justreadingthings

[justreadingthings]

This is sweeter than honey! I love the quiet comfort shared here. It’s perfect 🍯🩵

Easy Skies || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request - Feeling cuddly so you end up cuddling Jake for the first time in the early stages of your relationships. How this would lead to them napping together? Nothing but praises and love affirmations between them. Soft kisses. Readers first kiss with Jake.

A/N: Ahhh sorry I've been gone! Been enjoying summer :)

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.7k +

T/W : None just fluff

It’s been several weeks since you and Jake officially started seeing each other. You met at a community event honoring local heroes where Jake shared stories of his missions and the places his career had taken him. Your own interest in aerial photography sparked a quick and deep conversation between the two of you leading to an instant connection.

It was going really well. The two of you taking your time with everything. He shared stories of how we was reckless in the past and you were already very cautionary with types like his. So, you tested him a bit. Only kisses on the cheek, nothing more. And he did passed with flying colors. He never pressured you, never pushed for more. But now you were ready for something more. You're spending a lazy Sunday at Jake’s apartment for the first time. His place reflects his life as a pilot. It was decorated with navigational charts. With different models of aircraft he’s flown and photographs from around the world. The walls hold framed maps marked with the various places he's visited, each one holding a story he's eager to share with you.

As the afternoon fades into evening, you both settle into the comfortable couch in his living room. The soft music playing in the background mixes with the mellow golden light streaming through the windows creating a serene atmosphere. It's a rare and quiet moment for Jake who is usually caught up in the demanding schedule of a Navy pilot. You cherish the peaceful intimacy that has formed between you. Today’s simplicity is a precious contrast to the complexities of your usual routines.

As you both relax into the couch Jake recounts a comical error from his last training exercise. He'd accidentally swapped his day’s checklist with another pilot’s which led to some light-hearted confusion and teasing from his crew.

“You seriously went through half the pre-flight with the wrong list?” you laugh while shaking your head in amusement.

“Yep,” Jake admits with a grin. “It was only when I called out the wrong coordinates that someone caught on. We all had a good laugh about it later.” The conversation winds down as you both sink into the rhythm of each other’s presence, comfortable and at ease. There’s a genuine simplicity in the way you interact, no need for constant chatter. Jake’s job as a pilot often surrounds him with high stakes and rigor making these peaceful moments particularly valuable.

“It’s nice, isn’t it? Just being able to sit and talk without rushing anywhere,” Jake comments. His tone relaxed.

“It really is,” you agree as you smiled over at him. “Especially with good company.”

He returns your smile with a warm, appreciative one of his own. As the room fills with the soft hum of a new song the day closes around you both, cozy and familiar. Like a well-loved jacket that’s been washed a hundred times. It’s easy, it’s comfortable. And right now, it’s exactly what you both need.

As the afternoon shadows stretch across the room a yawn escapes you, shifting the comfortable silence. Jake catches it and chuckles, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Tired?” he teases before nudging you gently with his elbow.

“Maybe a little,” you admit while stretching your arms above your head. “It’s been a long week.”

Jake nods understandingly. His gaze softening. “How about we take a little nap then? Recharge a bit?”

You playfully raise an eyebrow. A smile tugging at your lips. “Only if you’re joining. I hear you’re the best pillow around here.”

Jake’s laughter fills the room, warm and infectious. “Is that so? Well, I can’t let you down then.” He shifts himself making room on the couch and pats the spot next to him "Come here," he says softly. His voice blending with the low melody. With a contented smile you slide closer until you're nestled against him. Your head resting comfortably on his broad chest. You can feel the steady beat of his heart through the soft fabric of his shirt. A reassuring rhythm that echoes quietly in your ear. Jake's arm wraps securely around you with his hand resting gently on your back. The warmth of his touch and the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he takes bring an overwhelming sense of peace and safety.

For a few moments you simply listen, taking in the sound of his heartbeat and the soft, steady breaths he draws. It's a new level of intimacy of sharing this quiet closeness without the need for words. Jake's hand moves in slow, soothing strokes across your back further relaxing you. With each passing second the world beyond the walls of Jake’s apartment seems to drift further away. You're drawn into this serene bubble where the only things that matter are the soft fabric of the couch, the gentle caress of Jake's hand, and the comforting rhythm of his heart.

Jake breaks the silence with a whisper that's barely audible over the music. "This is nice," he murmurs. His breath tickling your ear. You hum in agreement as you were too content and relaxed to form words. The trust and affection in this simple act of cuddling deepen, marking a beautiful, quiet milestone in your growing relationship.

As the soft jazz continues to play creating a soothing backdrop, the room grows quieter still. The comfort of Jake’s embrace coupled with the warm, gentle atmosphere lulls you deeper into relaxation. His breathing becomes slower, more rhythmic, signaling his own descent into sleep. You feel his grip tighten just a bit. A subconscious affirmation of his presence and protection. Gradually, the space between wakefulness and sleep blurs. Your thoughts drift away, anchored only by the steady heartbeat beneath your ear. In the safety of Jake’s arms sleep seems like the most natural progression. Without planning it you both drift off. The world narrowing down to the couch where you lie together.

The nap isn't long but it’s restorative. Exactly what you needed. As you both sleep there’s an unspoken exchange of trust and comfort. It’s one thing to share conversations and activities but another to share such vulnerability as sleep in each other’s presence. This mutual comfort speaks volumes about the trust and closeness developing between you.

Time slips by quietly and when you eventually stir it’s to the feeling of Jake’s fingers lightly brushing through your hair. His movements are soft and careful, designed not to wake you but to reassure himself you’re still there. You open your eyes slowly meeting his gaze which is filled with a quiet joy.

“Hey,” he whispers. As if speaking too loudly might break the spell of the peaceful moment you've shared.

“Hey,” you respond with your voice just as soft. The simple exchange feels like a gentle reconnection to the world affirming the comfort and affection that wrapped around you both as you slept. The nap together was simple yet intimate. It deepens the connection between you. Each quiet breath shared adding another layer to your growing relationship.

The afternoon light has softened into a cozy twilight by the time you both stir from your nap. You’re still wrapped in Jake’s arms and as your eyes meet there’s a playful spark between you that feels both exciting and comforting. “Welcome back,” Jake murmurs. His voice low and slightly husky from sleep. He leans forward pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. Then one on the tip of your nose, which makes you giggle.

“Is that how you wake up all your guests?” you tease. Your voice light and tinged with laughter.

“Only the special ones,” he replies with a grin with his eyes crinkling at the corners. He doesn’t stop there though. His kisses wander from your cheek to your jawline, each peck light and teasing, drawing more giggles from you. The laughter that fills the room is warm, echoing the affectionate mood.

Jake’s playful kisses continue by tracing a path down the side of your neck, sending a shiver of delight through you. You can’t help but catch him by the collar before pulling him back up to meet your eyes. “You’re going to make it impossible to leave this couch,” you laugh while still holding onto his shirt.

“That’s the plan,” he whispers back. His voice playful yet sincere. Then in a swift, fluid motion he captures your lips with his in a kiss that’s deeper and more intentional than the playful ones before. This kiss feels like a culmination of all the gentle pecks, each one adding a layer to the profound connection you’re building together.

As you break away there’s a shared smile. A mutual understanding of the affection and joy weaving through each interaction, each touch, each kiss. The playfulness adds a lightness to your relationship. He made moments like these not just romantic but genuinely fun, enriching the bond you share with laughter and love. After the laughter subsides and the atmosphere settles into a comfortable quiet, Jake looks at you with a contented smile. His eyes reflecting a gentle appreciation. "These moments with you. They're the highlight of my week," he says quietly. His voice carrying a note of sincerity.

Feeling a warm glow from his words you nod and smile softly. Your response understated but genuine. "It always feels different when I'm with you. It's easy, you know?" Your words are simple, echoing the straightforwardness of your time together.

Jake's response is a nod, his smile lingering. "Let's keep it that way," he replies. His agreement simple yet full of promise. The conversation feels natural, reflecting the comfort and understated affection that characterizes your relationship. As twilight transitions into the deep blue of night neither of you feels ready to break the comfortable cocoon you've formed on the couch. Jake glances at the clock, then back at you with a playful challenge in his eyes.

"How about we order some dinner?" he suggests. His tone casual but hopeful. "I'm not quite ready for this day to end. But I don’t think I can get up quite yet."

You laugh while agreeing instantly. "Sounds perfect. What are you in the mood for?"

"Pizza okay with you?" Jake asks already reaching for his phone to place the order.

"Always a good choice," you reply settling back against his chest while feeling utterly at ease.

The wait for the food is filled with more soft conversations. Each shared thought strengthening the bond between you. As the evening unfolds it becomes clear that days like these are just the beginning of what you both hope will be many more shared experiences.

When the food arrives, you set up a makeshift dining area on the coffee table, continuing the easy flow of the day into the evening. Each slice of pizza comes with stories you share. Each laugh making the room warmer. As the evening winds down, you find yourselves eagerly talking about other things you could do together, from movie nights to hiking trips. The night ends not just with satisfied appetites but with the excitement of planning future outings. It's clear that your relationship is blossoming. Full of promise for more beautiful days and nights shared in each other’s company.

Jake Seresin/Top Gun: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @mamachasesmayhem @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @illisea @jessicab1991 @guacam011y @dempy @mrsevans90 @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @missxmav @kajjaka

[justreadingthings]

This fic is sweeter than gingerbread! I’m obsessed with the entire vibe here 🫶🍪🏠

The Gingerbread Matchmaker

Rating: Teen? If even, but I still appreciate MDNI. Pairing: No Outbreak Joel Miller x Female Reader Words Count: 4,500 Summary: You're the owner of the struggling bakery Sweet Nothing, and you're quickly running out of money—and patience. Your town's annual gingerbread house competition is your last ditch effort to save everything you've worked so hard on. Too bad you quickly discover that you're a baker—and not a contractor. Enter, Sarah Miller, offering her dad's building skills. Warnings: fluff, Hallmark Christmas movie vibes, Sarah Miller the matchmaker, I believe in a world where Joel Miller is happy, Christmas vibes, a lot of baking, not beta read

A/N: Happy holidays everybody! This idea planted in my head a few nights ago and I just had to get this out to y'all. Thank you to @saradika for the gingerbread dividers!

Masterlist

You're a whirlwind of aprons and flour-dusted hands as you flit around Sweet Nothing Bakery, your labor of love. The display before you blooms into a colorful bouquet of cupcakes, each one baked then frosted with meticulous care.

Only you, the hopeless dreamer who has always believed that one good chocolate chip cookie can instantly improve a bad day, would decide to pack up your whole life, purchase a long-closed-down bakery sight unseen, and move to a cozy suburb outside of Austin that you’ve never even visited before.

And here you are now, your eyes flickering toward the door every few minutes. You've poured everything into this place – your savings and your dreams. The bell above the door remains silent, though.

"Maybe it's just another off day," you mumble to yourself. Your wrist twists, bringing the face of your watch into view for the third time in ten minutes.

As if on cue, the door creaks open, and your heart leaps. But it's only Mr. Bowe from the music shop next door, his gaze sweeping over the cupcakes before he offers a sympathetic smile. "Just looking at all of the pretty pastries, my dear," he says.

You nod with a practiced grin that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

"Let me know if anything tempts you," you reply, already turning back to rearrange a tray of lemon cupcakes.

"Will do," Mr. Bowe assures you, though you both know he won't. He never does. With a smile and a nod, he's gone, leaving you alone again.

Damnit. This bakery was supposed to be a beginning, not an end. You can't let it crumble in your hands.

The sun begins to set as you tally the day's earnings—or lack thereof. Your palms press against your eyes when you realize the sum total barely covers the cost of ingredients. Your shoulders slump as you count and recount, you lose every time.

With a deep sigh, you flick off the lights one by one and climb the narrow staircase to your apartment.

You’ll try again tomorrow.

The morning sun pours through the bakery's front windows. You're lining up croissants in the display case when Mr. Bowe’s kind voice catches your attention.

"Have you heard about the Gingerbread House Contest?"

Your ears perk up, and you lean closer. "No, I haven't. Tell me more."

"Well, every year, Cedar Park holds the contest right in the town square. It's quite the spectacle," he explains. “It draws quite the crowd."

"Sounds fun," you muse.

"Indeed. Last year, the winner's gingerbread house was featured in the newspaper. Gave their little shop a real boost."

You straighten up.

"Maybe I should give it a shot," you say, more to yourself than Mr. Bowe.

“I’d love to see what you come up with.”

You don your apron, your sleeves rolled up to your elbows. The familiar sound of the mixer whirring calms your nervous heart. The bakery smells of ginger, cinnamon, and allspice. For the first time in weeks, you actually feel a glimmer of hope that maybe—just maybe—you’re going to be okay.

Rolling out the first batch of gingerbread, you press shapes into the dough—walls, roofs, and tiny doors.

You've got this. Or so you tell yourself, leaning against the counter with a mug of tea while you watch the oven bake your hopes and dreams.

Your hands are steady as you lay out your tools—offset spatula, rolling pin, and piping bags. You prepare yourself to transform from a baker into an architect.

Or—so you thought—your gingerbread homes begin to resemble earthquake victims, walls crumble and roofs slide. All you can do is laugh in disbelief. You mastered croissants at the age of twelve, you knew how to make macarons before you knew how to drive. How in the hell are you failing at gingerbread houses of all things?

Determined, you eye the next batch in the oven. This time, you’ll double the icing, maybe whisper sweet nothings to the dough, and cross your fingers for good luck.

You barely notice the jingle of the front door bell over the crash of another wall meeting its demise.

"Wow, looks like a gingerbread massacre in here," a sweet voice cuts through your frustration. You glance up from your baked goods ruins and spy Sarah Miller smiling at you, curiosity lighting up her face as she surveys the scene. You straighten up, self-conscious under the gaze of your guest.

"Ah, well, it's not usually this… chaotic," you offer with a sheepish grin, trying to brush off the mess littering your workspace and apron.

Your eyes meet Joel, Sarah’s handsome dad standing just behind her. Your breath catches in your throat, a common occurrence whenever you see him in your shop, standing tall and broad-shouldered, rugged with bronzed skin. His strong jawline is dusted with stubble, his full lips sit under a well-trimmed mustache, and his eyes—a warm dark brown—crinkle at the corners as he takes in the chaos of your kitchen with a slight grin.

He runs a hand through his short, dark hair. You try not to stare at his arms, muscular and tanned. You’re left speechless again by him, your eyes roaming from his work-worn hands to the easy smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He exudes strength and capability—you feel ridiculous in your current predicament—covered in flour and crumbled gingerbread buildings.

"Looks like you could use a hand," he says, his voice is a low rumble that sends a shiver through your body.

"Or maybe a bulldozer," Sarah adds.

"Maybe so," you respond, feeling the tension ease out of your body at their lighthearted banter. “What brings you in today?"

Sarah bounces on her toes, her curls bobbing. "We’re early for my piano lesson next door and I wanted to ask you about helping with my bake sale—" She glances around at your gingerbread graveyard. "Maybe we came to the wrong place?"

You laugh, running your hand across your forehead and wincing when you realize you've just dusted it with flour. "Oh no, I promise I'm usually much more competent. It's just this gingerbread house contest has me all flustered."

Joel's eyebrows raise. "The gingerbread contest? The one being held this weekend? That's a big deal around here."

"Yep. So I've heard," you sigh. "I thought it would be a great way to get some publicity for the bakery, but…" You point helplessly at the crumbled remains of your attempts.

Sarah's eyes light up. "Dad! You could help!" She turns to you, grinning. "My dad's a contractor. He builds real houses. I bet he could help you make an awesome gingerbread house!”

You blink, surprised by Sarah's suggestion. Joel rubs the back of his neck, looking a bit sheepish. "I don't know about that, baby girl. Building gingerbread houses isn't exactly building a home."

But Sarah doesn’t back down. She turns to you, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Dad's being modest. He's amazing at building things! You should see him build LEGO!”

You look around at your kitchen, littered with the remains of your failed attempts.

“I—guess I could use the help,” you shrug, glancing over at Joel.

He hesitates, his eyes darting between you and Sarah, the internal debate playing out on his face. “I suppose I could take a look,” he sighs, a hint of a smile appearing.

“Yes!” Sarah cheers, clapping her hands together.

Relief and excitement rush through you. “Thank you,” you earnestly say. “I promise I’ll repay. Free cupcakes for life?”

He laughs a deep, warm sound. “Let’s see if I can actually help…”

Joel moves closer to inspect your gingerbread casualties, you catch the smell of his cologne—woodsy, like pine and campfires. You try to focus as he examines the graveyard of broken cookie pieces, his brow furrowing in concentration. God, he’s handsome.

"You need to think about load-bearing walls, proper supports—”

“It’s cookie dough, not concrete,” you retort with a smile.

“What if we change the shape?” Joel suggests. “Maybe something less—grand than a gigantic gingerbread mansion.”

You nod, your mind racing with possibilities of gingerbread construction.

“Ooh! I have an idea!” Sarah pipes up with excitement. “What if we made the clock tower in the town square?”

“It’s smaller, we’d need less actual structure pieces, maybe we could rely more on your decorating than building skills then?” Joel says thoughtfully.

“That’s actually… not a bad idea,” you admit, your eyes lighting up as you consider the possibilities. "I could use royal icing to make the details on the clock face," you muse.

Joel nods. "And I can help with trying to make sure it stays upright."

"Team Gingerbread!" Sarah cheers, pumping her fist in the air.

You laugh, feeling warmth spread through your chest for the first time in a quite awhile.

“So, when do we start?” Sarah asks excitedly. “Now?”

“No, baby girl,” Joel says with a chuckle. “We can’t start right now. You have your piano lesson.”

"But Dad," she whines, "this is way more important than piano!"

"How about we start tomorrow?" you suggest, glancing at Joel. "After the bakery closes? That way, I can prepare some fresh gingerbread and we can really get started."

"Sounds like a plan. What time do you close up shop?"

"Seven," you reply, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest at the thought of spending more time with him.

"Perfect," Joel says. "We'll be here."

Sarah bounces on her toes, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Can we bring anything to help?”

“Patience,” you wink.

Joel chuckles, a sound you could get used to hearing.

“Please, pick something out to take with you,” you say gesturing to the display case.

While Joel and Sarah peruse your variety of baked goods, you take the opportunity to steal glances at him. His strong profile, the gentle way he interacts with his daughter, his broad shoulders. You shake your head, trying to escape your reverie over the handsome contractor as you bag up the treats they’ve chosen.

“A chocolate chip cookie for the little lady, and a cinnamon roll for dad,” you say, handing the bag to Sarah.

"See you tomorrow! We're gonna make the best gingerbread tower ever!" Sarah says, as they turn for the door.

“I sure hope so,” you giggle at her enthusiasm.

Joel lingers for a moment at the door, his eyes meeting yours. “See you tomorrow,” his deep voice rumbles through you as he leaves.

The next day, you're up before dawn, determined to perfect your gingerbread recipe. That, and you couldn’t stop thinking about seeing Joel again.

By mid-afternoon, you've settled on the perfect blend - a dough that's sturdy enough for construction.

As closing time nears, your stomach flutters with nerves over seeing Joel again. You're just finishing up filling the piping bags with royal icing when the bell above the door chimes.

"We're here!" Sarah's voice rings out, her curls bouncing as she practically skips into the bakery. Joel follows behind, with a soft smile as he takes in the scene.

"Wow, it smells amazing in here," he says.

You lead them to the workspace. "I've got everything laid out. Shall we get started?"

Sarah claps her hands excitedly. "Let's do this!"

Joel listens intently as you explain the pieces you’ve baked for the clock tower.

"Okay, I think I see how we can make this work," Joel says, reaching for a piece of gingerbread. "We'll start with a solid base, then build up the walls using these larger pieces as supports."

You find yourself mesmerized by Joel’s hands as he begins; strong, capable, yet incredibly gentle as he handles the gingerbread.

You blink out of your focus, remembering you have a job to do—and Joel’s daughter is right next to him.

"I'll start on the decorations," you say, reaching for a piping bag filled with white royal icing.

"What can I do?" Sarah asks looking around at all of the accoutrements needed to build the tower.

You smile at her enthusiasm. "How about you sort these candies by color? We'll need them for the details later."

And just like that, the bakery feels a little less quiet, a little less empty.

As the clock ticks later, the outline of the clock tower begins to take shape.

You catch yourself staring at Joel's strong hands as he carefully places the final support beam for the clock tower. Your eyes trail up his arms, past his broad shoulders to his handsome face—where you’re startled to find him looking right back at you, his brown eyes wide as he stares into yours.

"Earth to bakers!" Sarah's voice cuts through the moment. "Are we done for tonight?"

You shake your head, clearing your thoughts. "Yes, I think that's enough for today. Tomorrow, we finish decorating," you reply, wiping your hands on your apron.

“It looks like it’s going to hold,” Joel nods, stepping back to admire your mutual handiwork before gathering his and Sarah’s things.

“Let’s hope!” Sarah says, carefully leaning in to assess a wall.

"Same time tomorrow?" Joel asks, his hand on the door.

"Wouldn't miss it," you reply, a bit too eagerly.

With one more day to go, you lean over the bakery counter, watching as Joel meticulously positions a candy cane-striped piece atop the gingerbread clock tower, using extra tenderness as he handles the delicate candy.

“Geez Dad, I haven’t seen you handle something so gently since you built that little green alien from that show you like,” Sarah quips, perched on a stool, legs swinging, her curly hair bouncing with energy. “It’s candy, not a thousand piece LEGO set.”

You stifle a laugh as you watch Joel's serious face crack into a reluctant smile.

"If only your smart mouth could decorate," he retorts, his voice low and warm.

Sarah's eyes light up mischievously, a grin spreading across her face. "Oh! I just remembered," she exclaims, hopping down from her stool. "I promised Mr. Bowe I'd help him set up his Christmas window display today. I can't believe I almost forgot!"

You and Joel exchange skeptical glances. "Since when do you help Mr. Bowe with his window?" Joel asks, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

"Since… now?" Sarah replies, already backing towards the door. "It's important to help others, right Dad? You always say that. I'm sure you two can handle the rest of the decorating without me. I think you two make a great team! If you need me, I'll be next door!"

Before either of you can protest, Sarah darts out the door, the bell jingling in her wake.

All of a sudden, the bakery feels much smaller, much more intimate, the air sits thicker between you and Joel.

You clear your throat, reaching for a piping bag filled with white icing. "Well, I guess we should keep going," you say, your voice sounding unnaturally high.

Joel nods, his fingers skimming yours as he takes the piping bag from your hand. A jolt of electricity passes between you at the contact, and you quickly pull away, knocking over a container of sprinkles in your haste.

"Oh, shoot," you mutter, dropping to your knees to clean up the mess. Joel kneels beside you, helping to gather the scattered sprinkles.

You both reach for the same pile, your fingers brushing against each other. This time though, neither of you pulls away.

You look up, meeting Joel's, brown eyes, his intense stare searching your eyes as if he’s trying to read your thoughts.

Time stands still, the smell of cinnamon, ginger, and your bakery dissipates, now all you smell is Joel’s woodsy cologne. Finally, after watching him from afar for months, separated by the bakery display case, always getting to see the small glimpses of him with his daughter and the sensitive heart he keeps buttoned up beneath his flannel shirt, he’s so close. He takes a deep breath, leaning in, closing the distance between you. Joel’s lips meet yours, gentle and tentative at first, until he cups your cheek, and you melt into him, quietly moaning at the first taste of the cinnamon and coffee on his tongue.

Your hands find their way to his broad shoulders, sinking into his warmth, steadying yourself as he wraps his strong arms around your waist and pulls you closer.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathless. Joel rests his forehead against yours. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he whispers.

“Me too,” you admit, feeling heat creep into your cheeks.

“I think my daughter may have had an ulterior motive in leaving us alone,” he chuckles.

You laugh softly. "She's a smart kid."

"Too smart for her own good sometimes," Joel agrees.

"We should probably get back to decorating," you say reluctantly.

Joel nods, standing and offering you his hand and pulling you up.

You stand shoulder to shoulder with Joel at the counter, Joel’s presence now a comforting warmth beside you, as you both reach for a frosted windowpane.

"Here, let me," he says, taking the delicate piece from you. He gently handles the sugar glass with a gentleness you’re now well aware of, and glues it to the clocktower.

“It looks great,” you say, closing the distance between Joel.

Joel’s eyes lock with yours, leaning in, his breath ghosting over your lips. Your chin tilts up, wanting to taste the sweetness of his lips again…

Suddenly, the bell above the door chimes loudly, shattering the moment. The two of you spring apart, both breathing heavily.

"I'm back!" Sarah's cheerful voice rings out. "Mr. Bowe says hi and—" She stops short, her eyes darting between you and her father, a knowing smirk spreading across her face.

Flustered, you take a step back, your elbow accidentally knocking against the edge of the table. The gingerbread clock tower wobbles precariously, and time seems to slow as you watch in horror.

But Joel is already in motion, lunging forward and reaching out to steady the creation. A collective sigh of relief fills the room as the gingerbread clock tower stands unscathed.

"Nice catch," you breathe out.

He offers a humble shrug, but the slight twinkle in his eye tells you he's pleased.

"Oh my god Dad! That was awesome!" Sarah chimes, rushing over to inspect the nearly-catastrophe. “Is it done? It looks amazing!”

“I think it is, except for one more piece,” you say, pulling out two surprise gingerbread cookies.

The first cookie is unmistakably Sarah. Her curly hair is captured by swirls of chocolate icing. Her bright brown eyes are recreated with the help of tiny candy pearl dots. Her wide smile is a perfect arc of white royal icing. You made sure to include her favorite part of green Chuck Taylors and stack of beaded bracelets.

Joel’s cookie is a little simpler, his stubble is recreated with finely crushed Oreos, his short, dark hair made with chocolate icing. He’s even complete with a tiny flannel shirt constructed with red and brown icing.

Two sets of brown eyes widen as they take in the miniature versions of themselves.

“These are incredible,” Joel says softly. “Really.”

“Well, you two are my most frequent customers, and I couldn’t have done all of this without your help,” you admit, smiling at Sarah.

Sarah beams, carefully picking up her cookie-self. "Can we put them on the tower? Like we're looking out the window or something?"

"That's a great idea," you nod, reaching for icing to secure the cookies in place.

As the three of you work together to position the two cookies just right, you feel contentment wash over you.

Just a few days ago, the bakery felt so empty and daunting. But now, as you watch Joel help Sarah put on her jacket before they both take one last look at the completed gingerbread tower, you feel hopeful for the future of the bakery—and the gingerbread competition tomorrow.

You’re tired—you barely slept last night, you yawn as you carefully load the gingerbread tower into your car, praying it survives the short drive to the town square.

The morning air is crisp as you step out of your car, waving at Joel and Sarah as they make their way towards you. Joel has a shy smile, his deep brown eyes lit with something akin to fondness as he approaches you.

“Ready?” he asks with a nod.

“As ready as I can be,” you sigh.

You and Joel carry your collective pride and joy across the town square with the help of Sarah leading the way to the competition area.

"This is it!" she exclaims, waggling her fingers in front of the table like a magician. You swallow nervously when you see the talent of your competitors.

"Wow, look at that castle," Sarah gasps. Joel doesn’t even look over, his focus remaining fixed on your shared creation, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Ours is better," he states matter-of-factly.

“You’re right,” you agree with a smile.

As the judges make their rounds, you try to calm your nerves as your foot nervously taps against the pavement and you try to catch your breath. Joel seems to sense your anxiety, taking your hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. The warmth of his touch steadying you, silencing your self-doubt.

"Hey," he says quietly, giving your hand another reassuring squeeze. "Whatever happens, we did good."

"Thank you," you breathe out.

And then they're before you—the judges—with their scrutinizing eyes and nods of approval. You and Joel still hold hands, both of you not making an attempt to pull away. One of them leans in close, inspecting the intricate icing lattice-work that had taken you hours of painstaking focus.

"Exceptional detail," one judge comments, pointing to the two gingerbread figures of Joel and Sarah at the base of the tower.

"And the structural integrity is impressive," another judge remarks. Now, you squeeze Joel’s hand.

"Thank you," Joel says.

The judges move on. The three of you look at each other, with unspoken hopes of victory. Joel still doesn’t drop your hand.

"And now," the announcer's voice catches the crowd’s attention, "for the winners of this year's Cedar Park Gingerbread House Contest!"

A rush of adrenaline flows through your body as your heart beats against your chest. Sarah grabs your other hand, forming a chain of nervous anticipation.

"Third place goes to The Gingerbread Castle by the Carpenter family!"

You breathe out the breath you’ve been holding. Sarah bounces next to you, Joel stands still and calm next to you.

"Second place is awarded to…" the announcer pauses. "The Gingerbread Ski Lodge by the Padillas!"

Your heart pounds so hard you feel like you’re going to pass out. You try to focus on the soothing feel of Joel’s thumb stroking the back of your hand.

"And now for the grand prize winner of this year's Cedar Park Gingerbread House Contest is… The Gingerbread Clock Tower by Sweet Nothing Bakery!"

Time seems to slow down. The judge's lips move, but you can’t hear them over your heart beating. You only realize what’s happening when Sarah lets out an ear-piercing squeal and Joel's arm wraps around your waist.

Sarah jumps up and down and Joel pulls you close, planting a kiss on your cheek.

You feel like you’re floating as you walk to the stage and accept the grand prize ribbon. The crowd stares at you, cameras taking your victory photos, but all you can do is stare at Joel, a wide smile of support making his eyes disappear behind the crinkles at the sides.

As you step off the stage, you spot Mr. Bowe, who rushes over to you, his eyes twinkling with pride. “I knew you had it in you, my dear,” he says, patting your arm. “This will do wonders for you and your bakery.”

The realization hits you like a wave - you've won. Your bakery is going to be okay. More than okay, even. Tears of relief and joy prick at your eyes.

Joel notices the tears in your eyes as you rejoin him and Sarah at the table. He pulls you in for a hug. “Hey,” he says softly. "You did it. I knew you could."

You bury your face in his chest. "No, we did it," you respond, your voice muffled against the soft flannel of his shirt. "I couldn't have done this without you and Sarah."

When you pull back, you see Sarah beaming at you both, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Does this mean we get free cupcakes for life now?" she asks cheekily.

You laugh, wiping away a stray tear. "Absolutely.”

You weave through the throng of customers, carrying a tray laden with pastries. Gone are the quiet days of just you and your empty bakery. Sweet Nothing Bakery is now the bustling heart of Cedar Park’s downtown business district. Now, instead of quiet contemplation about your’s and your bakery’s future, your business is home to a line stretching out the door and a phone ringing off the hook.

You turn the OPEN sign to CLOSED, now exhausted from being busy all day, no longer overwhelmed from the worries of a failing business.

The jingle of the bell above the door interrupts your focus on counting the profits of the day, you look up and spot a familiar face.

“Long time no see,” you smile.

“It’s been a busy week for me with the holidays coming up,” he says, looking around at the empty display cases. ”Seems like your week was busier.”

He approaches the counter, it’s only been a week since you last saw him, seeing his dark brown eyes again makes you realize how much you’ve really missed him.

"I've been baking non-stop since we won the contest. I can barely keep up with demand."

Joel's lips quirk up in a half-smile. "I noticed the line when I drove by earlier.”

“I can’t thank you enough for all of your help, I couldn’t have done it without you… or Sarah.”

He smiles before cleaning his throat.

"So," he says, a hint of nervousness sounds in his voice. "I was thinking… maybe we could celebrate our victory properly? Maybe you’d like to grab dinner sometime?”

Your heart skips a beat and you can’t stop the wide grin that spreads across your face.

“I’d love that,” you reply. "But what about Sarah?"

Joel chuckles, running a hand through his hair. "Already taken care of. My brother was quite excited to learn that I finally got the nerve up to ask the cute girl from the bakery out. I think Sarah has been filling him in about everything. I think she might have been plotting this.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “She’s tenacious.”

“Tell me about it,” he nods with a grin. “So, that’s a yes?”

“Absolutely,” you respond, hope filling your heart.

[justreadingthings]

Oh damn.

[justreadingthings]

🥹🥰

midnight (frankie morales x f!reader)

summary: it’s new year’s eve, and frankie only wants to kiss one person when the ball drops — too bad it’s his boss’ daughter.

warnings: unspecified but legal age gap, alcohol, soft!frankie, mild violent threat (no actual violence lmao), cursing, kissing, touching, fluff, smutty thoughts, unbeta’d (sorry for any mistakes hehe), 18+ mdni.

notes: happy new year! 2024 has been testing at times, but i’m grateful for all the new connections made and love shared. here’s hoping for a healthy and happy 2025 for us all when you get there ❤️

Frankie watches you longingly.

The soft curve of your waist, the way your lashes kiss your cheekbones when you smile. Your gentle touch, the way you listen intently to any story being told to you.

He sits across from you in the warehouse, propped up at the makeshift bar. String lights hang low across the ceiling; shrouding you in a golden glow, your appearance even more angelic than usual. The grip on his beer tightens as he notices your colleague lay a hand on your forearm, presumably asking you to dance.

He knew this party would be torture — but he’d figured it would be worth it, if only for a glimpse of you.

“If I catch you gawkin’ at my daughter again, Morales, I’ll take it out of your paycheck.”

His cheeks flushing red, your father’s hand slaps against his shoulder. “Sorry,” he mutters, as Joe takes a seat beside him. Frankie’s worked for your dad since he left the military — as a warehouse manager for his family-run hardware company.

“‘m only messin’ with you. She’s still pretty cut up over Joshua breakin’ up with her a few weeks back — just before Christmas too, if you can believe that. Fuckin’ asshole.”

Frankie quietly agrees, jaw ticking as he sinks back another mouthful of alcohol. He never had the pleasure of meeting Joshua, but he’d heard plenty about him every time you were home from your big city job, the one you’d dreamed of ever since you’d finished college a few years back.

Frankie knew all about your dreams.

You always sought him out whenever you visited the depot, spending hours beside him as he managed inventory or looked over his budgets. He’d hugged you every time you aced your exams, put a friendly arm around your shoulder when you appeared dejected or stressed.

“I’ve just got too many plans, Frankie.”

“Well, if anybody can achieve it all — ‘s you, sweetheart.”

“You’re only being nice because my dad pays you to be.”

He remembers that particular encounter like it was yesterday: you, leant against his desk as he worked, all soft thighs and bare midriff in your denim cutoffs. You’d leant in close and pressed your lips to his cheek before you left, leaving him in a cloud of your perfume and a badly-timed hard-on.

