#this isn't going to be a very happy AU | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

happi-tree · 4 months

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don't kiss and tell

“Can you get off me, please?” Lincoln deadpans instead, jostling Taylor on his back a bit. “Wanna stand up.”

“Hmmmmm, on one condition,” Taylor muses slyly. His jet black hair gleams with sweat under the scattered fluorescents, and stray strands tickle the side of Lincoln’s neck as Taylor leans in even closer.

“Remove my makeup for me?” He shakes the package of makeup wipes for emphasis, and Lincoln glances over his shoulder to see Taylor’s trademarked doe-eyed look, complete with batting lashes and pouting lips.

Or: After a long, tiring concert set, Lincoln helps Taylor backstage. One thing leads to another, and he gets a little more than he bargained for.

ao3

Hi, guys! Guess who's back with one more Swiftli fic to finish off 2023! I've had this idea kicking around in my docs (and my wip posts lmao) since July and figured it was high time to polish it up haha. Enjoy some very, very self-indulgent idol au Swiftlis below the cut!

“Liiiiiiincoln,” A familiar voice whines behind him.

Lincoln hums questioningly without turning around - he’s a bit preoccupied with tidying up their group’s shared dressing room.

Sure, they’ll be performing their set here tomorrow night as well, but it never hurts to make sure everything is in its place so he can at least attempt at mitigating the chaos that is bound to unfold. That, and he doesn’t want to cause the staff any excess trouble.

“Liiiiiiiink,” Taylor prods again, and Lincoln can hear the exaggerated dragging steps his groupmate is taking toward him. “I’m all sweaty and you’re all sweaty and I will not hesitate to lean on you if you don’t pay attention to me.”

“Do, it, then,” Lincoln mutters, slightly hunched over to fluff up the throw pillows on the couch and inspect it to make sure nobody’s spilled their half-caff coffee (Normal) or energy drink (Scary) or needlessly complicated boba order (Taylor) or sports drink (himself). “Busy.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn ya,” Taylor says, draping himself across Lincoln’s back like an overgrown cat, hands hanging limply over Lincoln’s shoulders. In his peripheral vision, Lincoln notes that one’s holding a container of makeup wipes. “You’re so grumpy when you’re exhausted nowadays! Seems like a certain someone’s rubbing off on you.”

“Or, you know, using my back as a chaise lounge.”

“Well, I had been referring to Scary, but you’re not wrong!” He crows, stretching a little as if to emphasize all the points where their bodies make contact.

(It’s uncomfortably warm and a little gross with all the sweat from their concert, and it’s a lot less bothersome than Lincoln would like to admit. Even in the afterglow of a performance in the earliest hours of the morning, voice hoarse and body crashing from all the adrenaline and mind dimmed with the promise of late-night room service and sleep, Taylor still has a way of making things a bit more bearable. Even when he’s acting anything but.)

A grimy finger pokes him lightly in the cheek, breaking Lincoln from his thoughts. He rolls his eyes and makes to fold the little blankets the staff had set out for them.

“You’re so cute with your brows all furrowed like that,” Taylor teases. “Li-Wilson, our very own pretty boy, all angry and frowny. What would the press say?”

There’s a very, very stupid fluttering that happens in Lincoln’s chest whenever Taylor strings his name together with words like “cute” or “pretty” or “handsome”. And it happens annoyingly often, considering how much the four of them will play up their affections for their fans. Lincoln knows it’s not untrue - the internet surely agrees with what Taylor’s saying, if the endless amounts of comments he probably shouldn’t get sucked into reading are anything to go by - but sometimes… he still wonders if it’s all in his head, the way Taylor drops flirtations like he means them.

That’s a thought for later, though, when he’s in their shared hotel room fighting off the wonderful combination of jet lag and insomnia.

“Can you get off me, please?” Lincoln deadpans instead, jostling Taylor on his back a bit. “Wanna stand up.”

“Cute,” Lincoln says out loud, because he calls Taylor that all the time in public, and he has no reason not to voice it now. Unlike the countless interviews and livestreams they’ve done together, though, he has the pleasure of watching red crawl its way across Taylor’s cheeks, which only further proves his point.

“B-be that as it may, I have you effectively trapped until you do my bidding, you tall, unfairly handsome boy.”

Lincoln is so fortunate that he doesn’t blush easily, a fact which annoys both Taylor and the rest of their group.

“Why can’t you remove your own makeup, huh?” Lincoln complains halfheartedly even as he takes the wipes offered to him and Taylor wriggles happily in celebration.

“Don’t have any mirrors,” He argues (which is clearly a lie - there are no less than eight in this room alone in case of last-minute touch-ups, not counting their phones), “and I’m so tired I can barely stand!”

“Oh, are your legs acting up? I can carry you if you want,” Lincoln replies, all pretense of grouchiness forgotten as he carefully straightens up, making sure that Taylor can still lean on him without throwing him off-balance.

“I mean, I’m probably fine. Just a little shaky, is all.” Taylor laughs a little, a short, breathy, half-nervous sound that Lincoln feels against the back of his outrageously complicated blouse.

“You sure?” Lincoln asks, shooting Taylor a look of his own - his “princely protector” look, as he’s seen their fans call it - and Taylor’s expression softens a bit before breaking into a teasing smirk.

“I mean… I am pretty tired, if you’re still offering, and I’d hate for those strong arms of yours to go to waste -”

“Alright, then, just let me…” Despite the awful clinging feeling of his sweaty clothes and the daunting task of even a little bit of physical exertion, Lincoln can’t help but grin as he rearranges their limbs to lift Taylor. It’s a familiar practice, borne from their years as training partners before they ever made their debut alongside Scary and Normal, and one Lincoln can find himself enjoying even in his drained, slightly sluggish state.

(It’s hard not to enjoy the feeling of Taylor in his arms, even if it’s just for a little bit.)

“Up we go!” Lincoln says, scooping him up into a bridal carry and spinning the two of them in a lazy circle. Like the many times they’ve done this, Taylor slings his arms around Lincoln’s neck and laughs, joyful and unrestrained and slightly hoarse from a night of singing. Like the many times they’ve done this, Lincoln wishes that he could bottle the sound, hollow out a hole in his heart and place that in it.

(Like the many times they’ve done this, he wishes he could stop going a little braindead every time Taylor’s hot breath fans against the side of his neck.)

“O-okay,” Lincoln announces, hoping the stutter in his voice can be passed off as some sort of vocal strain. “Where do you wanna be?”

“There!” Taylor shifts in Lincoln’s grip, pointing to a black leather swivel chair in the corner of the room, tucked away behind some sort of support column.

“Alright,” Lincoln says, swooping over and then allowing Taylor to carefully extricate himself from Lincoln’s torso.

As gross as they both are right now, Lincoln finds himself missing the contact.

He has a job to do, though.

Lincoln kneels down on the worn, carpeted floor before Taylor, trying not to think about how his body aches, grabs a makeup wipe from the pack, and assesses the boy before him.

Taylor sits still and pretty - the distinct lack of fidgeting is a sure sign of how absolutely exhausted he is. His face shimmers from a combination of sweat and the glittery pink-peach pastes his makeup artists use to draw attention to his eyes. Thin, smoky eyeliner swoops from the outer corners of his eyes, a burgundy so dark it’s nearly black. The heavy blush that was placed on the apples of his cheeks has faded to a mere suggestion now, but Taylor’s lips are still stained a deep cherry-plum, the corners defined with small strokes in a way that makes his smile appear more cat-like, somehow.

The stylists did a very good job with him, Lincoln thinks.

Lincoln makes slow, gentle work of removing every last bit of makeup from Taylor’s face, stroking with just the barest of pressure across his forehead, vaguely registering the way that the fibers stain with shades of peach and beige and concentrating on unearthing the soft skin beneath.

With every swipe of his hand, Lincoln can feel Taylor’s eyes on him, slightly glazed over and staring shamelessly. Lincoln doesn’t blame him for spacing out this late at night, and if Taylor’s not spacing out, if he’s looking at Lincoln just to drink him in amidst the peace that comes after a long night of song after song - well. Lincoln would be lying if he said he wasn’t using this as an excuse to look at him, take in and admire each and every one of his features as if he hasn’t committed them to memory a hundred times over. Map out the slight dip of his temple with his fingers, trace the curve of his cheek, stare right back into those dark, faraway eyes while removing his eyeliner and risk falling into them…

“Close your eyes,” Lincoln prompts, and that temptation is removed as Taylor’s eyelids flutter shut, obedient. Somehow, it doesn’t help with the lump of emotion building like phlegm in the back of his throat.

Lincoln isn’t good with words, not the way Scary is, with her effortless lyricism and smooth-sounding syllables, phrases that bludgeon with the force of a sledgehammer or pierce through with the precision of a surgeon’s knife, depending on what is needed most.

But when Lincoln looks at Taylor like this, sometimes he finds himself wanting to be. He wants to write out everything trapped somewhere between his ribcage and his mouth, press the stain of it all into hotel memo pads, onto crumpled-up napkins from restaurants in cities he’ll never see again, tuck them into his pockets and let his chicken-scrawl attempts weigh him down twice as heavily as before.

He’s tried, before, tried so many times, but they never come out quite right, toeing the line between being trite and far too strange.

There’s just this… undeniable gravity about Taylor that defies any description. He’s got this magnetism to him, and they’ve been circling each other like opposing poles, like binary stars, ever since their first near-collision. His presence is real, undeniable - and not just onstage, where every staccato sound tumbles past Taylor’s lips with the strength and grace of a percussive rainfall, where every eye is drawn to him.

Taylor is far more than that.

It’s in moments like this where Lincoln feels his pull the strongest, when the lights fade and the curtain drops and Taylor’s features are softened by the encroaching shadows yet still radiant from the high of their performance. When Taylor’s taken out his fancy lenses and Lincoln can see the onyx depths of his eyes, dare to lean closer to see if he can map out the place where his irises meet his pupils in the lowlight, all framed by dark, short lashes. When he presses a hand to Taylor’s cheek and strokes gently, watches as the sweat and foundation and blush give way to olive skin, wishes that the makeup wipe wasn’t in the way and he could hold Taylor like this for real, whenever he wanted. When he finds a clean section of chemical-soaked cloth and carefully touches it to Taylor’s lips, when he hears the way Taylor’s breath hitches near-imperceptibly in the quiet of this tucked away green room in this two-night town.

“Does it sting?” Lincoln hears himself ask, searching his face for any discomfort. After so much silence, the question sounds louder than when their voices echoed off the stage, more amplified than any microphone could ever make it.

“N-nope,” Taylor rasps, and Lincoln knows it’s probably just rough from overuse but maybe there’s also something more. “Keep - keep going.”

“Okay,” Lincoln says, leaning in a little closer (he has to make sure he gets everything). “Let me know if it hurts?”

“Mm.”

Lincoln sets aside the makeup wipe, grabs a fresh one, and focuses on removing Taylor’s lipstick.

Taylor has very nice lips. Like, objectively. They’re a little on the thinner side, but his cupid’s bow forms a heart shape and the edges turn up naturally at the corners in a way that makes him look perpetually mischievous.

As Lincoln gently swipes away at the lip liner, he thinks (not for the first time) about what it would be like to kiss him.

Taylor’s kissed Lincoln before - on his forehead, on his shoulders, on his cheek. Lincoln has kissed Taylor before, too - the crown of his head, his temple, and on one memorable occasion, the corner of his mouth. It’s practically to be expected at this point. He’s kissed Normal and Scary, too, and they’ve kissed him, but with them, it’s something easy, rote, platonic, entirely performative.

Kissing Taylor has always felt different. Maybe it’s because the soft press of Taylor’s lips against his skin always leaves him with some sort of endless pit in his chest, something that threatens to consume him whenever he meets Taylor’s black-hole eyes.

And it drives Lincoln absolutely crazy, the way he constantly finds himself wanting more - wanting to know the way that their mouths might slot together, to see if Taylor’s lips are as soft against his own as they feel against the back of his hand.

Lincoln presses the wipe to Taylor’s top lip, runs his cloth-covered finger over the divot of his cupid’s bow, and fails to stop thinking about the way his groupmate might taste - fails to stop thinking about kissing the boy in front of him until they’re both rendered completely breathless.

Taylor’s breath stutters, and Lincoln can feel the fluttery inhale-exhale against his face, and he glances upward to see Taylor’s eyes open, now, free of shadows and glitter. His gaze darts lazily between Lincoln’s eyes and his mouth.

Taylor can read Lincoln’s expressions like a favorite book. It’s only natural, having lived and worked in close quarters for the past five years together. He knows the way the light glances off Lincoln’s eyes when his mind is elsewhere, knows his fake smiles from his genuine ones, knows the way his eyes crinkle at the corners whenever he’s truly, exuberantly happy.

Taylor knows exactly what Lincoln’s thinking right now.

And for the same reason, Lincoln recognizes the look in Taylor’s eyes for exactly what it is.

Tiredness. Longing. Affection. Want.

It would be easy, so easy to lean in those final few inches, to close the distance between him the way that he’s wanted to for years, the way they’ve both wanted to. But what they desire and what they can let themselves have - those have always been two very different things.

But it’s late, and most of the staff have cleared out, and Normal and Scary are probably hanging out on the empty stage like usual. Even so, there’s always a chance -

Lincoln’s eyes flick toward the ceiling.

