right.”
“That’s very much us,” Lennox muttered.
In the hangar, Optimus took a slow step backward, motioning with an open hand.
“This facility is not prepared for what follows if you remain here,” he said evenly. “There are too many weapons. Too many frightened minds.”
Your systems flagged a thousand variables at once. Escape vectors. Threat probabilities. Structural weak points. The humans’ heart rates flickered in your sensor feed like a swarm of sparks.
And yet.
You moved.
Not toward the exit.
Toward him.
Each step boomed through the floor, leaving hairline fractures in the concrete. Loose cables skittered across the ground. Soldiers flinched as you passed, some lowering their rifles by accident, others raising them higher in pure reflex.
Ironhide murmured into a private channel, “I don’t like this.”
Ratchet replied, “If Prime trusts her so should we.”
Optimus matched your pace, keeping himself between you and the humans, guiding you like a living barricade.
In the control room, Lennox barked, “Get Public Affairs on the line. Now.”
A staffer already had three phones pressed to their ear. “Sir, the governor’s office is asking questions.”
Another voice from across the room. “Pentagon wants eyes.”
Lennox grimaced. “Tell them… tell them Prime is handling it.”
Sam blinked. “That usually works?”
“No,” Lennox said flatly. “But it’s what we’ve got.”
Bumblebee stared at you, his optics and your meeting. He knew you, you knew him. You moved toward him as he did you. Optimus watched the both of you, as did Sam.
Everyone’s eyes were on you, you memory was calm with Bumbleebee.
“You look different,” you commented, touching his helm with a soft touch. He flinched at your touch, something you remember he never did. Your optics shifted around you, the fleshings still pointing their weapons at you.
“Did I do something wrong?”
Bumblebee chirped the radio, words that you didn’t understand.
Sam pointed between the two of you, “That you bee?”
You looked down at Sam, your optics lingered on him as he spoke to Bumblebee.
Bumblebee switched channels, now speaking to you directly. “You did nothing wrong. The humans know about your pops. He tried to take their planet sometime ago.”
You raised your ridge, “….this one? Why? It’s filled with…fleshings.”
Bumblebee reached for your hand, “They are our friends. We protect them and they let us stay here.”
Racthet walked up to you, hestation in his tone. “How is your helm?”
You turned to him, “Dizzy.”
You looked down at Sam once again, your optics scanning his frame from head to toe— he wasn’t like the others. He was younger, more antsy and more smelly.
“How do you know Bee?” He asked you, his voice both surprised and confused.
You didn’t answer, only looked at Bumblebee with a slight tilt of your head. You actually didn’t know what to say—your father—Megatron, never let you mingle much with the other bots. You only met Bumblebee once because of Optimus, back when times were peaceful. You hung out with him maybe a few times. But nothing serious became of it. Just friends.
“Excuse me—“ A man in a tight black suit stormed in. The Autobots groaned as he pointed at you, shouting at Optimus.”
“Excuse me, yes hi hello, Optimus what is this?” The man shouted at him. “The president is NOT happy about this one.”
Optimus placed his helmet on your shoulder, “She is no threat. Tell your leaders to stand down.”
“Stand down?” The man began to raise his voice once more, “Do you have any idea what this looks like! The daughter of a murderer—“
You processors finished picking up on the language, your optics shut for a moment then opened. “Your anger is justified—but I am no threat to you compared to the others.”
“This makes no sense—” Sam huffed. Sweat drenched his face, eyes wide, chest heaving. Adrenaline was through the roof, questions looping relentlessly in his head. “Megatron has a daughter—and you’re saying it like you’ve known all along.”
Optimus stood firm, optics fixed on your limp body.
“Why did he let her get captured?” Sam pressed. “Why send her on a mission he knew she couldn’t complete, knowing you were all here?”
“Perhaps she undertook the mission on her own,” Ratchet said, kneeling beside you. “Her pulse is stable. She will recover. With time.”
“Then why not kill her?” Sam’s voice echoed through the ruins. “This is a bad idea. A really bad one.”
Bumblebee’s radio clicked on as he approached, movements careful as he knelt beside you. His gaze softened. When his hand brushed your faceplate, it was gentle, almost reverent.
Sam watched, brows knitting together. Optimus wasn’t the one hesitating.
“Bee?” Sam muttered. “You knew her… didn’t you?”
Ratchet glanced up, his optics briefly meeting Optimus’s. “What do you want to do, Prime?”
Optimus turned away. The rubble surrounding them would draw government attention again. Secrets layered atop secrets. If the humans learned you were Megatron’s daughter, they wouldn’t hesitate. They’d destroy you, regardless of where your loyalties lay.
Perhaps Sam was necessary here. He could convince the others you weren’t a threat.
But only if you truly weren’t.
If you carried Megatron’s will in your spark… Optimus would be the one to end you.
“Sam,” Optimus said at last. “We need time to determine whether she shares Megatron’s ideology.”
Sam scoffed. “Optimus—”
Bumblebee turned toward him, radio crackling softly. “Sam. It’s bad. But it can get worse. We need more time. Please.”
Sam exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Fine. Fine.”
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