Christ. You make him feel like a fucking teenager.

Your father brings Frankie back to the present, droning on about setting some time aside in the new year to draw up new logistics plans, work out a way to further modernize the business.

“‘s a party, Joe,” he interrupts. “One you’ve paid for.”

“You’re one to talk. It’s New Year’s Eve and you’re sat here like it’s a goddamn funeral.”

Frankie raises his bottle sourly, draining the last of it as Joe heads off to mingle. He’s lost sight of you, the crowd growing as the time edges ever closer to midnight. A sinking feeling settles in his stomach, wondering whose hand you’ll be holding when the ball drops, knowing for certain it won’t be his.

The party was all your idea: begging Joe to let you bring everyone together to celebrate, involving everybody from the senior board to the receptionists, sourcing the caterers and decorations and DJ — roping Frankie in to help you set up, thanking him with an endless supply of casual kisses on his cheeks and sugary home-baked gifts.

You’re so sweet, so pure, and he’s fucked his own fist more times than he count thinking about you.

You look so beautiful tonight — dressed in red velvet, the perfect hostess. Frankie can’t understand how Joshua ever let you go; feeling quiet rage bubble in his veins at the idea of your heart breaking, and the ridiculous notion of you not being good enough.

Frankie would treat you better.

He already knows he can make you laugh, how to bring the dimple out in your cheek. He knows your complicated pizza order, the books you like to read, your favourite place to get coffee, the exact age you want to have babies.

He knows he’d fuck you better, too.

Frankie’s consumed by the thought of it — of pushing you down into his sheets and burying himself between your thighs, his tongue in your mouth as he works himself inside you, his name on your lips when you come for him. Over and over again.

He checks his watch. 11:45pm. There’s still no sign of you, and he has no desire to join the throng gathering on the dancefloor, their arms around one another as the drinks continue to flow freely.

Frankie heads for his office instead, his safe haven. There, he’s sure he’ll continue to think about you: how he’s a decade too old, how Joe would string him up or fire him on the spot if he ever even considered telling you how he felt.

He’s so preoccupied with misery that, at first, he doesn’t notice the lone figure already sitting in his desk chair.

“Frankie?”

Your voice is so quiet — barely a whisper in the darkness, the party outside growing louder with every passing minute.

“Hey,” Frankie clears his throat. “What’re you doing in here?”

You rest your forehead on the heel of your palm, bare shoulders heaving in a sigh. “I know I shouldn’t have come in here without asking you first — I’m sorry.”

“Baby, your dad owns this building. Besides, I’ve got no secrets from you in here,” he jokes gently, leaning back against his desk. Your face is illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window: effortlessly beautiful, but smiling sadly.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Nodding, you finally look up and meet his gaze.

“Planning the party.. It was a distraction from everything. Now it’s happening, and I know everyone’s having a good time — I started thinking about Joshua, what we’d be doing if he was here.”

Frankie swallows. “That’s normal, though. Nobody would blame you for feeling that way.”

“I guess,” you shrug. “But y’know what’s odd? All I can think about is how much he’d hate it.”

He’s silent for a moment, willing you to go on. He watches your teeth sinking into your lower lip, the way you anxiously tug at your dress.

“He always asked me why I hung around this place, made fun of me for spending all my free time with my dad — with you.”

Frankie feels his chest swell a little at the idea of Joshua’s jealousy, but it soon dies away as you get to your feet, standing inches away from him. He’s overcome with the need to reach out to you; pull you close, tell you it’s okay.

That goddamn perfume.

“So, I started asking myself: what do I keep coming here for? I mean, you know Joe — I love him, but he’s hardly a renowned conversationalist.”

You share a smile; a clandestine joke about the man you both know so well.

“Well, did you find an answer?” Frankie dares to ask, breath caught in his throat. Eyes widening as you step even closer, he feels his heartrate spike as you wrap your fingers gently round his wrist.

“I’m working on it.”

He’s not sure exactly how it happens, but your lips are soon pressed to his. Your tongue begs for entry, Frankie groaning as he finally tastes you — sweet as sugar. All thoughts of his job and your father’s right hook leave his mind as you push him against the row of cabinets, moaning quietly as he feverishly puts his hands on you.

It’s heavenly.

His touch is light over your ass, travelling greedily across your belly to cup your tits, the blood rushing to his dick when you arch your back and thrust more of yourself into his hands. “Frankie,” you cry out softly, scraping teeth and tongue against the scruff along his jaw.

A dulled chorus of cheering and party poppers causes you both to spring apart, Frankie realising the time just as you do. “Midnight,” he pants, wrenching his beloved cap off his head and carding a hand through his hair. Your chest is heaving, silvery light bouncing off your collarbones.

He begins to come to his senses: the door is unlocked, your father and his entire team not too far away, able to discover your tryst at any given moment. But you’re gazing at him in a way that makes Frankie forget the whole fucking thing: he can get a new job, he can heal from any bruises.

You’re all that matters.

“C’mere,” he mutters, barely recognising his own voice, hoarse with desire.

You go into his arms, kissing him with just as much vigour as before. You’re toying with his belt buckle before long; his hands wandering underneath your dress, encouraged by the sounds you’re making in his ear. No dream he’s had about you can compare to the real thing, to feeling your arousal as he explores between your thighs.

It takes all of Frankie’s inner strength not to tug your dress to the ground and fuck you on the floor, make you beg him to take you right here in his office — the place that holds so many memories for you both.

You deserve more than that.

You break apart breathlessly at some point, foreheads leant against one another. “Happy New Year, I guess,” you whisper, squeezing his arms. He doesn’t know how to tell you he loves you, how long he’s admired you from afar, falling further with every smile, every laugh.

So, Frankie just kisses your cheek tenderly instead, holding your face in his palms. “You, too.”

“I’m sorry — I know this isn’t very appropriate. You probably weren’t expecting that.” You look away shyly, leaning into his hand.

“Best surprise ever, actually.”

“Yeah?”

Frankie nods, and you grin, beginning to formulate a plan of where you’ll go from here. He already has your number, of course, promising to call you in the morning, take you out for breakfast. Everything is tentative; slow and steady compared to the urgency of before, but his heart is still beating rapidly.

He can hardly believe it.

You’re still wrapped round him, unwilling to let go, kissing the tip of his nose, fingers curling in the hair at the nape of his neck. He basks in your affection, content to stay there forever.

“I hope you get everything you want this year,” you tell him.

Frankie presses his lips to yours, swallowing the squeak of pleasure in your throat.

“Shouldn’t be too hard.”

[justreadingthings]

I’m obsessed with grumpy character X2! This is perfect 💕

saw your requests were open and i figured i would humbly aid 🫡

everyone is always like “oh! bucky with a golden retriever reader this! bucky with a sunshine reader that!” what about bucky with a reader who’s just as moody as he is??

no one ever writes two grumps together and i think it would be an interesting dynamic

Summary: It's New Years Eve and this man simply refuses to do anything but be a pain in your ass.

Warnings: cursing, alcohol

A/N: Sid. did you know. did you know that you're literally a genius. you're so right about grumpy x grumpy. i do not know if I have done this justice but I wrote this out on my phone because I like this request so much thank you for sending one in 😭❤️

New Year’s Eve is a migraine wrapped in tinsel and cheap champagne. You’ve seen too many years roll over into nothing to care anymore.

Doesn’t matter. You’re here because the bar’s open, and when someone says “open bar,” you take it as a challenge to see how open it can really be.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asks.

“Whatever’s most expensive.”

He ducks under the counter, comes back with a bottle that looks more like a museum piece than alcohol. Fancy glasswork, gold lettering, the works.

He starts, “This one’s got notes of—”

“Let me see,” you interrupt.

The second the bottle’s in your hands, you turn and walk away.

He sputters behind you, but you wave him off. “Put it on the billionaire’s tab."

You snake through the crowd and confetti, nodding at a few familiar faces but not stopping for any. Emergency exit in sight, you take a seat where you can watch the chaos unfold while staying out of it.

"Pass the bottle."

You don't even bother looking at him as you respond, "Go steal your own."

"You took the most expensive one."

"Get another one."

"This is easier."

"Go fuck yourself."

"Real festive of you."

Still, despite your best efforts, he’s already taking a seat, uninvited.

You take another swig before passing the bottle to him without another word.

He glances at you. "Why are you here?"

"Well, it was quiet before someone showed up."

"Must'a really pissed you off," he says, tipping the bottle back.

God, Bucky was fucking annoying. But his cheeks are flushed pink and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbow.

"Why are you here?" you scowl.

"It's quiet," he replies, like just knows it'll make you mad. He's right.

"You’re in my space.”

“This isn’t your space.”

“I was here first.”

“Congrats. Want a medal?”

"Leave."

"No," he states, resolutely.

Bucky’s the human equivalent of a rock in your shoe—persistent, irritating, and impossible to ignore.

You feel face warm with irritation. "Where's your date gone?"

"Nat set me up, I've never met her before," he says, as though it’s the least surprising thing in the world. "Haven't seen her in thirty minutes."

"What, you couldn't brood your way into her pants?"

He gives you a dry, unimpressed look. "I don't kiss and tell."

"Doesn't look like you're doing any kissing at all," you scoff.

He tips the bottle back, takes a slow drink, then hands it to you. "You think about me kissing a lot?"

"I don't think about you."

He snorts, low and humorless, and you hate that it makes you want to laugh.

Bucky's fucking annoying. He's run his hand too many times through his hair, and there’s a smudge of something—lipstick, maybe—on his collar, and he's stretched out too damn much, like he's right at home.

He sends you a look. It makes you want to hide. You hate the way his eyes linger, like he’s waiting for you to flinch.

"Bottle," you demand.

He hands it over silently, crossing his arms over his chest, staring right ahead.

"How much longer?" he asks, checking his watch.

"You can leave."

"Sure can," he says, but doesn’t move.

"So leave."

"No."

You stare at him. "Find somewhere else to sit."

"No," he replies.

The minutes stretch. The bottle passes back and forth, your irritation simmering every time he exhales, every time he looks at you like he’s got something to say but doesn’t.

Bucky was fucking annoying. He smelt like expensive cologne and Tide detergent. His eyes are tired and his voice is scratchy. when he shifts beside you, it’s like he takes up more space than anyone has a right

He holds his hand out for the bottle. You give it to him.

"What are you gonna do at midnight?" he asks.

"Finish this bottle."

"What about after?"

"I'll get another one."

Bucky rolls his eyes. “That all?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” You glare at him, but he doesn’t flinch. He never does.

“Good."

His jaw’s tense, his eyes dark and sharp, and for a second, you think maybe he’s as pissed at himself as you are.

Silence falls. It’s not comfortable, but it’s not uncomfortable either. It’s just there. Like him.

"What’re you gonna do at midnight? Cry into whiskey?” you ask pointedly.

“I could, but you drank it all." He rolls his eyes.

There's a lot left. You give him the bottle. He takes it without a word, fingers brushing against yours.

Bucky takes a swig. “No one waiting for you at midnight?"

"Loads," you scoff. "Got a line out the damn door waiting to kiss me."

"Uh huh," be says.

There's silence.

You look at him, only for find him eyeing you.

“No one waiting for you?”

You scoff. “Why, you volunteering?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just studies you with those sharp, unreadable eyes. “Maybe.”

"Sure, Barnes, I'll kiss you at midnight," you drag sarcastically.

His face doesn't shift. Your brows furrow.

"Christ, you're bein' serious," you mumble.

He shrugs non committedly. "I could think of worse things to do."

"Wow," you say dryly. "Charming."

"Just sayin'."

With two minutes to go, you find that it's harder to look him in the eye. Your heart stumbles over itself, and you take another drink to cover the sudden heat crawling up your neck.

Either the whiskey was really starting to take hold, or the damn spirit of the damn season was getting to you.

"Look, I wasn't plannin' on asking anyone else," he says.

You raise an eyebrow.

"Do with that what you will," he says, taking a swig.

"What about your date?" you test.

"Don't think she remembers I exist."

You observe him. His shirt is unbuttoned, and his coat jacket lay on his lap. His bowtie also hung precariously from his neck.

Bucky was really fucking annoying. His hair is toussled and his stubble is rough and you're fairly certain his nose is sunburnt. You know this because you've been staring at him every day from the second he stepped foot in the compound, withdrawn and scowling.

It's late and you're tired of a lot of things and you're careless, so you stare too long. He catches you.

"What?" he bites.

"I'm assessing," you say, then add grudgingly, “You're not... terrible."

Which is a lie. He's beautiful. He's acutely aware of this on some days. Those days are harder for you.

He stares at you. "I can see why there's a line out the door for you."

"Go join them," you say. "I'll finally get some fuckin' quiet."

He exhales a short laugh. "No."

You can hear the crowd shouting numbers, but it’s distant, unimportant. Bucky’s eyes are on you, steady.

The crowd cheers.

Bucky's really fucking annoying.

But he kisses you like he's liked you all his life. Like he's real tired of waiting. It lingers just long enough to make your stomach flip when you realise he still tastes like whiskey.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t look smug. He doesn’t say anything at all. Just hands you the bottle and leans back like nothing happened.

His cheeks are red. His lips are swollen. He's never looked prettier in his damn life.

“Happy New Year,” you mutter, staring at the bottle because you can’t look at him.

“Sure,” he says, voice low, almost hoarse.

[justreadingthings]

Ahhhhh this is so good!!! I love the conversations she is having with Pero. And the kisses are giving me life! I love that Christina apologized, to both of them, for overstepping. That is very mature, and it will help the rest of their time working with her. Last but not least, EEEEEEEEEEE I’m so excited for their solo dinner. I love when they interact just with each other, and I’m looking forward to more of it. And hey, maybe some passionate kisses too….you know, since she said she’d kiss him later 😏 this is so so good, lovely! Thank you for sharing 💙

A Wonderful, Awful Idea / 2

Pairing: Pero Tovar x Female Reader (Modern AU)

Word Count: 9,299

Summary: The first event's over, and Pero still wants to spend time with you - that's good, right?

Surprisingly, it's him that takes initiative to tell you a little more about himself - and what he wants.

But during the second event, it's you that can't keep your mouth shut, even though you know it's probably best to do so.

Rating: M: language.

Author's Note:

My last writing post of 2024, and it's Pero Tovar. I never would have guessed this would be the cast even a few weeks ago.

Thank you so much for your interest in the first part, and in this story in general. I've loved seeing your comments and reading your responses to it. It's been a lot of fun to write, and I've desperately needed the distraction, so it's helped.

Part 3 is well underway, so look for it early in the new year.

The title comes from Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

Thank you for reading!

*dividers by @/strangergraphics

Part 1

The four of you chose a diner a few minutes from the venue, and that time, Lin slid onto the bench next to her husband, forcing you and Pero to sit beside each other. 

You knew exactly what she was doing, and while part of you appreciated her pushing the two of you to remain close, you were also worried that it was too much, too fast for Pero. We’ll see. 

After you’d placed your orders, the conversation turned back to the event you’d just left, and the men’s impressions of the client - including that she’d taken a liking to Pero. You stayed quiet for that, listening to the two of them talk, and you had to admit that the way they approached discussing work impressed you. 

They were clinical in their assessment of her and her team, and you weren’t surprised to hear that they were pleased with the lengths she’d gone to to ensure her safety. “She had a stalker last year,” William informed you as he took a bite of one of the appetizers that had been delivered. “Her team upped protection then. They caught him, but who knows if there’s anyone else just waiting.” 

“I wouldn’t know how to deal with that.” You reached for your water cup, taking a drink before you continued. “Especially if I had to do as much as she does around strangers? Yuck.” 

“You wouldn’t have to look far for protection, though.” Lin winked at you, gesturing at Pero and William. “Two built in bodyguards right here at this table.” 

“I couldn’t afford these two.” You laughed, looking over at Pero and catching his eye. “Hell, I probably couldn’t even swing the budget for one of them, so -”

“You think we would charge you?” Pero narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “No. Never.” You watched as his expression changed - eyes darkening, the set of his lips turning into a smirk. “That would be a job I took because I wanted to.” 

That stunned you; you’d gone from him speaking ten words to you over the course of your association to him offering to protect you if necessary - for nothing. He wasn’t lying when he said he was interested. But him saying this in front Lin and William is … “Luckily for all of us, I’m never going to be in that position. But it’s good to know I’ve got somewhere to turn.” 

“You could pay Tovar in food.” William took a large bite and then gestured at his friend with two fingers. “For just about anything, honestly.” 

“It is true.” Pero grinned, nodding his head. “We do not tell clients this, but…” He looked over at you, raising an eyebrow. “I would not turn it down.” 

You’d never seen him smile so broadly before, and the sight of it left you speechless. I want to see that more. It made him look younger; the smile showing off fully rounded cheeks and a deep dimple that you hadn’t known existed. But now I do. Now I’m going to dream about it. 

“Alright, I’ve got a triple jalapeño burger and seasoned fries for…” The moment was interrupted when your waitress came back, but you were almost thankful. You’d been staring at the man next to you, and even though you were certain Lin had filled William in on the situation between you and Pero, you didn’t want to make things awkward - for anyone.

As dishes were handed out, you focused on your food, taking a few deep breaths to steady yourself. It’s fine. It’s going to be fine. But a few seconds later, when Pero reached over and laid a hand on your knee, cautiously squeezing it, you weren’t so certain that that was the truth. 

As the four of you headed to the front counter to pay after the meal, you were wondering if you should ask to get a ride home from the Garins, since they had to drive past your house to get to theirs. It makes sense. “Would -”

“Oh, look. Mistletoe!” Lin pointed up, and the rest of you followed the motion, raising your gaze to the sprig of faux greenery hanging just above the cashier’s counter. Shit. “C’mere, William.” She giggled as she grabbed the lapels of his coat, tugging him closer for a brief kiss. You looked away and met Pero’s eyes, not surprised to see actual fear in them, but before you could say anything, Lin spoke again. “Your turn! It’s tradition.” 

“No.” Pero shook his head, stepping back. “I will not be following this tradition.” It hurt more than it should have, and you tried to keep the fact that his words hit you hard from showing by biting the inside of your cheek. You stepped back, too, looking away from Pero and at the front windows of the diner - but not before you saw him wince. 

“We’ll wait outside.” Lin stepped between the two of you, linking her arm through yours. “Come with me.” 

“I have to pay, I -” 

“No, you don’t.” She gestured to the two men. “One of them will get it.” William waved you off and you let her pull you through the glass doors and onto the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. Once the door shut behind her, she unwound her arm and then hugged you tightly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think he’d react like that, it was just a joke.” 

“It’s fine.” You mumbled the words, blinking back tears. “Things were going well, but I didn’t think … I didn’t expect him to want to kiss me, but him just saying no like that was a surprise.” It hadn’t even been the denial itself; it was Pero’s tone along with the look in his eyes that upset you the most. “It’ll be fine. We’ve only got two events left, and the next one will be so loud we won’t have to talk, I’ll just…” 

“Do you want us to take you home?” She backed away, giving you a sympathetic smile. “It’s on the way, and I feel like this is my fault, so -”

“Yes. Please. That would be a relief. And I’m sure he wants to go home right away.” You’d been looking forward to a few more minutes with Pero, and an opportunity to thank him for the night. But that’s changed now. “Lin, I -” 

The door opened then, William coming out first with a cheerful expression on his face and Pero behind him, the scowl back in place. Fuck. “Ready to go home, Lin Mae?” 

“We’re going to take -”

“I will take her home.” You looked back at Pero, watching as he steadied himself with a deep breath, his full attention on you. “Unless you do not want me to.” The fear in his eyes was gone, replaced with a weariness that you almost liked less. Oh, Pero. 

“You can take me home, Pero.” Pausing, you nodded. “Please.” 

The four of you separated in the parking lot, Lin hugging you and whispering that you needed to call her when you got a chance before she got into their car. 

It was silent between you and Pero while he busied himself with getting the heat and defroster going, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable a silence as you thought it would be. Say something. Speak up. “Is that how most of your jobs go?” You held your hands out, enjoying the way the warm air felt on your skin. “Where you leave as soon as it’s over? Or -”

“No.” He didn’t look at you when he spoke, concentrating on the rearview mirror as he backed up. “Usually we are the only security. This is a very different assignment than usual.” You looked over, watching as the light from another car’s headlights passed over his face. “This time, we will only step in if it is necessary.” He glanced over at you. “I hope it is not.” 

He didn’t say anything after that, and so you fell into silence too, staring out the window and at the decorated houses as you passed them. You wondered how the night would have ended without the mistletoe incident - if you and Pero would have hugged goodbye over the center console, or if he would have offered to walk you to the door. He held my hand multiple times tonight, so I don’t see why not. 

When he parked in your driveway, he didn’t turn the car off, but he did put both hands back onto the wheel, his fingers curled around it tightly. I guess that answers part of my question. “Thank you, Pero, for -”

“I did not want to kiss you under the mistletoe.” He stared straight ahead as he spoke, hands in place. “But that does not mean that … I do not want to kiss you.” Wait, what? Your mouth opened, but you didn’t speak. Instead you just stared at him in disbelief. “Please understand.” He turned his head toward you, Pero wetting his lips before he continued. “That should not be the first … it is not how I imagined kissing you for the first time, in front of Lin and William and the entire fucking diner staff in a room that smelled like old coffee and burned toast.”

That finally broke you out of your stupor, and you laughed, reaching up with both hands to cover your eyes. “Oh, Pero.” You kept laughing, the upset you’d felt since he’d said no disappearing and replaced with something that felt strangely like hope. He’s thought about kissing me. He wants to. “I do understand. I just thought …” Dropping your hands back onto your thighs, you exhaled. “I thought you didn’t want to at all.” 

“Of course I do.” He reached over, putting his hand on top of yours. “Even more now than yesterday.” Pero said your name, the sound of it barely loud enough for you to hear. “I am fucking this up. I -”

“You’re not.” You flipped your hand over, taking his. “Not at all. Fucking this up would have been not talking about it or lying to me about it. You just … it was a misunderstanding.” Tell him. Tell him the truth. “I want you to kiss me, Pero. That’s why I reacted the way I did. I’d rather it didn’t happen for the first time in public, too, but to tell you the truth, I wouldn’t have been mad if you’d done it in the diner.”

“I am not romantic. I’m not like William. I don’t … I don’t know how to be like him, saying sweet things or being nice to people all the time, or picking the right moment to -”

“Don’t do that.” Shaking your head, you lifted your joined hands, gesturing to them with your free one. “This is a good start. Earlier, when we were sitting and you casually touched me? That’s good, too. I’d tell you if it wasn’t, or if I didn’t like something you were doing.” You sighed. “It takes time to learn about someone, you’re not just going to know everything after one date.” 

“That is a good point.” He was still holding your hand, but he’d pulled them over to his side of the car, letting them rest against his thigh. “Maybe I should take your advice more.” 

“You should.” You squeezed his hand. “Definitely.” Under other circumstances, you would have invited him in, asking if he wanted to have a drink or sit and talk. But tonight’s been a lot already. “So the concert next week?” He agreed, humming as he nodded. “Are we just watching again?”

“We will be at the meet and greet.” He sighed. “And then during the show, we’re going to be in the crowd. So will Lin and William.” You groaned, head dropping. “Why is that your reaction?”

“I’m a fan of her acting. But the music is … not my thing.” Wrinkling your nose, you rolled your eyes as he smiled. “I’ll suck it up, though. It’s just one show.” 

“And you’ll be with me.” I sure will. Pero cleared his throat. “We have an assignment out of town for two days, so if you don’t hear from me until right before the concert, that is why.” You nodded, even as you felt disappointment growing in your chest. “Let me walk you to your door.” 

It meant the night was ending, but you figured it was for the best. You could only handle so much in one night, and figured Pero felt the same. “Sure, but it’s still cold out. You don’t have to.” 

“I want to.” He let go of your hand and turned the car off before he unbuckled his seatbelt. Pero followed you the short distance up your driveway, and you were surprised - and relieved - to feel his hand against your back the entire way.  When you reached for your keys, he stopped you, his hand moving from your back to your elbow. “Wait.” 

You turned your head to look at him, and watched as Pero shifted nervously from foot to foot. There’s something else. He’s too... “Pero, if this is out of line, please tell me, but …” You closed your eyes and tipped your head back, releasing your breath. “When’s the last time you dated someone? Like … gotten to know them, or… have you ever dated anyone before? ”

“I have gone on dates, yes.” He frowned, his head shaking back and forth. “But dating? Long term? Never. Not really. It is easier for me to know people for a short time, and …” He shrugged. “Setting expectations is important.” 

After the misunderstanding you’d had earlier, it was a risk to continue the conversation, but you knew that you only had one shot - and didn’t want to waste it. “Are … would you like to keep this short term? Are we going to hang out these three times and then just … go back to how it was? Or…” Crossing your arms protectively over your belly, you looked down and then back up at him through your lashes. “I assume when you say a short time you mean just for sex, and that’s alright, but I don’t … that isn’t all I’d want with you.” You paused, thinking. “Or at least right now, after one date, that isn’t…” 

You trailed off when he moved closer, his hands going to your arms and resting against your biceps. “It has already been hard enough for me to keep you at a distance since we first met. Why would I make things easy now?” That made you laugh, and before you realized what you were doing, you’d leaned in and wound your arms around Pero’s body, turning your head to press your cheek against him. Oh, shit. I shouldn’t have done that. 

It took a few seconds for him to respond, but Pero eventually put his arms around you, too, his touch comforting. You liked the way it felt to be held by him, and closed your eyes as you inhaled deeply, letting the scent of him fill you - cologne and clean sweat and the winter air, along with a lingering hint of the diner’s interior. 

He was breathing steadily, too, and for a few seconds, you focused on the way his chest rose and fell, one of Pero’s hands moving up and down your back, his skin whispering off of the thick material of your coat. 

It would have been the perfect moment to pull back slightly and tilt your head to kiss him, and if you hadn’t just had a conversation about it, you would have done it. He said he wants to kiss me. He knows I want to kiss him. It needs to be him that chooses. The last thing you wanted to do was spook Pero, and so you pulled away with some reluctance, a smile on your face when you met his eyes again.

Deciding to press your luck, you raised one hand and cupped his cheek with your palm. “Thank you for a good night, Pero Tovar.” He nodded, his eyes widening and his lips parting at your touch. “Please be safe while you’re out of town. You can call or text if you want, or -” 

You watched as his lower lip trembled, the look in his eyes going from surprised to steely as he stared at you. What’s that look for? “Fuck it.” 

He kissed you then, lips settling against yours and then pressing, his forward motion catching you by surprise. You didn’t pull back, though, instead keeping your hand in place on his cheek and using the other to pull him closer, fingers twisting into his coat. Your heartbeat raced, but before you could truly begin to enjoy the kiss, he broke it, sucking in a quiet breath as he pressed his forehead to yours. “Pero.”

“If you say my name like that again, I will have to kiss you again. And if I kiss you again, it would be hard to stop.”

“I’d be alright with that.” You huffed out a laugh, keeping your eyes closed. “I’m glad you did that. I’m glad you -”

“May I do it again?” You nodded instead of speaking, happy that he was going against his better judgement and letting his emotion win out. The second kiss was slower than the first - and gentler, too, Pero taking the time to slot his lips against yours, catching your lower one between them. Your hand slid back, moving from his skin and into his hair, the strands soft between your fingers.  

You couldn’t believe it was happening - that Pero was kissing you on your front porch, that his hands had moved from your arms to your hips, that he was letting you pull on his curls with one hand in the same moment that his lips parted enough that he could flick his tongue out between them and against yours. 

“Enough.” He backed away, though you felt his mouth move as he spoke. “Enough for tonight.” You understood the significance of him saying that - especially so soon after he’d admitted that typically his nights out with women ended in sex. “Go inside where it is warm.” He put more space between you, but didn’t let you go, and you left your hands where they were, too. “You’re welcome, but it should be me thanking you for tonight.” 

“We should do it again sometime.” You winked, heart still slamming against your ribs. “That sound good?”

“It does.” His smile widened, and Pero’s eyes dropped down to your lips again briefly. “And we should.” He removed his hands and stuck them in his pockets, taking another small step backward. “I will call you soon.” 

Agreeing, you turned away from him and reached for your keys again, pulling them from your bag and unlocking the door. He was still there when you stepped through it and turned around to say goodbye, and the sight of that was almost enough to push you back out the door and into his arms. No. It might freak him out. 

“Goodnight, Pero.” You bit your lip, one hand gripping the door frame.  “Drive safe.” 

You felt like you were a teenager again - not wanting to be the one to end the night or finish the conversation, but when Pero nodded and closed his eyes, murmuring that he would, you knew things were coming to an end. He gave you a final look and a nod before he turned his back to you, heading for the car. 

You stood in the doorway until you heard his car start and then finally closed it, stepping all the way into your house. His headlights flashed in the front window and you heard a single toot from his horn, and that’s what made you react. 

One hand rose to cover your mouth as your eyes widened, and when you backed up enough that you hit the wall, you actually squealed, your eyes squeezed shut. “He fucking kissed me.” You’d wanted it, but hadn’t expected it, especially after the back and forth between you throughout the night. But he did. Lowering your hands, you stepped away from the wall and took a deep, steadying breath. And I’m going to enjoy doing it again. 

You only heard from him a few times over the following few days, and the messages were short because he was busy. 

But Pero was the one that sent the first text, and that was another good sign. 

And even though you knew she expected to hear from you when it came to what had happened with you and Pero, you didn’t spill everything when you spoke to Lin. You didn’t think he would appreciate it, first of all, and you also didn’t want to talk up what had happened until you knew whether or not it was going to continue in a positive direction. I can’t set myself up for that disappointment. 

As the date of the concert got closer, you did let yourself focus on the night, and what you hoped would come from it. You tried to keep your expectations low, but the memory of Pero’s touch - and his kiss - and the way he’d smiled in the diner didn’t make it entirely possible. 

You spent a little more time on yourself when you got ready that night, putting on a new pair of boots with your jeans and adding an extra spritz of perfume before you put on your jacket. It would be dark for the majority of the time you were together, but you still wanted to look nice for the meet and greet portion - and for Pero to pick you up. 

It was silly, and you knew it, especially since he’d made his interest known. But in the time that you’d had to yourself since the fundraiser, you’d thought about what Pero had said - and what he hadn’t said. 

You had no way of knowing if your assumptions were correct, but you thought that he likely hadn’t had a lot of experience with people trying to impress him, or with wanting to be impressed by the women he dated. You wanted to be different. You wanted him to know that you were making an effort for him, and that it wasn’t because it was expected - it was because you wanted to. 

By the time he pulled into your driveway, you’d psyched yourself out. 

It was stupid, and you knew it; it was just Pero, just going to a concert so that he could work … but that didn’t matter. Get it together. 

It seemed that he’d taken your advice from the previous week and waited inside the car for you. When you slid in next to him, you were barely settled before he spoke, Pero’s voice even. “Hi. I am early, but -” 

“You’re right on time.” Smiling at him, you gave him a onceover and sucked in a breath at the sight of a bruise on his cheek, the skin there purpled and beginning to turn green at the edges. “What happened?” 

“Work.” He waved a hand in your direction. “Someone put up a fight but I handled it.” Cautiously, your hand moving as slowly as possible to give him a chance to ask you to stop, you let your fingers trail over the skin just beside his injury. “You do not need to worry about me.” 

“I know. But that doesn’t mean I won’t.” You bit the inside of your lip and sighed. “It looks like it hurt.” 

“You would…worry about me?” He sounded genuinely shocked, but you nodded again, replacing your fingertips with the pad of your thumb. “I think I like that.” 

“Good.” I’m going to kiss that bruise tonight. You made the promise to yourself as you withdrew your hand. “It’s nice to be able to dress down a little for this, hmm?”

“Yes but on Christmas Eve, we won’t be able to.” He wrinkled his nose and put the car into reverse. “Will that be a problem for you?” 

“Nope.” You leaned back in the seat and took a deep breath. “I already know what I’m wearing.” That made him chuckle, and the sound finally broke through the last of your nerves. Things are alright. It’s not weird after the kiss. He didn’t pull away when I touched him. “Do you?”

“No.” He groaned. “Clothes. Something with too many buttons, I’m sure.” You laughed at his words, picturing Pero standing in front of his closet and scowling at the assortment in front of him. 

“Whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll look handsome.” He scoffed, but when you looked over, you saw a faint pink tinge to his cheeks. I made him blush. “We can talk about something else, it’s fine.” You pressed your lips together to keep a broad smile from spreading across your face. “Do you know how many people are at this meet and greet tonight?” 

“About a hundred.” He switched lanes and then eased onto his freeway. “I’ll have the final number when we get there.” It was a lot more than you’d expected, and even though you knew more people would make it difficult to keep an eye on every one of them, the increased number would also make it simpler for William and Pero to blend in. 

“It’s going to take her a long time to meet a hundred people.” He agreed, keeping his eyes on the road. “What can you tell me about her? Just -”

“She is … forward.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “She treated William and I like she knew us even though we’d only met a few minutes earlier.” You figured that she’d had practice throughout her career, so it didn’t surprise you. “You will get to meet her tonight, just to make it look real.” You hadn’t planned for that, but it made sense. “They will explain everything when we get there.” 

He fell silent, but when he reached over with one hand a few seconds later, yours was waiting. And when his fingers slid between yours, you didn’t waste a moment in tightening your grip. 

The organization of the meet and greet made perfect sense to you once you were in the building and briefed. 

Everyone was gathering in one of the venue’s rentable spaces, which had been decorated festively to reflect the season. Round tables were placed throughout the room, each with a number sticking out of a Christmas-themed centerpiece and various holiday props scattered across each table’s surface - and more piled up on a longer table against the far wall. 

Their client would meet each table individually and in order, speaking with people and taking photos or signing autographs. Her personal security would be spread throughout the room and at tables themselves, with one person remaining by her side as she moved from table to table. 

There was plenty of food and drink to enjoy while you waited, and a playlist that included some of her music - along with that of other artists in her genre - was audible through the speakers. You and Pero were at table 11, and William and Lin were stationed at 3, which meant that you could see them, but weren’t close. 

You knew that Pero would treat the event like any other job, but you also knew that you’d need to sell the idea that you two were there because you wanted to be, and so after settling into place, you’d asked him to go and get you something to eat. While he was gone, you observed the others in the room. 