“There’s one camera on the other side of the pillar,” Taylor says, and Lincoln’s eyes snap back to him immediately. A suggestion of a smirk plays at Taylor’s lips.

“Did you…” Taylor’s smile grows, something secretive and almost shy. Predictably, Lincoln’s gaze follows the curve of his lips as he trails off.

“You’ve been staring a lot tonight,” Taylor teases, and god, Lincoln can’t take the low, lilting timbre of his voice right now, not when he’s close enough to feel his breath against his face, not with flashes of berry-stained lips and white teeth taking up so much of his vision. “Do you wanna -”

“Yes,” Lincoln cuts him off, sounding much more desperate than he intended.

With no foundation left to hide it, Taylor’s face colors bright red remarkably quickly.

Lincoln swallows down the embarrassment, and Taylor’s eyes track the constriction of his throat.

He drops the makeup wipe, absentmindedly brushing his hand on his trousers, letting it hang in the empty space between them.

There’s not much of it left. Lincoln can feel the last of his resolve crumbling in the wake of Taylor voicing the truth that’s lived trapped in their lungs for years on end. His heartbeat, previously sluggish with the promise of rest, pounds faster in his chest, a marcato drumbeat that seems to chant almost, almost, almost.

Lincoln has lived through years of almosts, sustaining himself on the briefest of intimacies that they allow themselves, and everything he longs for is right in front of him, coalesced into the shape of his closest friend.

Lincoln is tired of almosts. He wants a finally.

But he’ll reach out and take it only if Taylor wants it, too.

“Are… you okay with this?” Link asks, the question barely a murmur, because even though the answer is spelled out in the way Taylor’s hands are shaking in anticipation, he needs to make sure before their closeness becomes something more.

“Yeah,” Taylor breathes, a whispery sigh of an admission, and Lincoln’s heart jolts in his chest as Taylor reaches out to cradle the curve of his jaw, to drag him in further. “Yes. Please.”

And it is with that last murmured plea that Lincoln feels his resolve break. He shifts upward, inward, bracing his hands on the armrests of the makeup chair (he doesn’t trust his own legs to stay steady even as they kneel before him, and like hell is he going to let that ruin the moment he’s been dreaming of for years), and Taylor’s hand curls even more perfectly around his jaw, and finally, they meet in the middle.

Kissing Taylor is both nothing and everything like Lincoln had imagined.

Everything, because the feeling of Taylor smiling slightly against his lips, the subtle warmth of his mouth, the supple, pliant give as Taylor slots their lips together, is almost exactly as he had dreamed.

Nothing, because Taylor kisses him sweetly, gently, slowly, more kindly than Lincoln had ever thought possible.

Taylor has always been insatiable. Lincoln knew this from the moment he first laid eyes on him, from the moment he had bound up to him. He had been newly seventeen and starry-eyed, then, flagging him down from across the company practice room and asking if he could teach him how to dance. Taylor is fiery and headstrong and brightly-burning in his ambition, and everything he does, he does with an intense passion.

Now, in the half-lit almost-quiet of the green room, Taylor mouths at his lips so tenderly - almost hesitantly - that Lincoln feels like he could melt. The hand on the side of his jaw carefully, worshipfully maps out the planes of his face, traces along his cheekbone, behind his ear, guides him to tilt his head for a better angle. Lincoln makes a strange, whining noise in the back of his throat that Taylor takes from him, swallows down with a satisfied hum that sends vibrations through to Lincoln’s very soul, like the thrumming pulse of a bass-line in his chest.

Lincoln leans further into Taylor’s gravity, kisses him with the quiet desperation that’s been pent up, building and building in a wordless crescendo within him for years on end. He tries his best to pour the vast depths of his devotion into this moment, every admiration and affection and confession, every brush of Lincoln’s lips against his an I adore you, every exhaled sigh an every love song we’ve ever sang made me think of you. I love you, he thinks as he presses Taylor flush against the back of the chair, as his hands let go of the armrests to tangle in shiny, dark hair and Taylor sings into his mouth in response. Taylor is beautiful and warm and sweaty against him, and Lincoln presses their lips together again and again, an unending chorus of thank you, I love you, I love you, I love you.

Taylor, for his part, responds in kind, arching his body into Lincoln’s hold, warm hands unhurriedly searching for purchase and finding it at the nape of his neck, at just above the small of his back. Lincoln registers the way Taylor fists at the expensive fabric of his shirt, the way his blunted, neatly-manicured nails scrape against the base of his scalp, and Lincoln shivers a bit in his embrace, though he feels wonderfully warmed through, more alive than when they performed for hundreds of fans just hours ago.

Taylor tastes like sweat and the chemicals from the makeup wipes. It has no right to be as addictive as it is to him. Maybe it’s because Taylor’s lips are every bit as soft against his own as they look on the monitors.

Lincoln’s sure that his lips are thoroughly chapped, but judging from Taylor’s delicate gasps and the eager, greedy way he leans further and further into him, he’s also sure that Taylor doesn’t mind.

Lincoln holds the last kiss for as long as he dares, drinking in the feeling of satisfying all of his favorite dreams and his wildest hopes. He commits the shape of his groupmate in his hands to memory, basking in the euphoria of carding fingers through show-mussed hair, of Taylor’s hand twisting in the fabric of his blouse. A smile threatens to pull at his lips as Taylor’s feathery breaths ghost against his cheek, measured and slightly shaky, an orchestration coming apart at the seams.

They stay like that for a long moment, and there is synchrony, harmony in the way Taylor melts into his touch. He's trying to capture this moment, too, Lincoln knows, impressing every bit of it into the corners of his mind, the backs of his eyelids, the hollow of his ribs.

Eventually, they break apart, and Lincoln opens his eyes to see Taylor smiling slightly, angelic, still leaning inward like he wants to chase his lips. It’s such an adorable image that Lincoln nearly goes to kiss him again, but then Taylor looks up at him through his lashes, blinking slowly, and Lincoln is awed into stillness.

Taylor’s always been very charming, expressive in a way Lincoln envied, able to make their fans fall for him with nothing but a camera and a simple glance.

But Taylor isn’t acting for anyone here. The affection that warms his deep, dark eyes is for Lincoln and Lincoln alone, something raw and unscripted and intimate enough to steal the air from Lincoln’s lungs, and he can only hope the open adoration is reflected in his own gaze.

God, he’s gorgeous.

Lincoln touches his forehead to Taylor’s, exhaling unsteadily.

Taylor’s hand smooths over the back of his neck, and he gasps a little, drawn in by his touch, his magnetism, his care.

“I’ve wanted to do that for years,” Lincoln admits softly into the shared air between them.

Taylor grins, a secret, clandestine thing, eyes half-lidded in a heady concoction of exhaustion and exhilaration and wanting.

“I know,” Taylor murmurs back, barely above a whisper, and Lincoln can hear the smile in his voice, all his sharp edges softened and heat tempered just for him. “Me, too.”

And it really is that simple. They’ve been dancing around each other for years on end, every bit of longing telegraphed like choreography through every minuscule gesture and fleeting touch. Every fragment of it is magnified by the glances they allowed themselves, reflected in the way their eyes meet, yearning painted in countless shades of onyx and bronze and ebony and sepia.

Lincoln knows it, and Taylor knows it.

And quite suddenly, the world has narrowed down to the two of them and nothing else.

“Yeah,” Lincoln responds dumbly, breathless from the proximity and the weight of years lifted from his shoulders. His eyes flick down to Taylor’s lips, at the red stain his own mouth has left there, at the delicate curve of them, love-drunk smiling and slightly puffy.

He wants to kiss him again, wants to feel that smile pressed against his, wants to lean in and close the distance. And so he does, because nothing on this earth can stop Lincoln from chasing after Taylor in every stolen moment he can get, from tilting his head just the right way, from shutting his eyes and following through -

Except Taylor does stop him, pressing the pad of his index finger to his lips.

Lincoln makes a confused sort of hum, opening his eyes to find Taylor giggling incandescently, and it almost makes up for not kissing him.

“It’s late, Link,” Taylor murmurs conspiratorially, though he has no need to when nobody else is here. “Norm and Scary’ve gotta be wondering what’s taking us so long.”

“Oh,” Lincoln says, disappointed - or, well, he tries to say it, but Taylor’s finger is still in the way, so it comes out a little odd. After considering for a moment, he places a kiss to the tip of Taylor’s finger instead, blinking up at him.

“God, put your pretty eyes away, I’m already embarrassingly in love with you,” Taylor responds, his bare face flushing noticeably darker even in the dim lighting.

Lincoln smiles against his finger, and Taylor sighs, eyes darting elsewhere so he can focus better.

“Anyway. They’ve gotta be waiting for us to get into street clothes so we can get the fuck out of here,” Taylor continues, pointedly not looking directly at him.

Lincoln kisses his finger again, just to be a menace. Taylor’s breath hitches the slightest bit, and Lincoln grins.

“Listen, the sooner we leave, the sooner we get to the hotel. And the sooner we get to the hotel,” Taylor finally looks at him - looks at all of him, eyes dragging slowly down his still-kneeling form - “the sooner we can pick up where we left off.”

He makes eye contact then, smirking and smug as he pushes lightly at Lincoln’s shoulder to give himself space to stand. “Sound good?”

Holy shit.

Lincoln has the sudden, distinct thought that they’re going to need to cancel the rest of their tour, because Lincoln is going to die at Taylor’s (soft, beautiful, warm) hands if he keeps saying things like this. Lincoln will die, and their group will disband, and everything will be ruined because Taylor is every bit as cruel and conniving as he is beautiful and Lincoln is in far too deep.

“Uh, you okay, dude?” his groupmate (boyfriend? partner? something else?) asks.

“Great!” Lincoln says at an octave he didn’t know was possible, numbly pulling himself to stand and ignoring the way his knees ache.

Taylor follows suit, and Lincoln makes for his change of clothes - though not without ducking down to place a quick kiss to Taylor’s temple, feeling more awake than he has in hours as he darts away from him.

Taylor barks out a one-note laugh, startled and disbelieving.

“Race ya!” Lincoln yelps, laughter coloring his own voice as he quickly grabs his street clothes, leaving Taylor sputtering behind him.

“Oh, you are so getting payback when we get to the hotel,” Taylor seethes not-so-darkly, grabbing his own go bag of clothes.

“I’m counting on it!” He replies, cheeky and giddy with energy despite the late hour.

Lincoln knows it’ll be hell not to hold Taylor as close as he wants out in public, not to kiss him beyond the bounds of manufactured flirting for the cameras. They’ll need to talk about what they are now, exactly, he thinks, as he starts to pick apart the series of crisscrossed, mazelike fastenings of his stage outfit. He has to remind himself to be a bit more patient so the fabric doesn’t rip at the seams in the wake of his excitement.

But, as he finally extricates himself and pulls on the SPDRBZ hoodie he had snatched from the merch booth a few stops ago, Lincoln can’t help but feel optimistic.

It’ll be worth it, he thinks, to hold Taylor, kiss him, shower him with praise until his skin flushes red, to be held and kissed and praised in return away from prying eyes. To have something just for them, even if it means they’ll need to work hard to keep this under wraps.

They’re no strangers to hard work. Lincoln’s groupmates are about as diligent as they come, Taylor included. Surely, this won’t be too difficult.

“You coming or what, slowpoke?” Taylor asks, pulling him from his thoughts. He’s changed into a simple tee shirt and cargos at the doorway, cane in hand and fondness in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Lincoln says, stumbling into his shoes as he meets Taylor, wanting to sling an arm around his waist before correcting himself and draping it across his shoulders instead as they head out. He beams regardless, giddy and hopeful, and the feeling in his chest burns brighter than the stage lights. “Let’s go.”

#idol au BELOVED. i've been thinking about this au for nearly 6 months now isn't that crazy #anyway for a little context: the PC teens of s2 are in a fun little idol group together!!! singing dancing rapping wearing fun outifts etc.#at this point they've gotten popular enough to go on tours and. well. lincoln and taylor are very down bad for each other so. gestures #also big big thank-you to nyxie for helping put together this au way back when. and for helping me choose a title aksbkajbsds #dndads #fic #happi scribbles #swiftli

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ereborne · 5 months

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✨⚡️ Seven(ish) Sentence Sunday ⚡️✨

Tagged by @acountrygirlsfun (a couple times by now, though not actually this most recent time, but I figure it still counts!) Thank you, Caitlin <3 <3 <3

Helix took a deep breath in, counted four flashes of the desperate direct-@ lights coming in from his side chat panels, and breathed out. His voice came out steady, and miraculously casual. "We understand why you did it. You were trying to keep our brothers safe." He watched Harp's eyes go wide at the 'our' brothers. Like he hadn't expected the rest of them to claim the Corries. Because he'd been hiding from them just like from the longnecks, he had falsified his— Deep breath in. Two flashes, no time for longer, leave no silence for Harp to panic in. Breathe out. Keep going.

This is not seven sentences, but it's also largely not complete sentences anyway, and it is literally what I just seconds ago finished writing. Still counts!

No-pressure tagging uhhh @ialpiriel, @goingsparebutwithprecision, @anaclastic-azurite, anybody else who might want to play?

#tagged by #acountrygirlsfun #I should be taking a shower and going to sleep but this scene isn't clicking so rather than getting frustrated I'm posting it here #I will have to go back through in my rewrites later and make sure everyone doesn't have their breakdowns in the same way #I do a bit better when the characters are speaking out loud #but for internal thought processes I tend to end up with them all sounding suspiciously similar to my own. whoops #anyway this is more of the good data management AU! we've just learned that the Corrie Guards Are Not Okay #and now most everybody else is also Not Okay! we're having bad times today folks #in the story I mean. I had a fine day!#and though it is emotionally fraught and currently fighting me I am still very happy to be getting back to my beloved Guard #Harp's a medic OC and I adore him and he and the Guard he's trying so hard to take care of really deserve a break #and now their brothers are a little more aware (seriously they have only just nicked the tippest bit of iceberg) of how not okay they are #a break they shall shortly receive!!#(it's gonna come with a double helping of Bother so they won't be very grateful. but they will be better rested and that's what matters)

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silverwolf1249 · 1 year

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kryptonians have wings and need them to live au:

Wing au where all kryptonians are born with wings, and can hide or reveal them at will. If they lose their wings, their health deteriorates until they either die from the stress the loss of their wings causes, or they end it themselves.

The Kents are surprised when they find a winged baby in a spaceship crashing in their fields one day, but they love him all the same and name him Clark. They didn't let him out much until he was a bit older and figured out how to hide his wings, it was simply too risky.

As a toddler, Clark's wings were incredibly fluffy and full of down, still growing in. What you could see of his feathers were greyish blues, a rusty tone highlighting the upper parts of his wings. He wasn't able to do much more than flap them about until he turned thirteen, when his adult plumage came in.

That time was absolute hell on all the Kents, his parents not knowing much on how the help the itching and pain Clark dealt with as he molted and his feathers fully grew in. Martha and John poured over multiple books on birds and their wings in hopes that Clark's wings were similar enough for the information to aid them.

Clark had to take an extended leave from school due to an "unfortunate case of pneumonia". It all turned out alright in the end of course, and Martha absolutely cooed at her son's new plumage, vivid dark blue with vibrant red mingling amongst the upper portions of his wings (colors that would later inspire those of his uniform as superman)

Growing up, Clark knew he was different, no one else had wings, and he had been told constantly by his parents to keep his hidden. He learned very early on that it was because he wasn't from earth, but that didn't make his parents consider him their own any less. He later found out about all his other abilities he gained from absorbing the sun's solar energy, but his favorite ability was always the wings he was born with.

Sure, he could fly without them, but why would he? His wings were a part of him from the very beginning, and flying with his wings just felt so much more right than flying without them. When he found the Fortress of Silence, he learned more about his wings from the Jor-el hologram, discovering how important it was to keep them safe. He still decided to keep them out as Superman though, his near invulnerability extending to his wings as well, and he was loathe to fly without them.

Years down the line, and after having been a part of the Justice League for over a year, Superman was suddenly very aware about his wing's vulnerability after another Kryptonite incident with Lex. Superman worried, and ended up confiding in Batman about his concerns. This was Batman after all, he knew all of Kal's other secrets and weaknesses, what was one more? He still didn't know the man's name, but he would trust him with his life, and for now that was enough.

Thankfully, Lex had yet to figure out just how important Clark's wings were to his continued existence, but even if he never learned the truth, any lucky shot to his back could take him out permanently. Batman listened to it all and told him that while he would tell him to put on wing covers to shield them, suddenly having them one day would be incredibly suspicious. There wasn't much they could do other than to make sure Clark's back was always protected.

Of course, this wasn't a long term solution, and it caught up to them not even a few years later. Superman finally got hit with that lucky shot, and Bruce wasn't able to get there in time to shield the other's back. By that point, the core justice league members had learned of Kal's achilles heel, and panicked when they noticed Superman lying on the ground face down, his back torn to shreds and wingless. Batman however, was calm, cold and clinical as he ordered them to bring them to the watchtower infirmary and get a room with two operating tables prepared for surgery.

When Superman, unconscious from the pain, was set up in an operating room, the Justice League looked around, wondering what was next? Only to spy Batman removing the top parts of his armor next to the other operating table. Wondering what the hell was going on, they were absolutely shocked when a pair of wings burst out of Bruce's back, and they were identical to Superman's.

Despite the questions bubbling within them, they soundlessly leave the operating room to let the watchtower's medical team enter and get down to business. Hours after the surgery is over, they visit Bruce to get their answers. He's sitting up in his bed, unable to lie on his back, the two new neatly stitched incisions on his back preventing him from doing so.

Still under the influence of painkillers (not strong enough to cloud his mind of course), he slowly explains. When he learned of Clark's weakness, he did more research into it, using his at the time new connection to the computer in the Fortress of Silence to learn more about Kryptonian biology. He wanted to figure out if there were any ways to prevent Clark's death if he actually lost his wings one day.

Eventually, he did find the solution. On Krypton, wing transfers were rare, but the cases were well documented in the Fortress' database. Whoever sacrificed their wings would die, but so long as the person who had lost their wings received a transplant within 24 hrs, the one who lost their wings would survive with no lasting impact. The wings had to be removed within those 24 hrs as well, or the wings would be rejected, and both participants would die.

And Bruce was the guy with all the contingencies, both for if he would need to take down his allies, and to save them. He sneakily stole a few dna samples from Clark, and did his own research and testing. He eventually managed to replicate Clark's wings, but he knew that unless they were attached to someone, the transplant wouldn't work.

Eventually he made the conclusion that if anyone was to carry the spare pair of wings, it would be him. This was untrodden territory, but thorough testing had shown that Kryptonian dna was compatible with human dna, so at the very least, Bruce wouldn't die if he implanted the wings into himself.

Whether he would die or not if a transplant was required however, was uncertain. While humans didn't need wings to survive, Bruce couldn't be sure how the Kryptonian wings might affect human biology once implanted. Hell, he wasn't even completely sure if the transplant would work. The intermingling of human and Kryptonian dna from the wings could render the wings useless once removed.

There was just no way to tell unless Kal actually needed the transplant, and there was no way Bruce would let that risk fall on anyone else. In the end, it seemed like Bruce's gamble had won, since other than the gashes on his back, there were no other negative effects to his health, and it looked like Kal would make a full recovery as well.

As you can probably imagine, the justice league were not happy with his explanation at all, and neither were his family or Clark when he woke up(Alfred in particular was upset that Bruce had never told anyone what he had done, the batkids were just pissed and terrified for nearly losing their dad and they wouldn't even have known until much later). At the same time however, they understood why Bruce did what he did, self sacrificing idiot that he was. None of them could imagine a Batman without a Superman. Clark though, also couldn't imagine a Superman without a Batman by his side.

They were friends, Clark would even hesitantly call Bruce his best friend, but the incident had changed some things. Clark had always thought that Bruce had reluctantly became friends with him after Clark kept bothering him to be more social when they started the justice league. He knew that Bruce trusted him with his life, he wouldn't have revealed his identity to him otherwise, but the fact that he was willing to die for a chance to save him...Clark had just never saw that happening, until now he supposed.

He just wanted to know why? Why put himself at risk like this when he wasn't even sure he would survive the surgery? When he wasn't even sure if it was possible to transfer the wings to him? So he confronts Bruce one day, practically ambushing the man in the Batcave one night. And Bruce, as emotionally distant and secretive as the man can be, answers honestly, "I care about you." he tells Clark, looking away from the other to hide how vulnerable he felt, "There was no way I was going to let something like this kill you. Not if I had the possibility to prevent it. A chance is greater than none at all."

And suddenly, Clark realizes that he was awfully, terribly, and wholly in love with Bruce. How he had never noticed it before he wasn't sure, but this near death incident had made him reflect on many things, it would of course also make him reflect on his relationship with Bruce as well. And without even thinking about it, he finds himself kissing the other man.

For a second, there's no response, but then Bruce answers in kind. Clark feels his wings, wings that Bruce had risked himself to create and transfer, pop out of his back. They flutter a bit, before wrapping themselves around him and Bruce. And everything feels so, so right, like everything was going to be okay.

It wasn't of course, he and Bruce definitely had to discuss their relationship and how it might affect their current lives, both of them were still recovering from the surgery, and Clark's wings didn't really feel like his just yet, despite looking exactly the same. He was also pretty sure the other Justice League members were going to be ridiculously overprotective over him for a while after being so close to losing him, same with Bruce for being reckless and secretive as always. But for now, he let himself indulge in this one perfect moment.

#and then the next time superman appears it scares the shit out of Lex because he had been bragging about how he got rid of Superman's wings #but man's still got his wings and they look exactly the same #Lex out here googling do kryptonians regenerate???#look at my science bullshit isn't it beautiful #sobbing at the thought of bruce helping clark preen his wings or clark's wings doing a lil happy dance every time he sees bruce #tw suicide #only like implied in the very first bit but just in case #justice league #lex luthor #superman #batman #bruce wayne #clark kent #superbat #let them have some angst as a treat #fic ideas #it kind of became a drabble instead lol #wing au #i typed this all in one go and no editing so oop if it's rambly #kryptonian biology #can you tell how little i understand bird biology?#primaries coverts secondary primaries idk man upper part of wings go brrrrr #sorry this post got long af

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original-missif · 9 months

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Hey I've been going through your NFHCC AU tag and I absolutely need to know when Eliot decided to tell Nate and Sophie hes a triplet. Like, did they run into them on a job and are they confused? Or did it just randomly come out one day?

Oh man, I can't believe I have an actual answer for this rather than just speculation. Thank you for asking ^u^

This is a bit of a spoiler for The Hitter Job, Extended Edition, but Nate and Sophie aren't actually the first ones to discover Eliot's blood relations. It's Hardison!

After discovering that Eliot Spencer has only existed for just under 2 years, Hardison, in innocent curiosity, digs in and discovers Eliot's real last name is Stone, and he has two brothers. He doesn't immediately go to Nate with the information, because the deeper Hardison goes the more information he gets and the picture this new information keeps getting worse. Only when Hardison feels comfortable and able to tell Nate about Eliot and his secret brothers and last name (amoung other more upsetting info) does he actually do so.

So for a while only Hardison and Nate are aware of Eliot's brothers and father, and they keep it that way. Nate is, of course, hurt that he didn't know this about one of his kids (it's a similar emotion to when he met Archie) but Eliot is almost 18 and Nate knows how easy it would be to loose the trust Eliot has in him, so he says nothing about it. I don't think it's until a job almost a year later, when the Stone triplets are all 18, does the Leverage team accidentally cross paths with both the Librarians and the Cebu trio.

It's a mess lol, but the mess ends with Eliot, Alex, and Jake all reuniting after 3 years of being apart, and the Leverage team and Librarians (as well as Kai and Ernesto) finally meeting their respective triplet's brothers and friends and guardians.

So while Nate finds out about Eliot's brothers before Sophie, and while Sophie isn't exactly happy Nate kept it from her, Sophie Devereaux (and Parker as well) is absolutely the one who understands why Eliot changed his name and never told her or Nate about his brothers. And while both Nate and Sophie aren't glad they find out by accident and not because Eliot chose to tell them, they understand why he didn't, and most likely never would have had the crossover not happened.

#the crossover event is one of the worst days of eliot's life #because it's everything he was forced to leave behind and stay away from #and he's only been able to get updates on his brothers recently when he starts therapy with col. baird #and for jake and alex he totally dropped off the map so they're not happy but are happy and it's a lot of emotions they weren't ready for #it's also the most confusing day ever for parker cassandra and zeke and kai because there's 3 of them??????#parker and zeke watched US (2019) or have met doppelgangers and aren't totally convinced one of those options isn't whats really going on #when sophie learns jacob is an art prodigy she's so happy #finally another art nerd to talk about art with. and he's so polite and such a gentleman #and thats how jacob stone outshines eliot spencer in terms of ways sophie can talk to teenagers #kai learns that eliot and the team are all criminals and has to fight every urge she has to call the cops on them or arrest them herself #all because ernesto said they were obviously very close to alex's brother and they didn't see them doing anything illegal #cassandra and hardison and zeke immediately click because science and technology nerds #and jake gives eliot the BIGGEST LOOK because zeke was bad enough before but now eliot has introduced him to other criminals #and worse still is that zeke has heard of parker and is 100% for teaming up with the criminals to do crime #i feel like ernesto is in that awkward between teen and adult stage so he just hangs back to watch out for kai and alex #who is trying very hard not to freak out and not punch eliot directly in the face #nate ford's home for criminal children au #leverage teens au #almost paradise #the librarians #ckane triplets #stone triplets #ask #takemyhand-bitch #reply

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ohnoitsthebat · 2 years

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Summer ‘84, Johnny and Daniel meet on a beach, this time in Italy.

just a little moodboard to illustrate the wonderful summery, 80s Lawrusso AU that @pohjanneito wrote. It's called Cruel Summer.