It was obvious that most of them were fans of the artist’s, and had either paid good money for the experience or were lucky enough to have won the opportunity. It felt sort of wrong to be among them, but since you weren’t actively taking up someone else’s spot, the feeling passed quickly. And it disappeared entirely when Pero returned with two plates of food balanced atop each other and two drinks carried with his other hand. “Impressive, Mr. Tovar.” He ducked his head, but you caught the brief smile on his lips. “Will you be able to eat, or do you have to -”

“There is always time for food.” He stared at you, dark eyes bright. “And if I’m going to work all night, I need to eat.” You do. 

It only took a few minutes for you to finish most of it, and to your surprise, Pero wanted to talk while you ate. It wasn’t anything in depth, but it was still conversation, and it felt nice to have him speaking to you in the same way you’d seen - and heard - him speak to William and Lin throughout the years. 

He was more relaxed than you’d ever seen him, which made his shift back into business mode much more noticeable. You didn’t mind, though, when he moved to your side of the table and stood next to you, leaning his elbows on the brightly patterned tablecloth. It was so that he had a clearer line of sight, and you knew it, but that didn’t change the fact that it meant he was so close that he was nearly touching you. 

“Am I allowed to speak to you? Or do you need to focus?” 

“Please.” He looked over at you, giving you a lopsided smile. “I can do two things at once.” 

You took that as an invitation and reached toward the center of the table, picking up one of the Santa hats there. 

“You should put a hat on.” Running your fingers over the fur trim, you nodded. “Get into the spirit.” 

“I will if you will.” He took the hat from you and put it on his head, pulling it into place. “How’s it look?” The truth was that it looked ridiculous - but that didn’t mean you didn’t like it. 

“You’re the most handsome Santa I’ve ever seen.” Reaching over, you adjusted the pom-pom at the tip, folding it over so that it hung just right. “Let me take a picture.” You pulled out your phone and snapped a few, barely holding back your laugh at his frown - and then widening your eyes in surprise as it switched into a broad smile that was directed at you. “Perfect.” 

“Are you finished?” He cocked his head to the side. “Because it is your turn.” You hoped he picked out something good for you, and when Pero reached forward, you held your breath. There was no reason to, though, because he chose a headband that had a shiny tinsel tree atop it, complete with tiny, glittery beads in place of ornaments scattered throughout the branches. 

“Pero, it -” You took it from him and settled it in place, keeping your eyes on him. “There. How’s that?” 

“I would have chosen a mistletoe.” He smiled again, reaching for his phone. “But there was not one on either of the tables. I checked the other one when I was getting food.” Oh. Really? You… You were speechless as he started to take pictures, capturing a few before setting his phone back down on the table. Should I ask to take one with him? 

You didn’t need to, because an event photographer stepped up then, raising his camera and telling you to smile. Without even thinking about it, you leaned against Pero, tipping your head in his direction. When he put his arm around you, settling it across your shoulders, you breathed out a sigh of relief. Good thing we practiced.

Even when the photographer stepped away, he kept his arm around you though he moved it so that he could tighten his fingers against your side. “Do you want to keep them on?” He pointed at his hat with another finger. “At least until we go out into the crowd?” 

“You don’t have to.” You licked your lips, giving yourself a few seconds to think. “But I think it looks good on you.” He was going to reply but didn’t get a chance to. A loud cheer and some clapping signaled the singer’s presence in the room, and once again, playful Pero was gone, replaced with a man that was laser focused on the task at hand. 

She wasted no time, greeting the crowd and thanking everyone for coming before immediately moving to table 1 and interacting with the people there. 

The conversion in the room stayed at a lower level than you expected, but everyone was respectful. They stayed at their tables for the most part, with the exception being people at the higher numbered ones leaving to go and get snacks and drinks while they waited their turn. 

She was pretty in person, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulders as she spoke with each individual. You noticed that she was personable, but didn’t get too close to anyone until it was time to take photos. “I don’t blame her.” You pointed across the room. “She’s taking good pictures, but she’s not really letting anyone crowd her space. 

“She was told not to.” He leaned closer, dropping his voice - and his hand. “By us and her own team. It’s important she meet people and be herself, but her safety…” He hummed. “It is not worth the risk.” 

You didn’t say anything in return, instead watching as she made her way to Lin and William’s table. It was more of the same, both of them being polite to her, followed by her taking a few minutes to have an actual conversation with them before she took photos and moved on. 

“We’ll be on the lower level for the show.” He cleared his throat, picking up his cup to take a drink. “We get to watch from the mixing booth, because it is elevated.” 

“Yeah?” He nodded, his eyes following her as she moved to a new table. “So you have a better view of everyone?”

“Yes. I need to watch the crowd.” He gestured around you. “All of these people times a hundred.” That made you laugh, and when you reached over, settling your hand on his forearm, you were pleased to find that Pero didn’t shy away from your touch. 

“Are we going to talk about it, Pero?” He turned his head to look at you, and even though his face was impassive, you saw the slight widening of his eyes as they met yours. “The kiss, or the things you said, or -”

“Yes.” He wet his lips. “If you want to, we can.” Of course I want to. “When?”

“I’d say now, but we’re about to have company.” You squeezed his arm and then sighed, pulling your hand away “She’s only got a few tables left, and I don’t want to get interrupted in the middle of that conversation.” 

“You’re right.” Pero nodded, taking another drink. “Not a good thing to get stopped while talking about.” Not at all. “What will you say to her?” 

“I have no idea.” You reached for your cup, too, spinning it on the tabletop. “Maybe I’ll just tell her I liked her last movie. Or that I’m excited to see the next one.” You looked down at your hands and then back over at him. “You?”

“I was hoping you’d lead the conversation.” He smiled at you, shrugging his shoulders. “That way I don’t have to.” That made you laugh, and when you lowered your chin to catch your breath, you were still smiling. 

“Typical. We’ve been out two times and I’m already picking up your slack.” He snorted at that, but when he leaned in, putting his mouth close to your ear to speak, neither of you were laughing. 

“There are other times where you will never have to worry about that.” He paused and then leaned in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear when they moved. “And that is a promise.” You backed away from him, turning to look into his eyes and finding that his pupils were enlarged, Pero’s lips parted as he waited for you to reply. 

How do I even respond to that? What do I say? “Pero, I -”

“Well hello, you two.” You were interrupted by the appearance of Pero’s client at your table, the woman’s voice high and bright. “Nice to meet you, I’m Christina.” She stuck her hand out, and you reached for it, greeting her and telling her your name, too. “And I already know you.” She winked at Pero, leaning closer and putting her palm flat on the table. “It’s good to see you again, Tovar.” 

You thought back to the conversation in the diner - to William and Pero’s assessment of Christina and then jumped to him saying she was forward. I didn’t think he meant flirty, though. “Yes. You too.” He cleared his throat. “Are you having fun?” Oh, shit I was supposed to… 

“You were fantastic in End of the Night, Christina.” Cutting in, you tried to draw her attention back to you. “I loved your character’s arc, and -”

“We had a lot of fun making it.” She nodded once at you and then looked back over at Pero. “I’m trying to get this one to come work for me on the next shoot.” She looked back at you and lifted a brow. “You can never be too careful with security, and he’s supposed to be one of the best.” What? “Maybe you can convince him to help me out.” She bit her lip and then reached over, moving to put her hand atop Pero’s. “Hmm?” 

He pulled his hand back at the last second, sliding it off the table and lowering it to his side. Interesting. “Christina, I’m not sure I have that kind of -”

“I like my job.” He cleared his throat and then reached over, sliding his hand along your lower back until it settled in place on your hip. “I’m not interested in a new one.” She looked shocked for a few seconds but recovered, straightening up and putting both hands on her hips. 

“There’s still time.” She nodded. “Now how about we take some pictures?” She gestured for you and Pero to move toward her - so you did, reaching over to push him forward with one hand. “Tovar and me first.” Part of you was irritated with how obvious she was being, but another part of you was intrigued. Because she’s going for it. She’s probably not used to people turning her down, and … “Smile!” She stood next to him, tilting her head in and toward his shoulder. 

You watched as he stood stiffly next to her, his arms hanging by his sides as she put one of her hands on his back, between his shoulders. And you bit back a laugh when she moved even closer, asking him to take a funny picture and then mirroring his scowl as she faced the camera again, one hand rising so that she could touch the pom pom on the point of his hat. 

As soon as the photographer lowered the camera, Pero stepped away and waved you forward. You didn’t really want the photo with her, but Christina moved into place, putting one hand on her hip and actually posing. Fuck it. You posed, too, getting closer than Pero had but still not touching her, and when the images were snapped, you backed off. I’m ready to be done with this. “How about the three of us?” She turned to look between you, her eyes glinting in the glow of the Christmas lights. “We can pretend to kiss his cheeks or something, if that’s alright with him.”

You knew it then - that instead of pretending, she was likely going to actually kiss him. You wondered if it would cause rumors. You wondered if Pero would get angry when it happened. I wonder if I should warn him. But it wasn’t your place to step in, and if Christina wanted to flirt with him in the open, letting it play out was the only thing you could do, because it had to be him that chose how to react.  

“Sure.” You reached out, touching his arm. “But only if you actually smile in this one, Pero.” He grumbled out his agreement but moved into place between you, and that time, you didn’t wait to put your arm around his waist, turning your head toward him and tilting it to get the best angle. 

You didn’t worry about what Christina was doing, and when the photographer began to count down, you leaned in closer, letting your eyes droop partially shut. It was hard for you to keep from actually kissing him in the picture - especially since the cheek you’d chosen was the one with the bruise, but you managed. You also caught the way he swore under his breath in Spanish, Pero staying in place but stiffening. “You actually… why did you…”

“I thought we’d both…” Christina groaned, leaning forward so that she could look past him and at you. “Thought you’d take the opportunity to -”

“Nah. Not for a picture.” You grinned, holding her gaze. “I’ll just actually do it later.” Her mouth dropped open, and you heard Pero disguise a surprised snort with a cough. I said what I said. “It was nice meeting you, Christina.” Her surprise turned into a smile, and to her credit, she leaned forward, still watching you, but with her eyes slightly narrowed. 

“I’ll give you this one.” Standing back up, she switched her attention to Pero. “She’s good.”

“She’s the best.” He cleared his throat. “You should go to the next table. There are more people to meet.” She wanted to say something - you could see it in her face. But Christina didn’t speak again before she moved on, leaving you and Pero standing beside each other next to the table again. 

You wondered if you’d overstepped. You had no right to make a claim like the one you’d made, and though it had felt good in the moment, you weren’t sure if it was the right thing to have done. He’ll tell me. “Pero, I -”

He turned, so that he could once again keep his eyes on the woman as she continued to make her way through the tables, but Pero also reached over, taking your hand again and squeezing. “I think we have something else to talk about later.”

For most of the concert, you and Pero stood next to each other and didn’t speak. You weren’t in the mixing booth; there was a space beside it that was separated from the rest of the crowd, and that’s where the two of you ended up. He’d handed you a pair of earplugs before the music started, and you’d watched as he slipped a single one into his ear, too. He must have the earpiece in again. 

It was strange to stand beside him without talking, but as time passed and the music played, you got more comfortable. He touched you often, though, his arm brushing against yours, or his hand resting on your back, and those moments gave you the courage to touch him in return. When he put his hands on the railing in front of you, you covered one with your own, letting it linger for a few seconds as you turned your head enough to give him a smile. And when he leaned forward, eyeing the crowd, you rested your hand on his upper back, moving it in a slow circle.

They were simple things - things that wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to occur between two friends - but with Pero, they were significant escalations in the behavior between the two of you. Because a week and a half ago, we didn’t even speak. It was especially encouraging because of his reaction to Christina attempting to touch his hand. Even though you didn’t know whether or not he’d pulled away because she was a client or because he just wasn’t interested, you didn’t think it mattered much. 

He left you briefly to head into the crowd, Pero giving your hand a squeeze before hopping over the low railing and then heading down the two stairs into the general admission area. You immediately looked away from the stage and followed him instead, heart rate elevated. 

You had no idea what he’d seen, but it must have been something that also caught the attention of Christina’s team, because as he moved through the crowd, he was joined by one of the men you’d seen in the briefing room. They beelined it through the sea of bodies and approached a man that was by himself - and had his phone out and pointed at the stage, a hood covering the back of his head. 

They spoke to him for a few seconds and then the trio moved toward the edge of the crowd, leaving the floor area and going out of sight as they stepped out and into the aisleway. You frowned, staring for a few seconds longer at where they’d been before turning your attention back to the stage - and to the woman on it. 

She was a good performer, and even if her music wasn’t what you typically listened to, you had to admit that it was the truth. You could understand why so many people were fans, and were happy that she was able to utilize multiple talents in her career. As she finished one song and started to talk to the crowd, the lights came up a little and let you see more of the people in it. 

There were just as many men as there were women, and you knew - without a doubt - that many of them would jump at the chance to interact with her in the way she’d tried to with Pero earlier. But he didn’t take the bait. And she said she’s been trying to get him to agree to work for her, so he knew she was interested in … 

Your fingers curled around the railing as you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. It wasn’t a surprise to you that she was interested in Pero, even on just a physical level. He was an attractive man, and his demeanor only made him more alluring. She’d likely only seen the professional side of him, but there was no doubt in your mind that even if she’d only seen moments of his actual personality coming through, it was enough. Because it was enough for me. 

You felt a presence at your back, and were stunned when you felt an arm wrap around you, the scent of Pero’s cologne filling your nose. Is he seriously… wow. He didn’t speak, but when you turned so that you could look at him, he gave you a single nod - and a brief twitch of his lips. He wouldn’t have come back if things were bad. 

Settling back into place, you leaned against him, content  to watch the rest of the show that way - unless he needed go to back into the crowd. 

When the music ended, he moved his arm and you reached up, taking your earplugs out and slipping them into your pocket. As you turned to face him, you heard Pero speaking and realized that he was likely updating William about what had happened during the show. 

“Come on.” He held a hand out when he was done, waiting for you to take it. “Gotta go and debrief and then we can leave.” You followed him backstage, and when you made it to the room you’d first entered earlier that afternoon, he let go of your hand and pointed. “There’s coffee over there. Will you make me a cup while I talk to them? The same way I ordered it before is fine.” 

You knew it was to keep you busy, but you didn’t mind and agreed. It only took you a few seconds to fill his cup, and by the time you’d moved to the smaller table where the sugar and creamer was, Lin had joined you. “Tell me all about it. We saw her take the pictures with -”

“She wants him to work for her.” You stirred his drink, staring down at it. “She was flirting, and then she actually kissed his cheek.” Lin’s gasp made you pause. “I know, right? I’m sure it’s a great picture, but it was …” Putting the lid onto his cup, you fully faced your friend. “She made it very clear that she’s interested in him. And she’d probably pay really well, so it would be stupid for him to -”

“What was his reaction? He didn’t seem…” She frowned, thinking. “He didn’t seem too excited. And what did you say? You were right there. You must have said something.”

“She played it off like she expected me to kiss his other cheek.” You bit your lip. “I didn’t. And when she asked why, I just said I’d actually kiss him later.” Lin’s eyes widened - and so did her smile, before one hand rose to cover it. “I don’t know where it came from. I just … I’ve waited so long for him to actually…” You closed your eyes. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“And you shouldn’t.” She reached over, the look in her eyes kind. “It was a genuine reaction, and he’ll know that. He’ll appreciate that.” You hoped she was right, and as the two of you looked over at where Pero and William were talking to Christina’s team, you sighed. “He told William he kissed you. He said it just happened, and he hopes that it didn’t ruin anything.”

“It didn’t.” You touched her shoulder. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I wanted to keep it between us for now, because it was just a kiss. That’s all it might ever be, Lin. I just didn’t want to get too excited.” 

“I understand.” She smiled at you. “I’ll always listen if you want to talk, but you don’t have to tell me anything.” She gestured over at a set of couches in the middle of the room. “We should sit, they might be a -” You heard William calling her name, and both of you looked over in time to see him waving her over. “OK, nevermind. I guess we’re going over there.” 

Pero was still talking to the other security guards when you got to where they were all standing, and their voices were low enough that you couldn’t make much out. I hope everything’s alright. “As soon as Tovar finishes, we can head out.” His attention shifted to you. “I don’t want to leave you here, because it might be a second before he’s done.” 

“It’s alright.” You waved a hand at them. “I can sit and wait. You don’t have to stick around.” William looked like he wanted to argue, but Lin didn’t let him, grabbing his arm and launching into conversation about how hungry she was, and how they could stop and pick something up to eat at home. When she met your gaze, you mouthed a thank you at her, Lin’s only answer a wink followed by a sideways glance at where Pero stood. Got it. 

When they headed for the door, you took Pero’s coffee and sat down on one of the chairs, pulling out your phone. You didn’t expect to hear a woman saying your name moments later, and you expected to see Christina even less when you looked up. Shit. She’d changed out of her show clothes into a pair of sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt, and had removed all of her makeup and put her hair up and into a high ponytail. She looks like a regular person. 

“Oh. Hi. I wasn’t… it was a great show. You -”

“I wanted to apologize.” She sat across from you, putting her hands into her lap. “To you and to Tovar. It was … inappropriate. I shouldn’t have kissed him without his permission, even if it was only on the cheek. And I shouldn’t have … you’re clearly here together, and I knew it. But I still…”

“We aren’t together, though.” You smiled, shrugging your shoulders. “We came here together, yeah, and we were at the fundraiser together and are coming to the Christmas Eve party together, too, but we aren’t…” You paused, wondering why you were being honest with her. “Pero and I are just friends. I was as much out of line with what I said as you were.” 

“I’m not sure about that.” She smiled at you, looking past where you sat and at where Pero and the others were. “I was serious about wanting him to work for me, though. I feel safer knowing he’s around.” She laughed. “And my guys are already good, so that’s saying a lot.” You understood completely; there was just something about Pero that put you at ease, and you imagined that in her position, feeling that way would be a comfort. “I think they’re done. I should go and talk to my team before we leave. I hear they pulled someone out of the crowd?”

“Yeah. Middle of the set, but he didn’t fight or anything, he just went with one of your guys and Tovar. I didn’t see anything else.” She nodded and moved to stand, but before she could, you felt Pero behind you again, followed by the brush of his fingers against your shoulder as he gripped the back of the chair. 

“I see you found someone to talk to.” You looked up, finding Pero’s eyes on you. “I’m sorry it took so long.” Waving the apology off, you reached forward and picked up the cup, handing it to him. Once he was holding it, you watched as he looked from you to Christina, Pero’s chest rising and falling as he took a few breaths. “Everything is good. The man we spoke to tonight was just …” He frowned, narrowing his eyes. “He was not dangerous, just behaving a little oddly.”

“That’s good to know.” She smiled up at him and then stood. “Tovar, I’m sorry about earlier. I’ve already apologized to your friend here, but …” She tapped her lips with one finger. “I wanted to do the same to you.” Pero’s lips parted, but he didn’t speak. “I should have asked before I kissed you, especially in front of someone else.” Christina’s smile widened. “I’m sorry. I hope that I didn’t fuck anything up for the rest of the time we’re working together, or …” She pressed her lips together. “Or for more potential to work together in the future.” 

So she still wants him to work for her, and she wants him to know it. “Thank you.” Pero cleared his throat. “Everything is fine.” He moved his hand from the back of the chair to your shoulder, his thumb sweeping slowly over the outside of it. “But like I said, I am more than happy with my current job.” Christina blinked a few times but only nodded in reply, her eyes moving to your face and then back to Pero’s before she excused herself. “Are you ready to go? I’m done.” 

You were and told him as much, standing and then turning to face him. “Is everything alright? That guy -”

“We’ll talk about it.” He pressed his lips together. “My house is closer than yours. And it is not too late, so I thought …” Pero looked down and then back up at you. “Maybe we could order a pizza before I take you home?”

Your stomach rumbled at the suggestion, and even though you didn’t know what to expect from actual private time with Pero, you wanted to find out. “I can order it on my phone while you drive. Sounds perfect.” 

[justreadingthings]

Happy new year!!! Thank you for gracing us with this blessing of a fic 🩵🎇

Midnight

Din Djarin x f!reader

Rating: E

A/N: Happy New Year’s Eve! ❤️ Thank you for being so kind and patient with me this year — it’s been a long one, but this place has made it all the more tolerable. This has been a WIP since 2021 (!!) and it was so wild to brush it off and compare how much my writing has changed since then — thank you for sticking around, for being so supportive and for being a part of this community. I appreciate you all and hope you all have a great 2025! 🎉🎊🍾

—

9PM

The kitchen is already packed. 

It’s been an hour since you arrived to the greeting of your coworkers broad smile, getting her for all of two minutes before you promptly lost her again. You’d seen pieces of her since, shimmers of her silver dress in between the crowd of bodies: her arm extended to hand someone a drink, her hip pressed against the counter to refill a chip bowl, her bright laugh above the din of conversation. 

The beer in your hand had started out cold, but now borders on luke warm as you take a tentative sip. You grimace at the flavor, yet hold onto it, if only for something to do with your hands. 

“Why are you drinking that?” 

She appears in front of you, at last, the only person you know here. Pulling a face at the bottle in your hand, she lifts her eyebrow. “You don’t drink beer. Couldn’t find anything better at the bar?”

“I didn’t even see a bar,” you reply, standing on your toes to look around the room. All you see are shoulders and heads, a sea of pointed hats with shiny poms of tinsel on top. 

She rolls her eyes with a smile, plucking the beer from your grip to take your hand in hers. 

“Over here,” she leads, tugging you towards the living room. 

Turning your body sideways to get through the crowd, you grin when the bar comes into sight. 

The cart is an art-deco elaborate thing, mirrored and gilded. You remember her shopping for it online at the office, hiding the screen whenever your manager would walk by. Its beauty is hidden underneath a crowd of bottles, just as tight as the people in her apartment, and she twists and turns them, searching. 

Lifting one up, she offers something else with a familiar smile. “Gin?” 

You grin. “Yes please.”

–

10PM

One heavy handed gin and tonic later, you’re feeling much better about the situation. 

You haven’t seen your friend in awhile, but that’s okay – your other coworkers have arrived. 

“Okay but why is it such a personal thing?” you ask, tipping your cup to slip an ice cube into your mouth. “I know which one is yours – the one with Snoopy on it – and it’s not like it would be wrong if I took it, but it would feel wrong, you know?”

Your coworker nods earnestly. “Coffee cups in the office are weird thing, man. They aren’t labeled, but like…you just know.”

He shuffles forward for someone to pass by him, and you back up to make room, your back pressing against the stranger behind you. They are a solid wall of heat, and before you can turn and apologize, the ringing shout of more people being welcomed draws your attention in the direction of the kitchen door. Your friend appears under the archway a second later, leading a train of people through the crowd and as everyone parts to make room, the person behind you reaches back, placing their hand on your hip. Their hold pushes you lightly towards the wall, out of the way. 

Looking down, you see a man’s hand – thick fingers, a broad palm and when you turn around, you find the owner. 

Jesus Christ. 

He’s fucking gorgeous. Tilting your chin up to start with the dark mop of his curls, you hungrily take in the rest of his face: a strong nose, plush lips, jaw covered in scruff. Easily the most handsome person you’ve ever seen, you’re frozen in place, and his neat mustache twitches with amusement. 

“Hey,” he greets you, turning to fully face you. “Sorry,” he gestures to your hip with a flick of his eyes. “Didn’t want you to get run over.”

Those eyes. Those fucking eyes. Beautiful and brown, rich and dark – with creases that fan out when he smiles. He waits you out, and you wonder if he’s used to your reaction, or if his silence means he’s just as enamored as you with what he sees. 

You hope it’s the latter, though you’re sure it’s the former. 

“It’s okay,” you breathe, and he grins, a dimple appearing in his cheek. 

A fucking dimple? Are you kidding? 

“Din,” he says, pointing towards himself with the neck of his beer bottle. When you give him your name, you don’t miss the way his eyes slip down the length of your body and crawl back up. So open and blatant with his expression, it’s almost as if he doesn’t think you can see it.

Or maybe he knows you can, but doesn’t care. 

Giddiness pools in your chest, and he gestures for your glass. 

“Can I get you another?” he asks over the noise of the party. 

“Sure.”

You grin, and he mirrors it. 

–

11pm

How can someone be this good at charades?

It’s uncanny, his ability to convey so much with gestures alone. You wonder if maybe it has something to do with his confidence, or the graceful, commanding movement of his body. It’s like you’ve been able to read his mind and he yours, the two of you synced up after forty minutes in each other’s presence. He says nothing, and still, you understand every time. 

His face is so subtly expressive, that’s what you think makes it. Or maybe it’s his hands, – large, capable looking things that he seems so deft with. 

They’ve been touching you since you met — a firm pressure on the small of your back to guide you through rooms, a circle around your wrist when you were almost separated. A curved hold on your hip when you signed him up for charades, a gentle brush of his fingers when he slipped the strap of your dress into place after a round. 

He comes back from the bar, two water bottles in hand and his weight drops on the couch next to you, his thigh pressing tight against your own. 

The cushion forces you to lean into the bulk of his body and turning your head to the side, you whisper conspiratorially in his ear. “We’re killing them.”

The divot below his ear holds the best scent – heady and masculine, warm in the best way – and he smiles, returning a whisper of his own. 

“I know.” 

His boyish grin is deceptive, hiding how competitive he’s been this entire game, a trait that you find yourself liking. Not boastful like most guys, but more like he brims with a quiet confidence. Like he’s just sure of himself, his commanding presence drawing you in. 

The other team starts, their shouts fading into the background as his eyes drop down to your mouth. You wait with bated breath for the flirty line that most men would deliver at this moment – but none comes. Instead, he stays silent, letting his eyes do all the talking. 

They roam over your features, blatant and bold in their quest. His smile falters, slipping into something with more intent and the warmth held in his eyes simmers to turn into something darker, hungrier. Your mouth waters in anticipation, your tongue gliding over your bottom lip, and you watch as he follows its path. 

His hand rests on top of your knee, encompassing it within his warm hold. The touch sparks a line of want that zips up the inside of your thigh to the damp crotch of your undies, a beat pulsing between your legs. It curls behind your belly button, pooling between your hips – a sticky slick ache that makes you press your thighs together. 

The corner of his lips tug upwards as if he knows. 

A chorus of groans declares you winners and he squeezes your knee in victory, his eyes still on yours. 

11:59pm

“FIVE! FOUR!”

The cheer of the guests counting down is deafening, and you wince at the sound even while shouting yourself. Din’s arm drapes around your shoulders, the weight of it keeping you tucked along his side as he protects you from being crushed.

“THREE! TWO!”

Lifting your drink into the air, you grin up at him when he does the same. Couples around the room turn to each other, and you tip your chin upwards, your cheek fitting into the crook of his shoulder. He looks down at you, his arm tightening in its hold and it’s like a magnet pulling your mouths towards each other, anticipation building to a breaking point. 

“ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!”

The room explodes in cheers and shouts, and he leans down to meet your mouth with his. 

It’s a firm, sure kiss; his lips softly molding to yours. You savor it, pushing up on your toes to prolong it and when you pull back, you notice micro-expressions flit over his face: his eyes brightening before darkening with want, his lips pursing like he’s already missing the press of yours. He bends to kiss you again, and when his lips part yours to deepen the kiss, sparks burst and skitter through your limbs like the fireworks exploding outside. You lean into it, throwing your arms around his neck, your fingers threading into the curls at his nape and the strength and surety of his hold lifts you upwards, your toes skimming the floor, the wood underneath pulsing with the party.

No one notices when you slip from the room, or when he takes a bottle of champagne from a table as you pass it. No one notices when you climb the stairs, or when you slip into the last door on the right. Lost in their own celebration, the tune of Auld Lang Syne follows you down the hallway, the joyous melody muffled when he shuts the door behind you. 

“I thought maybe we could celebrate in here. Alone.” His voice is so much richer without the noise of the party competing against it, and the boldness of the statement makes you flush with heat. 

He takes a swig of champagne straight from the bottle and hands it to you, smiling when you do the same. The bubbles dance and burst on your tongue, similar to the feeling in your stomach when he pulls you in for a kiss. The flavor of the champagne is on his tongue, his mouth moving with intent and the music in the other room shifts to a heavier bass beat when he guides you backwards, his smile felt against your mouth. 

You hit the bed with a breathless laugh, the weight of his knee dipping the mattress when he crawls up over you and though you have felt the heat of him next to you all night, it’s nothing like how it feels when he settles his body on top of yours.

His mouth immediately meets yours and his hands are everywhere, grasping anything he can reach: sliding from his hold on your nape to caress the round of your bare shoulder. Slipping the strap of your dress down as his touch skates downward, palming the weight of your breast. You arch into his touch, your whine muffled by his hungry mouth and his hips rock forward into yours. Your thighs widen, your skirt falling up around your hips, and his hand continues its way south, curling around the plump curve of your hip with a squeeze. His thumb picks at the band of your panties, and you squirm, forcing contact between the heft hidden underneath his fly and the soaked, delicate fabric that covers your core. 

He’s hard – so hard, so thick with promise – and his mouth finds the hollow of your throat, smearing over the line of your collarbone before moving down to the swell of your breasts. You tug the collar of your dress down, an action that makes him stop – but only for a moment. 

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, husky and low, the words of reverence rumbling from his chest. Then he’s surging forward, cupping the weight of your tit in his hand, his mouth closing around the peak. The shock of warm wetness and suction when he pushes more of it into his mouth has you moaning shamelessly underneath him, your back arching to encourage the dull scrape of his teeth over your nipple. 

You push him back, your hands fumbling with the hem of his shirt, and he sits up on his knees, reaching back to tug it off. He tosses it onto the floor, immediately draping his body back over yours. Your dress and bra tugged down around your waist, the weight and warmth of his firm chest against yours is delicious and heady as he continues to kiss you drunk. 

Just as sure and competent as he was in the other room, he wedges his hand between your bodies and finds your clit with the pads of his thick fingers, rubbing it until you soak the crotch of your underwear with need. He can feel it, the sodden fabric slipping under his touch and he breaks your kiss, bringing his hand up to his mouth. His lips wrap around his fingers, a deep, satisfied groan pouring from his throat while you watch from underneath him, your jaw slack with want. 

Your intense need for him snaps, your pussy clenching as you watch him suck and you frantically fumble with his belt buckle, working it open. Your hand trembles as he helps you, his mouth capturing yours in another consuming, frantic kiss that has him eating at your mouth and when you pull him out together, your breathing hitches in your throat at the heft that smacks against your inner thigh. 

You try to look down, his broad chest blocking the view and it’s almost better that you can’t see it. There is something about the anticipation of it, the touch without the sight. You feel his hand wrap around the base of his cock, working to notch it at your entrance and when he breaks you open on the thick tip, you hold your breath, savoring it. 

“Fuck,” you breathe, your jaw clenching. Aching for it ever since you turned to face him in the kitchen, the filling weight of his cock is overwhelming, your body being forced to make room for it. The snug, slick fit has you whining underneath him, begging him for something he’s already giving you. 

“You feel so good,” you moan, and he gives you a smug look in return. His expression is laced with pride, his eyes hooded with arousal, his hips pushing forward until he’s in all the way down to the base. 

“So do you,” he breathes just over your mouth, and you pull him in for a kiss, needing his lips on yours. 

Expecting a fast fuck squirreled away in a bedroom that belongs to someone else, what you don’t expect is how intense it feels. His cock is a relentless, filling stroke that claims, his mouth breaking contact only when he wants to watch: his dark eyes trailing over your open mouth, your bouncing tits, your pleading expression. 

And then he’s back on you again, filling you deeper, harder. 

Your fingers weave into his sweat damp curls, keeping him close. The muscles in his torso shift against your own, highlighting the hidden strength held in them. His thighs spread for purchase, forcing yours open wider and his hand grasps handfuls of your bottom and of your hip to keep you in place underneath him. Knowing you have to be somewhat quiet, you drink each other’s moans. 

You hear another couple stumble down the hallway – a thud against the wall followed by a loud laugh. The door knob jiggles and his hand clamps over your mouth just as a throaty moan breaks free. You whine into the humid curl of his fingers, and when the people outside jiggle the doorknob again, Din picks up his pace. 

He fucks you: the weighted press of his body paired with the weighted press of his hold has you forced to take it, and when the couple outside moves on with a loud laugh to find their own private bedroom, he slips his hand off your mouth, fisting the bedding next to your head instead. 

“Sorry,” he pants. “Didn’t want them to hear you.” His mouth rests next to your ear, his scruff tickling the delicate skin of your neck. “Those sounds are mine,” he breathes. 

The sweet sentiment paired with the filthy confession flings you over the edge of your release, your body curling around his as a means to ground you. You want it all: the sweaty press of his bare skin, the softness of his curls, the humid press of his mouth. He fucks you right through it, restraint etched into his jaw. 

“I want you…,” you start, your voice syrupy and slow, still quaking with aftershocks. “I want you to come.” 

“I’m going to,” he warns, his elbows resting on either side of your face, his hand curling around the crown of your head. His lips brush against the apple of your cheek, dot the tip of your nose and he tucks his face into the crook of your neck and breathes in, his hips never ceasing. “You’re so wet. You’re so fucking wet, I’m gonna come.”

His voice has your eyes closing tight, his breathless pants for air making you pulse around his cock. The sounds he’s making are filthy – the filthiest coming right as he does. 

He pulls out, but just barely – his hips slam against yours a couple of times: deep strokes that have you keening on his cock and just as his body tenses up with a deep groan that rumbles his chest against yours, his hips snap back, slick smearing from his cock along the inside of your thigh as he spends himself along the soft skin. Bracing himself on your hip, he closes his eyes tight and you take in the way he looks above you: desperate, beautiful. Hot spurts of his release pool on your skin, on the fine hair that dusts your pussy, and on the sheets underneath you – which has you wondering, for the first time, who’s room this is. 

His pulse thrums underneath his tanned skin, and you ignore that line of thought, instead tipping your chin up to capture the beat in a kiss. 

You hear him smile, and feel his body relax on top of yours. He hums with contentment, and finds your mouth with his own, pulling you into a deep, sated kiss. 

“Happy New Year,” he breathes into your mouth. There is a beat of silence, his face shifting to nuzzle between your breasts. He kisses whatever skin he can reach, as if he’s starved for touch. 

Guiding his face to yours, you nip at his bottom lip, loving the way it makes him smile against your mouth. 

“Happy New Year.”