#lawrusso #the karate kid #daniel larusso #johnny lawrence #lawrusso fic #the karate kid fic #lawrusso au #cruel summer #pohjanneito #i'm so glad this was written #all of the posts inspiring this made me very happy #i wanted to read a cute summery au fic where they meet and fall in loe on vacation #*love #and italy is so beautiful!#anyway go read this!!!!#this isn't my best but i tried

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voids-cave · 7 months

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I just got remembered of Brook best day of my life

#the only one of the leons that is genuinely happy LMFAOOO #well dbd leon ends up being happy but depending on which paths happen he is still not fully happy despite everything being alright now #brook however she's got a wonderful wife she actually did something about her gender and went to therapy like #isnt that awesome.#also isn't it funny how the only leon that is truly happy is the one that actually fully transitioned. funny its like- *gets expldoed*#okay Vex does transition and ends up having a happy ending as well. he finally just. calms down and is able to live normally. it is a littl #bittersweet because he needs to abandon all of his life. except close friends to actually... like not be starving and being used as a weapo #all the time #i know no other leon would be happy with the ending he got. but bro is just so content with just accepting to let go of his humanity #cuz yknow what fuck that. he doesn't need it to be a good person. he doesnt even need it to BE a person and he doesnt need it to be happy #besides Sherry Claire Chris and Hunnigan come to visit him every other time which are the only important ppl in his life pft #vex my favorite representation of my nonhumanity and deals with morality and love n shit #u don't need love. u don't need to be human u don't need to destroy urself to take care of others. you don't need to fit the standards of #society n shit just b happy find ur own peace. u dont need any of these to live a happy life. to be a person and to care about others #anyways i think vex just deciding to be a fucking dawg in tha woods is the silliest ending to an au ive done. but one i like very much

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astraystayyh · 2 months

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pieces of you

single dad!chan. x fem!reader

genre : neighbors!au. fluff. angst. slow burn. mutual pining. 8.7k wc

summary : In which you and chan are each other's missing pieces. Alternatively, Chris and his daughter come knocking at your apartment asking for flour, and he's no longer embarrassed when you open the door.

a.n. : my chris best girl dad agenda is going strong!!!!!! my second fic for the winter falls collab with my writer xi hehe i hope you will all enjoy reading!! feedback is highly appreciated 🤍 the song chris will write for sowon is light by sleeping at last, highly recommend listening to it!!

winter falls masterlist.

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“Shh, daddy smile.”

Soft murmurs linger just beyond your door, elusive words that could easily be dismissed as figments of your imagination. However, any doubt in your mind dissipates with three resounding knocks, jolting you from your momentary contemplation.

A reluctant groan escapes you as you glance down at your attire—a loosely hanging oversized hoodie, a testament to the numerous times it has been tugged down, and a pair of pajama pants whose matching top has mysteriously vanished. Clearly, you don't feel presentable enough to welcome anyone at this late hour. So, you remain motionless, futilely lowering the TV volume in hopes that whoever's behind the door will just continue with their night. But the knocks persist against your wish, so, with a resigned sigh, you rise from your seat, your blanket cascading to the ground in a soft descent.

“What–” the words dissolve in your mouth like a sweet nectar as you open the door, your eyes beholding no one in your periphery. A slight tug at your pants draws your attention downward, only to find the most adorable child your eyes have ever laid on. She's clad in Rapunzel-themed pajamas, wolf slippers bumping into your plain ones, and, to your surprise, a whisk cradled in her small hand.

“Hey there,” your voice softens as you crouch to meet her warm gaze. You find an innocent happiness gleaming in her eyes, a radiant spark shining even beneath the corridor's muted light. Two dimples adorn her cheeks as she smiles at you.

“Hi, my dad wants to tell you something,” she says, pointing with her whisk to the very end of the hallway. You crane your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive figure.

“Your dad?”

“Mm. He’s a bit shy, that’s why he’s hiding,” she confides in a whisper. But, despite her earnest attempt, her words still resound loudly in the vacant space, causing giggles to spill out of your mouth.

“And you aren’t shy?” you inquire, tilting your head.

“Nu-uh,” she shakes her head with conviction as someone emerges behind her. She instinctively wraps an arm around their leg, nestling her cheek against their thigh.

She isn't shy because she feels protected.

You rise from your place, eyes locking with a familiar shade of brown. Only these hold a mesmerizing quality to them making your very breath catch in your throat. Kindness pours from his gaze as it travels down your face, a sentiment that further materializes as delicate smile lines stitch around the corner of his eyes.

He’s beautiful.

Your eyes trail down to two pairs of dimples, mirroring the ones of his daughter perfectly. She is his living portrait, sharing his eyes, lips, and smile. Yet, his cheeks blush in a hue she does not possess, while his left hand fiddles with his earlobe, in an unspoken, timid gesture. For some odd reason, it pierces straight through your heart.

“Sorry for bothering you,” a smooth Australian accent rolls off his tongue, similar to rich butter spread on warm bread- it infuses your being with tingles pulsating from the base of your toes. You suddenly no longer miss your blanket.

“I'm your next-door neighbor. We were just making cookies and we realized we actually don’t have flour,” he explains, a bashful smile imprinted onto his lips.

“You didn’t check beforehand?” you ask, laughter tinting your voice.

“I forgot,” he admits, but his tone sounds almost sad as if beating himself over it. A fleeting shadow veils his face briefly, dissipating like a passing cloud grazing the sun.

“Can we borrow some from you? I told Sowon that we could go to the store but she said it’s too cold out,” he asks, his hand resting on his daughter’s shoulder soothingly.

“It is too cold out,” you agree with a frown, looking down at Sowon to which she smiles brightly, happy to have your support.

“And of course, I'll bring you flour. Don’t worry about it. Do you want to come in meanwhile?”

“It's okay, we'll wait here. Don’t want to intrude.”

“Thank you!” Sowon beams, her missing tooth in full display.

“Yeah, thank you so much…” he trails out, tilting his head as if to silently inquire about your name.

“Yn. And you?”

“Chris.”

“Nice to meet you, Chris,” you smile, shaking his extended hand. His fingers wrap around your palm, and it feels as if you’re grasping thunder, crackling with an electricity that your eyes can’t behold, yet your soul does, suddenly illuminated from within.

Your smile grows as you detach yourself from his hold, before bending forward to bop Sowon’s nose. “And nice to meet you too Rapunzel.”

Your words make her hide behind her father’s leg, peeking out slightly to look at you.

“See I'm not the only one who gets shy,” Chan chuckles, and Sowon whines in complaint, further burying her face in her dad’s grey sweatpants.

Adorable, so much it stirs a long-forgotten melancholy within your being.

“She gets a pass, she's still young, right Sowon?”

“Are you calling me old then?” Chan fakes outrage, bringing one hand to his chest while the other cradles Sowon’s back.

“Old enough to forget about flour,” you wink and he laughs, looking down at your slippers.

“Touché.”

A few minutes go by before you come back, a recipient full of flour in your hands. The sight before you makes you pause in your tracks– Chris, leaning against the wall, Sowon propped on his hip, her arms loosely hanging around his neck, her eyes closed.

“Did she…” you whisper and he turns to you.

“Yeah, fell asleep,” he smiles fondly, tucking a few strands of her hair behind the curve of her ear. “She’ll be disappointed when she wakes up to no cookies. She wanted us to have a baking holiday tradition.”

“You don’t know how to make them?”

“No, I was counting on a six-year-old to assist me,” he chuckles quietly, prompting a snort from you.

“Well, keep the flour, in case you need it again.”

“Thank you, Yn,” he grins, the smile taking over his entire face, grabbing the recipient from you.

“You’re welcome Chris,” you say, as you both linger around the door still, not making any attempt to move.

Your eyes refuse to peel away from his, as if there were a magnetic force drawing you to him, telling you that your gaze belonged to rest on him.

“Uhm,” he clears his throat, leaning away from the wall. “I'll get going.”

“Yeah, sleep well, Chris.”

“Thank you,” he smiles before turning around.

An idea brews in your head, a germ sprouted by the clear adoration in which Sowon gazed at her dad, and the disappointment in his face as he said he would no longer be making cookies. Had you wished to dig a little deeper, you would’ve also found a long-buried feeling of a little girl who would have loved holiday traditions as well. You close the door before heading straight to your kitchen.

One hour later

You knock softly on Chris’ door, fidgeting from one foot to another. You almost retract back to your apartment after your fourth knock, when the door finally opens, Chris coming into your line of sight.

“Hi,” you greet, hands behind your back.

“Hey,” he smiles, leaning his arm on the doorway, right above your head. He tilts his head to the side, silently wondering what you want. The words dissolve in your mouth at the way his eyes fixate on you as if trying to peer behind your irises onto your mind.

“Cookies,” you bring the plate before him, as his eyes grow wide, an incredulous smile drawn on his lips.

“You made them?”

“Yeah, didn't want Sowon to be disappointed,” you shrug and his eyes grow wild, racking all over your face in disbelief.

“You didn't have to do this,” he finally says, tone softening, syllables ringing like a sweet sonnet in your ears.

“I know. I wanted to. and I'm a baker so making cookies comes easily to me, don't worry about it,” you shrug sheepishly, biting your lower lip slightly. You felt scrutinized by him in ways you haven't felt before.

“Thank you, Yn, I don’t even know what to say,” he says, his smile resembling a beam of light. A surge of pride courses through you at managing to bring it forth.

“No need to say anything. I hope I didn't wake you up,” you smile sheepishly and he shakes his head.

“No, I- I was working in my studio and Sowon is asleep. It's just us two. Always has been,” he adds, tone slightly changing, air growing heavier between you both. It's just them two.

“Studio?” you inquire, hoping to dispel the tension latching around you both.

“I'm a music producer,” he clarifies. “I made a studio here so I could stay the night with Sowon.”

“I'm sure she appreciates that,” you say as you hand the plate to him. His fingertips brush against your own, and a slight electricity courses through you at the touch, the hallway suddenly brighter from the fireworks ricocheting off of you both.

“I…. I'll get going.”

“Yeah, yeah, don't want to take more of your time.”

“I'll see you around.”

“Yeah, I'll see you,” he says, words not ringing carelessly into the air, sounding more like a promise. He'll see you, he'll make sure of it.

ii.

“Can you wait!” a voice echoes near the building entrance, and you prevent the elevator doors from closing as hurried steps near you.

You recognize the voice easily by the light tingles running down your spine, the Australian accent shooting straight through your heart. Its owner materializes, Chris— leather jacket hugging his muscles snuggly, black t-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, cap nestled on his head, rebellious strands of ebony hair peeking behind it.

You find the breath knocked out of you once again at his sight. He's beautiful, even more so in broad daylight, where every feature of his comes to life, beckoning, demanding your sole attention.

“Hey, Yn,” he smiles in delight, uttering your name in a familiarity that infuses your being with warmth. Even though you've only talked once, two days ago.

“Hey, Chris,” you greet back, pressing the fourth elevator button again. you face the mirror to find Chris already looking at you, his eyes instantly locking with yours.

“The cookies were good,” he smiles softly and you grin. “I'm glad you think so.”

“Where is your bakery? I need to taste more of your baking.”

The butterflies in your stomach tone down at his words, your attraction momentarily forgotten as gratitude coats your heart instead.

“I can text you the address?” you propose.

“Yeah, here,” he takes out his phone, a picture of him and Sowon set as his lock screen— their cheeks are pressed tightly to one another, messily done eyeliner on both their eyes. you giggle to yourself as you grab the device.

“Cute picture,” you muse and he brings an arm to his neck, scratching the side of it timidly.

“She insists on trying her makeup on me.”

“She makes you look better,” you giggle and he rolls his eyes, tongue poking against his cheek.

“She wants to become a stylist,” he explains, as the elevator doors open. He lets you out first, arm stretched forward.

“I find her passion really cute so I buy her anything she asks for,” he shrugs and you chuckle, pointing to the bag of pink ribbons he is carrying.

“Let me guess, she wants to use these on you?”

“Yeah. She also said that I quote ‘need to learn new hairstyles because her friends always come to class with intricate braids, and she can't go to class with a simple one.’” He repeats, tone growing slightly high-pitched as he mimics his daughter's words. Yet, the fond smile on his face is louder, screaming of his love for her.

“She has you wrapped around your finger,” you muse, leaning against your door. The keys in your bag are long forgotten.

“She can be very scary for such a little girl.”

“What does she threaten you with?” you ask, feigning horror.

“No goodnight kisses,” he whispers, as if scared she'd hear him beyond the wooden door.

“Torture,” you gasp, placing your hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Yet, the smiles slip out of your face instantly. Was it normal for clothes to dissolve under your touch, layers of cotton and leather doing nothing to stop the warmth of his skin from seeping through you? Was it normal to be so affected by such an innocent touch?

“Uhm,” you clear your throat, “I can help you. with her hair, I mean.”

“You don't have to. I already took too much from your time with the cookies,” he seems truly apologetic, his tone sobering as if despising others doing things for him. You see yourself in him, in the way he wants to carry the world’s burden on his shoulders. It is a reflection you wish to mend.

“I don't mind, I remember feeling jealous of the other girls in my school so I made myself learn all the braids.”

And then you see his gratefulness, the twinkle in his eyes that you can only grasp for a millisecond before they disappear into moon crescents. Happiness looks grand on him, overtaking his entire face, brightening his features with a glow too ethereal to be of mankind, as if they were carved to translate joy. You find yourself willing to give up more of your time to see it.

“Thank you,” he breathes out and you nod, a grin taking over your face as well.

“You’re welcome. Let me just change my clothes.”

☃︎⋆꙳•❅

“And then, you pull the right strand all over to the middle one. Then you repeat, this way the ribbon is braided into the hair,” you explain to a very concentrated Chris, his eyebrows furrowed as he follows your movements.

“It looks easy when you do it,” he frowns and you giggle, handing the mirror to Sowon so she'd be able to look at her hair.

“Do you like it,” you ask, a tad apprehensive and she beams, dimples that almost swallow her chubby cheeks surging forth.

“Pretty!” she exclaims and you giggle, bopping her nose. “You are pretty.”

“And you are pretty too. right, daddy?”

You turn back to find Chris watching you, a smile so fond on his face that it renders your insides putty, coats your cheek in the palest shade of pink.

“Very much so,” he says, tone quieter, his eyes never leaving yours.

Sowon suddenly climbs on her dad’s lap, star and moon stickers in hand. She places them all over his face, and he sits there diligently, arms wrapped around her midriff so she won't slip away. Every carefully placed sticker is punctuated by a soft gasp from him and a small giggle from her. You could feel the love radiating from both of them, a feeling so strong it made your heart twist in your chest.

Were there red neon exits you weren’t aware of in your being? Ones through which love trickled away all these years ago? Were the spaces between your fingers carved to hold someone’s hand, or to make everything you've ever wanted slip from your grasp?

“What do you think?” Sowon startles you and you force a smile on your face, willing the heaviness in your heart to dissipate. There were questions you'd never find the answers to, you had to make peace with that.

“I love it!” you grin and Sowon nods, satisfied. You look down at your lap as Chris fixates his eyes on you, a worried crease growing between his eyebrows.

“Fun is over, you need to do your homework, Miss Bang,” he scolds and you snort, as Sowon rolls her eyes slightly.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” he fakes offense and you giggle as Sowon huffs slightly. “Dad, I told you I have no homework. I already did it with uncle Felix.”

“Oh, right,” he deflates slightly before brightening up once again, “then, you should put away all these hairbrushes and ribbons, okay?”

“Will you watch a movie later with me?”

“Of course, baby.”

“Okay then,” she grins, quickly standing up to start putting away her things. you smile, getting up your turn to leave. Chris understands and stands with you on cue.

“You can stay and watch the movie with us.”

“It's okay, I have some things to work on,” you turn around, but then you feel his fingers wrapping around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“Are you okay?” he asks, hand still burning straight through your skin, igniting a million nerve ends with a simple touch. You avoid his eyes, looking down at the ground. It seems to be response enough for him.

“We’re conditioned to say yes even when we aren’t, right?” he speaks softly, his words travel through your veins in a rapid course against the current of your blood— which one will reach your heart first and flood it?

Your facade cracks. His voice wins.

“So, you don't have to reply now,” his thumb swipes once across your pulse. “But I'll be here if you ever wish to tell the truth.”

iii.

You’ve grown exceptionally fond of Chris in the span of mere months, more than you would like to admit to yourself. It was an easy task, as natural as the current of a waterfall. Yet, you did not plan for it, for a new emotion to settle on top of your lungs, to make you more aware of your heart and how it beats, slightly faster, around Chris. But it happened serendipitously, against all odds, when he knocked on your door at 10 p.m. asking for salt.

“Should I start buying groceries for you?” you joked, and it took Chris a millisecond longer to respond, his gaze wandering across your face, as if discovering the world’s eighth wonder, hidden in plain sight all these years.

“For my defense, I have a daughter that likes experimenting with cooking,” he smiled, and you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Just with salt?”

“She added four teaspoons of it in an omelet. Then forced me to eat it because I always tell her food shouldn't go to waste,” he shudders at the memory and you chuckle loudly.

Chris knocks on the doors of your heart, once.

It happened when you spotted a cockroach the size of your palm on your bedroom wall. You would’ve killed it, you were going to, except it started flying towards you and you let out a loud shriek you didn’t know your vocal chords were capable of conjuring. So, you called Chris.

“Can you please come over,” you murmured, crouching near the entrance door, a pair of slippers in your hand.

“Why are you whispering? are you okay?” he sounded worried, and you heard the turning of a lock as he opened the door to his apartment. He didn’t ask questions, instantly coming to your aid. A sudden urge to weep filled your being at his gesture.

“There is a cockroach. a flying one,” you precised, horror dripping from your tongue and his laugh flooded your ear, tiny squeaks that made your hold on the slipper grow limp.

“I'm from Australia,” he knocked on your door, and you stood up promptly. “I've seen worse,” he said once you finally opened it, his eyes softening incredibly when they met yours.

He did kill the cockroach, by spraying your insect repellent enough times to asphyxiate you too. “I don't think I can sleep in there tonight,” you sighed, gulping down ice cold water, “why does it feel like we went through war?”

“We? You were behind my back all the time.”

“I was cheering you on, from afar. Spiritually.”

“I can’t believe a cockroach scares you this much.”

“You literally screamed when it flied towards you too.”

“I didn't scream! I made a very manly, non-terrified sound.”

“Mm, sure,” you giggled, voice softening at the blushing of the tip of his ears. Chris didn't have to force the door down to your heart, you willingly opened it for him.

And after that, it was a race to find the silliest excuses to see one another. Chris suddenly taking up an inkling for baking, you manifesting a newfound interest in music, Sowon needing her makeup done for a dance, Chris visiting you in your bakery, Sowon craving your cookies and you teaching her the recipe, Chris knocking on your door and you knocking on his. The same giddy smiles on your faces as you usher each other in. And it always, always ending with a movie night.

“Let's watch Tangled,” Sowon exclaims, clapping her hands excitedly.

“Baby, we watched this movie for the past…” he looks at you for support. “Three,” you whisper, a bashful smile on your face. “Yeah, for the past three movie nights,” he whines slightly.

“But I love it,” she says, her pout morphing into a huge grin. “Again! Again! Again!”

“Fine,” he concedes, mouthing “save me,” from afar to you. You giggle softly while Sowon cozies up to your side, your arm naturally draping across her body while her legs stretch atop Chris’ lap, naturally, as if having you both by her side was the way things have always been. The only reality she’s ever known.

It is a fleeting fifty minutes as the three of you watch the movie, Sowon reciting excitedly the lines that she seems to remember. But then the quiet is replaced by her soft snores, her body growing light against you.

“She fell asleep,” you whisper, tapping Chris’ shoulder to catch his attention. He tilts his head to the side, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his eyes land on his daughter.

“I'm sorry you have to watch the same movie every time,” he says apologetically and you shake your head.

“I don't mind. Tangled is a good movie.”

“Are you here just because of the movie?” he smiles, dimples peeking through. The juxtaposition between the weight of his words and the soft expression on his face makes a buzzing warmth spread through you. He’s cold and hot, in and out, yours but not.

“What do you want me to be here for?” you throw back, squeezing his shoulder slightly.

“The company.”

“I do find Sowon entertaining.”

“Just her?” he pouts and you giggle, tipping your head back.

“And you too, I suppose, by extension.”

“By extension, mm,” he hums, as he gathers Sowon in his arms, freeing her from your hold. “Then I guess I shouldn't come visit you in your bakery anymore. Since you only enjoy my presence by extension.”

“So sassy,” you shout-whisper as you both walk to Sowon's bedroom, “I like your company too, idiot.”

“Yeah?” he turns back to look at you, tone a tad bit too hopeful. He doesn’t care that he sounds eager for your approval, not when he feels as if he can only truly breathe when you're near.

“Yeah, Chris, I really do,” you speak earnestly, and Chris bites his lower lip slightly, suddenly overwhelmed by the gentleness of your tone. Your eyes follow his action instantly.

He lowers Sowon gently onto the bed and she stirs awake, blinking repeatedly at the both of you. “Yn,” she calls out quietly once her eyes land on yours and you kneel before her bed. Chris watches from the door entrance as Sowon cups her hand near your ear, before whispering something to you. He notices your body stiffening, your gaze fleeting to him before you relax, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

He wishes he could freeze time, stitch this moment into his eyelids until it is the only thing he sees when he goes to sleep. Loneliness is too big of an enemy for one person to fight off, but it seems more harmless when you are near.

Chris sees you right here, every night, not forcing your place into his family, but falling seamlessly into place. Perhaps you were the missing piece that’ll soothe the burn in his heart. Perhaps he’d let you in, even as fear paralyzes his being at the mere thought of asking you to stay.

One week later.

You've grown used to the knocks on your door at ungodly hours of the night, Chris seeking your company each time you both fail to fall asleep. Except this time, there is a chilling premonition in your heart as you walk to your home’s entrance, anxiety coiling like a steel ball in your throat.

“What’s wrong?” you ask upon opening the door, locking eyes with Chris's bloodshot gaze.

“Sowon,” he heaves, tone laden with fear, so different from how he usually pronounces her name. The syllables pierce through your heart like an arrowhead dipped in alarm.

“Sowon?” you question, peering behind him to his slightly ajar apartment door.

“Yes, she has a high fever, and it won’t come down. I tried everything, and I-I don’t know what to do anymore. She’s shaking, but I can’t—”He trembles, his quivers akin to delicate chinaware on the precipice of an earthquake, poised to shatter at your feet. You'd plunge to the ground first, anything to soften his impending collapse.

“It’s okay,” you soothe, your voice soft as you grasp his wrist. “Let’s go see her, okay?”

“It's her first time being this sick,” he whispers, clearly distraught, one hand running through his freshly dyed blonde hair.

“It's okay. Don’t panic, it happens. Did you give her medicine?”

“Yes, a few minutes ago,” he replies as you guide him towards her room.

“Good, it'll start working soon,” you reassure, opening the door and crouching before Sowon.

“Hey, Rapunzel,” you coo softly, and Sowon attempts to muster a smile. Her cheeks flush, eyes dim like withered petals.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, pressing your hand to her feverish forehead. You cast a wary glance at Chan, who's anxiously biting his thumb.

“Cold,” she whispers, and you nod, peeling off her blanket. “I know you are, but you have a high fever. We need to let it cool down, okay?”

“I-I’m shaking,” Sowon sighs, lower lip protruding and trembling, both from the iciness clawing at her frail being, and the tears welling in her waterline, like a cup on the brink of overflowing.

“Shh, don't cry. It will pass, it's okay,” you murmur soothingly, cradling her face on your lap, gently moving damp strands of her hair behind her ear.

“Chris, can you bring me a towel and a bowl with cold water?” you ask softly, and the man startles, painfully peeling his eyes away from his daughter, as if doing so would consign her to a dark fate.

“Sure. Sure,” he repeats, scurrying out of the room.

Sowon buries her cheek in your thigh, small hands clinging tightly to yours. You tie her hair up into a loose bun as Chan hurriedly comes back, a bassinet in his hand.

“Thank you,” you smile, as he kneels beside the bed, his hand resting on Sowon’s knee gently.

“Hey sweetheart,” he coos softly, and Sowon blinks at him, light spilling over her face.

“Hey daddy,” she replies as you dip the towel into the water, before squeezing the fabric to remove any liquid excess.

“You're being so strong. I love you so much my pretty girl,” he says, bringing her small hand to rest upon his cheek, bestowing a gentle kiss on her palm.

The moment feels so intimate, so tender, that you almost feel like an intruder. You imagine this is what thorns on roses must feel like, so out of place amid delicate petals and stems.

“I love you too,” she grins, and you remain silent, diligently wiping her face and neck with the dampened towel. You soon lose track of the number of times you've repeated this motion, but Sowon’s eyes are now closed and her body is no longer trembling.

You rest your palm upon her forehead, a sigh of relief escaping your body as you realize that her fever has gone down noticeably- the medicine finally taking effect.

“It's better now,” you smile reassuringly and Chris’s eyes widen, irises shaking as he looks back to his daughter.

“Will she be okay?”

“She will be. She just needs to sleep a bit.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“Can we prepare her something to eat meanwhile?”

“Mm,” he absentmindedly nods, his fingers trailing down Sowon’s features delicately, resting upon her round cheeks.

"She looks just like you," you softly smile.

"I know," he admits, not with pride but in surrender, as if his reflection was nothing but a cursed fate. His voice tastes like ocean water, salty, acid, suffocating.

“Chris…” you trail off and he shakes his head, abruptly standing up.

“Let's make her chicken noodle soup. She loves it,” he says and you nod. A ticking bomb resides in his veins, devoid of a countdown, leaving you unsure of when he'll finally explode.

You get your answer soon after—it takes two minutes and thirty-three seconds for the first tear to roll down Chris’s cheek. You spot it as you retrieve carrots from the fridge, averting your gaze as Chan angrily wipes it away.

A few seconds later, five tears follow the same agonizing trail, and now the knife is shaking in Chris’s hands. He squeezes his eyes shut as if frustrated by his pain, by the emotions escaping through the cracks in his heart.

You stay silent, bringing the water to a simmer.

The clank of metal against the counter snaps your attention, and you see Chris with his head lowered down, his hands tightly clutching the counter.

Your tongue moves before you can order it to speak.

"Chris," you call out, your hand finding its place on his back. An ugly sob escapes his lips, a raw cry unearthed from the depths of the soil where he buried his feelings, never allowing himself the grace of grieving, then moving on.

“I'm a horrible father,” he utters so brokenly as if this idea were cemented into his head, woven into every thought of himself—an adjective that lingers like a phantom each time Sowon calls him dad.

“You're not, what are you saying?” you gently turn him around so he'd face you. But his eyes remain downcast, as if ashamed to meet your gaze.

“I didn't know what to do. I panicked. I-I wasn't enough to help her.”

“It's okay, you can't know everything, you are trying your best-”

“No, no, no, it's not just about this!” he snaps, despair clinging to his eyes as he finally looks at you. “It’s hard. It’s so hard to be here alone, and I- I try but it's not enough, I can't do everything and I'm not a good enough parent for her, there will a-always be something missing.”