[justreadingthings]

Oooooooooohh okay I love this! Most fics with dieter are him with his own assistant, which has its merits, but it’s refreshing to see him meet someone at a party who just happens to be someone else’s assistant. And the chemistry is so clear to see in the writing! This is fantastic 💜

𝐲𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞

summary: being an assistant to a Hollywood star has its perks like attending a lavish holiday event that’s brimming with celebrities.

warnings: fluff! dieter bravo x afab!reader. meet cute? kissing. Christmas vibes. mistletoe. dieter being his usual silly self. w.c: 1.7k

author’s note: this is a gift for @jennaispunk via the @dieterbravobrainrotclub Holiday Gift Exchange! I hope you enjoy this lil’ fic, Jenn! Happy Holidays, lovely! 💙 thank you @sp00kymulderr for hosting!

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⋅ 𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

It was the kind of holiday party where everything felt just a little bit brighter—lights twinkling from every corner, the smell of cinnamon and pine hanging in the air, laughter rising over soft jazz in the background. A sleek modern mansion nestled in the Hollywood Hills hosting the annual gathering.

You adjusted the straps of your dress while you sat at the bar. It was a sleek dark red velvet number you'd picked up on sale, hoping it'd help you fit into the glamorous party and not stick out like a sore thumb.

You glanced at your phone, scrolling through a few emails you needed to catch up on. As an assistant to one of the hottest new actors in Hollywood, your life was a constant balancing act, but tonight, for once, it was about a bit of relaxation. 

"Feel free to unwind," Your boss says, adjusting their outfit in the back seat of the SUV on the way to the festive soiree. "No need to keep an eye on me. Darren Eigan will be there, so I'll be stuck to him like glue."

You turn in your seat and lean against the bar, surveying the party. From across the room, you spy your boss eagerly chatting up the infamous director. They'd gushed about wanting to work with him for years. You couldn't blame them for trying.

Your eyes scanned the room again as you slowly sipped the tart purple wine. You'd never been a drinker, so the glass felt more like a prop than something to enjoy.

A raucous laugh catches your ear.

He was standing, drinking glass in hand, with a group of people near the opening of a dazzling archway decorated with little sprigs of green mistletoe tied with a bright red bow.

You knew a fake laugh from a mile away. You learned the craft when you moved to LA, having to grace a phony smile and compliment almost every second of the day. 

Dieter Bravo. Hollywood's reluctant star— known for his roles in blockbusters and indie films and winning an oh-so-coveted Oscar. You were surprised to see him at a party like this. He seemed to be the loner kind, much preferring to work on his art than bullshit his night away.

His salt and pepper curls helped prop the shades he wore like a shield, ready to slip the glasses down his hooked nose and sneak out the back door at a moment's notice. The first three buttons on his black silk shirt were left open; his golden skin glowed in the dim room. His black on black attire looked crisp and expensive, like the gray scruff filling his jaw and lining his lips. 

Something was magnetic about him—his presence drew others in without trying or caring.

Someone in the group spoke, and Dieter laughed again. Another half-hearted smile tugged at his lips before falling into a thin, flat line.

You found yourself slipping from your seat and leaving your drink behind as you moved closer. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe because Dieter resonated with your pain. Even in a crowd full of joy and glittering faces, you felt alone.

As you neared the group, your heel caught on an ugly red and green throw rug, making you tumble into the actor and ceasing the chatter.

"Whoa, hey now," Dieter blurts, catching you with one arm.

He weaved it securely around your waist as you both stumbled away from the group. You clutched his broad shoulders, a safe haven if you ever knew one, and steadied your heels back on the ground. Thankfully, his drink didn’t spill all over his suit and your dress.

"You okay?" Dieter's voice was warm and familiar despite the fact you'd had never met him before. His hands lingered on your waist, a wry thumb rubbing the dark butter like velvet, zeroing all his attention on you.

You cleared your throat and bid the flames that fanned your cheeks away. "I'm so sorry. I normally don't wear heels." You apologize. "Pobody's Nerfect!"

Dieter's dark eyes caught like a bright starscape in the sparkling overhead lights as he laughed wholeheartedly at the silly phrase. It was genuine and natural, forcing himself to hold his belly and bowl over with honest laughter.

As he catches his breath, he wipes a tear from his eye. "Did you come up with that?" 

You shrugged and waved a hand, "I wish. I'm not that clever."

"I highly doubt that." the actor comments, before taking a sip of his drink. “You must be someone special to be invited to a party like this." He raises the glass toward the throngs of people filling the massive living room.

You cock your head. "My boss is someone special. Thankfully, they need me like a goose needs a gaggle."

His eyes go wide once more. "There you go again!" 

You wave him off, but inside, you're melting. 

A waiter places a tray of food on a table to your right, distracting the both of you.

"Do you think anyone actually eats these tiny hors d'oeuvres, or are they for like little Christmas elves?" Dieter asked, glancing at a tray of tiny canapés.

You chuckled. "I'm pretty sure they're just to make the people who aren't drinking feel productive. Like, here, eat this, pretend you're having a full meal."

He laughed again. It gets better every time you hear it— it lights up the room. 

"Wanna be productive with me?" he flirts, picking up one of the tiny snacks and holding it out to you with doe eyes.

You quirked a brow, hesitant for a split second before biting into the canapés. It was absurdly delicious for something so small, and you giggled, caught off guard by how natural it felt to talk to him.

"How do you look so... untouchable on screen and so normal off it?" you question without thinking.

Dieter tilted his head, his smile softening. "I'm really good at pretending." He drifts off, eyes wandering to the floor, thoughts drifting to the front of his mind before he takes a healthy swig from his glass. "Sometimes it's nice to escape yourself for a while."

You nod, understanding the need to run away.  

"Are you working on any new art?" You try to lighten the mood, glancing at the red paint under his trimmed nails. "I can't wait for the next mind-bending piece from the one and only Mr. Bravo."

He smiled again, that knowing, almost mischievous look in his eyes. "Wouldn't little Ms. Canapés like to know." he teases, the warmth in his voice holding something more than just casual conversation.

Just then, someone at the bar called his name. Dieter turned his head, briefly distracted by the person waving him over. You take a timid step back, wishing you had more time with the artist, but before you can move, a reveler nudges you toward the archway where the mistletoe hangs.

You glanced at Dieter, who was still distracted by the call but now seemed to have noticed where you were standing. He looked at you with a wry smirk.

"Do you believe in fate?" he queries, his voice suddenly quieter.

You whisper, heart in your throat. "I suppose so."

He takes a step toward you, his leather wing tips shuffle against the floor, and for a moment, the noise of the party fades as the space between you closes. The dim lights cast shadows that make his features even more inviting. There was something in his gaze—something natural and soft that wasn't at all like the characters he portrayed on screen.

Without a word, he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that felt like it had been waiting to happen. It wasn't dramatic or rushed, just slow and honest, as though the mistletoe wasn't just some holiday tradition but the beginning of something unexpected.

When you pull away, Dieter smiles again, this time with a hint of surprise. "That was... festive."

You chuckle, a little breathless. "I hope I'm still on Santa's Nice List now."

"The Nice List?" Dieter raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, don't you want to get what you wished for?" You jibe, grin widening as you step back, giving him space to leave.

Dieter snorts, glancing toward the bar as more people wave him over. "Oh, but I already did," he winks.

Your face flames. You bite your cheek, trying your best to not squeal.

The two of you share one last look before the crowd pulls him away. Neither of you could quite shake the moment. 

As the night continued, shared glances from across the room kept you busy. Every conversation with someone new resulted in sincere apologies when you had them repeat what they said because a particular actor kept stealing your attention.

It seemed you distracted him just as much at times. You caught him dragging his eyes down your frame and back up again. He'd either cower like a thief caught red-handed or gaze at you like he wanted to watch the sun come up with you in his bed. 

The crowd of people slowly dwindled down as the clock struck midnight. Much to your dismay, you'd lost sight of Dieter an hour ago when he stepped out onto the back patio for a smoke with a fellow actor. You begrudgingly slipped on your heavy coat, headed down the front steps to the SUV, idling at the curb, and waited for your boss. 

Leaning against the passenger door, you slowly breathe in the crisp night. The heated feelings that swarmed your belly all evening finally simmered to a rolling boil.

"Canapés?" 

You jerk against the metal door as a voice chimes to your right. You clutch your chest with a gasp.

Dieter appears from the shadows, hands raised, like he's dealing with a stray animal. "Shit, sorry, it's only me." He cringes at the slight fear in your eyes.

"You bastard." You curse with a playful huff. "Wait, did you just call me Canapés?"

He flashes an awkward grin and anxiously rubs the back of his neck. "Well, I forgot to ask your name, and I didn't realize until after we kissed, and then I thought it was too late. I don't want to be "that guy."  Dieter mimes quotations in the air and swallows hard. "So, yeah."

You step closer, your heels clink against the cement, as you whisper your name and slink your arms around his shoulders. Dieter once again weaves his hold around your velvet waist, molding your body to his.

His plush lips brush across yours. "We don't have any mistletoe." He states cheekily.

"I would've kissed you without it in the first place." You confess, pressing your lips to his for another precious moment before he breaks the kiss. 

"Wanna go make it on Santa’s Naughty list with me?" 

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[justreadingthings]

Ahhh this is so fucking good! 💙

You’re Not My Type | Hangman x Reader

Summary: You only spent one evening with Jake, but it was enough to leave you wanting more and also have you hoping to never see him again.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut and swears

Length: 3000

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Female Reader

Seriously, who let Jake in here??! He even managed to sneak onto my masterlist!

Jake had been making eyes at you since you arrived at Top Gun a week ago. You knew it. Everyone else around you probably knew it too. But there was no way you were getting involved with him again. He could just keep his eyes and hands to himself this time around.  “I sense some history there?” Phoenix asked you after she caught you watching him doing push-ups on the tarmac. You just shrugged and tried to look casual. “Nothing of note,” you replied. But just thinking about the night you spent with him earlier this year had your heart beating a little faster, your blood flowing a little hotter.  “That’s not how he described it,” she said with a smug look. 

Keep reading

[justreadingthings]

This is so cute and precious and funny and beautiful and I love it! Obsessed with Phoenix and Hangman trying to talk sense into these 2 idiots. Thank you for sharing this fic, lovely! 🥰

First Time for Everything

(Bob Floyd x F!Reader)

CW:  Angst (friends-with-benefits; idiots in love; talk of bad past relationships; injuries); smut (vague references to sex; oral sex gone awry); 18+ only.

Word Count: 5591

AN:  This was requested by an anonymous person!

AN2: Usual caveat - not edited in any way. Likely grammar bugaboos, tense switches, etc.

Bob Floyd would have never thought he’d end up in a friends-with-benefits situation, but there’s a first time for everything.

You’re the one who drives the entire enterprise.  A civilian who works at Top Gun, you’re no stranger to the stress of dealing with a multi-billion-dollar fleet of planes.  You serve as a liaison between the Navy and the bevy of contractors who build and maintain the planes, and if Bob has to juggle a million complicated systems mid-flight, you have to juggle a million tricky relationships and contracts on the ground.

You put the question to him, late one night at the Hard Deck.  Harvard and Yale had been leading a spirited conversation about dry spells, long distant relationships, juggling hook-ups.  You and Bob sat there, listening but adding little.  But after the other Daggers started to peel away one by one, you had turned to Bob and started asking about his love life.

“Non-existent,” he had replied with a sad shake of his head.

“Same.”

There was a beat of silence—you sipped at your drink; Bob cracked another peanut.

“Any prospects?” you asked.

Another shake of his head.

“Yeah, same here,” you replied.

Then there was another long stretch of silence, but this time you fixed Bob with a curious look.  It lasted long enough for him to notice, for him to squirm in his seat—

“So, I have an idea, and you’re totally free to say ‘no,’” you started, and the rest was history.

-----

That was months ago.  Bob has gotten to know you much better since then.

Much, much better.

He knows what you feel like.  He knows what you taste like.  He knows the place on your neck that makes you keen when he puts his mouth to it.  He knows exactly where to press the tips of his fingers when they are inside you, where to find the spot that makes your pussy pulse with arousal, that makes your breathing stutter and your eyes roll back, that makes you moan out his name—

He knows how it sounds when you moan his name, and he knows how that affects him in turn, and he knows that he doesn’t know nearly enough about you.

He doesn’t know what you eat for breakfast or how you take your coffee or if you even drink coffee at all.  He doesn’t know much about your family, little about your childhood, only a bit about your wants and likes and dislikes.

Because of the rules you laid out that night at the Hard Deck.

Hooking up, friends-with-benefits, you had explained, requires clear lines be drawn.  Otherwise, it gets messy.  Feelings develop.  Misunderstandings happen.  People get hurt, sometimes badly.

Your rules keep those lines clearly drawn.  No spending the night.  No dates beyond sex—no lunch dates or movie nights, no days at the beach together.  You call each other and make plans to fuck, and then you part, and that keeps it neat.  Clean.

There’s no way you can know it, because you don’t really know Bob either, but there’s no rule on earth you could put in place that would keep him from falling for you anyway.  You work with numbers and contracts all day, so you believe in the power of words, in rules. 

You don’t know that Bob Floyd doesn’t require much to fall in love with you.  That the paltry moments between physical encounters is plenty for love to flourish for him.  That the handful of soft touches, the smiles, the little laughs…they are enough.  The way you pat his cheek after you brush a chaste kiss there once you’re dressed and about to leave his place.  The time you slid his glasses on his face, then kissed the tip of his nose.

Which is why your rules turn out to be so important after all:  because here he is, hopelessly, painfully in love while you only see him a safe place to release your sexual frustrations.  He cannot imagine how much worse it would hurt if those lines didn’t exist.

*****

You have a chronic issue with men.

You pick the worst possible boyfriends.  From high school until now, you seem to only attract cheaters, losers, and general assholes.  Numerous boyfriends cheated on you.  One stole your car.  One stole your prescription sleeping pills and got arrested trying to sell them. 

It’s not that you’re attracted to assholes, really.  The whole bad-boy schtick bores you.  It’s more that you like to fix things; you like to turn chaos into order.  That trait serves you well at work, untangling all the intricate contracts and orders and rules between the Navy and their contractors. 

That trait serves you less well in love, because people often can’t be fixed, at least not without wanting to be fixed.  And anyway, the guys you date need deep fucking therapy, not a girlfriend with a fetish for setting order to the universe.

(A therapist once posited that you’re this way because of your own childhood:  the only child of two career Army parents.  Your chaotic formative years—bouncing around the world, unable to set roots, sometimes even shifted from one parent to another due to conflicting deployments—left you with a wound, your therapist suggested.  Disliking having a mirror held up to yourself, you just ghosted said therapist and never dug into that part of your internal makeup again).

But the therapist did make you aware of your bad patterns with men, so you swear off relationships, which is easy enough. 

You still have needs, though.

You canvass the Hard Deck for a month.  Take in all the fly boys and consider the fly girls too.  Profile them, watched how they acted when they think no one is watching.  Watch them sober, watch them drunk.  Watch to see which ones are handsy in an unwelcome way, and which ones remain respectful.

It’s Bob Floyd who catches your eye.

Not the sort of man you’d go for, usually.  Quiet, reserved.  Hardly ever drinks but gets in on the sing-alongs.  Plays pool when someone needs an opponent.  Is often the designated driver, and you smile when you see his bemused frustration when he steers a fellow Dagger, drunk and stumbling, out the door and safely home.  He’s so stable and pulled-together.  You bet he’s never cheated on a girl or stolen her car.  Not your type at all.

He’s good-looking though, in a quiet way.  Ditch the shitty Navy-issued glasses, muss up his hair a little, and he’d be downright handsome. 

Not the sort of man you’d go for, usually, but you aren’t looking for a boyfriend or a future husband.  You just need a zero risk, reliable guy to get off with.  It seems like a long shot because Bob is so quiet, but when you put the idea to him, he blinks…then asks you to clarify.

Then he agrees.

-----

That was months ago.

The arrangement works.  It’s exactly what you were looking for.  Bob Floyd is exactly what you thought he was:  reliable, steady.  He’s no broken man-child; he’s quiet but that belies a secure sort of masculinity that you’ve never really experienced before.  He knows who he is and what he wants, and he isn’t swayed by anything.  He’s solid.

He’s also surprising, in some ways.

To be crude about it, in looking for a friend-with-benefits, you needed only two things in a man:  a clean bill of health and a hard dick.  Bob is able to provide both (he hands you his test results from his latest physical, neatly folded in an envelope the first night you meet up).

He is also able to provide more than that.  The first night is a little awkward, but only because you are near-strangers.

The second encounter is better.

The third encounter is…wonderful.  It’s like Bob was homing in on you, treating you like one of his weapon systems.  Calibrating you.  Figuring out what you like and doing more of that, seeing what you don’t respond to and never doing it again.  Which makes it sound cold, how he figures you out, but Bob is so damned warm.  Warm and sweet and considerate, and he grins at you and laughs with you, and it’d be so easy to fall for him—

It's been months, but for fucks sake, you’re falling for him.  It’s embarrassing, because you gave him this tough-girl speech about rules and lines and not catching feelings, and he had nodded seriously and said he understood…and now here you are, the idiot who is catching feelings, who is realizing that maybe your type of man was wrong all along, that maybe who you needed was a reliable, steady man with warmth and blue eyes that swim a bit behind the lens of his thick glasses.

*****

It’s been months, and Bob always worries that this arrangement will end. 

One of your rules had been that the arrangement stops the moment one of you find someone else, and Bob always worries that someone else will catch your eye.  That you’ll find some man—you are surrounded by handsome, capable men every day, for heaven’s sake—that you find an appealing prospect.  Someone you want to sleep with and be with.

Someone better than him.

He’s usually so secure in himself, but he has a small crisis of confidence.  He wonders what he lacks—what makes him a good hook-up but not a good boyfriend?  If he could just show you…if he could take you out on a proper date.  Buy you flowers, buy you dinner, take you for a moonlit stroll along the beach.  If he could cook for you, show you that he’s not that useless breed of man who can’t or won’t do homey tasks.  If he could take care of you when you’re sick, be a sounding board when you rage…

Bob decides to do what he can, which is to just be the best lover he can be.  To be the most considerate, most adventuresome, most giving man you’ve ever taken to bed.  It’s all he can do anyway, so he might as well give it his best.

-----

Bob usually lets you lead.  He lets you set the schedule, and for every five times you call to hook-up, he calls once. 

The arrangement, such as it is, does work for him.  For all the angst of his unrequited love for you, the hooking up does relax him.  It helps him burn off extra energy, which helps him focus at work.

It also helps him explore things he has never tried before.

With you, Bob has played around with role play:  tame scenarios where he gets to pretend that he’s a different person than he is.  He has tried a variety of positions that have tested him in both strength and flexibility.  If there’s a list of sexual acts, Bob feels like he’s steadily working through it with you.

There’s still one, though…

It’s Fritz who starts the conversation at the Hard Deck.  You’re not there, but the guys all are, and the conversation drifts towards the usual locker room talk.  Fritz kicks it off by talking about his latest girl.  The guys egg him on for details.  Bob grins around the rim of his glass, says little, but then Fritz says, “man, when she sits on my face and smothers me in that pussy, I could die happy.”

It never occurred to Bob before, but he adds it to his list of sexual acts:  have you sit on his face and smother him with your pussy.

The idea takes hold so fiercely that Bob has to shift in his seat, suddenly warm at the thought of you sitting on him, his mouth on you.  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, and he’s sending you a text before he even has a beat to rethink it.

Want to meet up tonight?

You reply within a minute.

Sure.  Mine or yours?

Bob pauses and considers.  He catches Rooster’s eye and tilts his head at him, gesturing to his roommate for a sidebar.  Rooster comes over and stands beside Bob.

“What’s up?” Rooster asks.

“What are your plans for tonight?”

Rooster grins at the question.  It’s not exactly a secret that you and Bob are hooking up, though you don’t publicize it either.  Bob doesn’t know that his fellow Daggers have a betting pool about how the situation with you will resolve.  He’s caught the sly grins between them sometimes and wondered at what they mean.

“You asking if the apartment will be empty?” Rooster asks.  “Hell, Baby on Board.  Keep it to your room.  I don’t care what happens in the privacy of your own room.”

Bob can’t help the blush that heats his face.  He shouldn’t be embarrassed, but sometime the two of you get lost in the moment, and more than once, Rooster has sidled up to Bob the day after and clapped him on the back, congratulated him on his prowess—

Rooster catches the man’s discomfort and elbows him in the side.  “I was planning on finding myself some companionship for the night,” he finally says.  “The place is all yours.”

Bob thanks him, then texts you. 

My place?

Another beat before your answer comes.  When?

Now.

*****

Bob generally lets you set the tone of your arrangement, but sometimes he has a moment of dominance that makes a wave of desire wash through you so strongly that your knees actually go weak.

Like his text.  No softening his final message, just a simple, single word that holds a universe of promise.

Now.

“Yes, sir,” you murmur.  You only take a minute to brush your teeth and slip into nicer lingerie, but then you get in your car and head over to his place.

He must have been waiting at the window, watching for you.  You aren’t even halfway up the steps to his porch when the door swings open, and there he is. 

Of course it was easy to catch feelings for him.  He’s perfect, and right now he’s staring at you like he wants to eat you alive.

-----

“Explain it…again,” you manage to get out between kisses.  “How does…it work?”

Bob raises himself, props himself on his forearms on either side of your head.  His hair is mussed (perfect), and his glasses are on the bedside stand, so his blue eyes peer down at you. 

“You sit on my face,” he replies simply.

You huff out a breath.  “Sure, but….like, how?  I weigh a lot—”

He shakes his head.  “Not a problem for me, honey.”

“But I could hurt you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I could kill you.” 

He laughs, and he shifts his weight onto one arm so the other is free to reach down and grasp your waist.  “If you kill me like that, I want how I died mentioned in my obituary, okay?”

“Not funny!”  You poke him in the side, and he laughs again.

“Seriously, Bob.  I don’t want to hurt you,” you continue.

“You won’t.  I promise.  It’ll be fine.  But I want to do this.”  His smile fades, and he fixes you with a darker look that sends a bolt of lust right through your core.  “Please.”

*****

The two of you, once you got over your initial awkwardness, usually move so well together.  Perfectly coordinated, in sync. 

This…is not that.

For the first time, the two of you aren’t working together.  Bob can’t know it, but it’s not just a physical misalignment—there are hidden feelings at play.  As you tentatively hover over where he lays on the bed, you feel suddenly exposed, like Bob might be able to see the feelings you’ve caught for him.  It’s so intimate, you think, being so bared to him.  You hold yourself back, shy, and Bob doesn’t understand the sudden reticence in you.  He chalks it up to fear of hurting him.

And you can’t know it, but Bob absolutely loves how intimate it is, being so exposed to him.  There are hidden feelings on his side too—how hard it hits him, that he’s never done this with another woman before, and how he cannot imagine doing it with another one after you.  He’s ravenous for you, wants to possess you in every way he can, but when he tries to tug you closer to him, you chalk it up to general horniness and nothing more.

It is all misunderstanding, in the end.  You hold yourself back, hover over his face.  He grips your hips, tries to pull you to him.  The two of you struggle against the other, not understanding what is really driving the other—

“Come on,” he growls.  “Give it to me, honey.”

“Bob, I don’t—”

“I can take it.”

“But I—”

It happens in a split second.  Bob tugs you down against him in the exact moment you try to get a better balance over him, and the force of his pulling you down is added to the full weight of you shifting, with a bit of gravity, and you hit Bob so hard.

There’s a sickening crack, like a chicken bone snapping.  You look down at him, startled, and see his blue eyes widen in pain—shock—

You scramble off of him, call his name, but he doesn’t move, and then you see it.

Blood.  There’s so much blood, all over his face, and you yell his name now, but he still doesn’t move—

You’ve killed him.  You’ve murdered him, and you scream.  You reach for your phone and fumble it, and your body just acts.  You back away, your mind scrambling, and you think I need to stop the bleeding, so you think to go to the bathroom for a towel, but when you pivot quick on your heel and turn towards the closed door, it is already swinging inward, right at your face, hard, and there’s an explosion of pain behind your eyes.

Then everything goes dark, and you don’t wake until you’re in the ambulance.

*****

Bob wakes up to the paramedics sliding him onto the backboard, his head immobilized between two foam blocks.  Rooster hovers at the perimeter, a worried look on his face.

“What—” Bob manages to croak out, but the room grows dim again, and he fades in and out until the hospital.

-----

He comes to and stays awake in a quiet hospital room.  There’s the steady beep of a monitor somewhere behind and above him.  When he tries to turn his head, though, he finds himself held in place by a brace.

“You’re awake finally.”  The voice is familiar, and a moment later, Phoenix’s face swims into his peripherals. 

“You scared us, Baby on Board.”  Rooster, to the left of him.

“Who knew you had it in you?”  The voice at the foot of the bed, the hint of smarm.  Bob feels a hand on his ankle, jostling him lightly.  “You dirty fucking freak.”

“Shut up, Bagman.”  Phoenix glares at the cocky pilot, then turns back to Bob, her gaze softening.  “How are you feeling?”

He considers his answer.  He feels…rough. 

He also notices that his Dagger teammates are there, but you are not.  Which makes him feel worse.

Phoenix seems to read his thoughts.  Something in his expression must give him away, because she leans in closer and sets a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“She’s still downstairs,” she says, low near his ear.  “You got a room, but she’s still in the E.R.  They haven’t released her yet.”

“E.R.?”

She smiles, snorts out a light laugh.  “Yeah, the two of you are a real fucking vibe, Bob.”

Rooster steps closer to the bed and grins down at him.  “You’re lucky I struck out at the Hard Deck.  I come home, barely get my shoes off, when I hear a scream.  I go running back to your room just in time to knock your girl out.  She ran headfirst into the door when I opened it.”  He claps his hands together.  “Down like a bag of rocks.”

Bob’s heart rate picks up, and the monitor registers it.  Phoenix glances at the machine and snorts again.

“She’s fine,” she assures him.  “I’ve been bouncing between you and her.  It’s just slammed down there, so she’s been waiting for the doctor to release her.”

“She’s okay then?”

Phoenix nods.  “Dislocated nose.  Slight concussion.  Embarrassed.  Convinced she murdered you, until I set her straight.”

Bob smiles despite himself.  “She thought I was dead?”

“She knocked you out,” Hangman cuts in.  “And broke your nose.”

“You weren’t moving and there was blood everywhere,” Rooster adds.

“She also gave you grade two whiplash,” Phoenix continues.  “And it looks like you’ll be sporting a pair of gnarly black eyes by morning.”

“Wow.”  Bob breathes out a reedy whistle.  “And you’re sure she’s okay?”

Phoenix nods again.

Rooster and Hangman offer to go grab some coffee from the hospital cafeteria, leaving Bob and his partner alone.  Phoenix drags a chair over and settles closer to him, and Bob feels his mood sour little by little.

“Are you okay?” Phoenix finally asks. 

He lifts his hand, drops it back onto the bed.  “I guess it’s ruined now.”

“What is?”

“Our…arrangement.  Mine and hers.”

She tilts her head.  “How so?”

“She has all these rules.  To keep it clean.  To keep feelings out, you know?”  He lifts his hand again, drops it again—the best version of a shrug he can manage.  “I have to think that injuries requiring ambulances is an unwritten rule too.”

Phoenix stares at him, but a smile starts to creep across her face.  She shakes her head then, grips his shoulder again.

“Do you love her, Bobby?”  The question is asked softly, kindly.

Bob forgets the brace for a second and tries to nod.  “Yeah.”

“You ever tell her?”

“Against the rules.”

“You ever tell her you wanted to revisit the rules, then?”

“No.”

Her smile widens.  “You’re so fucking dumb, dude.”

*****

Hangman’s the one who stops to check in on you.  He has a paper cup of coffee in each hand, and he holds both up to you.

“Wasn’t sure what you liked.  One is black, one is cream and sugar.”

“Cream and sugar, please.”

He walks over to your bed and hands it to you, then studies you.  You know you must look like hell—your eyes red from the hysterical crying of thinking yourself a murderer.  Your nose—not broken, only dislocated—swollen and tender.  And the general misery of how badly everything has turned out.

“You like the little nerd, huh?”

You take a sip of the coffee and thank him for it. 

You don’t answer his question.

Hangman sighs, leans against the wall.  “It’s just that, if you do, I’d like to know.  I have a lot riding on it.”

“Huh?”

“There’s a pool about you and Baby on Board.”  He sips his own coffee, smiles at you.  “I want to know if I’m out money or if I have a payday coming.”

“You bet on us?”

He holds up a hand.  “Whoa.  All the Daggers bet on you.  It wasn’t just me.”

You shake your head.  “I don’t understand.”

“Some of us bet that you’d end up together.  Others bet that you wouldn’t.  Not that hard to understand.”

You try to take a steadying breath through your nose, which is an effort with how swollen it is.  You look away from him and fix your eyes on the open doorway of your room.  You watch the nurses and doctors scurry back and forth, the gurneys of hurt and sick people. 

“It doesn’t matter either way,” you finally answer.  “I nearly killed the guy.  Is there a pool on that?”

Hangman laughs, and he settles in the chair near your bed.  “You didn’t nearly kill him.  You only lightly injured him.  Then Bradley lightly injured you.  It’s hilarious.”

You can only wince at his word choice.  It’s not funny at all.  Miramar is a gossipy hive of rumor, and Bob’s injuries will put him out of commission for at least a while—

“Is this gonna hurt his career at Top Gun?” you ask Hangman.  You glance over at him and catch the way his expression softens at the angst in your voice.  “Did I just fuck up his life completely?”

He reaches out and grasps your hand for a moment, gives you a friendly squeeze before he releases you.  “Shit happens.  The Navy knows that.”

“Still…”

“If anything, Bob’s gonna have some light duty, but he can do some systems work on the ground.”  The smile reappears on his face, and he slyly adds, “and his cred just skyrocketed.”  A beat.  “The quietest Dagger just got his face rearranged by pussy.  He’ll never have to buy his own drink again as long as he lives.”

“Jesus,” you groan, and you cover your face with your hands while Hangman laughs, but a second later the doctor enters your room and tells you that you are being released.

Hangman doesn’t take the hint and leave.  He watches you sign off on your discharge papers, sips his coffee.  He hands you your shoes, and he helpfully holds out your coat so you can slide into it.

“That little nerd loves you, you know,” he says suddenly.  “It’s obvious as hell, which is why I laid a big bet on it.”

“He does?”  The surprise in your voice makes him chuckle, then shake his head.

“Probably hard to see it from where you’re sitting, but he does.  His dumb face lights up the minute he sees you, and when you aren’t around, he’s like a lost puppy.  So if you feel even an inkling of the same for him, just go upstairs and put him out of his misery, okay?”

It feels like grace you don’t deserve.  You hurt Bob, even if you hadn’t meant to, and for Hangman to offer this sliver of hope you don’t think you deserve—

You can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes.  Hangman doesn’t remark on them; he only stands by the doorway and waits for you.

“You’re a regular Cupid, Jake,” you offer.

“Nah.”  He finishes off his coffee, crumples the cup, and tosses it in the nearby trash can.  “I just want that fucking pool money.”

-----

The tears that threatened downstairs…they break free the moment you finally see him.

He looks awful.  He looks…well, he looks like he pulled the full weight of an adult woman onto his face, pussy-first.  His nose is swollen in a splint, he’s in a neck brace, and both eyes are so bruised that they can barely open beyond slits.

But his smile…

God, when he sees you, it’s just like Jake said:  his poor, mangled face lights up, and his smile is so wide it looks like it might hurt.  It hits you again, as it often does, how different he is from your usual type of man.  That he loves to see you, is happy when he sees you, even injured.  That he doesn’t need you around to fix his life, but he wants you around to just…be with you.  Bob is no one that needs fixing; he just wants you there with him.

Phoenix and Rooster have the good sense to leave, ushering Hangman along with them.  Bob, when he sees the tears coursing down your face, frowns and holds a hand out to you.

“I’m okay.  I’m okay.  It’s fine,” he repeats.  You make your way over to him and take his hand, and maybe it is okay.  He holds you tight, his big, warm palm enfolding yours—

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

You shake your head.  You’re not okay at all.  You don’t know if Jake was lying, but you can’t lie to Bob anymore just as you can’t lie to yourself.

“I broke one of the rules,” you admit.  You watch him, wary.  You have the sense of how he might react, but you can’t know for sure.  You just have to push through and say it.  Put it out there.

“I broke a rule too,” he replies.  He squeezes your hand.

“Yeah?”  It comes out shaky, unsure.

“Yeah.”

“Which rule?”

He lifts your hand to his mouth and brushes a gentle kiss to the back of it.  He’s so damned soft, and you blink against the fresh tears that threaten to spill over your face.

“It’s your own fault,” he grumbles, but he smiles when he says it.  “If you didn’t want me falling for you, you shouldn’t have been so easy to fall for.”

You laugh, a nervous sound that nudges up against the wall of tears you’re struggling to hold back.  “Even though I almost killed you?”

“I mean, you didn’t almost kill me, but you definitely owe me for all this.”  He gestures with his free hand at his face. 

“You could make a claim against my insurance, I guess—”

“Just a date,” he interrupts.  “I just want one date with you.”

“That’s it?”  The sick feeling in your stomach starts to recede, and it’s replaced by the fluttery feeling of promise, of something new and wonderful starting. 

“Just once chance to show you how good it could be.”  His expression is dead serious, and he squeezes your hand again.  “Me and you.  For real this time.”

“I, uh…”  You clear your throat and glance at his bright blue gaze, then look away.  You fix your eyes on where your hands are joined together.  Your hand fits perfectly in his.

“I’ve only ever dated assholes,” you admit.  Another glance at him to see how he takes in your words.  “Guys who don’t have their shit together.  It’s why I wanted the whole…arrangement with you.  I’ve never been with a man who didn’t need, like, intensive therapy.  Or the occasional law enforcement intervention.”

“First time for everything,” Bob replies mildly.

“What if…what if I don’t know how to be in a relationship unless…unless…”  You trail off, not sure how to say it without it sounding completely terrible…but then, the reality of your dating life has been completely terrible anyway.

“You afraid you don’t know how to be in a relationship unless you’re miserable?” he asks gently. 

“Maybe?”

“Hmm.”  He releases your hand but pats the space on his bed beside him.  “I don’t know if I’d be comfortable making you miserable, honey.”

You perch awkwardly on the sliver of bed available to you, but Bob reaches up and gets a hand on your shoulder, tugs you gently down towards him.  It’s careful maneuvering—a stark difference to what got you here—but you eventually get comfortable beside him, your cheek against his shoulder, your temple against the hard molded plastic of his brace.  His hand finds yours again, and he threads his fingers through yours.