“You're wrong,” you say but he shakes his head in disagreement. “Chris, you're wrong,” you cradle his face, taking you both by surprise. Your thumb swipes gently underneath the skin of his eyes, wiping his cascading tears.

“You love Sowon. And she can feel it, she can see it, she can hear it. Everyone can. A parent can't be perfect, but they should love. And you love her.”

“What if I can't even love her enough for a father? How will I ever fill the role of two parents?” he's leaning onto your palm, hanging onto your every word. You'd sit for hours and untangle every thread of his mind if you have to, until you single out the infested one and burn it away.

“She loves you Chris. She looks at you as if you hang every star in the sky. As if you're responsible for every good thing that happens in our world. She loves you and you love her.”

You gaze up at the ceiling, tears welling in your eyes. Chan notices the subtle tremble in your hand against his cheek.

“If I had someone who loved me as much as you love Sowon when I was a child, I would've turned out so differently,” you smile bitterly, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

“You won't be a perfect dad. You can't be. But she won't grow up with a throbbing heart, pulsating because of a void that cannot be filled. Her veins won't be poisoned by hate and abandonment. Because she knows what it's like to be loved,” you pause, as your voice breaks, traitorous tears rolling down your cheeks. “To be cared for.”

Your eyes hold his in a silent conversation, secretly telling him what your tongue cannot speak of— Sowon, an untarnished blossom, won't unfurl into a solitary flower the way you did.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers after a while, eyes softening in understanding. His knuckles brush gently against your cheek.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“So you'd find a reason within you to forgive,” he says, as he leans forward to press a tender kiss on your forehead. And somehow it feels more intimate than any way you've been touched before.

Five days later.

chris [11:32 p.m.]: you up?

yn [11:32 p.m.]: i just got bad flashbacks to my college years

chris [11:33 p.m.]: ajaksjsbsbbs

chris [11:33 p.m.]: i didn’t mean it like that ㅠㅠ

chris [11:33 p.m.]: wanna come over? i'm in the studio but im not feeling inspired

yn [11:34 p.m.]: and how will i help?

chris [11:34 p.m.]: i find your presence inspiring

You don’t reply, instead putting on your slippers and walking over to his apartment. He opens the door before you even have the chance to knock.

“What are you working on?” you ask once you’re settled atop his chair, spinning around slightly. He looks down at the pillow on his lap, lightly plucking its pink fur. “A song for Sowon,” he admits softly and your eyes grow a little wide.

“That is so sweet,” you pout, inching closer to him. “How is it going?”

“I've finished the melody and now I'm working on the lyrics. There is just.. so much i want to tell her, i'm unsure if ill be able to express it well.”

“Can I read what you wrote?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he searches through his papers. “Here.”

May these words be the first to find your ears

The world is brighter than the sun now that you're here

I'll give you everything I have

I'll teach you everything I know

I promise I'll do better

I will soften every edge

I'll hold the world to its best

And I'll do better

Tears spring to your eyes unexpectedly, you try to stop their flow but they fall upon the paper, splattering like a broken mosaic, mimicking the brokenness of your own heart.

“I'm sorry,” you spin around, your back to him as you attempt to dry your tears, and yet they show no desire to stop. Chris is in your heart and he’s kicking every other emotion out, forcing you to make amends with your sadness, the one you buried years, years ago.

Chris gently grabs the back of the chair, pulling you back to him before spinning your chair once again until you are facing him. You bury your face in your hands and his rests reassuringly on your knee, squeezing it slightly. “Is it so bad it made you sob?”

“Shut up, you know this isn’t the case.”

His hand delicately traces up your arm, gently lifting your fingers from your face. He kneels before you, his thumb tenderly wiping away the traces of tears on your cheeks.

“Talk to me?”

“It's so beautiful, so warm, so loving. Everything a parent should think of their child,” a traitorous hiccup escapes your lips. “Everything my parents never felt for me.”

Chris’ mouth morphs into a pout, eyebrows scrunching tightly. You shake your head, smoothing down the worried crease between his eyes.

“I don't feel sad over things I can't control and I love myself enough now to compensate for what I didn't have, but sometimes-'' your voice breaks, Chan’s hold on your hands tightens. “It stings to remember what could’ve been.”

Stings was an understatement, it is rather a pulsating void, throbbing in ache every day, calling out for its missing piece. How can I fill you with what was lost when it chose to walk away?

“Come here,” he whispers, coaxing you to your feet, his arms enveloping your body as he guides your head to the crook of his neck. His body runs warm, the material of his sweatshirt soft, and he smells nice too, the contours of his muscles tailor-made to complement the ridges of your own.

“You grew up well, Yn. You did well.”

You clutch his shirt, tightening your grip as you fist the fabric in your palm. He's patting your back, and time slows down to match the rhythm of his touch.

“Love can be hard, I know. Especially when the people who left are the ones supposed to be staying.”

He understands, more than anyone you know. He missed out on a different kind of love too, two facets of the same coin.

“You’re doing well too, Chris. You shouldn’t doubt yourself as much,” your arms trail up to encircle his neck, as his nose tickles your hair. You're the one hugging him now. “Sowon is really smart, she told me that she loves you a lot. She can feel it. She sees everything you do for her.”

“Is that what she told you that movie night?”

“Partly,” you whisper, and Chris leans away slightly, his warm palms still pressed to your waist, holding you close.

“What else did she tell you?” he asks, curiosity barely hidden in his tone.

You pause for a while, eyes going over the entire room before finally locking on him.

“She thanked me, said that I make you smile more.” You suck in a deep breath, gathering your courage. “Do I?”

“There are smile lines that don’t show on my face until you're near.”

“Oh.” That is the only coherent response you can formulate, and Chris giggles, a tiny squeak escaping his lips in a huff. “Cute,” he murmurs, planting a tender kiss on your temple. His lips linger, holding onto the moment a beat longer than necessary, causing your eyes to close in delight. Both of you find yourselves blushing as he leans away, a shared warmth coloring the space between you.

“Sorry, didn't mean to make the mood somber,” you say sheepishly as you sit back down, eyeing Chris’s laptop. “I wanna hear this,” you quickly point to a random track on his screen before he can reply, hoping to make the sadness flee away.

“This one? It’s not really good, let's listen to something else,” his rambling and eagerness to change the track pique your curiosity and you quickly click on the song before he can stop you.

connected.mp3 starts playing.

Sultry beats inundate your ears, weaving through your veins and whisking you away to the pulsating rhythm of a dance club. You knew Chris produced good music, yet you never fathomed that his voice could be so luxuriously rich, cascading over you like molten wax. You feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the suggestive lyrics, the innuendos peeking behind every word. And then, a sudden jealousy claws at your heart, at the thought of Chris hunched in his studio, fantasizing about connecting with someone who isn’t you.

You wished to be the only one Chris liked.

“It’s a- a demo for one of my clients,” he explains through a stutter once the song is done, and you nod meekly, willing your body’s temperature to go down, for the possessivity crinkling in you to fizzle out.

So, you put on your best taunting smirk.

“I know you want me don’t crumble.. No need to be desperate we’re just getting started,” you sing-song back. “You were feeling so cocky when you wrote this, right?” you grin, inching your chair closer to his. “Feeling yourself, Mr. Bang?”

He chuckles with a hint of annoyance, running his tongue along the expanse of his lower lip. Leaning back into his chair, he casually spreads his legs a bit wider, a gesture that suddenly leaves you feeling dizzy, on him.

“It’s cute how affected you seem by it,” he throws nonchalantly, crossing his arms before his chest.

“I'm not,” you smile, although your erratic heartbeat spoke of a different tale, you just didn't need to voice it to him. “I think you were the one getting all hot and bothered in your studio,” you stand between his legs, hovering over him as he leans back fully in his chair.

“I was thinking of a pretty girl.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” he suddenly grabs your waist, you feel like your entire body is ablaze. “The prettiest.”

"Who is she?" you exhale, teetering on the edge of crashing your lips onto his, like an incoherent love poem, hastily scrambled on a notebook in a fit of anger.

“y–” The door suddenly opens, Sowon’s small frame standing by the door, she’s rubbing her eyes tiredly, her chick plushie dangling from her hand (a gift from her uncle Felix as she explained to you). You quickly scramble away from Chris as he clears his throat loudly.

“Daddy, I can't sleep,” she says faintly, a tiny pout drawn on her lips, and you can see Chris physically melt at her words, at the way she paddles to his chair, and tries her best to climb up his legs. She fails to do so, so he quickly scopes her up his arms until she’s buried in his hold. Her small hands wound up around his neck, and he tenderly pats down her hair, his gaze never wavering from her frame.

“Want me to sing to you, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she whispers, before making grabby hands at you, your heart softens like clay dough as you scoot closer, enclosing her fingers in your hold.

“Sleep well, Sowonnie,” you whisper.

“Can’t you stay with us?” she asks and you feel your blood freeze in your veins, your heart skipping three beats at once.

To stay. What a frightening concept. Even more scary when you realize that you aren’t opposed to it.

You yearn to stay, for the first time in years, you wish you could.

You swallow the growing lump in your throat, before smiling reassuringly. “I'll stay till you fall asleep.”

Conditions, it is the way it has always been for you. staying till you’re no longer useful, staying till you're no longer wanted. Staying, but always with a time limit, always with an expiration date.

iv.

You’re avoiding him.

Chris knows you are, since you no longer come over to his house, claiming that you’re tired, or that you have an important order to bake for the next day. He would have believed you had he not seen you only once in the past three weeks.

Those were excuses, and each one of them weighed heavily on Chris’ heart, on his home too, his studio particularly, the one that got used to the sound of your laugh.

He misses you. He never thought he’d miss someone again, craving you presence as if every breath leaving his body depended on you. He wasn’t a stranger to intimacy, fleeting hookups every now and then. Strangers invited him to their bed, knowing what they were signing up for– one night of pleasure, never to be seen again, their faces blurring into an indistinct mass in his mind, like an impressionist painting where no features stand out. Yet, with you, every detail is etched in his memory.

He could pick you out of a crowded room, recognize the delicate curve of your neck, the fullness of your lips, and the way your nose scrunches when you smile.

He could draw the moles scattered on your body from memory alone, recognize your scent from miles away– your cotton shampoo and the specific laundry detergent you love to use and a hint of vanilla that never truly leaves you.

He’d remember the curve of your lashes and the cascading of your hair, the airy giggles you leave across like a trail for him to follow everywhere, and your eyes– the way they gazed at him, softening slightly around the edges, shining brightly as if crafted from stardust, the way they softened even more when you looked at Sowon, voice growing slightly high pitched as you listened to his daughter’s rambles.

How did you manage to make his home yours without ever living in it?

“Dad?” Sowon calls out and he snaps his head up, locking eyes with his little girl. She’s sitting on a high stool, munching on her pizza, a pensive look on her face.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he asks, walking over to her side.

“Where is Ynnie?” she asks in a small voice and he freezes, mulling over his response. He settles for the truth.

“I don't know, baby.”

“Does she not want to play with me anymore?” Sowon whispers, and he doesn’t remember his daughter ever being this tentative about voicing a question.

“No!” he's quick to reassure, cradling Sowon’s face between his much larger hands. “Of course not baby she loves you a lot.”

“Okay…” she nods, a small pout drawn on her lips still. Chris senses his heart physically crack in his chest.

“Do you wanna work in the studio with me?” he says in a joyful tone, and she instantly cheers up, the twinkle in her eyes found again. “Yes!”

“Finish your food first, okay Wonnie?”

“Okay!”

In Chris's life, regrets have been scarce, and certainly not in the form of Sowon, his beacon of hope, as he named her. Having her was beholding a sun wherever he went. However, a fear lingers, a whisper in his heart, suggesting that letting you go might be his one true regret.

So when his daughter falls asleep, he knocks on your door once again. He's suddenly transported into that cold night, months ago, where he asked you for flour. Had he known you were behind it he would’ve knocked much sooner.

“Hi,” you greet softly once you open the door. He takes a step forward, his wolf slippers matching with Sowon’s bump into your plain ones. You avert your gaze, finding anything but him to fixate on.

“You're avoiding me,” he says matter-of-factly, voice soft, resigning to you.

“I'm not,” you contradict, even as your eyes remain on the ground. He finds himself missing the color of your irises.

"Look at me, hm?" he implores, and you stay rooted in place. A soft sigh escapes him as he cradles your right cheek with his warm hand, his thumb gently sweeping across your cheekbone. "Yn, please, I want to look at you."

Maybe it is the pleading tone of his voice or the way his thumb tenderly grazes your skin, but something about Chris makes your resolve unravel, threads of fear unknotting before your eyes. So, you finally look at him. An exhale of relief escapes him.

And then you speak.

“You asked me if I was okay, and I didn't reply, back then,” you say, leaning your head further against his palm as tears well up in your waterline. “Do you still want to know my answer?”

“Of course, always.”

“I'm happy. With you, with sowon. I feel this warmth that I have never known before when I'm with you. It was almost easy to forget I've known you during winter,” you chuckle dryly, “but it is all an illusion, I lie to myself thinking I could stay, I… I can't, I-“

“What if I ask you to stay?” he brings your hand to his heart, where it beats erratically, pulse seeping through your skin.

He’s as scared as you are.

“Chris…”

“What if I told you, Yn, please stay with me,” he breathes out, guiding your hand to gently cup his cheek. “Would you? Would you stay?”