“What if we started with that one date you owe me?” he offers.  “And then maybe a second date.  I’ll treat you the way you deserve to be treated, and you see how it feels to not be miserable.”

One date, maybe a second.

“I think I can handle that,” you reply.

“Then a third date, then another.”

You smile.  “Okay.”

“Maybe around, say, the fifth date, you can spend the night.  Let me make you pancakes in the morning.  Fresh-squeezed orange juice.”

“Okay.”

“Then after maybe a month, you could keep some stuff at my place.  Shampoo, extra clothes.  So you’re comfortable.”

“I could take you to my favorite taco place,” you offer.  “Over in Imperial County.”

“I’d like that.”  He shifts a little in the bed, then adds, “maybe around the six-month mark, you could meet my family.”

“Would they make me miserable?” you tease.

“Oh, they’d make your life a living hell,” he teases back.  “My dad would give you this whole disgusting speech about how he always wanted another daughter, my mom would drop hints about my grandma’s engagement ring being set aside for me—”

“They sound horrible,” you laugh. 

“The worst.”  He chuckles, and a long moment of silence stretches between you, but it’s comfortable.  His warm hand in yours, the quiet beeping of the machines monitoring him, the steady sound of his breathing…the slightly whistling quality of your own breathing through your swollen nose. 

“You know, I’ve never taken a girl home to meet my family before,” he says, and his voice is serious.  “Never even considered it before.”

You lift your head a bit to look at him, and you see the thoughtful quality of his expression.  You settle back against him.

“And you’re considering it with the girl who broke your neck, broke your nose, and shamed you in front of the United States Navy?”

He chuckles again.  “You didn’t break my neck and I’m not in trouble with the Navy,” he says.  “And yes, I’ve considered it.  First time for everything.”

He doesn’t add anything else, and the drama of the evening starts to hit you.  You feel your eyes getting heavy, start to doze off in the hospital bed with him.  His verb tense choice, though—he has considered it, past tense, not is considering it, present tense—makes you wonder how long Bob might have been breaking that rule…

Bob doesn’t say anything else, but he thinks it:  he never took a girl home to his family because he vowed to only ever do it once—with the girl he plans to marry. 

[justreadingthings]

Merry Christmas to me!!! I know this isn’t a Christmas based fic, I just found it around this time, but it sure feels like a gift! This is so fucking good, lovely. Thank you for sharing it with us thirsty bitches! 🩷

Unraveled- Bob Floyd

Summary: Bob Floyd likes to think he can keep it cool. Then along comes a sundress.

Warnings: friends to lovers, smut, so much pining, language,

Bob Floyd didn't like to brag, but he considered himself pretty dang smart and sensible. 

He knew the ins and outs of every jet he has flown. Hell,  he could break it apart and put it back together again within a few hours, if that.  He was able to quickly assess a situation, weigh the pros and cons, and come to a sound decision. It’s why he was the top WSO for the mission in Miramar. 

So why has a piece of fabric thrown him for such a loop? 

All Bob was trying to do was be polite. You had mentioned taking an Uber to the Hard Deck tonight and Bob knew the polite thing to do was to offer a ride. After all, he wasn't going to drink. You would save money. It's what any good friend would do. It had absolutely nothing to do with the crush he had been harboring since your first debriefing. 

He was just trying to be courteous. The gentleman his Mama worked hard in raising. Getting to spend time with you, without the other members of your shared squadron around or loud music, wasn't even near the forefront of his mind when he made the offer. Bob was just trying to be a good friend. A good friend who just wanted to help. A good friend who was forcing himself to look at you through a platonic lens, not a romantic one. 

Bob liked to think he was doing pretty well at that. 

That is, until a dress came along and unraveled him. 

Perhaps you said hello when you opened the door.  You probably did, considering how polite you were. But all Bob could focus on was the way the fabric of your dress hugged your curves. 

And what little fabric there was. He had seen you in civilian clothes before. But never anything like this. His mind absolutely went blank when you hugged him and he could feel how much of your bare skin was exposed. Due to the halter style of the straps, nearly your whole upper back was now perfectly visible.

“Um you-you look um nice,” Bob barely got out. He was too busy trying to burn the feeling of your soft skin into his brain. You were warm, like a walking ray of sunshine. 

“Thanks! I got it yesterday and I figured with the weather being so nice, today was the perfect day to wear it!” you said, giving a little twirl. Bob tried to focus on the pattern of dress; how the green brought out your eyes. 

But all he could focus on was the curves of your body, now being highlighted. The way the halter style made your breasts swell and the lack of a bra very apparent. How the fabric stopped at the top of your thighs when you spun, giving Bob a peek of what he often thought about late at night. 

This was bad. 

“I take it you came early to watch an episode of Love Island before we leave?” You asked as he stumbled walked in.

The truth was, Bob wasn’t a fan of reality TV. But he watched because it gave the two of you a chance to talk to one another. Just as friends, nothing more. When watching the silly show, you two could make jokes, talk about things other than work. 

“Yeah! Ready to watch hot people make poor decisions again,” Bob said with a nervous laugh. The joke failed to put him at ease. If anything, it reminded him that he was about to spend at least forty minutes with you and that did not include the drive to the Hard Deck. 

“You’re using my tagline!” your smile lit up your whole face. Bob was certain it could light up the whole turmac. All he could do was nod, his heart fluttering when you grabbed his hand, leading him into the living room. 

"I have some kettle corn in the microwave for you! I also made cherry seltzer water!" Bob could feel heat rush to his face. You always remembered the little details that no one else seemed to pick up on; that he loved salt but had an even bigger sweet tooth. How in an attempt to cut back on soda, he switched to sparkling water. His favorite flavor was cherry because it reminded him of cherry coke. 

"Did you see the video I sent you?" You gently squeezed Bob's hand as you two sat down. 

"Y-yeah. You're absolutely right, having three otters would be my dream." Ever since learning about Bob's favorite animal, you had sent him every otter-related video you came across while scrolling the internet. You even got him a pair of Otter socks for his birthday.  It was the fact you paid attention to seemingly minor details that made Bob fall head over heels for you. 

But alas, you were a coworker. The problem at hand wasn't whether it was allowed, ‘incest’ (as Jake unfortunately called it) happened all the time in the Navy. After all, there were only so many things you could do on a ship before switching to people. No, it was the potential issues that came with dating. Rejection being the main one. Bob had no trouble believing you and he could be professional should you two date and it not work out. That happened all the time. What worried him was rejection. Having to go to work everyday and put on a facade, that things were fine. When deep down, he knew he'd be heartbroken. And even worse, he'd no longer have your friendship. 

So Bob settled, as he often did when it came to love. He took comfort knowing he'd still have you, albeit as a friend instead of a partner. That should be more than enough. For the last few months, he had convinced himself that it was enough. 

But God was it difficult when you bent over right to grab the remote. 

The hemline of your dress inched upwards, showing off the backs of your upper thighs and- 

he could see the swell of your ass. He could see the flash of red lace. Your skin looked so soft and supple and you were so close he could just reach out and- 

Oh God he was hard. Oh no. 

This was bad. Worse than that time he popped an erection during sex ed in middle school. There, he at least had a jacket and a desk to cover it. 

But here? He was a full grown adult and San Diego’s seventy degree weather didn't give him any additional layers. Bob looked around, desperate for something, anything, to hide his cock that was currently straining against his jeans. 

Thank fuck for your love of decorative pillows. 

He grabbed the closest one, shaped and designed like a pomegranate. You were so excited the day you picked it up from some Facebook Marketplace deal. He had driven you, partly out of wanting to spend time with you, partly because he wanted to ensure you were safe. It was adorable and definitely shouldn’t be used for nefarious purposes, such as hiding a boner. This was wrong, so fucking wrong.   

Bob was trying to think of anything and everything that would kill this boner. But his spot on the couch aligned perfectly with the entranceway of the kitchen, where you currently were, rummaging around to fix Bob a drink. 

What ever happened to doors? Why were people so opposed to doors? Doors were lovely. You could close doors. Every time he tried to think of something, you were right in his line of view, turning every thought into something more devious. 

His family? His family would love you. If you two got married you could make  your own family. 

Work? You worked with him, in that damn flight suit that clung to your every curve. No one else could make that god forsaken green fabric look good.  

School? God, you were so smart. The top of your class. And witty, always ready with a clever, underhanded comeback. It’s how you two originally bonded, both having muttered something about Jake under your breath. 

Bob Floyd was screwed. Thoroughly. 

He tried to comfort himself with the fact that soon you two would be watching people in their early twenties making the dumbest decisions over dating. If anything were to be a boner killer, that had to be it. He just needed to make it through then. 

“Bob?” Your lithe voice broke him out of his thoughts. Not that it was much of a reprieve, with the way you were standing at the kitchen entranceway with a glass of sparkling water in each hand, “You good?”

“Me? Oh yeah, I’m great!” He said with an all too eager nod, desperate to convince you this was truly the case. Fuck, you were so beautiful. And you were showing so much skin. He had seen you on the beach before, adorned in athletic shorts and a sports bra. But this was different. 

The dress was far too nice for the Hard Deck. No, you deserved to be taken to a nice restaurant, one with a lovely outdoor patio. The image of you sitting on a lovely chair with a glass of wine in your hand came easily to Bob. It was also the perfect dress for a picnic, particularly at the nearby park, specifically in that little secluded area. God, the idea of you laying down on a red and white checkered blanket, the hem of your dress pushed up your thighs as he leaned over you, ready to take you-

Bob leaned forward, clutching the pillow as he tried to will himself the strength to get it together. 

“Bob? Are-are you okay?” You quickly placed the drinks down on the coffee table, rushing over to kneel in front of him on the couch. 

Oh what a sight that was, you looking up at him with big eyes, full of concern. Your hands were on his biceps, and Bob knew if he looked down he would have the perfect view of your breasts. 

 It was so hot and also the very last thing Bob fucking needed. 

“I’m good. Stomach doesn’t agree with what we had for lunch, that’s all.” Lying was never good, his mother instilled that in him at an early age. But in this scenario, Bob was certain the truth was much worse. 

“I’ll go get you a ginger ale!” Bob opened his mouth to protest, though no words came out due to seeing not only the tops of your thighs, but a flash of your ass as you spun around to go back into the kitchen. 

For a few seconds, the  supple, plump flesh was so close to him. Practically within arm’s reach. 

Maybe he should just leave while you were in the kitchen. 

But that would be rude. Not only rude, but it would raise your suspicions if they weren’t high already. Plus, he had already promised you a ride to the Hard Deck. He couldn’t just leave you hanging, not after you brought a dress for the occasion. He may be in dire need of a cold shower, but the last thing Bob Floyd was going to do was hurt you. He squeezed the pillow, knuckles turning white as he tried to find strength. For once, he couldn’t wait to start an episode of Love Island. Hell, he would even take an episode of The Bachelor at this point. 

“Here ya go,” You sat down on the couch next to him, glass of ginger ale in hand. You even remembered how much ice he preferred in his cold beverages. You were perfect. 

“Thanks,” Bob slowly took one hand off the pillow, the other still holding onto it for dear life. 

“You uh, like that pillow?” You chuckled, though your nerves still shined through. 

“Huh? Oh yeah,” Bob looked down, ensuring his big problem was still covered, “It uh, helps my stomach!”

You raised an eyebrow, though you didn’t further question it. Instead, much to Bob’s delight, you reached for the remote, clicking through until you finally landed on the desired episode. With a shaking hand, Bob gulped down the ginger ale, promptly placing it on the coffee table so he could have both hands on the pillow. 

The room was silent, saved for the ridiculous conversations happening on the TV screen. Normally you and Bob would be shoulder to shoulder, laughing as you both narrated your opinions on the contestants. But today Bob was rigid, his fingers still clutching to the pillow on his lap. He hadn’t even touched the bowl of popcorn. 

"Do you like my dress?" It took everything in Bob not to groan at your question. The last thing he needed was a reason to look at you. But how could he deny himself such a chance? So he put on his best smile as he turned to face you.    

"Uh yeah it's lovely. I'm sure everyone will love it-" 

"I got it for you.” Your voice was soft as you hit the pause button on your remote, eyes remaining on the screen. 

The words hit Bob like a freight train. 

"What? Why would you-"

You shrugged, fingers toying with the short hem of your dress, "I thought maybe, if you saw me in something different, something that wasn't my flight suit or a tee shirt, that maybe you would finally notice me?” 

You finally looked him in the eyes, “Maybe you'd finally notice that I've been trying to flirt with you for the last few months?" 

Bob opened his mouth just to promptly close it. He thought back to the last few months, now analyzing every seemingly ordinary interaction he had with you. 

The way you insisted on sitting next to each other during lunch. As well as during briefings. And when you went to the Hard Deck. Whenever a guy tried to flirt with you there, you turned them down, focusing your attention back on him, continuing your conversation about his latest D&D campaign or a Lego set you had found that reminded you of him. The way you always touched his arm, your hand lingering on his skin as you bore your eyes into his. How you always texted him. How you baked a cake for his birthday. The little trinkets you’d bring him. 

Oh god, he was a fucking idiot. 

The tension in the room was thick. You, sitting restlessly as you waited for Bob to acknowledge what you had said. Bob, processing your words and what they meant. 

“How long?” Bob asked, his voice soft yet firm.

You chuckled as you shook your head, “Honestly? First day. We hadn’t even spoken yet. I saw you walk in and you just were….not only handsome but also looked so kind? Then you offered me a spare pencil, made that comment about Jake’s driving and I….was a goner.”

“I saw you talking to Halo before the briefing room was open,” He confessed, “She said something that made you laugh and it….it was the prettiest sight I had ever seen.”

“We’ve wasted a lot of time, huh?” You both stared ahead at the TV, still too fearful to face each other. 

Bob dryly chuckled, “Yeah….a lot of time. Months, if we’re being more exact.” 

The two of you remained in silence, your words sinking in. Neither sure what should be said, if anything should be said. Until finally, you spoke up. 

“Bob? What’s underneath the pillow?” 

His hips shifted, involuntary, “What?” For a moment, he forgot about the darn pillow and the erection he was covering with it. 

The cluelessness in his voice brought a giggle, “The pillow? Why are you using it to cover your lap?”

Bob sighed, “Can I at least kiss you first?” 

You nodded, moving to close the gap between you and Bob. Pillow be damned, his hands cupped your jawline, giving you a sweet smile before leaning in, closing the gap between your lips and his. 

Bob Floyd’s lips were soft, no doubt due to the sweet mint chapstick you'd watch him apply countless of times. You didn't want to admit how often you'd wondered about the taste, what his hands would feel like on your body. God, they were huge. His thumbs rested comfortably on your jawline, but you could feel his other fingers spanning your neck, down to your collarbone. 

The first kiss was gentle, practically modest. Your lips were only apart for several seconds, if that, before connecting again. 

You easily found his shoulders, grasping them for purchase. The gap between your bodies was too much, Bob wanted to be as close as possible. So his hands trailed down your body, skimming along until they found the back of your thighs. Using his strength, he moved your body, situating you onto his lap. 

A high pitched gasp fell from your lips upon feeling the bulge that was straining against his jeans. Good god, he was thick. You had heard whispers, chalking it up to typical locker room talk. 

Nope, those rumors were one hundred percent true. 

“I’m sorry,” Bob groaned, hands exploring your soft curves. Worst of all, he sounded earnest, only making you want to touch him more. 

“I-I wore this on purpose ah-after all,” you confessed, finding it difficult to speak as he pressed open mouthed kisses along your exposed chest. 

Right. You wore this on purpose. To entice him. To see if perhaps he felt the same burning desire. Once realization hit him again, Bob’s hands moved along your back, just stopping above your ass. 

Wait, he was about to touch your ass. 

“We-we shouldn’t,” Bob mumbled, retracting his hands from your body. You stilled, a crestfallen look painting your face. 

“We shouldn’t?” Repeating the words felt like driving a knife through your heart. Had regret finally emerged, beating the rush of adrenaline? Was he going to regret this, ask that you two never speak about it ever again, pretend it never happened?

“I…” Bob sighed, “I need to take you on a date first.”

Bless his heart. 

Sighing, you relaxed your body into his, resting your head in the crook of his neck, “You’re too sweet, y’know that?”

Bob chuckled, “That's supposed to be my line.” 

His hands gave your hips a loving squeeze, causing you to nestle further into him, until your bodies were nearly molded as one. Your lips searched for his, trailing up his neck, his jawline, along the side of his button nose until finally reaching his soft lips. Bob shifted in his seat, causing you to do the same. As a result, you could feel his erection, despite the layers of clothes. 

“Good lord Bobby, you've just been walking around with all that?” Bob groaned, but not due to your words. No, it was because you had started moving your hips in circles, his erection now pressed against your covered core. 

“I’m- I’m trying to be a gentleman.” Bob couldn't even look at you. He didn't want to stop. He should stop. Maybe you two could skip the Hard Deck and go out to dinner. Then he could take you home and not feel as guilty. 

“You can be a gentleman later,” by throwing your arms over his shoulder you finally had access to his neck. His skin was so soft, so delicate. How could you not sink your teeth into his neck? 

Normally you'd have better self control than this. But you were ovulating and had six months of sexual frustrations and wet dreams- 

“You had dreams about me?” Uh-oh. That wasn't meant to be said out loud. Granted, maybe it was for the best to get everything out in the open. 

Timidly nodding, you explained, “Yeah. The days I didn't sit next to you were because….I had a dream about ya the night before.” 

A band had snapped within Bob, no doubt due to the numerous times you didn't sit next to him during briefings. 

Within seconds, you found yourself on your back against the couch, the bespectacled WSO hovering over you. There was a fire flickering in his blue eyes as he remained laser focused on your face. 

“After this, you're putting this dress back on and I'm taking ya out to dinner, is that clear?” his voice was gruff and deep, similar to when he did a hundred pushes that one day (that you definitely didn't think about while masturbating). 

Chest heaving, dress pushed up to your upper thighs, lips kiss bitten, God, you looked like an angel to Bob. He remembered learning about angels in church growing up. How pious they were, that seeing them was a sign of comfort, that they would guide one to safety, to a holy life. 

There was nothing holy about what he wanted to do to you. 

His mouth was hot, searing kisses along your skin. Your back arched into him, desperate for me. But he always seemed to pull away before you could get enough. Would you? Ever get enough of Bob Floyd? 

Finding an answer would have to wait, for now you wanted to relish in the feeling of Bob’s hands kneading your breasts. It was obvious you weren't wearing a bra, a fact Bob ob had spent forty minutes trying not to think about. He still felt a smidge of guilt, as though the newly drawn line between friends and more hadn’t quite sunk in yet. Was he even supposed to be doing this?

“You can keep going. I want you to.” You sensed his hesitation. In all the time you knew Bob, he had never taken someone home for a one night stand. He wasn’t like that. He needed time to build a connection, to feel comfortable enough to be himself. That’s why he loved spending time with you. With you, there was no need to put up a front, no need to be fearful of judgement. 

“And then afterwards, we can order some Thai food and continue watching the episode, if you want. Or we can just do that now,” your hands cradled his jaw, gently forcing him to look at you. He found a sweet, reassuring smile, similar to the one that made him smitten six months ago. 

“I think I’m falling in love with you.” Bob could be blunt, and often was when it came to his colleague’s shenanigans. But with his own feelings? He always chose his words carefully. 

Hence why his admission took you some time to process. Bob could see it on your face; first your eyes widened, lips slightly parting as if driven by the need to respond immediately. But then your lips closed, your brain quickly gaining back self control. 

“I’m falling in love with you too Robby.” You were the only one who could call him that. It was that familiarity, that intimacy, that gave him the courage to move his hands to your hemline up to your hips, revealing the thin, lacy red fabric underneath. 

You were breathtaking. Always were. But this? This solidified things for Bob. You two had made a step forward in your relationship. Many things would still be the same. But there were now new things to experience. Simply another layer of intimacy had been added.

His long fingers skimmed over the fabric of your panties, every touch sending a spark of electricity along your spine. Every stroke caused a small gasp to fall from your lips, music to Bob’s ears. Lowering himself, Bob decorated your hips with opened mouth kisses. Finally, gaining enough courage, his fingers pushed your panties to the side. 

Fuck, you were wet. 

If there was any hesitation left in Bob, it died upon seeing how visibly aroused you were. He had done that. No one else. Lowering himself even more, he was now at eye level with your wet cunt. This wasn’t some vivid wet dream. 

When his touch licked a broad stripe up your slit, a broken moan fell from your lips, echoing off the walls. It was the prettiest sound Bob had heard. He wanted to hear it again. All the time. 

With more confidence, Bob begins lapping up your arousal, determined to taste every inch of you. His fingers dig into your thighs, pulling you closer. Looking down, you see his glasses are now crooked, though you highly doubt Bob cares, given how his eyes are half closed in pleasure. 

Wait, was he grinding against the couch? 

The discovery caused your thighs to clamp over Bob’s ears, your hips thrusting upwards to get more of his talented tongue. Bob wasn't reserved around you, never had been. But this was a new side to him that you had wondered if it ever existed. Animalistic. Devouring. Loud. 

His groans vibrate against your core, only heightening the pleasure. Slowly, his right hand goes from your hips to your core, mouth moving to your clit as the long digits trace your opening. 

“Oh my God, please,” you all but beg, not quite ready to admit how often you thought about his fingers and how they would feel inside of you.

Always thinking about your comfort, Bob started off with just one finger. You tried to fuck yourself with it, your own fingers gripping the soft strands of his hair for better leverage. The thought of making you beg crossed Bob’s mind. Would you like that? Would you be open to that? There were so many new topics to discuss, so many new boundaries to explore now. 

You happily welcomed the stretch of two, three fingers. Bob found the little moans you let out to be quite adorable. He could feel his cock throb against his jeans, but pleasing you took priority. 

“C’mon honey. Wanna feel you come on my fingers.” His voice was low, husky even. 

“C-can you be inside me? Like your…your cock?” A broken groan fell from Bob’s lips at the very thought of being inside of you. 

“I don't….I don't think I'll last long,” he admitted sheepishly. Hell, he could probably come just from eating you out. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. In fact, it sounded pretty good- bringing himself to the height of pleasure just from ravishing you. 

“I don't think I will either,” you giggled, “But we’ll….we have lots of other times to go slow.” 

Bob helped you sit up on the couch. “You wanna go to the bedroom?” He asked, thinking about how this could be more comfortable for you. 

Instead, you shook your head, hands moving to his jeans, hastily undoing the buttons. 

Now it was your turn to explore, to discover. There was a dark trail of hair that went past the waistband of his jeans. He wore boxer briefs. And Bob Floyd had the prettiest cock. 

His face turned bright red at the compliment, “Oh it's…I mean it's like fine, but it's not-” 

“Take the damn compliment Robert,” you all but scolded, eliciting a laugh from him, your favorite. The high pitch, near giggle one. The one that made your heart flutter. 

Feeling at ease, you moved so that you were hovering over Bob’s lap. Your fingers moved to the base of his cock, making you realize you would have to ease yourself into it. 

“I gotcha,” his hands found your hips, slowly easing you down. His sapphire eyes never left your face, searching for any sign of discomfort. He went slow, waiting until you made it vocally known you were ready for more. 

By the time you reached the base of Bob’s cock, you were a mess. You wanted him to move, to fuck you within an inch of your life. But he was also so big. The stretch was nothing you had experienced before. 

“Hey, we can take our time, okay? I know it's, that it's a lot,” he assured you, as though he could sense your internal conflict. His lips found yours, and in that kiss you found comfort. Bob grounded you, always had, whether it was up in the air or right here on your couch. 

How much time had passed, who was to say? You could recall both your phones vibrating a few times, no doubt messages from the rest of your squad. Those messages could wait. 

“I think I'm ready,” you whispered against Bob’s lips. He needed, digging his fingers into your hips to gain a better grip. With his help, you lifted yourself no more than a couple of inches off his cock, returning to the base. 

“Fuck, you feel incredible,” Bob moaned. You just made Bob Floyd curse. Something not even a bird strike could do. That four letter word gave you the confidence to lift your hips up on your own accord, returning swiftly. Slowly, just an inch or two, which became several inches. Up and down motions turned to swiveling your hips in a circular rhythm. What was once a quiet living room, saved for a few small gasps and the static from the TV, had now become a symphony of melodic pants and groans. 

Bob could tell you were close. Your pussy was tightening around his cock more and more, your fingers dug into his broad shoulders, as if trying to anchor yourself. You practically whined at the sight of Bob taking two fingers into his mouth, wetting them with his tongue. He lowered them to where your bodies connected. 

Upon first contact with your clit, your head dropped to the crook of his neck, unabashedly moaning his name, hips moving in a now frantic motion. 

“That's it, I gotcha.” Fuck, we he going to talk you through it? Was Bob Floyd a talker? Ironic, considering at work he was known as a man of few words. 

“Feels s’good, being inside ya.” Fuck, he was a talker. You were doomed, “Wanna, wanna make us cum. Bet ya gonna feel even better when ya soak- fuck- soak my cock.” 

Your brain was hazy. Was this real? If it was a vivid wet dream, you never wanted to wake up. Was it wrong to hope that you were in a medically induced coma, so that if this  was indeed a dream, you wouldn’t have to wake up so soon? Surely, your friends and family would understand upon meeting Bob. 

Then he pointedly thrusted his hips upwards, reminding you that no, this wasn’t a dream. No, you wouldn’t wake up feeling frustrated and unable to look him in the eye. After this, you two could go out to eat, on a real date. Not some hey let’s get dinner that feels like a date in everything except in name. You could also order delivery and cuddle up on the couch. Maybe you could even shower with him beforehand, and see his bare body, find out what was truly hiding underneath that flight suit. Oh, he was deceptively strong, you always knew that. But to see it, to feel the hard planes of his muscles? Oh, that would be quite the joy to experience. 

“Sweet girl,” you clenched at that nickname, you wanted him to continue calling you that for eternity, “Let go. Know ya want it.”

“I-I do,” you all but whined. Bob found the noise cute. What other sounds did you make? What would you sound like if he kept fucking you after you came? What about if he ate you out for hours? Or teased you until you were teetering on the edge?

There were so many questions, so many areas to explore. But for now, Bob was satisfied with experiencing how tightly you clenched his cock, how you practically sang his name as you came. Your release triggered his, pulling your hips down until they were flushed against his. His lips smashed against yours, swallowing your moans. 

Then there was silence. No words spoken. Only the sounds of panting, you both clearly trying to catch your breath, and kisses exchanged, ones that neither of you could resist giving. 

Realization hits you like a freight train. “I’m on birth control.”

Bob’s eyes widened, “Oh thank God.” He was usually so good about asking, about pulling out. But you….you made his brain feel like cotton. 

“You saying you don’t want to have kids with me?” You giggled, pressing a kiss to his warm cheek to let him know you were only saying it in jest. 

“Not yet.” You sat up to find he had an earnest smile on his face, cheeks rosy and eyes shining in adornment. 

Bob Floyd was going to be the death of you. 

So you brushed several strands of sandy brown hair off of his forehead, replacing them with a kiss, "Gotta get me a ring first."

Luckily, you were going to be the death of Bob Floyd.

[justreadingthings]

I’ve got a case of raging heart eyes happening here! This is such a beautiful and meaningful slow burn and I loved every second of it! Thank you lovely for this wonderful story 🩵

scary? my god, you're divine

Hitman/Mob!Bucky x Reader 

Run-through: Your marriage to Bucky Barnes was crucial in stopping the rivalry that had been getting rather violent recently between the two families. You agreed to it. But there was one little problem. Although people knew of Bucky as being a ruthless, fiercely loyal, and feared hitman, no one had ever seen his face. In the rare occasions when he’d been seen out during assignments, it was rumoured that he always wore some sort of mask which covered most of his face. So you ended up marrying a man, and had no idea what he looked like. But surely that wouldn’t be an issue. It’s not like his one touch would get you addicted. Who cared what he looked like? It’s not like you could grow to love someone like him anyway… right? 

Themes: arranged marriage, age gap (reader is in her mid twenties, bucky’s in his late thirties), mentions of violence and death, hitman!Bucky, smut, fluff, explicit language, virgin!reader, HEA

Something woke you up in the middle of the night. 

And you’d been staring at the dark ceiling above your bed for the past few minutes now. What had woken you up? It could’ve been the strong winds hitting the large Georgian windows. Or perhaps it was the soft ticking of the nearby clock. Or maybe even the weight of all the incessant thoughts running through your head. 

Gods, you thought, what a day. 

It had started out like any other. Your father was pacing around, worried and barking orders on the phone, trying to find a way to put a stop to this chaos that was quickly forming into a full war between him and his number one rival. Small attacks had turned to frequent drive-bys, threats had turned into taking turns and blowing up each other’s warehouses and clubs. And it would only get worse and worse. 

But this morning, as he watched you come downstairs and into the dining room for breakfast, something in his eyes was different. And you could tell what was coming. You had been thinking about this for days. So when he sat you down and discussed how you could do your part in helping to put an end to all of this. 

“It’s only a matter of time before he sends his son, his favourite weapon after us all,” Your father sounded defeated. “And none of us would survive him. No one ever does. You know that.” 

You nodded, understanding what he meant. “I know.” 

The son of your father’s rival, Bucky Barnes, was a name which could make even powerful men like your father tremble in fear. He was like a ghost. No one ever saw him. No one knew what he looked like. Those who had seen him claimed that he always wore a muzzle-like mask to conceal his identity. He was known for being his father’s most prized weapon. They say he never misses, that his aim is and has always been as sure as Eros’ arrows. He was like an evil Cupid. 

“The marriage would only be on paper of course, you don’t have to live with him.” Your father explained, seeming desolated, “But you being married to him would make us family, and…” He trailed off, sighing. 

But you knew what he meant. Family meant everything in this society. If your family and the rival’s were joined to each other by marriage, all attacks would cease. Because keeping family safe was everyone’s number one priority, even in this line of work. 

So this was all up to you now. Your family’s safety, the safety of people who worked with and for your father, all the allies, and friends, and acquaintances. It was a heavy weight to carry. 

“I’ll do it.” 

Things happened so quickly after that. Phone calls were had, arrangements and deals were made, and by the afternoon, a sheet of paper was brought to you. That’s it. No groom, no fancy shit. Just a piece of paper on which Bucky Barnes had already signed. And with your signature added next to his, you two were now forever husband and wife by law. 

It was weird, being married to a man you had never seen before. He was just a name. Granted, a name with immense magnitude in the society, but still just a name. No face to go with it. 

By the evening, your things were packed. It was an order by your new husband. He wanted his new bride in his home, and things were so freshly mended that neither you nor your father wanted to argue. So Bucky sent cars and a bunch of his soldiers to escort you to his house. It was not unexpected that he was so absent from all this. Bucky Barnes had a reputation of living in the shadows. He was so rarely seen.

Bucky’s house was not too far from your family home. In fact, the closer you got to your new home, the more you realised that despite everything, you did not mind this as much as you thought you would. 

Your husband’s home was this stunning piece of architecture. A lavish Georgian-style mansion. Beige stone, carved details and mouldings around the many windows and main entrance. Dark shingles on the roof, well-manicured lawn, a long driveway giving it a sense of both elegance and exclusivity. The mansion sat on a beautiful, seemingly endless estate. Lush and green. It was a testament to the wealth and the power of its owner. 

You were politely led inside the home by one of the many staff members who took care of the house. And the interior was just as breathtaking. Luxurious, with the right amount of vintage accents. 

“We did what we could with the limited time we had to prepare a room for you.” The kind lady had said to you. She also mentioned that this room would be entirely yours. Bucky apparently had his own on the other side of the mansion. 

You murmured that it was alright, and when she finally showed you to the room they had ready for you, you were pleasantly impressed. The layout, the colour theme, the decor, all of it was to your liking. You even had a personal little balcony which looked over the endless green backyard. 

That night you dined alone, which was not a surprise. Everyone knew Bucky Barnes was a busy man, and he was apparently above trivial things like dining with his new wife. But the silence was welcomed. After dinner you found yourself back in your bedroom, and soon in bed with a book. 

Well, maybe this was your new life now. Grand mansion with an impressive library. Solo dinners and kind staff members. A giant, dreamy bedroom all for you. Dare you say, it wasn’t too bad. 

–

But here you were now, unable to fall back asleep after some mysterious thing woke you up. You sighed, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. You couldn’t even blame your new surroundings for your inability to sleep. Everything here was so quiet, and comfortable. Even this new bed felt like laying on the fluffiest cloud. Perhaps you could read some more–

You froze when you heard it. 

Someone breathing. Someone else’s breaths. A soft exhale, but it was enough to make your heart race in panic. It was the middle of the night. And there was someone in this dark room with you. 

Slowly, you tried to reach for the lamp on your bedside table to turn it on, but then you heard a voice say, “Don’t.” 

A smooth, relaxed, male voice. Sounding like it came from one corner of the room. It could only be one man, couldn’t it? 

“Bucky?” You questioned, for some reasons pulling the covers up to your chin as if he was not a man but a ghost. 

A pause, then he said, like he was gently teasing you, “Hello, wife. Can’t sleep?” 

You blinked a few times to adjust to the darkness better. You strained your eyes until you could see the silhouette of a man in the corner of the room. He was sitting in one of the sofas near the unlit fireplace, quiet, still like a marble statue. 

There was almost no light coming into the room. The thick curtains allowed very little moonlight in, and it was hard to see. But you couldn’t ignore that large silhouette now that you’d noticed him. Something near him was shiny, almost metal like, you couldn’t tell what it was. 

“Do you always lurk around in the shadows like a ghost?” You asked, wondering where the hell you found the confidence to talk to one of the finest hitmen like this. It’s not like he would shoot you if he didn’t like you. A small voice said. Would he? 

A chuckle. Deep, and careless. A boyish sound. 

“It’s my house,” He responded in that same gentle but teasing tone, “I lurk wherever I please.” 

Well, he did have a point there. 

“Well then,” You said in a casual tone, “If you’re done lurking and spying on me, I’d like to go back to bed.” 

A soft scoff. Then he said, “I’ve watched you toss and turn for the past half an hour. I’d say you’re having trouble turning your brain off.” 

Half an hour?! 

“Wouldn’t you?” You retorted, keeping your voice calm and steady. “If you were forced to marry someone who’s so mysterious that no one’s ever seen them before, wouldn’t you have some trouble turning your brain off?” 