“I'm terrified,” you whisper, as he tilts his head, bestowing a tender kiss on your palm.

“I know, so am I. But, you make me believe that even my bruised parts are worthy of love.”

He wins, before years of skeletons and piled up doubts, he wins.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I'm staying.”

“You are?”

“I am,” you giggle lightly and he staggers back, the sun pouring into his smile.

“Um, wow, okay. Thank you for staying,” his voice sounds airy, happiness floating in his tone, and you find it contagious, imprinting into your own.

“Thank you for asking me to stay.”

“You made it less daunting,” he pats your head, smoothing your hair down. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

He giggles in response and you can't help but mirror the sound. “Why are you so nervous?”

“Whaaat? I'm not,” his tone grows high-pitched and you roll your eyes amusedly.

“What happened to connected Chris?”

“He is flustered by the girl he wrote about.”

Your cheeks tint red as he places a hand above your head, caging you in place.

“I think the girl should get paid for being the muse.”

“Oh yeah?” he smirks, “I'll think about it.” His grin softens, as a content expression washes over his face. You know you must look the same. “Let's talk more tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you grin, before placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Chris.”

“Good night, yn.”

You quietly watch as he walks to his apartment door, his hand settling on the door knob. He pauses, for a few seconds where the air around you stills, before swiveling around and walking over to you again.

you win.

“I forgot something,” he breathes out, before crashing his lips onto yours, furiously, as if needing to imprint his essence onto you, tainting your soul the way you have tainted him, permanently altering the composition of his being. His lips move on yours as if they've done this before, a dance they have rehearsed countless times, perhaps in all the dreams Chris visited you in. Yet, nothing compares to how it feels to have him touch you, lick your lower lip and drag his hand up your hips, press you against your apartment door, and nibble at your neck.

Nothing could have prepared you for the passion he shows you, for how delicious it feels to be pressed against him, for the storm that your lips conjure, swirling in your heart in vibrant shades of red. Then, for the softness of his lips as they slow down their course, plump and rosy as they meet your own, tenderly, more gently, one kiss after the other. “My hope,” he whispers, as his lips find yours again, “my missing piece.”

He’s hot and cold, in yet seeking no out, finally yours.

bonus (one year later).

“So I brought the eggs, milk, sugar,” Chris enumerates as he takes out the groceries, and you turn to look at Sowon to find her already gazing at you, a mischievous look on her face.

“How much do you wanna bet he forgot flour?” you whisper and she giggles, burying her face in her hands to stifle her laugh.

“And… Wait, where is the flour?” he trails off and you burst out laughing, as you and Sowon high-five each other excitedly.

“Daddy, you are really bad at groceries.”

“Am I?” he smiles sheepishly, fiddling with his earlobe in a manner that still makes your heart melt, renders your insides butterflies speaking of Chris’ name.

“Yes, it’s good Mom bought it,” she says naturally, looking down at her iPad. You and Chris freeze in your tracks, eyes instantly locking with one another, yours and his, glossy with emotion, a loving tide enveloping you both.

It's her first time calling you mom.

You swallow down the lump in your throat, crafted not by thorns but by petals, not by ache but with love, before placing your chin on the small of her shoulder, murmuring softly. "Mm, will you help me bake, baby?"

“Yes! I wanna be a baker when I grow up, just like you.”

“What happened to being a stylist?”

“I can't be both?” she frowns innocently.

“You can be anything you want, princess.” you bop her nose and she giggles, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek.

In the grip of winter, Chris discovers a warmth that defies the season, casting off years of cold from the recesses of his bones. A soft smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, his hopes, his girls, the three of you clad in wolf slippers.

He’ll propose to you tomorrow.

#skz x reader #skz x you #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids angst #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #skz imagines #stray kids imagine #stray kids reactions #skz angst #skz fanfic #chan fluff #chan x reader #bang chan x reader #bang chan fluff #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #skz au

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steviesbicrisis · 6 months

Text

A Barbie AU where the Kens decide, in order to get some recognition, to get individual names.

Steve, who’s just a Ken very good with kids, is having an identity crisis after his Barbie, journalist Barbie, broke up with him.

Not even picking a name as unique and special as Steve, so much different than Ken, managed to cheer him up.

Everyone keeps saying he should be happy about the change, and discover who he is outside of Barbie’s orbit, but he can’t see what was so wrong in their relationship. He loved waiting all day for Barbie to look at him, even if it was for a brief second.

As if going through an existential crisis wasn't enough, he has to do it under the constant mocking of his archnemesis, Ke- Eddie.

Eddie, with his long curly and annoyingly gorgeous hair, who has a sense of style he would give all of his rollerblades for, and who's always there to notice whenever Steve makes a mistake.

Eddie even has his Barbie still by his side, cheerleader Barbie, and every time Steve sees them together he gets a sick feeling in his stomach, like a tummy ache. Doctor Barbie visited him a couple of times and found nothing wrong with him, he imagines he's a little jealous of Eddie for being with a Barbie.

Steve talks about this with Polyglot Barbie, his best friend, annoying her to death.

"Why are we talking about Ken, again?" she interrupts Steve's retelling of his last encounter with Eddie.

"It's Eddie" Steve corrects her.

"Right," she nods. She's very supportive of their silly-name-thing (how most Barbies call it), but she still has trouble remembering all the names, "why are we still talking about him?"

They're hanging out at the park, sitting under a tree, Barbie's leg on top of his, and they're holding hands. It's nice. Steve is happy to have a best friend like Barbie.

Steve looks up, meeting Eddie's gaze. He's sitting at one of the picnic tables not far away from them, doing nothing besides glaring at Steve.

Barbie squeezes his hand to get his attention back, and Steve looks away.

"Because he keeps tormenting me! he's even glaring at me right now, I'm gonna get stress wrinkles!" Steve finally replies, in a distressed tone.

"You're being dramatic," she says, matter-of-factly, "Eddie isn't so bad with you. You know, he kinda treats you like his Barbie."

If Steve had a beating heart, it probably would've stopped right at this second.

"What?"

"You know, he's always looking for you, he is always giddy whenever you give him a crumble of attention. He hangs out where you hang out... why do you think he's sitting all alone at a picnic table, just staring at you?"

"Maybe he's waiting for his girlfriend" he suggests.

"Are you talking about Cheerleader Barbie?" she giggles, "she's not his girlfriend, trust me."

"But he picks on me! all the time! Like this morning, I tripped and he made a comment about my legs!" He gestures at his legs with his free hand.

Barbie tilts her head to the side "you mean this morning at the beach when he held you in his arms for ten minutes to prevent you from falling and Barbie had to tell him to let you go?"

"… yeah” he manages to say. He hadn’t realized how long Eddie held him in his arms, he was upset about almost falling in front of him, but he also liked the feeling of his arms around him.

Everything feels different now.

Barbie's look softens "How does this make you feel?"

"I don't know" he answers, honestly "I just can't stop thinking about him."

A loud noise at their right startles them off of their conversation. They turn around to see Eddie lying on the floor, a trash can at his feet.

Steve doesn't give himself the time to realize that Eddie has probably heard their entire conversation and has tripped on that trash can because of it, he just rushes to Eddie's side to help him out.

Eddie stammers while Steve pulls him back up, not making much sense.

Steve is used to see Eddie as an intimidating guy, someone to compete with for Barbie’s attention. He never realized how much he liked to have Eddie’s attention instead, nor how he loved to give that attention back in equal amount.

“Nice legs” he tells him, repeating the same words Eddie told him that morning.

Eddie stops his incoherent stream of words when he hears him “what?”

“You heard me” Steve says.

“I did” Eddie admits. He pulls the trash can back up, to have an excuse to not look at Steve when he asks “you can’t stop thinking about me?”

For some reason, that’s the easiest question Steve has ever had to answer to “yes, I can’t.”

Eddie jolts back up startling Steve, the trash can falling out of his hands and hitting the ground once again.

“Cool” he says, using all of his willpower to hide his excitement by keeping a relaxed face, failing miserably.

“I guess” Steve grins. Knowing he has that effect on Eddie is making him the most confident he has ever felt in his life.

“So, since you can’t stop thinking about me…” Eddie repeats, in a tone that Steve would’ve mistaken for a mocking one until few hours ago “…we could hang out on the beach later. I’ll bring my guitar.”

“I’ll bring mine too then” Steve replies immediately.

Eddie panics “We can’t both have a guitar!”

Steve crosses his arms on his chest “who says that?”

Eddie opens and closes his mouth a couple of times then mutters, defeated, “fine.”

“Great!” Steve takes a step forward and gives Eddie a peck on his cheek “I’ll see you later.”

Eddie, who makes a face again trying to hide his excitement, nods and turns away “cool.”

He walks away slowly, towards the park’s exit. Right by the gate, he throws himself into an hedge. Steve can clearly hear him when he screams words along the lines of “FINALLY”, “I HAVE A DATE” and “SUBLIME”.

Steve turns to Robin who has witnessed the whole thing, while Eddie is still screaming random words from the bushes.

“I think I’m in love.”

#I’ve been wanting to write this since I saw the movie #but it never felt right #this is the best I could do lmao #in case it wasn’t clear I’m making fun of Steve for going from basic name to basic name lmao #I love him #I just think they’re neat #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steve and eddie #steve x eddie #platonic stobin #barbie #Barbie au #Steddie au #steddie au Barbie

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crazyinlovewithbucky · 7 months

Text

“In the bedroom, I’ll be screaming but outside, I’ll keep it quiet.”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x avenger!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky had a sexual relationship and were hiding it from everyone in the team and the compound, making the relationship more exciting for you. Also, you discovered a secret kink Bucky had.

Warnings: smut with very little plot, overstimulation, p in v sex, RUSSIAN NICKNAMES, Soldat kink, Bucky being desperately horny, sex-tape, filming during sex, almost getting caught, praise kink, some degradation kink with name-calling, creampie, breeding kink, marking kink, hair pulling, kind of voyeurism kink??, Steve making appearance and being so sweet and gentle to reader, an odd mention of Pam and Tommy? fingering, finger sucking, fluff, aftercare, Russian praise, too many kinks, I lost track I'm sorry.

This smut was inspired by the song Low by SZA

AU/N: Hey guys, I don't know how to say this but this smut piece is literally written based on a dream I had lol. Hope you enjoy it and I'd like to remind you that English isn't my first language so excuse if I misspelled or mispronounced anything. Enjoy <3.

"Shit, get in. Get in." Your heart skipped a beat, and you got so excited and shy when you saw Bucky standing in front of your door completely naked with nothing but his bathroom robe on, and he opened it wide open as soon as you opened your bedroom door. You held his hand and pulled him in quickly before someone saw him like this. "What the hell are you doing?" You closed and locked the door, turned around to face him, and found his robe now pooling around his feet.

"I just missed you so much, baby doll. Come here." He pulled you by your arms to him and started kissing you hungrily, then he lifted you up in his arms, and you wrapped your legs around him by habit. You kissed him back deeply. "I just couldn't wait until they fell asleep. I need you so badly." He mumbled against your mouth and held you tightly as he turned towards your bed and threw you gently on it. "Clothes off now." He ordered, and you giggled as you didn't have many clothes on. Only your tank top and your panties. You took them off quickly and saw him already moving his metal hand up and down his hardened cock, and it was leaking pre-cum at the sight before his eyes: you, fully naked on your white bed sheets. All his.

He started at your feet, kissing and mumbling sweet words like miss this, miss you, love you, my doll, my perfect girl, and need you, moving all the way up to your calves, knees, and thighs, filling them with kisses and love bites. You smiled at how needy he was, as if you hadn't woken up in his arms this morning as he was fucking you awake, burying his head in your neck, and marking you there. You had to wear a turtleneck sweater all day long in the middle of August because of his marks on your neck, claiming you as his over and over again as he wanted desperately to show everyone that you are his, but unfortunately for him, you had to keep your relationship a secret because you don't want anyone snooping around or middling in that special bond you and Bucky have.

At first, you kept it a secret because you weren't sure if this relationship would work out or not, and if it didn't, you both didn't want it to be a big deal with everyone walking on eggshells around you guys. But to your surprise, it worked out, and it lasted for a whole year. You both thought the reason why it's going so well between you guys is because you're keeping it a secret, so this is why you try to hide it as best as you can, sneaking around and locking doors, making excuses to go on missions together as it feels like a gateway vacation for you both. Of course, you were working and getting your asses kicked, but you always made things up to make it last longer than it did so you could enjoy your time together and go on dates. It wasn't the best plan, but it made you both happy and got you both closer to each other. And all things aside, you both found it so thrilling and erotic to keep it hidden from everyone and sneak around, having quickies in conference rooms, on the quinjets, in Tony and Bruce's labs, in the gym, on the roof, and in a parked SUV. Because sadly, most of the time you both weren't alone; he was either with Steve or Sam, and you were always following Nat and Yelena around. So you both had to take advantage of any time you found yourselves alone in it.

"Take it easy, Soldat. Don't you remember this morning?" You smirked and rubbed his hair while he was kissing and sucking love marks on your inner thighs.

"I love it when you call me that." He chuckled, moved up your body, and kissed you passionately. He devoured your mouth with his. He pressed his body so close to yours, like you were a part of him. Wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly, afraid you might disappear if he ever let go. You wrapped your arms and legs around him, fearing the same thing. "Want to do nothing except for staying right here, like this, forever, моя любовь" he mumbled, and you moaned against his mouth when you heard your favorite Russian nickname, the one he always whispers in your ear when he tries to tease you in front of people. My love.