“Ah.” He got up, and you could tell by the sound of his footsteps that he was approaching the bed, “No one forced you to marry me. A suggestion was made and you agreed to it.” 

You replied quickly, “The alternative was watching everyone I love and myself be murdered by you, so semantics.” 

Another chuckle as he stopped at the edge of the bed, so close to you. You refused to move. You tilted your head up but could still only see his silhouette. He spoke in that teasing tone again, “They said you were smart, and beautiful. Guess they forgot to mention you were bratty too.” 

You frowned. “What?” 

Silence. Then he began moving away from your bed and towards the door. “Good night, wife.” 

“Good night,” You muttered, slightly annoyed and confused, “Ghost.” 

You heard his soft chuckle right as he shut the door behind him and left you all alone again in the dark. You didn’t dare turn the lamp on even after he left. 

— 

“Is Bucky ever home?” 

You asked one of the staff members at breakfast the next morning. The lady smiled at you and answered, “He keeps to himself. We rarely ever know if he’s home or not. He works at odd hours, you see? Besides, our job is to take care of the house. We clean, we make the meals and leave them in the fridge, we get our paychecks each month. Everyone is happy. We don’t pry.” 

You nodded, sipping on some tea. “So… are you one of the people who don’t know what he looks like?” 

“Oh no. I saw him recently.” She said, smiling. 

“How recent?” You asked. 

“A couple of months ago. He’s a busy man, he’s rarely ever home.” 

Unbelievable. 

“Doesn’t it feel like you’re employed by a ghost?” 

She smiled again, refilled your cup and said, “Oh, we’re used to Mr. Barnes. Sure, sometimes it feels like the house is way too empty. But look, now you’re here! We get to take proper care of someone for once.” 

She was so cheery and kind that you couldn’t help but smile at her words. How on earth did a man that grim manage to have the best staff members in the whole world? 

— 

The following night, Bucky came to see you again. 

You woke up upon hearing the door of your bedroom opening. You sat up again, leaning against the headboard. You didn’t reach for the lamp on your bedside table this time. Instead you said, “Lurking again, I see.” 

“Oh yes,” He answered, taking a seat on the same sofa by the dark fireplace. “How was your day, wife?” He asked, as if this was the most normal way to have a conversation. 

“Good.” You said, “I spoke with your staff members. They say they barely ever see you at home.” 

He sighed, “I barely ever am at home.” 

You rolled your eyes even though you knew he couldn’t see it. He was too… intangible. Faceless. There was nothing you knew about him aside from his profession. And not knowing was starting to annoy you. 

“Why can’t I see you?” You asked. “I mean it’s not fair. I married you. I’ll eventually see you someday.” 

He was silent for a moment. Then asked, “Will you?” 

“Well, yes.” 

“What for?” There was that teasing tone again. So subtle. But it was there. 

Your face burned. “Well… we’re married.” You stated the obvious. “And it won’t be long till our families start asking for, you know, grandbabies.” 

“Babies can be made in the dark.” His smooth voice felt like a gentle caress. Like the finest, cool silk sliding over your warm body… 

Oh no. You can’t like his voice. Not yet. 

“That’s not what I–,” You sighed, “Why are you so against showing your face? Are you ugly?” 

He chuckled then. Loudly, if you could see him you’d surely see his shoulders shaking. “You think too much, wife.” He got up again, ready to leave. “Good night.” 

You sighed, defeated, and listened to the sounds of him leaving the room. Then almost angrily whispered, “Good night, husband.” 

—

“It’s because he’s ugly, isn’t it?” You asked two of the staff members one morning while they set the table for your breakfast. “That’s why he doesn’t show his face?” 

The two ladies chuckled to themselves, and one of them said, “No he isn’t.” She sounded confident too. 

“Have you seen his face? Like properly?” 

They both nodded. 

“And? You don’t find it weird that he doesn’t show his face?” You questioned. “He refuses to let me see him. He only comes to talk to me in the dark. Like some messed up Eros.” You whispered the last part to yourself. 

One of the ladies said, gently, “Give him time. He’s not… terrible.” 

— 

“Your staff speaks highly of you.” You said to him when he came to see you that night. Again, sat in that corner like a ghost whose only purpose was to haunt your bedroom specifically. 

“Do they?” 

“Yes,” You made yourself comfortable, leaning against the headboard like you had the habit of doing. “Do you pay them to sing your praises?” 

He chuckled. “Is it that hard to believe that I’m not some sort of monster?” 

You sighed. “If not then why can’t I see you?” 

“Not yet.” He said. 

“Why?” 

“Because I said so.” He replied, and by the sounds of it, he stood up. Surely ready to leave. “Now, is there anything you need?” 

You tried to see if you could tell where he was standing but the room was too dark. However, it seemed like, judging by the sound of footsteps, that he’d gotten closer to the end of your bed. “There’s nothing to do around the house. The ladies take care of everything. I appreciate the library, but…” 

He was quiet, like he was thinking. Then said, “I’ll see to it.” 

“I’m assuming you won’t let me go back to work in my family’s companies.” You could tell he wouldn’t. 

“No,” He said, as expected. “You’re my wife now. I’m well equipped to provide for you and see to your needs for the rest of our lives. But if you have any hobbies, please, indulge away.” 

Something about his calm tone made you confess your little secret, “I like to paint. I’ve always wanted to be an artist.” 

You didn’t know why you were telling him all this. Perhaps the dark helped you open up better. Maybe the fact that you didn’t know him made it easier to talk. Like how people tend to prefer texting over calls. Him being so invisible made it so much more effortless. 

You continued, “I always wonder what it must be like to have an exhibition of my works.” You chuckled. “I know it sounds vain but… I’ve always wanted to let my mind and soul leak all over canvases, and share it with the world. I think it’s such a brave thing when people do that.” 

He was quiet for a few seconds, then spoke in that teasing tone, “Painting, huh?” 

You rolled your eyes. “You don’t get to make fun of me, ghost.” 

He chuckled. “Get some sleep, wife.” 

And then he left. 

— 

The following morning, you woke up to two surprises. 

The first one was waiting for you at the breakfast table. You noticed the box on the floor immediately. It was partially opened, and had a note stuck to it. 

The note read: ‘Since there’s nothing to do around the house…’ written in a messy handwriting. Surely Bucky’s. 

You opened the box and in there, on a folded blanket, was a sleeping, fluffy little puppy. A black lab it seemed. With a pink collar around her neck. You gasped as you gently picked it up and couldn’t resist bringing it up to your face. Puppies always smelt so good. 

The little one yawned and let out some cute noises as you held her up to look at her properly. By now the two ladies whom you saw frequently around the house walked up to you and one of them said, “He left something else for you.” 

You followed the ladies, new puppy in hand, and they led you to what seemed like a newly built studio. It was in an area of the mansion where you didn’t go very often. And as you walked in, you gasped in surprise for the second time that morning. 

It was located on the ground floor. A bright and spacious space. The beige walls felt like a giant blank canvas in itself. The large Georgian windows allowed the perfect amount of light in. And everything in the room was neatly organised. Art supplies, paints, canvases, palettes, easels. 

Oh, it was perfect. 

The ladies left you to explore on your own, saying something about bringing you breakfast in here. But you were distracted by the bright yellow sticky note on one of the easels. You walked up to it and it read: ‘For your mind and soul to leak all over. Paint me something. I’ll consider it a wedding gift.’ 

You couldn’t help the smile on your face as you read and re-read the note left by your mysterious husband. You whispered to your sleeping puppy, “Maybe our ghost isn’t so bad, huh?” 

-

Hours went by. 

The ladies brought you and the puppy your meals, a bed for the pup, snacks for you, all while you were busy letting your creativity flow as much as possible. 

The first few canvases were horrible according to you. You hadn’t picked up a paintbrush in so long so it felt like day one all over again. But gradually, over the next few canvases, you could see what your brain was trying to create. 

The blank canvas soon turned into flowy shapes. Curves, facial features, hands. Entwining bodies. Two of them. And the colour purple, lots of it. It didn’t make too much sense at first, but the more you worked on it the more you realised what you were painting. 

It was your version of ‘The Abduction of Psyche’. How fitting. 

By the time you were done and happy with it, your back was aching from sitting on that stool all day. It was almost time for dinner. The sun had set. The puppy was awake so you held her up to show her the canvas and asked, “You think our ghost will like it?” 

She let out the tiniest, softest howl. 

“Yeah, I think so too.” 

You left to shower and have dinner. Then once it was time for bed you asked one of the staff members, “Does Bucky have some kind of an office?” 

She replied saying yes he does, and that she could show you where it was. You grabbed the not yet dry canvas and carefully carried it all the way to where Bucky’s office was. The lady again left you all by yourself to explore. 

At first you didn’t want to spend too much time in there. It was Bucky’s space after all. But then you thought, if he was comfortable walking into your bedroom at odd times during the night, why shouldn’t you check out his office? 

So you did. You left the canvas where it could dry without any problem and where Bucky would see it upon entering the room. Then you began exploring. The room was not what you were expecting for someone like Bucky. You thought it would be less… old school. 

He had a vintage looking typewriter on his desk for gods’ sake. Not one he used of course, but it added layers to his character you thought. Dark wooden furniture, comfortable looking chairs, more bookshelves filled with cloth-bound books. It was… cosy. 

So cosy in fact that you grabbed a book and made yourself comfortable on one of the chairs. You’d read for an hour or so then head off to bed, you thought. 

But soon, you drifted off to sleep. Right there. In Bucky’s office. 

-

You woke up and felt something soft and fluffy moving around on your lap. You opened your eyes and quickly realised you weren’t in bed. The room was dark. With very little light coming in from the outside. There were no curtains in this room, but also it was situated in an area of the mansion where very little moonlight came in.

Before you could panic though, a voice spoke up from not too far away, “You’ve been busy today, I see.” 

Ah, Bucky. And fuck. You’d fallen asleep in his office. 

You refused to feel embarrassed. So you asked, “Did you like your wedding gift?” 

“Yes.” He replied, and gauging by the sound you could tell he was sitting at his desk, in the darkest corner of the room. “I’ll hang it in my office.” 

You smiled in the dark, feeling a little proud of yourself. “And where’s my wedding gift?” 

“In your lap.” 

Fair. 

“What should we name her?” You asked, reaching to caress your puppy who let out an adorable grunt. “Hedone? Donnie, for short?” 

He let out a chuckle. “You are really leaning into this whole Eros-Psyche thing, huh?” 

You shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t have to if you’d just show me your face. But you keep choosing not to, so deal with it.” 

A pause. Then he asked, “You like your new studio?” 

That made you sit up straighter. “I love it. Thank you.” Then you added, “My family always thought painting was a waste of time. They said it kept my head in the clouds too much. That it was… pointless.” 

He was quick to say, “It’s not. Besides, your hobbies don’t have to make sense to anyone else but yourself. And I’ve seen the other canvases you left in the studio. They’re good.” 

You turned to face the dark corner he was in. “You think?” 

“Yes,” He said. “We can hold an exhibition if you want. Let me know when you’re ready.” 

You let out a surprised chuckle. And when he didn’t laugh you realised he was serious. “Bucky, it's not so easy.” You explained calmly. “There’s so much work that goes into it, there needs to be some cohesion to the art pieces. There’s marketing, there’s research, there’s…” You exhaled, “There’s a lot of work to be done. Art exhibitions aren’t as easy or quick as you think it is.” 

He replied, “Leave all that to me. Just let me know when you want to hold one.” 

Just like that? 

“I… okay.” 

You felt warm in a way you’d never felt before. No one had ever taken your interests so seriously before. You’d never even been able to discuss this freely about your hobbies. And here Bucky was, ready to listen and interact with it. 

You got up to leave because this was… a lot to process. “Well then. Good night, Bucky.” 

A soft scoff. “Think I liked it more when you called me a ghost.” 

You smiled as you approached the door, puppy in hand and amazed at how well you were able to navigate in the dark. “Night, ghost.” 

He gave you a satisfied hum, then, “Good night, wife.” 

— 

It was bizarre to admit but you’d gotten used to those conversations in the dark with your husband. Days went by quickly given how engrossed you were with painting. Especially with the thought of a potential exhibition now in the back of your mind. Gods, that would be a dream. 

And while your days consisted of painting, playing and training your puppy, exploring more and more of the grounds and your new home, making quick trips to the stores to get more supplies, catching up with your friends who were still trying to grasp the fact that you got married so quickly, getting to know the household staff and the guards better, your night consisted of waiting and fighting your sleep until Bucky came to talk to you. 

It was always short conversations. Filled with easy banter and teasing tones, sarcastic comments and you asking each and every night if he was in the mood to show his face. Bucky always said no. And you always sent him off with a ‘good night, ghost’. 

You had gotten used to your ghost. As had your puppy. She would bark happily each time Bucky would enter your bedroom door at night. She’d run to him for playtime and cuddles as he sat in his dark corner and spoke with you until you fell asleep. 

Bucky would often leave you some kind of a note, for you to read in the morning. At the breakfast table, or in your studio. Sometimes he would leave compliments and comments on your dry canvases. Eventually, you stopped fighting the smiles which formed on your face as you read his notes. 

But all of it only made you want to see him more. Not that it would change anything. Bucky had quickly become… a friend, you’d say. A confidant if you will. He had become a habit. Part of your routine. 

And then one night, he didn’t come to see you. 

You waited. He usually came around midnight. It was well past 2 a.m. and he never came. 

At some point you went downstairs, pretending as if you just needed some water. One of the guards caught you trying to peek out into the driveway from the kitchen window. 

“Boss is not home yet, ma’am.” He said. 

You acted like you didn’t care. But still asked, “He does this often?” 

“Sometimes.” 

You nodded. You took your drink and with your puppy in your arms you walked back upstairs, passing by the many guards who were on duty inside the house at nighttime. 

“It’s alright, he’s probably just busy.” You whispered to the sleeping pup as you made your way up. “Or maybe he’s hurt and tending to his wounds somewhere else.” You felt a gentle pinch in your chest at the thought of Bucky hurt and alone out there. So you forced yourself to think of something else. Something way worse. “Or maybe he’s with someone else.” You scoffed, nuzzling the soft fur of your pup, “This marriage means nothing to him anyway. But that’s alright, we don’t need him. I’ve got you. We’ve got each other. Don’t we?” 

Safe to say, you went to bed slightly annoyed that night. And in denial too because you refused to admit that you missed him. 

– 

There was a note waiting for you in your studio the next morning. 

It read: ‘No I did not spend the night with someone else. I’ll explain later. See you tonight, wife.’ 

Huh. Looks like the guards have really good ears. 

Well, whatever. It’s not like you were impatiently waiting for night to come just so you could talk to your ghost of a husband. Right? 

Except you were though. So much that you couldn’t paint a decent thing. You were easily giving up on each canvas, and leaving a trail of unfinished work the more time went on. 

Eventually you sighed and left the studio. You tried reading but that wasn’t happening either. So you did the only thing you knew would take your mind off things. You asked the ladies to show you where everything was kept in the kitchen and you got to baking. 

Which you did until it was time for bed. Your mood was off, and it was all because of a faceless man. And that somehow annoyed you even more. 

You grabbed a plate of the mini muffins you’d made earlier and made your way upstairs. Your puppy had just gotten used to the stairs so she happily followed you everywhere you went now. 

You proceeded to sit in bed, and eat your muffins angrily and forced yourself to try to sleep. 

-

You woke up sometime later. And you just knew who was in the room with you. 

Except he wasn’t in his usual spot. 

He was standing by the windows which faced your bed this time, with his back to you. The curtains were pulled, the moonlight came and there was his dark silhouette. And… you frowned as you noticed the shiny metal arm. 

“You’re home.” You said. 

Bucky turned his head to the side, “I am.” He said. 

You took a second or two to admire the side profile. With the moonlight shining all around his silhouette he looked like a fallen angel of sorts. “You didn’t come home last night.” 

“I was out working,” He said. 

“Maiming and killing?” 

“You know me so well.” 

“Is that a… metal arm?” You questioned. 

“It is.”  

“Were you hurt?” 

“I was.” 

You sighed again. “Is it always going to be bland answers and mystery with you?” 

“Get used to it.” He said in that teasing tone. 

You got out of bed as quietly as you could. “I think I liked you better without the attitude, when you sat in the corner like a ghost.” You took some steps away from the bed, approaching the giant windows. The room was rather spacious so it would take some more steps to get close to him. If you’d only– 

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do.” He warned, but remained in the same spot. 

You groaned. “Don’t you think this is getting tiring? I mean, I’m married to a man I’ve never seen before. In fact, no one has ever seen you. Why? What are you hiding?” You added, sounding defeated.  

Bucky lowered his head, which only accentuated how broad his shoulders really were. He sighed. “Do you know how much trouble could’ve been avoided if only Psyche trusted Eros?” 

You rolled your eyes. “I think she had her reasons. A mysterious, faceless lover who only shows up in the dark and hides in the shadows is bound to raise some doubts. Don’t you think so?” 

He chuckled. You blinked and he’d turned around to face you. But despite that, you couldn’t see his face at all. Even though he was inches away. 

He was quiet. Observing you with interest. The moonlight allowed him to see all of you, and he just… stared for a moment or two. A shiver ran down your back. An unfamiliar, but pleasant shiver. 

Without a word said, Bucky reached out and gently touched the thin strap of your silky night dress resting on your shoulder. His metal finger gliding along your skin and making you gasp at his cold touch. 

“What’s this?” He asked in his usual teasing tone. “Trying to tempt me with this excuse of a night dress, wife?” 

Fuck. Had his voice dropped lower? 

Fuck! He was so close to you. You didn’t even notice that your heart had begun racing. Your breaths had deepened. Shit. Why was this so hot?! 

“Are you? Tempted?” You asked with a steady voice, without thinking obviously. You just needed to say something so he wouldn’t notice the way you were basically panting after him like a thirsty dog. 

He chuckled. But remained quiet. 

So you said, “Thought so.” You sounded smug but you were feeling the complete opposite. 

Bucky scoffed in that arrogant way he often did. It was insane how easily you were able to pick up on his mannerism when you hadn’t even known him for that long. “Is that what you think? That I don’t want to sleep with you?” 

Oh. 

Oh this was bad. Because now your brain was making up hot, steamy scenes in your head. Scenes involving you and your faceless, mysterious husband in the dark. Entwining bodies on soft bed sheets. Fuck, you should paint that. No, what?  

“Then why haven’t you?” You found yourself asking. 

Okay then, bold as fuck it is. You’d gone past the point of no return now. Guess it was time for this conversation. 

Bucky’s fingers remained on your shoulder, tracing the thin strap there. And you couldn’t see it, but you could hear the smirk in his voice when he asked, “You want me to?” His metal hand dropped to your waist and before you could fully process it, he pulled you closer, leaned in to whisper into your ear, “You want my hands all over you, wife?” 

You could feel his slight stubble against your skin as he spoke. His lips brushing against your ear, making you gasp and tremble. Your hands found their way to his shoulders. And oh, he was pulling you even closer. Your chest pressing against his. The cool material of his suit felt amazing against your warm skin. 

“Look at you,” He cooed into your ear. “Is this what you want? Hmm?” He placed both his hands on your waist, pulling you into him. His lips moved lower, brushing against your neck as he spoke. “You like how rough my hands feel?” He moved his hands up and down your sides. “Do you know how many people I’ve hurt with these hands?” He chuckled when he heard the tiniest moan leave your mouth. “You’re so soft and warm, aren’t you worried what these hands might do to you?” 

He nuzzled your neck, hands roaming all over your sides and back and squeezing your butt. You became so pliant under his touch. Tilting your head back to allow him to kiss all over your neck, pressing your chest more and more against his like you couldn’t get enough. The layers of clothing, you wanted them gone. 

With a shaky voice you murmured, “I can’t tell if you’re trying to scare me or turn me on.” 

He laughed. And it was the best sound you’d ever heard. 

“You’re sick in that pretty head, huh?” He teased. “That beautiful brain is filled with filthy, dirty, dark thoughts, isn’t it?” His metal hand reached up and carefully wrapped around your throat. 

You gasped as he squeezed just a little bit. Those dirty thoughts he spoke about really started to fill your head. 

“Are you just all talk or–,” 

He cut you off by dragging you all the way to your bed, still holding you by the throat. 

The back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and he gave you a slight push, ending with you falling onto your bed on your back. You looked up at him, hovering above you, his lower body pressing into yours. 

“Do you just run that mouth?,” He asked, supporting himself with one hand while the metal one remained wrapped around your throat, his voice low and menacing but in a way that made your legs part on their own so his hips settled in between them. Your bodies fit together like the most perfect puzzle pieces. “Or do you know how to take it like a brat as well?” 

You felt the need to let him know then. “I don’t know,” You said, sounding both breathless and bratty. “I’ve never had to take it.” 

He paused for a moment. Then asked in subtle surprise, “What do you mean?” Even his grip around your throat loosened completely. 

You squirmed in slight embarrassment but that only caused your hips to grind against his and for a moment there both of you let out a strained moan. Fuck. The tension between the two of you was almost physical now. Even in the dark, even with Bucky being nothing more than just a shadow above you. 

“I, uh…” You cleared your throat, still feeling his cold fingers all over your skin, “I’ve never been with anyone before.” 

He was quiet. As if thinking. You tried your hardest but you couldn’t see any of his facial features. You knew he had a slight stubble because you’d felt it earlier. But aside from that, you knew nothing. Not even his eye colour. 

“You want us to stop?” He asked, shifting his body slightly as if he was ready to pull away if you asked him to. 

“No,” You answered way too quickly. Then you got bold again and let your hands find their way back to his shoulders. You pulled him down, closer to you just a little and said, “This is okay.” 

His fingers moved up, from your neck to your mouth. “Yeah? You want this, huh?” He mumbled, tracing your mouth with his fingers. You shivered under his touch. “You’ve been a whiny little brat lately, haven’t you, wife? Pouting and all just because I wouldn’t show myself to you.” He whispered, leaning in to just brush his lips against yours. You gasped at the sensation of his soft lips rubbing against yours. Bucky chuckled at your reaction. “Don’t think my staff doesn’t report back to me. I’ve been well aware of all the times you asked the ladies to give you details about me.” 

Now that made you squirm in embarrassment. Still you said, sounding a little annoyed at being caught. “Can you blame me?”

“Can’t you just trust me?” He argued. 

The danger and authority in his tone had your thighs clenching together to try and alleviate the torturous pain in between your legs. You were almost certain you had never been this turned on and annoyed at the same damn time before. You sighed in frustration. “This isn’t fair.” 

“No, it isn’t,” He said, pulling away and began undressing you to your pleasant surprise. “Deal with it.” 

Oh fuck. 

Fuck… You had to hold back from whimpering each time his hands rubbed against your skin. He took his time in sliding the straps of your night dress down your shoulders, dragging the silky fabric down your body, leaving you more and more naked under him. 

You shivered once he left your night dress bunched around your waist carelessly. It wasn’t just because of the slightly cold air. It was because even though you couldn’t see him, you could tell he was staring right at you. 

You spoke in a hushed voice, not daring to speak loud in fear that it might break whatever spell you were under. “So you get to see me naked all you want, but I can’t see your face?” 

He chuckled. “You want me to leave this room right now? Leave you here all wet and squirming? Or do you want me to take care of it and make you come? Huh?” 

That shut you up really quickly. 

“I thought so.” He sounded smug again when he said that. “I should spank you for the brat you are. But since it’s your first time… I’ll be nice.” 

His hands touched you everywhere, your thighs, your stomach, your sides, your chest, your neck… everywhere. He left you gasping and trembling under him. 

“Please.” You caught yourself whispering. 

Bucky leaned down, his soft mouth brushing against your cheek as he said, “Please what?” 

You squirmed, “Touch me, please.” 

He chuckled. You felt his warm breath against your skin as he kissed his way down your naked body. “Look at you,” He murmured, lips brushing against your stomach, “You’re so eager already.” 

You heard the faint chuckle which left his mouth the moment he noticed your legs spread apart for him naturally. Your face felt like it was burning but fuck, you were too turned on to even be properly embarrassed. Also, being in complete darkness helped. 

Damn. You were really getting intimate with your husband whom you hadn’t even seen yet. And somehow that fact was making you want this even more. 

But that mystery stopped being an issue the moment Bucky leaned in and kissed your wet folds, his tongue slowly circling around your throbbing clit and licking down, parting your wet folds with ease.

He poked at your entrance with his tongue and your body felt hotter than before. Back arching off the bed as you let out a soft moan at the foreign feeling. Fuck he felt good. You whimpered as you felt his tongue stroke your most sensitive parts. Your immediate reaction was to pull your hips back from the overwhelmingly good sensation his mouth was causing. And that made him grip your thighs tighter, keeping them pinned to the bed. 

“Stop moving.” He ordered and the authority in his voice made you tremble. 

You whined as you felt his strong arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you in place and close to his mouth. The metal hand on your warm skin made you shiver and tremble so much that you were thankful for the darkness. 

The small amount of moonlight which came in allowed you to only see the silhouette of his broad shoulders, and his head moving slowly, sensually in between your legs. Fuck… somehow the mystery only made it hotter.

Oh you were fucked in the head for real. 

And oh, Bucky was a fucking tease. Once he noticed how easily you cried out and moaned for him, he slowed down and began kissing around your clit just to purposely mess with you. He kissed your thighs, purposely avoiding touching where he knew you needed him the most. He kissed down all the way to your core, and gently bit your skin around your inner thighs. 

“Bucky, please!” You cried out, hand reaching for his hair. When you managed to grab a fistful of his soft hair, you gave it a gentle tug. “Stop teasing me.” 

“You don’t get to give me orders, wife.” He said, sounding all proud and mighty. “I could just walk out of here and leave you like this. Naked and squirming.” 

“Please,” You begged again. You could feel your arousal trickling out of you. 

A scoff. Then he leaned in again. You whined and whimpered under him, with your legs wrapped around his head. Fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp instinctively as he flicked, and sucked, and teasing your clit as much as he could. 

“You’ve been a brat because you wanted your husband’s attention so badly, huh?” He taunted. “Is that what you wanted? Just my attention?” He chuckled. “You’re as calm as a happy kitten now, aren’t you?” 

His stubble rubbed against your sensitive skin, and the friction burned a little but it was the kind of pain you kept wanting more of. You wanted more of him. 

“Fuck, your mouth feels so good,” You murmured, throwing your head back, moaning as he kept teasing your entrance with the tip of his tongue. 

“Come for me, wife.” His hands wrapped around your thighs, securing you in his grip as he pushed his face further into you, making you cry out loud. 

You couldn’t even hold on for much longer, and ended up coming undone all over his tongue. Heart racing, legs trembling in his grip as you came. Your moans were soft and incessant. 

Fuck… that felt amazing. 

You had barely gotten your heart to stop racing, and Bucky was already standing up and in the dark you couldn’t see very well but it did look like he was moving away from the bed. 

“You’re leaving?” You asked, unable to stop yourself from sounding a little upset at his departure. 

All he said was, “Good night, wife. See you tomorrow.” 

You scoffed after he shut the door behind him, leaving you in darkness yet again. “Ghost.” 

— 

That night ended up being the first of many. 

Your days consisted of painting, and finally finding a flow in most of your pieces. Perhaps if you’re able to make a decent collection, you could start thinking about the exhibition seriously, you thought. When you weren’t painting you were either training your rapidly growing puppy, or baking. You’d begun taking your puppy out for walks around the mansion, consequently doing some more exploring of the grounds. 

After all that, each night you’d get in bed and wait for Bucky. It became part of your routine. And each night with him was different. He’d spend his time touching you slowly until you were purring for him like a kitten. Kissing you all over your body in the dark. Making you come all over his tongue and fingers. Kissing you until you moaned and pulled him closer just to feel his weight pressing down on you. 

But he would always leave after making you come. And you two never actually fucked. Neither would he let you make him come. 

On nights when he wouldn’t make it home, you’d worry yourself to sleep. But then each morning you’d find a note from him either in your studio or the breakfast table. He would always say some cheesy shit. And he would always promise to come see you later that night. 

On nights when you two didn’t engage in anything sexual, it was still just as fulfilling. Bucky would tell you things about his work, his past, his family. You learnt that he was over a decade older than you, and teased him about being an old man until he pinned you to the bed and tickled you until you couldn’t breathe. 

You learnt that he liked to keep to himself and stay as far away from his family as possible. He liked peace and quiet, which would explain his lovely home being here away from most people. 

The more you learned about him, the easier it was to grow fond of him. But the more you grew fond of him, the greedier you got. You wanted more. More of his time, his touch, his attention, and most of all, you wanted to see him. 

The mystery, while hot as fuck, was killing you. 

—

One night, things changed. 

Bucky came into your room as usual. He’d gotten bolder lately, he wouldn’t sit in the corner like a ghost anymore, instead he would find his way to your bed and only leave that bed after making you come hard. 

Tonight started out the same way.  

You felt his hands all over you as he pulled you closer to him under the covers. You giggled as he bit and licked that one sensitive spot on your neck. Your fingers had a habit of finding themselves in his hair. It was insane how easily you’d gotten used to being with him in the dark. How easily you could find his mouth with your own. How easily you’d find your way into his arms. 

It was weirdly comforting. His warmth, his voice, his touch. 

“Tell me about your day,” He murmured, kissing your neck while his hands grabbed you and caressed you wherever he could reach. 

You squealed when you felt his metal fingers wandering dangerously close to your clit. Then said, “It went pretty well. I went out to buy some supplies, made a new friend at the store, I went to see my father but he wasn’t home. I took our dog for a walk, I painted…,” You gasped when his mouth trailed down till he took a nipple into his warm mouth, while he slid two fingers inside you gently. “Oh fuck…” You whined. 

He kissed his way up to your mouth again and said, “You sound so good when you moan for me, wife.” His lips brushed against yours. 

He was so close. And it was dark. And you wanted so desperately to see him. 

He moved his fingers expertly in and out of you. Making sure to brush against your most sensitive spots each time, turning you into a whimpering mess under him. He gave you a gentle kiss, swallowing your moans as he brought you closer to the edge. 

You whimpered and whined, then in the moment you just blurted out, “Can I please see you now?” 

Bucky stopped. He pulled away from you, making you whimper again as he got up and got out of your bed. 

In the dark it took a while for you to figure out where he was, whether he was still nearby or already making his way out the door. But he was here, standing near the bed. 

“We talked about this.” He said, sounding grave and disappointed. 

“But it’s been so long.” You argued. “I trust you.” 

He let out a loud exhale and said, “Then trust me when I say, it’s better this way.” 

You let out a sigh. “You can’t keep me in the dark forever, Bucky. Literally!” 

“Yes I can. I will.” He said arrogantly. That tone of his bothered you. “It’s better this way.” He repeated, but it sounded a lot like he was trying to convince himself instead of you. 

“Oh screw you!” You said with enough bitterness to make a grown man flinch. “If you won’t let me see you then stop coming into my bedroom. I don’t want to see you unless you agree to let go of this weird persona.” 

“Fine.” 

—

That night was the last time you heard from Bucky. 

He didn’t come home the following day. Nor the one after that. 

And no one knew where he went. 

You could tell something was wrong when you began noticing that the guards were talking in hushed voices whenever you were around. You noticed that the amount of security around the house doubled. That’s when you began to worry. 

By the third night, the entire house was filled with this almost tangible tension, worry, and fear. The house staff wouldn’t talk to you as much. The guards were always in and out of the house. The head of security advised you to not wander too far away from the house while you roam the grounds. 

You noticed the guards would follow you whenever you left the property. Be it when you left to visit your father at your old house or when you went out to buy supplies. 

Then you worried some more. But no one had answers to your questions. Nobody knew where he went. Whether he’s away for an assignment or if he’s simply choosing to be away from home. 

You tried your hardest to pretend that you didn’t care. You were still a little angry. After all, why couldn’t you see what he looked like? You’d spend so much time with him in the dark, running your hands all over him, tracing the outline of his facial features, he never had an issue with that. But why couldn’t you see him? 

You were angry, but also very much worried by the fourth day. You missed him, you realised. He had become such a habit, such a constant in your days. His sarcastic humour, his gentle hands, his comforting embrace, the way he left you notes in the morning, the way he took your art seriously. 

Fuck. You sat up in bed one night, patting ‘his’ side of the bed softly. You missed him. Badly. You felt a pinch inside your chest which you had never felt before. It hurt. You wanted him home. You admitted to yourself with a painful sigh. 

“Where are you?” You whispered, looking at the dark corner of your bedroom where he used to sit in silence like a ghost. “It’s okay if you want to stay in the dark forever.” You looked around the dark room which now without him seemed so much bigger and empty, “Just come home.” 

—

The next morning, as you half-heartedly approached the kitchen, you overheard something. And quickly realised you shouldn’t have heard it. It was the two ladies talking in hushed tones, the ones who usually served you your meals and often kept you company while you baked. 

“...cannot tell her, she’ll be heartbroken.” One of them said gravely. 

Sudden panic made your body freeze. You pressed your back against the nearest wall to keep yourself hidden while you processed those cryptic words. No, no, no. Is he hurt? Do they know something you don’t? 

The other replied, “But she deserves to know. Even if it’s not confirmed yet. I mean, do you see how she smiles when she reads his notes? Clearly she had grown to care for him. She needs to know.” 

The other argued, “I know, but I cannot imagine how hurt she will be when she hears about the rumours that her own father kidnapped her husband due to some past rivalry which was supposedly laid to rest after their wedding.” 

“They’ve been looking for him for days now. It’s been too long, he should’ve been found by now.” 

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK! 

No. This cannot be happening. 

You carefully walked away from the kitchen. Thinking, processing, analysing. 

If your father did it, it must’ve been for some shitty, arrogant reason. He probably just wanted to rub it in Bucky’s family’s face that he could still eliminate his biggest threat if he wanted to. To show that he could still get rid of them by holding their most precious weapon hostage. To toy with them by making them wait in anticipation. Your father had done it before. Not with Bucky, but other people. He usually never asked for ransom but he liked having his rivals beg him for mercy. 

Shit. He’s had Bucky for days now. 

You moved without thinking twice about it. For some reason, your brain knew exactly what to do even though your heart was still bothered by a multitude of emotions. It felt like you were on autopilot. 

You rushed into Bucky’s office and grabbed a handgun from his desk drawer, checked if it was loaded. It was. You knew Bucky kept it there for safety, he had told you that one time when you two were in bed together. 

You let out a frustrated sigh, then felt movement around your ankles. You looked down at your puppy and gave her a sad smile as you bent down to pet her. “I’m gonna go find daddy, okay? I’ll be home soon.” You left her with a kiss. 

You rushed back downstairs and found a group of armed guards in the foyer near the front door. You didn’t have the time to explain it all to them, especially since you were driven by a gut feeling. Instead you asked, “Do you guys have a way of tracking my phone, or my car?” 

One of them nodded. The rest frowned in confusion. 

You tried to keep your calm as much as you could even though your heart was racing. “Okay, I’m gonna go to my father’s house. Don’t follow me yet, but I need some of you to come find me as soon as I begin driving away from there.” 

Surprisingly, they just nodded and let you go. 

The whole time you drove to your father’s house, it felt you were constantly having to force yourself to keep calm. After four days of having no idea where he was, and now as all the puzzle pieces fit together, it was hard to remain calm. You just wanted to get to him. 

And while you drove, unanswered questions tormented you. 

Was he hurt? Where was he being kept? Was he beaten up? Was he even conscious? Would this end badly? How far would your father take this? Would he hurt him? 

Before you knew it, you were entering your father’s property. The guards let you in like they always did. You had to take a minute to breathe in your car before stepping out and going inside your old home. 

Luckily your father was home. 

You walked in and stopped in the middle of the foyer as you saw him making his way down the stairs. He slowed down when he noticed the glare you sent his way. And when he stopped in the middle of the grand staircase, with you still glaring at him, the guards who were scattered around the entrance noticed. You caught the way they silently got closer and closer, slowly reaching for their guns. 

Good thing you’d brought your own. 

The guards, as well as your father, froze in place the moment you pulled out Bucky’s gun and pointed it at the man responsible for all of this shit. No one made a single sound. No guard moved to even try to disarm you. 

You looked at your hand, which was surprisingly steady as it held the gun. And there, on the side of the shiny metal, you spotted Bucky’s initials. Your heart throbbed in a painful way, but you refused to be emotional right now, even though you needed a good cry after having bottled up your feelings for the last few days. 

You glared at your father, who was still shocked, and asked in a cold tone you’d never used before, “Where’s my husband?” 

Your father frowned. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

You repeated, “Where is he?” 

Your father scoffed, “You’ll shoot your own father? Is this how I raised you?” 

“And you’ll kidnap your own son-in-law? For what? To show that you’re still the shit?” You questioned in a slightly raised voice. 

He sighed like he was disappointed, “You don’t know what–,” 

You cut him off. “We had a deal, right? That these petty attacks would stop after the wedding? That’s why I got married, isn’t it? Because we’re supposed to keep family safe?” 

He was quiet for a moment. Then began talking again, “If I could just get them to–,” 

“Enough!” You sounded just as tired of his bullshit as you were. “Whatever plan you have, just stop!” Then it came spilling out of your mouth, “You were supposed to protect me. All of us,” You said, referring to your older siblings, “Instead you married each of us off in exchange for whatever or whoever was going to benefit you more.” 

He argued, “If this works, you can come back home. Don’t you want that?” 

“No,” You said, and realised you meant it. “This was never home.” You admitted. “He treats me better than my own family ever did. He doesn’t tell me that my art is a waste of time. He doesn’t keep me imprisoned inside his home. He doesn’t choose who I should mingle with and who I shouldn’t. He doesn’t force me to join family businesses because it’ll be good for his image.” You taunted your father. “And he’ll never sell me to the highest bidder.” 

Your father made a sound like he was disgusted. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with him?” 

You remained quiet. I care for him, you wanted to say, deeply. But that would be lying, wouldn’t it? Truth was… you did fall for him. His calm voice. His gentle but playful demeanour. His dark humour. His brilliant mind and sharp tongue, always ready to argue and debate. His gentle touch… you loved him. 

“What I do and who I care for is none of your concern anymore.” You concluded, stepping forward and keeping the gun aimed at his face. “Now, where is my husband?” 

The smirk on your father’s face was maddening. “You’ll never find him,” He said. “I’ve hidden him well.” He added.  

You gave him a smirk as well. One which mirrored his. 

“Oh don’t make me do this.” You cooed. “Did you forget all those times you got drunk and confessed all the bad things you did?” You began listing, “All those times you spilled all your little secrets. About our family businesses, about your allies, the lies and betrayal. The bodies that are buried on this very property. The skeletons in your closet.” You gave him a sick, sweet smile. “Imagine if all that information just magically ends up in the ears of your rivals, dad. Imagine the carnage.” 

His smirk disappeared. “You would betray me by siding with them?” He asked in disbelief. 

You were getting tired of this. So you lowered your gun and said, “I am one of them.” 

You walked out without a single glance back at your father, but you could tell he had his jaws clenched in anger. He hated being outsmarted. But his mistake was underestimating you. 

And as for Bucky’s location, well your father gave it away when he said ‘I’ve hidden him well.’ 

There was only one place he believed you knew nothing about since at the time that he told you about it, he was drunk out of his mind as he confessed more of his crimes: the rundown warehouse which he used as a hideout/storage for weapons and arms. 

Your father had always referred to Bucky being a ‘weapon’ so it was only fitting that he would think to hide him there. Thinking no one would find him. 

But you would. 

As you drove to the warehouse, you hoped that the guards were tracking you as you had instructed them to. Because if Bucky was truly there, there was a high chance that there would be some guards, and that Bucky must be injured. And you’d need help getting him out of there. 

Driving to the warehouse, you had silent tears streaming down your face. Not just out of sadness, but also frustration. Fuck, what had your life become? 

The warehouse was a disaster, you realised as you approached it. Large, crumbling, windows boarded up with rotting wood, broken machinery scattered around the outside. It looked like it had been abandoned for decades. And it was exactly the type of structure no one would bother to look twice at. The perfect place to hide illegal things, and son-in-laws you hate. 

There weren’t as many guards as you expected. Which would mean that Bucky was either chained and locked up like an animal, or that he was injured to the point where he was too weak to fight his way out of here. 

Or both. 

You shivered as you got out of your car. The few guards who were around noticed you and one of them began walking faster towards you the more you got closer to the entrance. 

“Miss, you can’t be here. Your father explicitly said no one is allowed–,” 

You scoffed and said, “Oh, I know what he said.” You kept walking. “What will you do? Shoot me?” 

“Miss,” He tried again, “I can’t let you–,” 

You turned towards him and placed the barrel of Bucky’s gun right under the guard’s chin. “You were saying?” 

Then you heard it. A fleet of cars approaching. The guards heard it too. You heard them yelling at one another while the one in front of you remained frozen in place. You smirked at him and said, “Now go play with them.” 

You had just enough time to duck and run inside before the gunshots began. You didn’t stop. The interior of the warehouse was just as dilapidated as the outside, and by the sound of it, there were quite some guards on the roof. Their heavy footsteps as they ran to duck and try to escape the bullets raining down on them echoed inside the empty warehouse. 

It was fairly easy to spot Bucky. But fuck was it painful to see him that way. 

He was chained to the wall, shackles around his wrists and ankles. His body slumped on the ground, his breaths ragged. You could tell he was tired. Perhaps tired of fighting against the chains. You couldn’t hold back your soft sob as you ran to him. 

They had left his muzzle-like mask on him, covering the lower half of his face. The leather jacket and gloves he wore were covered in blood and dirt. A lot of blood. You knelt down in front of him and that’s when you noticed the bullet wound on his thigh. It looked fresh. 

“Bucky?” You called, reaching a hand to touch his face. He was cold to the touch, but stirred at the sound of your voice. “Bucky, come on. Wake up. Please.” You sniffled and inched closer to him, “I’m here, I’m gonna get us out of here, okay?” 

He let out a weak cough. You could barely hear it over the sound of the gunshots outside. 

“Bucky,” You tried to get the chains and shackles off of him, “Come on, wake up. We need to go home.” Your own voice cracked as you felt the silent tears streaming down your face as you were unable to get the shackles off. “Please,” You begged. 

Then as the gunshots outside faded away, you heard Bucky’s faint voice saying, “Use the gun.” 

You turned to face him. “What?” 

He spoke again, his voice raspier than usual and sounding muffled due to the mask. “Shoot at the chains.” 

Your hands trembled just a little as you reached for the gun you had brought. His gun. And you said, “Okay, don’t move.” 

You did. And only missed twice. 

Breaking the chains left the shackles still around his wrists and ankles but that could be dealt with later. You were panicking, wondering how you’d get him out of here but the guards barged in just in time. And you let out a sigh of relief when they ran straight to Bucky and carefully picked him up. 

As a couple of them managed to get Bucky in the backseat of your car, one of them let you know that there was a doctor and his assistants already waiting at home to tend to Bucky. Another one asked you what to do regarding the warehouse. 

“Burn it.” You told him. “I’ll deal with my father later, right now we need to get Bucky home.” 

On the drive home, Bucky kept trying to talk. But he was so weak he could barely get full sentences out. 

“Weren’t you mad at me?” He asked.

You sniffled and said refused to answer that. Instead you said, “Try not to talk. You’ve been shot, we don’t know how much blood you’ve lost,” You rambled. “Let’s get you to the doctor, okay?”  

“S’okay,” He mumbled, “It went through.” 

That only hurt more. “Bucky please, you need to save energy, okay? We’re almost home.” 

“They… shot me with my own gun.” He refused to keep quiet. 

At first you thought his brain was being delirious and making him ramble. Because of the pain, exhaustion, thirst, hunger. But then a weak sound left his mouth. Still muffled by the mask because no one removed it, and it sounded a lot like a very weak, faint laugh. 

“Eros got pierced by his own arrow after all.” He mumbled. 

You held back a sob. Then muttered, “I hate you so much, Bucky Barnes.” 

Another weak laugh. “No, you don’t, wife.” 

Then he passed out cold. 

— 

The next few days which followed Bucky’s rescue went by so fast and so painfully. The medical team kept close watch on him for days. Bucky was in and out of consciousness a lot. All the meds and the exhaustion kept him constantly out cold. 

The nurses and the house staff were constantly around him. But for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to go into his room. Not yet. You’d linger near the door and the doctors and the staff would constantly update you about his condition, but you never went in. 

Mainly it was because of shame. At what your father had done to him. But also you were still making peace with and processing your own emotions and you couldn’t face him until you were fully ready. What was important was that he was rescued and safe in his home. 

About a week later, the medical team finally left. And promised they would do frequent check ups and told you that Bucky needed a lot of rest. 

And that night, you managed to find the courage to finally step inside Bucky’s bedroom. It was a lot like yours, just larger. The room was dark when you walked in. But the open curtains allowed some light in from the outside. 

Okay. You spoke to yourself as you approached Bucky’s bed. It’s high time you find out who you married. 

Your hands shook a little as you reached for the dim lamp on his bedside table. But you turned it on quickly before you could talk yourself out of it. 

The golden light illuminated the room partly, and there he was. A little bruised, with a cut on his lip. His handsome face made you smile and tear up at the same time. You couldn’t hold back from reaching to touch his face softly, carefully. You ran your knuckles along his cheek and whispered, “There you are, ghost.” 

He stirred. And soon, a pair of sparkling blue eyes look up at you. For a moment you panicked, wondering if he would be upset. But instead he said, “This is cheating.” 

You let out a soft laugh and asked, “How are you feeling? You’ve been asleep for days.” 

“I feel like beating your father up.” He mumbled. 

“Oh, same.” You agreed. Then added, “I’m so sorry for what he did to you.” 

Over the past few days, the guards had gathered what had truly happened the day Bucky went missing. Turns out, he did leave for an assignment but your father and his men had been keeping a close eye on him for days, and since the wedding was supposed to have ended all rivalry, Bucky had his guard down as he entered your father’s territory. And your father had the upper hand for once and took advantage of it. Bucky was cornered, outnumbered and taken. He was kept in that warehouse up until you found him. 

“Don’t be,” Bucky whispered, reaching for your hand on your lap. He gave your hand a soft squeeze and said, “You saved me.” 

You couldn’t look away from Bucky. It felt so intimate to finally be able to see his face. Then rather sheepishly, you asked, “Can I sleep here? I’ll be careful.” He was still injured and in pain, but you just wanted to be close to him. You needed to. 

He smirked, “Come on.” You walked to the other side of the bed and slid under the covers, keeping some distance between you and him. He turned to look at you and said, “Want me to leave the light on?” 

You nodded. And he did. 

— 

A lot changed after that. 

Bucky was healing from his injury and was starting to walk again. Which meant that he was home a lot. He did ‘work’ but it mainly consisted of him ordering people around on the phone. 

Him being at home meant that he followed you around as much as he physically could. He would spend time in your studio, sometimes he’d stay for hours and watch you finish your pieces. He also spent a lot more time with your dog, taking her on short walks and teaching her new tricks. 

He’d stay with you in the kitchen while you baked. He’d go with you whenever you went shopping for supplies. Bucky became your shadow. And consequently, spending this much together made you feel closer than ever to him. 

He became your best friend. 

He also became a lot more… bold. 

—

One night Bucky found you in his bathroom. After that night when you first slept in his bed, you hadn’t gone back to your bedroom. So now, most of your things slowly found their way into his space. Like your night time skin care products. 

Bucky crept up behind you and wrapped his arms around you. 

You met his eyes through the mirror and gave him a smile. “Your limp is nearly gone.” You announced, noticing the way he walked was so much better now. 

He gave you a look which meant nothing but mischief, “And you know what that means?” 

You could already tell where this was going. You immediately turned him down. “Bucky, we cannot. You’re still injured.” 

“But it’s been weeks.” He said it like it was the ultimate torture. “Don’t you miss those nights we spent together? Hmm?” He whispered, leaning in to kiss your neck. He knew it was one of your weaknesses. “Remember how good it feels when I make you come?” 

You sighed, letting him kiss you and hold you for a moment. “Buck… you’re still healing.” 

“Come on, baby,” He cooed, nuzzling your neck, “I’ll make it so good. I promise I’ll tell you if it hurts.” 

You almost gave in the moment he playfully bit your neck, his hands finding the belt of your robe and shamelessly undoing it before sliding in to touch your warm skin. “But,” You tried to find something even though all you wanted was to drag him to bed, “Your stitches…” Your words ended in a soft moan as his metal fingers found their way in between your legs, circling around your clit. 

Bucky growled. Growled. Then said, “Fine, you get to be on top then.” 

You froze, and let out a nervous chuckle. “But I…,” You opened your eyes and met his through the mirror. “I–,” 

“Shh, it’s okay.” He reassured you, remembering the time you told him you’d never done anything with anyone before. “I know.” He gave you a sweet kiss on the cheek. “I’ll teach you.” 

And he did. Patiently. 

He took his time in undressing both of you and held your hand in his as he laid down and pulled you on top of him. 

“I’m scared I’ll hurt you.” You murmured. 

He gave you a reassuring smile. “You won’t, baby. Now come on.” 

He watched as you carefully straddled him, settling comfortably around his waist. One hand holding his metal one tightly while the other remained splayed over his chest. 

Bucky looked up at you with nothing but adoration and lust as he tugged on your hand, pulling you in for a kiss. You leaned down gently and pressed your mouth to his. His warm hand immediately rubbed up and down your side lovingly. He pulled away just a little and whispered against your mouth, “We’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with, okay?” 

You nodded, already breathless. 

“Tell me, baby. What do you want?” 

You told him the one thing you desperately wanted. “I want to touch you.” 

Bucky smirked and supported his upper body up on his elbows, with you still straddling his waist, your core pressing down on his crotch. “Go on then, touch me.” He murmured. 

He watched you intently as you reached out and touched his face first. Bucky’s heart was racing, you could tell by the way he breathed, as your finger slowly trailed down his face, along his neck and down till his abs, so slowly that you could feel his muscles tensing underneath your touch. 

You gave him a teasing smile when you noticed the effect you have on him, and how he couldn’t help but stare at your naked body. 

“Don’t tease me,” He mumbled. 

You chuckled and leaned in to give him a brief kiss before hesitantly wrapping your hand around his cock. Part of the reason why you kissed him while doing it was because you were worried about your lack of experience, so you did it to distract him. 

But he caught it. And wrapped his own hand around yours, making you grip him tighter. You pulled away from the kiss and looked into his pretty eyes. Bucky was breathing heavily. You let his hand guide you as you gave him an experimental stroke, a gentle up and down movement. 

He felt thick and hard, and big. You looked down for a quick minute as you let him continue guiding your hand, lazily stroking his cock, up and down. Your thumb rubbed his tip slowly, making him groan as you looked back up at him and kissed your way down his neck, around the base of his throat, making him gasp in pleasure. 

“See?” He whispered, “You’re learning already.” He said as he slowly let go of your hand and let you touch him on your own. 

You continued exploring this new feeling. He was completely fine with just being there and letting you take your time. And you did take your time, touching him everywhere you could, stroking him as slowly or as quickly as you wanted to. Until he was so close to the edge, eyes rolled to the back of his head, lips parted and occasional moans escaping his open mouth as  pre cum started dripping down his cock. 

Oh he was a sight to behold. But you were getting impatient, and you wanted him in you as soon as possible. So you stopped, earning a groan from him. 

“I want you,” You said. 

Bucky looked like he was barely able to hold back either. “Come on,” He held your hand again, pulled you in for a quick kiss as you straddled him properly. His hand reached down and aligned the tip of his cock to your hole, teasing you with it by sliding it up and down your slit a few times until you were whimpering. “Now sit on it baby come on,” He encouraged you as you began sinking down on him, gasping as his cock stretched you out. “You can do it.” He murmured, breathless as he watched his cock disappear inside you more and more. “That's it. All the way down, come on baby.” 

You were a moaning mess by the time you sunk all the way down, impaling yourself down on his cock. Fuck. You had never felt so full before. So fucking full. 

“You okay, baby?” He asked, holding you by your hips, moving you back and forth just a little bit to create some friction. 

You nodded, moaning at the slight movement. 

“Want me to help you move?” He asked, lips parted and he had that wild look in his eyes.

Fuck, he was beautiful. 

“Yes, please,” You whined, placing your hands on his chest to brace yourself for what was coming. 

He wasted no time. Bucky grabbed you by the hips and helped you move up and down his cock. Your wet warmth wrapped all around him, making him swear under his breath and groan at how good you felt. 

You couldn’t look away from his ocean blue eyes while you rocked your hips against his. You moved against him perfectly, your walls gripping him tightly and feeling him twitch inside you. 

“Look at you.” He cooed. “Look how well you're taking it.” 

You couldn’t help but lean in to kiss his open mouth. He was so perfect. He was everything you had ever dreamt of, you realised. 

His metal fingers moved to touch your clit while you rode his cock, teasing you and bringing you closer to that edge. It wouldn’t take much. You were so overwhelmed already. 

“Bucky…” You whined, dragging your hands down and pressing both your palms against his toned abdomen, carefully avoiding touching him around his thigh area, where he was shot. 

Bucky watched you, your breasts bouncing gently, lips parted, softly gasping as you got so, so close to the edge. 

And he knew. So he quickened his pace, still moving you up and down his cock while he rubbed your throbbing clit. 

“Baby, I’m gonna need you to come for me, okay?” His voice was low, barely even a whisper. His desperation was quite clear. He began to thrust his hips up even harder, matching your movements.

The air around you got hotter, and that look in his eyes made you want to live in this moment forever. Bucky was the most beautiful mess you’d ever seen. A sweaty, moaning mess under you, messy hair, swollen lips, and a throbbing cock. 

You were sure you looked like a mess too as you felt your walls clench around him, gripping him and milking him perfectly. 

“Come for me,” He whispered, “Come on, baby.” 

You came without a warning, crying out loud and impaling yourself down on him one last time as you did. Bucky thrust up into you one last time and came undone as well, both of you breathing hard and fast. 

You carefully got up from his lap and laid down beside him, body limp and slightly sore in between your legs. 

You were still catching your breath as you asked, “Did I hurt you?” You sounded just as worried as you were. 

Bucky chuckled. “I should be the one asking you that.” 

You smiled and snuggled into his side, he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you closer. 

“I’m fine, baby.” He said and kissed your forehead. 

You both laid there in silence for a while. 

Cuddling and relishing each other’s warmth, caressing each other’s skin. 

You felt his fingers drawing random shapes on your back as you laid your head on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeats against your cheek. You felt the need to ask him, “Why were you so against showing yourself to me?” 

He gave you a soft chuckle. “You just can’t let that go, huh?” 

“Nope.” 

He sighed, pulling you closer. “I was… afraid.” 

You frowned. “Afraid of what?” You pulled away and looked up at him. “Why did you hide this pretty face from me?” You gave him a quick kiss on his chest as you waited for his answer. 

He sighed again. “Everywhere I go, I… whenever people see me up close, it’s already too late. They don’t see a human anymore, they see death staring back at them.” He paused. You remained quiet. He continued. “I see it, you know? In their eyes. When they look at me and plead, or beg, or curse me.” A humourless laugh, then, “After some years of that, I began seeing it in the mirror as well. I saw the same thing they see. After years of brutality, and killing, and spilling blood,” A soft chuckle, “Years of being an evil Eros as you call it, I grew to hate my face.” 

You felt tears forming at your waterline but you couldn’t look away from him. Not when he was being so brave and vulnerable. 

He continued. “And then before our wedding, I looked you up.” He confessed, a little embarrassed. “And you were so beautiful.” He looked you right in the eyes and repeated, “You are so beautiful. I guess, I didn’t want you to look at me and see death, and ugly and all the other dark stuff. I didn’t want to see that look in your eyes, the same one I see in everyone. That look of fear and disgust.” He finally admitted, “So I thought, I’d just hide and be a ghost.” 

“My ghost.” You corrected him, reaching out to cup his chin in your palm. “And I’m gonna need you to never stop haunting me.” You said, leaning in to leave a soft kiss on his lips. “I want you to always be in the shadows. Be with me, even in the dark.” You gave him a smile. “I look at you now and you know what I see? I see a man who treated me with respect. A man who wouldn’t touch me unless I asked for it. A man who gave me so much space for my creativity.” A faint smile, then you added, “You made me fall in love with art all over again, and now everything I paint, I paint with you in my mind.” 

He gave you a smile which both broke and mended your heart. 

“Oh Buck,” You cupped his gorgeous face with both hands and said, “You’re not death, or scary, or any other dark shit. You’re mine, and I love you.” 

He pulled you in for a kiss so quickly you barely processed it. “And I love you.” 

You giggled into the kiss and only pulled away when you were breathless. You kissed your way down his chin and nuzzled his neck, sighing in delight. 

Bucky said, “I think I should retire.” 

“Hmm,” You asked, “And what would you do in retirement?” 

“Watch you paint, raise our dog, adopt some more animals, attend your art exhibitions, and eventually make some babies with you.” He listed it all so easily. 

“Sounds like a plan.” You agreed.

[justreadingthings]

I’m. YEARNING.

Good. Things. Take. Time. 2: One Bed

Fandom: Calls (THIS IS AN APPLE TV SERIES. PATS is a character. This is not RPF.)

Pairing:  Pedro Across the Street x f!reader

Rating: ***Explicit.*** Those under 18 please do not enter.

Warnings: Masturbation (f and implied m), hand job, oral (m receiving), feather light dom/sub/switch, P & V (unprotected but with prior safety agreements), kissing, praise in droves, instruction compliance, the usual implication of nefarious massage practices / something like sex work. PLOT. Boring shit about database programming, characters you’ve come to know outside their element, a drop of angst, yearning across a crowded room, character shock and name swap (wait…what?), and, as always, PATS* is his own warning.  *Now with more soft.

A/N: I was getting ready to write a one-bed fic and asked y’all to vote on a character. Another boy won, but at one point, PATS was in the lead and I panicked. How do you write a one-bed fic with characters whose whole playing ground IS a bedroom? My brain wouldn’t shake the challenge and this is what happened. I will also say: this is not a direct sequel to the first fic. It continues the entire series that’s been building through the sessions. 

I have more notes, mostly thank yous to y’all. You can find them at the end.

Anti-Summary: “This can be a pause. Pause of treatment-client relations. What happens in this room isn’t what happens in your room. That space is sacred and I don’t want to compromise that in any way. And if it’s a pause, it’s a complete pause. No touching, just sleep.” (Adira’s note: hahahhAHAHAHAAHAHAHAH GOOD TRY.)

.

As with the original fic, this will be broken into sections if you need to take a breath.

REGISTRATION (1.4K)

DISORIENTATION (1.8K)

THE FIRST CONUNDRUM (512 words)

THE SECOND CONUNDRUM (784 words)

THE THIRD CONUNDRUM (958 words)

THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED (3.8K)

ASSESSMENT (1K)

Keep reading

[justreadingthings]

*sigh* Adira…we have been well and truly spoiled.

Good. Things. Take. Time. (a Pedro Across the Street fic for Kinktober)

Fandom: Calls (THIS IS AN APPLE TV SERIES. PATS is a character. This is not RPF.)

Pairing:  Pedro Across the Street x f!reader

Rating: ***Explicit.*** Marathon smut. Those under 18 please do not enter.

(Taglist folks: I know some of you follow me for the soft, so sorry if wall-to-wall smut is not your thing, this is not my usual M.O. so feel free to skip. I just didn’t want to leave you out if you wanted notification. <3)

Warnings: Intimate massage–lots of touching in all the places–fingering, P&V (unprotected but with the understanding of prior consent and precautions), biting, friction, masturbation, cumshot, oral (f receiving), parallels to sex work. (What?…Who am I?) Oh, and Pedro ATS comes with his own warning.

A/N: Listen. *sigh* I got bit by the Kinktober bug and let my smut monster out of the cage for one splash of freedom. Judge if you want or come sit next to me in my abject filth. All y’all are welcome here.

So this is jumping off from my AU headcanon piece: The Pedro Boys As Stress Relief Therapists. I unapologetically wrote this for me. In another life, I’d never let another soul see it. But you’ve all made me feel safe here, so. It’s super self-indulgent, it’s aaaaallllll blow-by-blow, and absolutely nobody is required to read it and/or like it. But someone might, so here you go. I thought about posting it in chapters but then just wanted to get it all out and run away, so there are section headings in case you wanna take it in chunks.

<3

Summary: “Here’s what’s going to happen.Your session is three hours.” He tips his head and points to the massage table. “The first hour’s your massage there. Then we move back here to the bed. Second hour I fuck you. Third hour you sleep.” 

REGISTRATION  (663 words)

THE INITIAL CONSULTATION (741 words)

DISROBING (1.5K)

THE FIRST HOUR (2.2K)

THE SECOND HOUR (2.1K)

THE THIRD HOUR AND EXIT ASSESSMENT (634 words)

Keep reading

[justreadingthings]

Me to Marcus:

Me to Lucius:

Eeeeee this is so fucking awesome! Thank you lovely 🩵

Foxglove Downs Chapter 3: The Race

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Lucius Verus x Female Reader Rating: Teen. (Eventual E. MDNI) Summary: Marcus is jealous, Lucius is charming, and Sunny is stuck in the middle. Warnings: Love triangle, horse talk, jealousy, pining, angst, flirting, a kiss, wet Lucius, one slap across the face, age gap (Marcus is in his 40’s, Lucius is in his 20’s). Reader is in her 30's, has hair, and has a nickname: Sunny. Words: 4,000

A/N: Listen, IDK what'd I'd do without @devineconjuring's help and amazing beta work. She's the best and she always imparts wisdom like... ...how I can still take a bath with a toaster... if I just don't plug it in. Also she yells at me and calls me names because I use too many ...'s and I can't stop talking about Lucius's eyes being blue. Soooooooo... ... ... ... I 🩵 her... ... ... Thank you to @artsy-girl-76 for the Lucius pic colorization and everyone who helped me stop overthinking about photo decisions. 😉

Foxglove Downs Masterlist Masterlist

Previous Chapter

—-

Days have passed since the moment Marcus saw you while you were under the warm comfort of Lucius’s jacket. You busy yourself with your daily tasks, checking on the horses and taking care of your breeding program. But the less you see of Marcus, the more his pull on you consumes your thoughts–especially the intensity of his stare when he saw you that morning Lucius dropped you off.

He’s kept his distance since, choosing instead to communicate through brief messages about a few business matters. You wanted to speak to him, yet he seemed to be in a hurry every time you saw him, always heading in the opposite direction.

You couldn’t help but wonder if he was avoiding you, yet you could feel his deep brown eyes on you whenever you were near him.

—-

“Sunny,” he calls out one afternoon, breaking through your peaceful reverie as you lead your horse Harvey out for a ride.

“Yes?” you reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the nervous fluttering in your chest.

“Can we talk?” His voice is low, making all surrounding noise fade away.

“I was just about to go for a ride. Do you want to join? Maybe take Barley out as a treat?”

“Sure,” he responds, his voice still low.

“Okay,” you smile, trying to calm your heart. “Meet you at the back gate in five?”

He nods before heading to the stables.

—-

You greet Marcus as he arrives atop Barley, cantering towards the back gate.

“Ready?” you ask. His face is a mystery, his shoulders tense as he nods. “I figure we’ll just ride to the other side of the lake?”

Another nod without a verbal response.

“Let’s go,” you say, nudging Harvey forward. The horse responds eagerly, trotting out along the well-trodden path that meanders through the lush greenery surrounding Foxglove Downs. Familiar scenery allows your mind to drift, and you wonder what Marcus is thinking about. The beat of hooves on the ground helps you focus back on the present–you can feel Marcus studying you, an air of tension straining between you.

“I’ll never get sick of this ride,” you say, glancing sideways at Marcus, hoping to catch any sign of the thoughts that are hidden behind his stoic facade. His eyes remain ahead, scanning the horizon as if he’s searching for something just beyond reach.

He doesn’t respond. You feel a pang of disappointment.

“Harvey loves this trail,” you continue. “Or maybe he knows that whenever we get to the lake, he always gets a treat.” You chuckle lightly, trying to lighten Marcus’s mood.

His lips twitch, a quick flick of amusement crossing his features before vanishing just as quickly.

“So, Daisy’s looking a lot better already.”

“She is,” he replies tersely.

You bite your lip, suppressing a sigh, taking the hint that he doesn’t want to talk just yet.

As you reach the edge of the lake, you pull Harvey to a stop and look at Marcus, sitting tall on Barley.

“Beautiful day,” you remark, attempting to break through the silence as you dismount Harvey and tie him to a nearby tree.

“Yeah,” he replies, his gaze still fixed on the shimmering lake. “It really is.”

Uncertainty charges between you as you pull a small apple out from your saddle bag for Harvey. You offer it to him while keeping an eye on Marcus as he dismounts and finally turns to meet your gaze.

“What did you want to talk about?” you ask, your voice steady despite the butterflies flitting around in your stomach.

His shoulders deflate with a deep sigh as he ties Barley to a nearby tree. His usually composed demeanor seems to waver just a bit.

“Sunny,” he begins, but then stops himself.

You lean against a large oak tree, crossing your arms as you look at him. “Come on, Marcus. Can you just tell me what’s on your mind?” you tease, trying to lift the mood.

He gathers himself, his brow furrowing as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his thumb nervously tapping against his forefinger as if trying to find the right words. “I’ve been thinking about…”

“About what?” you ask, trying to coax him and get rid of the confusion surrounding the two of you.

“Lucius.”

Your eyes widen at his name, your breath caught in your throat. Marcus’s eyes flash darker when he notices your response.

“Lucius?” you echo, unable to keep the surprise from your voice. “What about him?”

He takes a step towards you, his voice careful and questioning. "Tell me… how serious is he about you?"

You feel the heat rush to your cheeks, a mixture of shock and annoyance brewing inside you. “S-serious? Is that what you think?” Your tone stays light, but there’s a hint of defensiveness underlying your words.

Marcus takes a step closer, his brown eyes fixed on you, his jaw tense.

“Come on, Sunny, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s not just business for him.”

You avert your eyes, suddenly finding the leaves of the oak tree far more interesting than the intensity of his stare. “He’s… charming. He flirts. It doesn’t mean he’s serious.”

A thick silence fills the space between you.  Tension emanates from Marcus as he closes the distance, trapping you against the tree with his body. Your arms instinctively fall to your sides as he leans in, his chest pressing against yours.

“But you like him,” he states, a note of steel in his voice.

You don’t lie. His closeness pulls at something deep within you. “I… he’s fun,” you manage to say, your breath hitching as your heart races.

His hand tenderly brushes against your cheek, and his touch takes your breath away. “Did it feel good to have fun with him this weekend?” he asks, his voice dropping even lower. A shiver skims along your spine.

“Fun?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

His breath mingles with yours as he hovers just a heartbeat away. “You looked really good in that dress, Sunny. Never seen you in something that short before.”

You swallow hard, trying to maintain your composure as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. “Marcus, I—”

“It felt good, didn’t it? To have someone like him give you attention?” A flicker of vulnerability crosses his face before he masks it with anger. “Was it as fun for you as I’m sure it was for him?”

You stand wide-eyed and mouth agape, staring into his dark brown eyes. How dare he. The anger rages inside of you.

“Who the hell do you think I am, Marcus?” you ask, anger raising your voice.

His focus stays on you, unwavering, his expression a blend of frustration and longing. “I think you’re someone who deserves more than just a good fuck and a drive home in a designer car.”

You slap him across the face right then and there. “We didn’t fuck, you asshole.” Your voice is sharp and authoritative. “For the record, he was a perfect gentleman. He saved me from a shitty situation and lent me his bed, which I slept alone in.”

You slide under Marcus’s arm, quickly freeing Harvey and climbing on top of him. "And just so you know, I had a dream about you and I having fun at this lake while I was sleeping ALONE in his bed," you nearly shout.

With a swift kick of your heels, Harvey bolts past him, galloping towards the stables. You glance back briefly to see Marcus standing there, his tall frame silhouetted against the lake.

—-

After a restless night filled with thoughts that shift between deep brown and sparkling blue eyes, you dress in your most comfortable jeans and a loose-fitting shirt before heading down to the stables.

Your horses never leave you feeling trapped. They don’t critique your actions. They will always be by your side.

You lose yourself in the simple jobs, caring for them, grateful for their familiarity and companionship. You feel a sense of peace as you finish your morning tasks in the stables.

As you enter your office, you spot a vase brimming with pink foxgloves on your desk. You reach for the card and read the message. "Please forgive me" is written in angular writing above Marcus’s signature. With a sigh, you toss the card back onto the desk and rub your eyes with your palms, trying to relieve some stress.

This is why you try to keep your distance. This is why you never intended to entangle yourself in the rivalry between Marcus and Lucius. This is why you have always tried to resist both men.