He moved his head down and started sucking and biting your nipples, giving each one the proper love and attention they deserve. while moving his hands, lifting your legs up, and bending you in half. You held them up and wrapped them around his torso. He sneaked his fleshy hand down to your cunt and cupped it. Rubbing and opening your lips down there and feeling your arousal soak his hand "All of this is for me, Кукла?" He rubbed your arousal all over your clit, earning some moans and whimpers from you. Then he moved his hand to his mouth and licked his digits clean of your wetness. "Tastes like heaven, as always." He pushed his tongue into your mouth and kissed you like his life depended on it. So passionately, you were slightly getting dizzy.

While getting drowned in his kiss, you felt his cock slowly poking your entrance. He pushed the head slowly inside, and you moaned against his mouth at how hot and hard it felt inside. You felt yourself gushing around him, just for the excitement of feeling his hardened cock filling you up. He moved his kisses to your neck, finding new places there to mark you. He pushed his cock inside of you slowly until he bottomed out, and both of you were moaning messes. You loved hearing him moan and whimper for you as much as he loved hearing the same sounds come out of you.

He picked up a slow and deep pace at first, while his mouth never left yours or your body. You were playing with his hair and moaning his name. "Damn, Bucky. I missed this so much. Please don't leave. I want you, like this all the time." You whimpered in his ear, and you swore you felt his cock twitching when he heard your words. You thought he was going to cum.

"Fuck, Y/N. You're killing me." He breathed hard and started an unrelenting pace, going faster and fucking his cock harder into you. His hand snaked down, and he rubbed quick circles on your clit. You cried out loud and couldn't control your screams and moans anymore. You couldn't handle it any longer, and suddenly, you heard that gushing sound coming out of you. You squirted and came all over his cock. You lost all control of your body, and you felt your walls uncontrollably clenching so hard on his cock. He moaned loudly as he emptied everything he had inside of you; that squelching sound became louder because of your mixed juices, and he couldn't stop fucking everything into you, filling you up, and marking you as always.

You were cut off from your trance by a loud banging on your door, and someone was trying to open your door. "Y/N, are you okay? Open the door." It was Steve, and from the sound of his voice, he was very concerned.

"Fuck, were we that loud?" you panicked and whispered to Bucky.

He chuckled at you and said, "You were that loud, doll, not me." He kissed your cheek while stressing the word 'you'.

Steve kept banging and trying to open the door, saying, "I'm going to break this down if you don't answer me."

"Holy shit," you whispered. "Steve, I'm fine. It's just—II was—Oh." You yelled back to Steve and were cut short because Bucky moved his semi-hard cock and kept fucking his cum into you, very slowly and deeply. "Buck, come on." You moaned quietly, but all this son of a bitch did was raise his eyebrows at you playfully and smirk.

"Looks like Steve will finally find out the slut you've been hiding under your innocent face, doll. And you know Steve loves to gossip with Nat." He smirked and bit your jaw playfully, knowing goddamn well that Steve tells everything to Nat, and Nat tells Yelena, and Yelena has a big mouth and will tell every single one in the compound that Steve saw you being fucked raw by his best friend, and that made you get more startled and out of breath.

"Y/N. What's wrong? Are you sure you're fine?" Steve yelled from the other side of the door.

"Y-Yes, Steve. I- Fuck" Bucky, being the torturous monster he is, he started sucking and kissing that sweet spot in your neck, making you forget you just squirted all over his cock and want nothing but to cum all over his cock over again.

"Don't stop those sweet sounds you make, doll. Let them know who's making you scream like a slut," Bucky whispered in your ear as he never stopped dragging his now-hardened cock in and out of you.

"Y/N?" Steve called. "I'm getting really worried here; I'm breaking down the door."

"No." You yelled loudly. "Stop, please. I'm just having period cramps." You yelled, then put your hand on your face from the embarrassment. Bucky giggled quietly at you, and you hit his shoulder.

"Period?" He smirked at you. "Have I really fucked you stupid already?" He chuckled while smirking at you as his right hand moved to your breast, and he pinched your left nipple playfully, which made you whine at him.

"Really? Do you need anything?" Steve calmed down a bit and asked with a still-concerned voice.

"No, Steve. I'm fine. I have everything I need. Thank you." You breathed out and bit Bucky's shoulder as he couldn't stop giggling and smirking at you.

"Okay. If you need anything, you can text me, I guess." Steve said, and you smiled at his sweetness.

"Will do, Cap. Thanks."

"Why don't you go fuck him instead, huh?" Bucky frowned at you after he pushed all of his length inside and stopped moving.

You rolled your eyes at him and were about to reply back, but Steve's voice stopped you. "Have you seen Bucky, by the way?" He asked from behind the door, and your eyes widened. Bucky smirked and was about to say something loudly, but you smacked your hand on his mouth quickly and flipped him over while his cock was still buried inside of you. You were straddling him now, on top of him, while your hand was still covering his mouth and shushing him.

"No, Cap. Not since dinner. Maybe he's in his room." You tried to stabilize your voice as much as you could as your eyes started to tear up from the burning that Bucky's cock was causing inside of you and your need to fuck yourself on him and cum again.

"He's not. I was in his room right before I heard you, and he wasn't there." He exclaimed. You cursed him and all the gods and everyone at this moment for disturbing your much-needed moment with Bucky like that. "Maybe he's taking a late-night ride or something."

"I was." Bucky mumbled from beneath you, your hand still covering his mouth. You rolled your eyes at him and told him to shut up.

"Anyways, thanks, Y/N. Get well soon. See ya." Steve said, and then you heard him walking away, and you sighed in relief.

Bucky kissed your hand that was covering his mouth, and you looked down at him. You admit he looks so sexy like that, with his messed-up hair, hazy half-lidded eyes, and kind of red cheeks. You removed your hand and kissed him deeply. He flipped you over again, so he was on top of you again and kissing you hungrily.

"I want to try something with you tonight." He smirked and licked his now-swollen lips. He lifted himself up slowly, opened your nightstand's drawer, and took out your vintage video camera. You're not surprised how well he knows its location; he knows every single item in your room like it's his own, as he spends most of his nights here.

The hobby you and Bucky shared and which was the topic of your first-ever conversation was photography. He really loved taking pictures of everything; it was his way of adapting to the new world, and as much as he liked how these new wireless phones had cameras in them, he was old-fashioned and had a nice collection of vintage film cameras. He takes pictures of everything he finds in his way; that was actually recommended first by his therapist, and it had good results for Bucky as he figured out he was passionate about that, so he always had his camera with him. You, on the other hand, had a passion for filming videos and making short movies and vlogs; when you were young, your dream was to be a filmmaker. You chose to be a superhero instead, but no one says you can't make videos and short movies as a hobby. So you always kept your cameras near, and Bucky knew all of their locations.

He opened it and turned it on, pointing the lens at his face and making silly faces to make sure it was recording. You laughed at him and at the silly faces he was making. "What are you doing, Barnes?" You giggled at him and sat up a little.

He smirked and kissed you. "I heard about this show that's based on this celebrity couple that made a sex tape in the 90s, and everyone was freaking out about it."

"Oh, really?" You made a shocked face at him and were playing along as if you weren't the one telling him about that show.

"Yeah. I guess it was a big deal back then." He flipped you over on your stomach as he was kneeling behind you, holding the camera in his hand while filming your naked body.

"Yeah?" You loved this idea but still looked confused and turned your head to face him, surprised he was actually into it.

He pointed the camera at your face and giggled, "Now, we're making one of our own." He raised his eyebrows at you playfully.

"Oh god, Bucky. You are crazy." You laughed and buried your head in the pillow.

"You're the reason, doll. You drive me crazy." He smirked. He grabbed one pillow and put it under your hips to give him easy access to your pussy.

He positioned the camera on the top right of the bed while making the lens focus on your body, and he saw that this was the perfect position from the flipped recording screen of the camera. You made a silly face at the camera and stuck your tongue out, making him laugh behind you. He brushed your hair with his fingers, grabbed it carefully with his hand, and kissed your shoulder. He lined his cock with his other hand at your entrance and pushed himself slowly inside, earning a gasp from you. As he pushed himself all the way inside and bottomed out, he laid on top of you while his grip on your hair tightened, and you arched your back against his chest while moaning out his name.

He started fucking faster into you right away. This position made his cock hit deeper spots inside you, and you could feel him all the way up to your lower stomach, and you knew if you touched it, you'd feel the bulge there. You couldn't wait till you hit your orgasm to see stars and white dots, as you can see them now from how deep he was and how hard he was fucking into you. You can feel his hot breath on the back of your neck, which gave you goosebumps all over, and that made you cry out louder than you already were.

He grabbed your hair harder, pulled your head up from the pillow, and pointed your face at the camera. "Look at the camera, шлюха. Look at yourself being fucked dumb." He whispered in your ear before biting your earlobe and sucking on it. You couldn't control your screams at that point, and you tried your hardest to muffle them on the pillow, but you couldn't because of how Bucky was holding your head up. You were praying silently that no one comes again and disturbs you from being fucked into another oblivion.

His other hand snaked up from your waist to your mouth as he pushed two fingers inside your mouth, and you welcomed them and sucked on them hungrily. You pushed your hips back to meet his hard thrusts, and you didn't know if it would be possible, but he somehow hit deeper, and his cockhead was poking your cervix over and over again. You screamed loudly but were muffled by his fingers in your mouth. Now you know why he let you suck on them in the first place. He doesn't want anyone to hear you either.

Somehow, while he was splitting you in half, your orgasm hit you suddenly like lightning, which made you squirm and shake vigorously underneath him as the overstimulation made you lose all control of your body. You closed your eyes and were tearing up while making all sorts of babbling and incoherent sounds. You didn't notice how hard you were clenching his cock until he was whimpering loudly and shooting his warm liquid inside of you. Filling you to the max. He couldn't handle how hard your soaked walls were clenching his bursting cock, so he pulled it all the way out and continued spurting all of his cum on your cunt and its lips. After your walls relaxed and stopped clenching so hard, he watched how your mixed cum dripped and got out of your swollen and abused hole. He almost drooled at the sight before him, but he proceeded to collect all of that mess between your legs with his fingers and fuck it back into you.

You were too overstimulated and kept squirming and trying to move your hips away unconsciously. "Stop moving, принцесса. We have to make it stick." You were moaning uncontrollably. He pulled his fingers out and licked them clean. He started kissing you all over, starting at your ass cheeks and moving up to your shoulder, neck, and eventually your lips.

You tried to kiss back but couldn't because you wanted to breathe more. He smiled and kissed your cheek, grabbed the camera, and stopped recording. He put it again in the drawer, saying, "We can watch that later. Now, let's get you all cleaned up, котенок" He flipped you over on your back again and was going to hold you up, but you stopped him.

"In a minute, please." You yawned, grabbed his hand, and pulled him next to you on the bed. "You killed me, Barnes. At least give me a moment to relax." You hugged him tightly and slept on his chest with his arms wrapped around you.

He chuckled, "If I gave you a minute, Y/L/N, you'll fall asleep, and we need to get cleaned up first." He rubbed your hair and massaged your scalp slowly, trying to ease it from how hard he was pulling your hair before.

"No." You mumbled and hugged him tighter.

"At least, let me clean and change the bed sheets. It's all wet and sticky because of you." He giggled at your childish behavior and tried to get up, but you held him so tightly.

"No." You whined and pouted your lips.

"Come on, doll. I'll make you a hot bath and let you nap a little in it." He drew circles on your arm and kissed your head. He tried to get up again, and you let him.

"Fine. Only if you put that lavender oil in it." You smiled lazily at him and let him hold you up, and you rested your head on his shoulder while he took you to your private bathroom.

"Все для моей принцессы." He kissed you deeply, then sat you on the sink and cleaned you up with a wet cloth after he turned the hot water on in the tub and put some lavender oil in it, waiting for it to be filled. He sat you in the tub gently as he cleaned himself up, wrapped a towel around his hips, and went to clean and change the bedsheets. He came back to the bathroom and saw you napping quietly in the tub. He smiled to himself at how beautiful you looked and went to the bedroom, grabbed one of your Polaroid camera, and took a picture of his sleeping beauty in the bathtub, looking so angelic. He took off the towel and joined afterwards. He sat behind you and made you rest your head on his chest and sleep on him as he kept rubbing your hips and waist from the bruises he caused earlier from grabbing you so hard and tight.

You woke up the next morning in his arms, in clean and fresh bedsheets, both of you smelling like lavender and wearing clean and soft underwear. You kissed his lips softly, and he opened his eyes slowly and smiled at you. "Good morning, Soldat." You kissed him again, and he kissed back.

"It's always a good morning when I wake up with you in my arms, моя любовь" he smiled and kissed you again. "I love you." He locked eyes with you and held your face with his hand while rubbing his thumb on your cheek.

"I love you," you said back, and you pressed your lips to his, kissing him deeply. Never in your life did you think you'd find true love and connection with someone. But here you are, absolutely head over heels for this man in front of you.

fin

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моя любовь = "my love" Все для моей принцессы = "anything for my princess" котенок = "kitten" принцесса = "princess" шлюха = "slut" Кукла = "doll"