It’s been three hours of trying to focus on work. Your vision blurs and your head pounds as you struggle to make sense of the words on your computer screen. Your heart aches just as much, if not more. You can’t seem to concentrate on anything except the urge to occasionally check out the window to see if Marcus or Lucius are practicing on the grounds.

You grumble to yourself as you get up, throw on your jacket, and head to the stables. Today is not an in-the-office day.

—-

The moment you step into the stables, your worries quiet down. Your boots echo across the cobblestones as you approach the stall where the new stallion is housed. As you get closer, you spot Lucius leaning against the wooden railing, softly talking to the stallion, his voice soothing as he moves steadily closer to the horse.

“Hey there, boy,” he says, extending his hand to pet the stallion’s neck. The horse leans into him, its large dark eyes reflecting trust. You’re captivated by Lucius’s gentleness and patience, unable to look away as you approach.

“Lucius,” you call gently. He looks towards you, a smile full of charm breaking across his face when he spots you.

“I was just meeting the new addition.”

You move closer to him, leaning against the railing beside him, offering your hand for the horse to nuzzle. “His name is Maximus.”

“I think he likes me.”

The gentle smile of joy he gives you fills your heart with a certain feeling–but it’s not the same weighty feeling you get when you’re with Marcus. No, this is a lighter, more hopeful sensation that beats within you.

“Want to take him out for a ride? I’ve been breaking him, and he’s responding great. I’ll take him there, you take him back. Maybe you can grab Edgar? He’s about the only horse Maximus can stand. ”

Lucius raises an eyebrow, a playful glint lighting his blue eyes. “I’d love nothing more.”

“Perfect,” you say with a nod, heading towards the tack room.

Lucius follows you in, reaching for his boots and Edgar’s saddle.

“You want to help me with Maximus first?” you ask as you grab the stallion’s saddle.

“Of course.”

Maximus stands in his stall, watching as you both approach with a saddle and bridle.

Lucius gently places the saddle onto his back while he whispers sweetly to him. His hands work skillfully, knowing exactly how to read the stallion and take care of him. It’s like he’s known Maximus for years.

You pick up Edgar’s saddle and head to his stall, allowing Lucius to finish up Maximus.

You struggle with one of the straps on Edgar’s saddle, softly swearing to yourself as you hear Lucius’s boot steps approach. 

“That one is a pain,” Lucius says, leaning in. “Here, let me show you how to do it.”

You try to steady your breathing as he guides your hands through the motions, his fingers gently brushing against yours as he adjusts the straps.

“You know, if you keep this up, I might have to hire you as my official saddle strap consultant,” you tease.

Lucius chuckles softly as he takes a step back, allowing you to secure the last strap on Edgar’s saddle yourself.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” he praises, giving you a warm smile that sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Once both horses are saddled and ready, you lead Maximus out of his stall while Lucius brings Edgar up alongside you.

The afternoon sun warms your skin as you guide Maximus along the cobblestone path that leads toward the back gate. You still can’t help but look around the grounds, secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of Marcus.

Lucius mounts Edgar, and you swing yourself onto Maximus, the stallion shifting beneath you, eager for a run.

“Race you to the lake?” Lucius challenges as the two of you make your way out onto the trail behind the grounds.

“Yeah?” your eyebrow raises as a smile lights your face. “I don’t think I’ve raced in years.”

“Maximus looks like he’s ready, but Edgar’s fast. Loser has to jump in the lake?”

You laugh, your head tilting back and your head shaking. “Now? Jump in the lake now?”

“You heard me,” his eyes are alight with joy, making your smile stay on your face.

“Are we twelve?”

“Fine, if you win, you can push me in… and If I win, you have to… kiss me,” he offers.

“So, we’re twelve,” you respond, rolling your eyes.

“So… deal?”

“Deal,” you say, your cheeks hurting from smiling.

“Count it down then, Sunny.”

“3… 2… 1!” you shout, kicking Maximus into a gallop. The world you know so well blurs into a streak of greens as Maximus surges forward. The wind whips against your body as the rhythmic thud of hooves against the trail echoes through the air.

You glance back over your shoulder and catch a glimpse of Lucius wearing a smile as he commands Edgar confidently.

You can feel Maximus’s excitement beneath you, feeling his happy spirit as he races ahead.

Edgar gains, matching Maximus’s stride. You look over at Lucius, his expression fierce yet playful. He meets your focus and sends you a wink as he shifts forward, pushing Edgar to go faster.

You also lean forward, urging Maximus to give it his all. “Come on, boy!” you whisper fiercely. Maximus pulls ahead just a little more, the lake glimmering in the distance as it gets closer and closer.

“Come on, Edgar!” Lucius calls out, but his voice is fading as you gain ground ahead of him and the trees thin out the closer you get to the water.

“Almost there!” you shout over your shoulder, laughter spilling from your lips as you sense Lucius straining behind you. “You better catch up!”

Soon, the lake is fully revealed to you, the water’s edge just within reach as Maximus gallops towards it, Lucius and Edgar much farther behind now. You and the young stallion easily win the race as you reach the water’s edge.

You pull Maximus to a halt at the edge of the shimmering lake, the stallion snorting and stamping his hooves in triumph as if he understands the victory you’ve just claimed.

“I win!” you shout, unable to contain your excitement. You slide off Maximus, your heart still racing from the ride and the sight of Lucius approaching. His body is framed against the bright blue sky that matches the color of his eyes. He dismounts Edgar and jogs over, his breath coming in quick bursts, yet a broad grin remains plastered across his face.

“You got me this time,” he concedes.

“Just this time?” you tease.

“I guess next time, I’ll ride harder. But for now…” he pauses, glancing at the lake, then back at you. “A deal’s a deal.”

He strides towards the dock, a small wooden structure stretching out into the lake. Its weathered planks creak softly beneath his weight, the water rippling in the warm breeze as Lucius reaches the edge of it.

“Wait! You don’t have to—” You start to protest, but it’s too late.

Lucius leaps off the dock, and time seems to slow as he jumps into the air. His body gracefully twists before hitting the water with a large splash.

Your laughter echoes across the lake as he emerges from the water, his white shirt now drenched. You can’t stop looking at him and how the now-transparent fabric clings to his muscles.

His blue eyes lock on to yours, a smoldering look sent your way. You feel like you’re in trouble, like he’s almost angry with you. That is, until a broad smile breaks across his face and he runs toward you.

Before you can react, Lucius tackles you to the grass, his wet body crashing down over yours. You gasp as the coolness of his skin meets yours, the weight of him pressing you into the earth beneath. Laughter escapes your lips as he grins down at you, water dripping from tendrils of his brown hair and his strong nose.

“Now who's winning?” he teases, his breath warm against your face.

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” you reply as you squirm beneath him, trying to find a comfortable position without pushing him off. The way he looks at you–half-smirking with his bright eyes shining–makes it hard to focus on anything else.

“Oh, definitely,” he replies, leaning in closer.

Your heart pounds, no longer from the race, but from Lucius. He hovers above you, and it’s just you and him. The imposing oak tree that Marcus pushed you up against is only a few feet away, but it disappears from your periphery when Lucius’s gaze drops to your mouth.

“Sunny…” his voice changes, becoming lower and more serious.

You swallow hard, caught in the pull of him. “What are you—”

But before you can finish your thought, he closes the small space between you, pressing his lips against yours in a gentle yet searing kiss. You feel your heart beat faster as you respond instinctively, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss. His hands cradle your face as you let out a soft sigh, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth.

But just as quickly as it begins, reality crashes into you like a splash of cold water.

You pull back abruptly and breathlessly. “Lucius,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper as you grapple with the sudden rush of emotions swirling within you. “I shouldn’t have let you kiss me.”

He lifts himself off you, his brow furrowed slightly in confusion, but the playful sparkle in his eyes remains. You sit up carefully, brushing blades of grass from your hair while trying to regain your composure.

“I mean…” you stammer, searching for the right words amidst the haze of what just happened. “This is—it’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” he repeats, tilting his head slightly in confusion. He leans back on his hands, water still glistening on his skin under the afternoon sun. The way he looks at you—both amused and intrigued—makes it hard to maintain any semblance of seriousness.

“Yes! The whole business of it all,” you say, waving an arm towards the stables in the distance. “We both know how small this world is.”

You don’t mention to him that it’s because the lips you truly desire belong to his biggest rival.

Lucius chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Sunny, I’m fine with calling this whole thing a… business meeting.” He raises an eyebrow. “One kiss isn’t going to ruin your carefully constructed empire.”

You feel your cheeks warm at his teasing. You take a deep breath, searching for the right words. “You know this whole world is riddled with… rivalries. If word gets out… well, it will complicate things.”

“Sunny,” he says, his voice growing more earnest. “I’m not interested in gossip or rivalries. I’m interested in you.”

You glance away, taking a moment to collect yourself. He looks at you like he sees right through you.

“But what about Marcus?” you ask finally.

Lucius lets out a sigh and runs a hand through his damp hair, sending droplets flying in every direction. “What about him? Why does Marcus matter?”

“Lucius, I like you, but I just… I–”

“Sunny, look at me,” he softly commands.

You obey, your eyes meeting his. His face is understanding, a gentle smile lifting his lips that you can still feel against yours.

“I understand,” he says gently. “You don’t have to go on. Just know, I’m here for you, in whatever way you’ll have me.”

Some of the weight sitting atop your shoulders—and your heart—lifts. “I’d like to have you as I’ve had you–as a friend,” you offer. 

“Of course,” he grins, his handsome face and sweet voice reassuring.

You shift closer to him, resting your head against his still-damp shirt as you sit in companionable silence, watching the sun begin to set.

—-

“So, you want to ride Maximus back to the stables?” you ask as you and Lucius walk over to the horses. “I’d love to see how he runs for you.”

“I’d love nothing more,” he replies.

“Just remember,” you say as Lucius moves to mount the stallion, “he can be a bit stubborn. Handle him firmly—but with care.”

Lucius laughs, swinging himself up onto Maximus. “No wonder he and I get along.”

You mount Edgar and give him a gentle nudge with your heels as Lucius maneuvers Maximus to trot ahead of you.

You trail behind, admiring as you observe how Lucius interacts with the horse.

“Keep your heels down!” you call out teasingly.

“Yeah, yeah! Is that your only complaint on my form?” he asks over his shoulder. “I’m a champion, Sunny. I don’t need your opinion. I pay many people to yell at me about my form!”

You shake your head and laugh. There’s something so uncomplicated about this moment—the laughter, the beautiful sunset, the understanding Lucius has shown your heart.

As the back gate comes into view, a bit of sadness settles in you now that your impromptu ride with Lucius is over.

The last time you approached this gate from the lake, Marcus had made you feel so small that you could almost still feel the tears stinging in your eyes.

As you dismount from Edgar and guide him through the gate, Lucius follows with Maximus, the two of you leading the horses to their stalls and bringing their saddles to the tack room.

“Thanks for letting me ride Maximus,” Lucius says, putting the stallion’s saddle away.

“You commanded him perfectly,” you compliment as you pick up a brush to groom Maximus’s coat.

“Perfectly, huh? You know, after one ride, I’m ready to purchase.”

“He’s not cheap–champion bloodline and all,” you say, heading back to Maximus’s stall.

“I’m sure I could afford him. Not every day you find a horse that truly connects with you.”

You nod in agreement—until the memory of how Marcus also commanded Maximus during the stallion’s arrival overtakes your brain. 

Lucius watches as you enter Maximus’s stall and begin to brush the stallion’s glossy black coat.

“I should probably get going,” he says reluctantly, checking his watch. “I have a planning meeting about Rome early tomorrow morning, and then I’m training all day. Thank you for today. I needed it.”

“I needed it too,” you reply softly, walking closer to the stall gate.

“Maybe I’ll see you around tomorrow?” he asks hopefully as he moves to stand in front of the gate and reaches out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.

“Definitely,” you smile. “Come see me in my office. I have your jacket.”

“Keep it. Like I said,” he says, his eyes looking you up and down. Even in your baggiest pair of jeans and loosest fitting shirt, he still makes you feel like the most attractive woman on earth. “You look much better in it.”

He turns to leave, and you watch him go with a slight pang in your chest before you turn back to the soothing work of caring for your horses.

—-

Thank you for reading! Tagging those who asked and some friends! Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

@ohheypedrito, @schnarfer, @magpiepills, @sawymredfox, @devineconjuring

@mothandpidgeon, @hellfire-state-of-mind, @darkheartgatita, @umnitsa, @christinamadsen

@pedrit0-pascalit0, @ace-turned-confused, @itwasntimethatdidit40, @lotusbxtch, @almostfoxglove

@lady--lynn, @chrissy-forfucksakes-wakeup, @copperhalfcent, @ferns-fics, @thesoftdumbass

[justreadingthings]

BLESS YOU! 🙂‍↕️ yep this will do

Line of Sight

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: You're almost certain that Jake Seresin could care less about you, that is, until you're in a tight spot and the one guy you assume will hang you out to dry, instead comes to your rescue.

Warnings: language, creepy club dudes, hangman being a little cold but actually he's just shyyyyyy

Notes: this is for @ussgallifrey who let me bang on about the feelings this man has given me <3 honestly this might turn into a mini-series because i havent even begun to resolve all my emotions about this whole vibe yet

Series Masterlist

“Wait, is that Rooster?” you frown, trying to duck your head to see around the crowd of people at the club bar, your straw falling away from your lips as you do. “And Payback, and–” you cut yourself off, now certain of who and what you were seeing, and turn to look accusingly at your companions. Next to you, Phoenix follows your line of sight, but shrugs, seemingly unbothered about the impromptu appearance of the rest of Dagger Squad. Across from you, Halo winces guiltily, and lowers her brightly coloured cocktail away from her face.

“I may have mentioned our little soiree, and extended the invitation…” she admits, before hurriedly placing down her drink altogether and lifting her hands in a surrendering motion. “Look, in my defence, we’re all friends, and whatever you think about Hangman–”

“–It’s not what I think, Cal! It’s him who clearly doesn’t think much about me!” you stress, a little frustrated that your carefree girls night was now going to end up like all the other weekend nights you’ve had since befriending Dagger.

You loved Dagger, you really really did. They had welcomed you unofficially into the squad with open arms after Phoenix and Bob had adopted you one night at the Hard Deck. You’d been stood up, then dumped unceremoniously, and after crying off all your makeup in the bathroom, you’d been comforted by Nat, who had then introduced you to all her friends, all of whom seemed to dedicate the rest of their night to cheering you up. 

It was funny now to think that that was how this all started, but soon enough you were close with all of them. Well, almost all of them.

Hangman had been nice enough that first night, but after that it seemed as though he could care less about your presence at all. He wasn’t ever actively rude or mean to you, not at all, instead it was like you were just perpetually a stranger. Him snarking at you would be a step up, in your opinion. At least then you’d feel like he saw you as a friend, but as it stands now, his tight smiles and quiet chortles felt like a slap in the face compared to the mega-watt grins and regular peacockish behaviour he’d display with his other friends.

You hate yourself a little that it affects you so much. You know it shouldn’t, but you can’t help it. You liked Hangman. Although a little prideful and pricklish, you could see yourself getting along with him quite well, could exchange banter with him nicely, if he’d ever actually give you a chance. It certainly didn’t help that you weren’t immune to the way he looked, perfect in every single sense, smoulderingly hot even when he wasn’t trying. He was exactly your type, right down to a T, including, you suppose, the fact that he didn’t want you at all.

It had been bothering you more and more recently, and where once you would just shrug him off, now you realise, you’ve been actively avoiding hanging out with your friends, just to sidestep the kick in the guts that came every time he fixed you with a level, seemingly emotionless pity-smile. This week would mark one year since the night you’d been dumped and subsequently picked up again, and if you’d thought about it for longer than five seconds, you’d have agreed with Halo that you should have been celebrating with all your friends.

Phoenix easily waves down the boys, and soon enough your tall standing table is filled out with the rest of the team, and you let yourself relax for a moment as you accept several hugs, the longest of which is with Javy, who shakes you a little as he does, before he reaches for your drink and finishes it off in one.

“Happy one year, bay-bay!” he announces cheekily in the face of your protest, and you playfully swat him away. Coyote relents, but leans back just enough, with his mouth open, and you roll your eyes, before plucking the maraschino cherry from your now empty glass and placing it between his teeth.

The display is enough to make you laugh genuinely, and you watch with a far more relaxed and happy grin as Javy pushes back from the table, pointing at you, Phoenix and Halo.

“Another?” he asks, quickly gathering everyone’s orders and announcing the first round was on him as he disappears toward the bar. Unfortunately, that is when you realise his empty spot at the table is stepped into by someone else, and despite yourself, you can’t help but look.

If you hadn't known that he’d only just arrived, you might have fooled yourself into thinking Hangman been here all along, with how natural he looks leaning with one arm against the table, his eyes scanning the club behind you over your head as you take him in.

You refrain from cursing at just how good he looks in civvies. It was rare you’d see him in anything aside from either his flight suit or his tan uniform, and you’re fairly certain the only other time you had was at one of Dagger’s many beach parties, where he’d been barely dressed at all. Now though, Hangman is filling out a pair of dark wash jeans and a silk jade-green button down like nobody's business, his hair for once not slicked back and styled for work, and he has what you can only assume must be several days worth of stubble.

He looks goddamn good, and you almost vibrate all the way across the room because of it.

Bright green eyes suddenly lock on to yours, and you most hope he calls you out for staring, teases you relentlessly, but after a moment, he simply nods at you, and turns inward to the table.

“You look great,” he says simply, and after letting out a quiet sigh, you choose not to let this ruin your night.

“Thanks, so do you,” you reply, maybe a little sadder sounding than you intended. Hangman glances back over at you and your heart skips just a little when he lifts his chin at you.

“Same dress you were wearing the night that asshole dumped you, right?” His voice holds slightly more humorous inflection than usual and you hate yourself a little bit more for living for the crumbs he gives you.

“Yeah. figured it was thematic or whatever. Look at me now, and all that,” you wave a hand, and really try hard not to sound so glum this time, but you’re not sure it works. Hangman cocks his head, and you swear you see a playful glint spark in his eyes just as he opens his mouth, but unfortunately you never get to hear what he has to say, because Javy chooses that moment to reappear, placing down an armful of drinks and beers right between you.

With the reappearance of his friend, Hangman seems to go back to ignoring you, and you go back to pretending that it doesn’t bother you.

—

Five minutes ago you had been dancing wildly and laughing with Rooster and Phoenix, three drinks down and getting your giggle on. Now though, you’d managed to lose both your friends in the crowd, which had been okay at first, you weren’t exactly a wallflower and didn’t mind getting your flirt on with a stranger or two, but now, you were wishing hard that at any moment either Rooster or Phoenix might show back up again and save you.

While you weren’t a wallflower, you also weren’t anywhere near as cock-sure as Halo or Phoenix, you weren’t the type of girl who felt comfortable stamping on a creep’s foot and telling him to fuck off and that you weren’t interested.

Which is exactly what you wanted to do right now.

You were trying to be polite still, for some reason, but the drinks in your system prevent you from really reacting as necessary, even as you attempt to move the hands of the guy you're dancing with back to your hips and away from your ass.

“Hey, look, I’m going to get a drink!” you yell over the music, trying to extract yourself from this guy, but just as your luck would have it, he nods happily and makes to move with you, his hands still trying to feel you up.

You move anyway, hoping that at least you might be able to lose him in the crowd, but your new shadow seems determined to stick with you. You really don’t know at this point how to shake him, and as a last resort, you desperately begin scanning the edges of the crowd for any of your friends, so you can try and make eyes for them to bail you out.

Strangely, all your friends seem to have disappeared from the table you’d left them at, even Rooster and Phoenix are nowhere in sight, but you do catch sight of something familiar toward the bar. For once you don’t dread the sight of Hangman and his expressionless gaze, and for once, you attempt to maintain eye contact with him as he glances almost dismissively over at you.

Maybe it’s the look on your face that causes him to doubletake back at you when he briefly looks away, but whatever it is, you’re glad for it, because the next thing you know, the blond is frowning at you, his eyes flickering between you and your unwanted companion. You watch as he straightens up from leaning against the bar, his face filled with the kind of determination that you had only seen on him during the more heated rounds of pool at the Hard Deck.

You could almost let out a cry of joy when he pushes away from the bar and begins beelining towards you, seemingly making sure that he doesn’t lose sight of you even despite the throng of people that he has to weave in and out of. When he’s only a few metres away, his expression shifts from almost angry, into an easy cocky smile that he’s never directed toward you before. It nearly throws you off step, but even if it had, it wouldn’t have been an issue. In a few short strides, Hangman is in front of you, his arm smoothly slung around your shoulder and he uses it to tug you a few steps into his side, and away from your prior dance partner.

“There you are,” he says sweetly, actually sounding glad to see you for once. In your sheer relief at his rescue, you let your hand fall to his chest, your fingertips gliding over the soft silk of his shirt, which doesn’t go unnoticed by him. You blink up, mouth open to utter a soft thank you, and get ready to excuse yourself from the other man’s company, but a tugging at your hand cuts you off.

“Uh, I thought we were getting a drink,” the other guy interrupts, looking accusingly between you and Hangman. The blond barely even looks at him, an insult you know well, before he’s focused back on you, and arm around your shoulder pulling you even closer into him, and forcing your dance partner to release you.

“I’ll take it from here,” Hangman says to him, though he’s gazing at you, doing a damn convincing job of seeming lovesick. “You thirsty, sweetheart?” he adds as he begins to turn you, lead you away from the scene, and you find yourself embarrassingly speechless, only able to nod at for once being on the receiving end of Hangman’s notorious charm.

“Whatever, just so you know man, she didn’t say she was taken,” you hear from behind you. 

“She shouldn’t have to.” Hangman doesn’t even stop moving as he turns his head to shoot back, though his voice is filled with more annoyance than you’ve ever heard from him before. You could almost trick yourself into thinking he was actually mad on your behalf.

“Fucking slut.” The words are just loud enough for the both of you to hear, and even though you tense up at the accusation, you expect the both of you to keep moving, at least until you’re away from this guy. That doesn’t happen though. Hangman does stop this time, though unlike before, you don’t see a trace of anger on his face. Instead, he takes a step back toward the other man, his arm dropping from your shoulders to wrap snugly around your waist. He smiles wide and full, completely infuriatingly, and you see him size up the creep, look him deliberately up and down before he tips his head and opens his mouth.

“And yet, she’s still not going to fuck you,” he stays smiling, wide and cheshire-like. You feel yourself drop into a pool of complete and utter enamour with him, as at last he pulls you away again, leaving your unwanted partner behind, mouthing dumbly at the killer of a takedown he’d just endured, now totally forgotten by the both of you.

You’re still recovering from the utter annihilation when you finally reach the bar, and at last Hangman lets his hold on you drop, and he comes to stand next to you at the bar. He’s still grinning, though it looks like it's to himself, but it widens ever so slightly when he glances down at you while motioning for the bartender. He orders himself another beer, and the same cocktail Javy had stolen from you earlier before you’re finally able to get your thoughts straight again.

“Thanks for that,” you say, nodding towards the dance floor. Hangman looks almost surprised for a few seconds before he shrugs and pays the waiting barman.

“S’nothing.” he waves you off, but fixes you again with a slight frown moments later. “Are you alright? You looked pretty upset when you were trying to shake him.”

You think this might be the most genuine emotion the man has ever shown you, and you’re too far gone to question why, for now you simply want to bask in it.

“I’m no good at telling guys to piss off. Mostly they get the hint, but sometimes… that’s why I always stick with Phoenix or Halo,” you explain a little bashfully. You know how confrontational Hangman can be, you’d seen it for yourself tonight, so you know he likely sees your lack of assertiveness as some kind of weakness. Maybe that was why he didn’t like you?

Hangman frowns again, deeply this time, and hands you your drink. For a while he doesn't say anything, but it makes you anxious the way he doesn’t stop staring at you even as he takes a good long drink of his beer. After a moment he relaxes somewhat and glances away. You’re hoping maybe he’ll drop it, or maybe some of your friends will come along and spare you whatever comes next, but he doesn’t, and they don’t.

Hangman points back toward the dance floor with his beer hand and fixes you with a hard, intent stare.

“You feel like that again, you come find me, alright? I’ll tell them where they can go,” the blond tells you firmly, making you blink and splutter, but he holds up his hand and waves you off before you can deny him.

“Halo doesn’t always come out with us, and Phoenix and Rooster are currently eating face, so,” he takes half a step toward you and leans lower into your space, almost making you stumble back. “Next time,” he slings his arm across your shoulder again and grins almost maniacally. “Let Hangman sort them out for you.”

For the first time you really feel like perhaps Hangman is warming up to you. No longer were you feeding off the crumbs of attention, now you see the man revel in your sputtering embarrassment, fully teasing you like you’d wish he would for the past year. You were in his sights now, and you feel your whole body trill with satisfaction.

[justreadingthings]

I’m giggling and kicking my feet at this whole story!!! I can’t wait for more grumpy and odd-job.

unsolved (iv)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, hauntings, a bit of the paranormal

A/N: i am surprised i posted today quite frankly. anyway, hope u like &lt;3

Previous part || Series masterlist

Bucky wakes up bright and early, eyes full of wonder on how he isn't dead yet, and already ready to go back to sleep before he steps foot out of bed.

Still, he puts on his big boy pants and only for a few minutes curses the fact that his phone has not ceased blowing up since the video released.

With a heart overflowing with misplaced hope that he will not run into anyone before noon time, he enters the shared kitchen.

It is regretted almost immediately.

Clint’s perched on the counter, knees tucked under him like the Spider-child Bucky sees hanging around the compound occasionally.

You stand across the kitchen, on a chair, one hand holding a bowl and another holding an egg. The egg hand is stretched back, like you’re ready to throw it.

He stares at the both of you, chest rising and falling steadily.

“Clint says he can catch an egg in his mouth without cracking it,” you inform him.

Bucky turns around and walks out.

“What about breakfast?” you call out behind him

“Just plug him into the wall and charge him for a while. He'll be grand.”

Without so much as turning around, Bucky flips Clint a middle finger.

A second later he hears something splatter against the wall and a “oh shit” follow immediately after.

By the time you slide into the seat beside him at the studio, he can smell the faint smell of egg permeating off your fingertips.

“Did you end up getting something to eat?” you query while the crew buzzes around you, working on your face.

Bucky gives you a curt nod, arms crossed over his chest.

“In case you were wondering–” he most definitely was not– “he can catch an egg with his mouth, but it cracked every single time.”

He did not want the image of Clint perched on the counter, egg yolk running down his stupid face, in his head.

Alas, you had made it your mission to ruin his mental peace for the day.

The camera man yells a countdown.

You spin in your chair with a devilish grin. Bucky sits unmoving, like the unhip, uncool man that he was.

He finds it hard to stop his eyes from rolling.

“Before we get into this week’s episode, I thought we owe it to the people to answer a few of their questions,” you pipe up, piquing his attention.

Bucky notices the camera crew looking at each other in brief surprise.

Good Lord, you were going to go off script.

“Now, Barnes, here are a few of the most asked questions we’ve been getting this last week,” you read out from your own notes. “Number 1, have you heard of the concept of sunscreen?”

Bucky stares at you.

“Number two, will you ever wear sunscreen?”

His eyebrows pull together.

“Number 3, when will you wear sunscreen?” you continue, only then pausing a moment to look at him for a response.

Admittedly, he isn't sure what to say.

“I'll see,” he says slowly.

“Awesome. You can’t hide behind regenerative healing forever. That pretty face needs some SPF,” you comment, before tossing the card onto the table. “Next question–”

“This is from Twitter user sk8rboy02, who has been tweeting at us all week a fuckin’ ton– like truly, an unhinged number of times.” You eye the camera suspiciously. “They ask, ‘Have you heard of REM-POD? If you haven’t, you should get one for the next hunt’.”

“What’s a REM-POD?” Bucky asks, voice low.

“It’s short for Radiating Electro-Magnetic Pod. It detects fluctuations in electromagnetic fields,” you read off the same card, like you were prepared. “It’s to see if ghosts are around by noting changes in the temperature.”

“What if the ghost is just room temperature?” Bucky interjects.

You glare at him, as if to send a warning not to get on his bullshit again, but he’s locked and loaded, baby!

“It produces its own electromagnetic field, so any kind of intrusion sets it off,” you continue, “so even if a room-temp ghost is hanging around, it’ll catch it.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, “and why would a ghost walk into the field?”

“Well-”

“What if it just stays on the other side of the room? Then what?”

“I’ll buy two. For each side of the room.”

“What if it’s a small ghost?”

“I’ll buy fifteen and keep it around the room like a minefield, what about that?” you challenge. “Your infant, lukewarm ghost has no chance when I surveillance state this bitch.”

He scoffs.

“Moving on,” you digress, ignoring him. “Back to the point of this episode.”

Bucky exhales heavily through his nose.

“It’s very fitting that you brought up small ghosts actually,” you tell him as you swap out your cards for the file given to you by the team. “Have you ever played with dolls?”

A crease forms between his brows unconsciously. “My sister had ‘em.”

“Becca?” you enquire.

He’s honestly a little surprised you remember.

“Yeah.” Bucky's voice comes back a bit distant.

He remembers the look on her face the day he found one, cleaned it up and handed it off to her. Blue pinafore, face split in a wide grin and brown, messy curls framing a thin face. It’s one of the few faint memories he has of her.

He forces himself to continue, “Didn’t play with them m’self, but they were around.”

“Great.” You grin wide. “Now’s your chance.”

“No,” Bucky replies immediately, but it’s too late.

You’ve already reached under the table, dragged out a moderately large rag doll and dropped it ungracefully on the table.

“Behold,” you announce, “haunted doll.”

Bucky stares at the raggedy thing. It stares back at him with one button eye and a shit eating grin.

He wants to… burn it.

“Where the fuck did you get this?”

“I stole it.” Your eyes shine.

“No, you didn’t.”

“You’re right, I got it off Craigslist,” you admit quickly, and only because Maya shook her head at you from behind the camera. An Avenger committing crime and admitting it on video did not have great optics.

“So it’s just an ugly doll,” Bucky comments.

“First of all, how dare you.” You spin it around to look at him. It does nothing to help your point. “Second of all, she’s haunted, so be nice.”

The fabric had gone brown and faded over the years. Insects had eaten away at the threads of hair, leaving the pigtails fairly uneven.

It was atrocious.

“So here’s the deal. The previous owner sent me a note along with her,” you explain, pulling out a sheet from the pile, with neat handwriting stretched along the page. “In the quiet village of Eldridge, a doll that has passed through the hands of countless individuals, each left with tales too eerie to dismiss as mere coincidence.”

Bucky shuts up, but there’s a strange sort of smugness shimmering under his face.

He drops the smile.

“Accounts of Amelie's haunting began when the toymaker noticed peculiar occurrences around his home. Objects would move on their own, whispers filled the air at night, and a cold presence would often linger beside him. Despite these, he never felt threatened, believing his daughter's spirit was simply residing within the doll.”

That was nice, he supposes.

“However, after his passing, Amelie found her way into the wider world. Those who possess her report disturbing phenomena. Most unnervingly, owners would wake in the dead of night to find Amelie's position changed, often facing them, as if watching over their sleep. Accounts of her levitating or giggling were frequent. Electronic devices malfunction inexplicably. Those who disrespect or attempt to rid themselves of Amelie experience heightened hauntings.”

You shoot him a pointed look. Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Many report even seeing a little girl in the room with them at night, who they believe to be Amelie's spirit. Despite the eerie occurrences that accompany her, many believe that she is simply forever wandering in search of the love and life she once knew,” you conclude, turning to him for a comment.

“What about her?” he asks. “Is that the end of the episode?”

You put your papers down and look at him. He can see excitement barely held together on your face.

“What?” he questions immediately.

“You’ve heard of those school assignments where they give you an egg to take care of for a week? Like a child?” you enquire. “So, I was thinki–”

Bucky recoils. “Absolutely the fuck not.”

“Sissy."

"What are you? Twelve?"

"Just keep her with you for a week,” you argue.

“You keep her. You’re the one who believes in this shit.”

“Which is why I’m biased,” you emphasize. “You’d be objective. It’s just a week.”

“I’m not taking that thing around with me.”

“She has a name. And fine, just leave her in your bedroom.”

“No.”

“Three nights,” you compromise. “You’re a light sleeper. If she giggled or burnt down the compound or some shit, I’d sleep right through it. You want that, Bucky? You want the doll to burn down the compound?”

Bucky nurses his forehead in his palm.

“Fine,” he mumbles, anything to get you to leave him alone.

“That took a lot less effort than I thought," you purse your bottom lip, impressed.

He narrows his eyes at you.

“Anyway, see you guys later. If Bucky dies, you’ll see it first on our Twitter.”

Night one.

There’s a godforsaken camera set up in his room.

Bucky is unfortunately forced to sleep with a shirt on.

The stupid doll sits on his cupboard, staring at him with its dumb smile. It gets uglier the more he looks at it.

He stares back for a while. Daring it to do something.

It does not.

After ten minutes of this nonsense, his head drops back down onto his pillow.

Light from the REM-POD paints the room in faint green from where it sits next to her, waiting to capture whatever it was supposed to.

His phone buzzes. It was unnatural. Not that someone was texting him that late, but that someone was texting him at all.

From: cohost (tgs) are u still alive

From: bucky i blocked you. how are you still texting me.

From: cohost (tgs) i worked in cyber security for a while lol

His nose twitches. He makes a mental note to ask Nat what exactly the fuck was up with your life.

From: cohost (tgs) did u die now

From: cohost (tgs) rip in peace

From: bucky fuck off

From: cohost (tgs) bitch

From: cohost (tgs) i will check back in 15 minutes

Bucky closes his eyes and lets his phone drop onto his chest.

There’s faint buzzing in the walls from FRIDAY’s circuits.

The night is warm, and he’d open the window but he’s not sure if the ugly doll would be able to withstand the wind, or whether that would be the last straw for her decomposing self.

He turns onto his side, staring at her from the corner of his eye.

She still does not blink. Nor does Bucky.

A series of notifications start send his phone going haywire.

His face screws together tightly as he unlocks it quickly, only to see which app it was coming from.

He throws his phone across the bed and shoves his head under a pillow, mumbling profanities.

The night goes on undisturbed.

You accost him at breakfast.

It is too damn early to have a camera shoved in his face, especially when his eyes were still groggy and his filter was dangerously off.

Bucky picks up his cereal and leaves the kitchen. He will eat on the roof.

Night two.

Bucky sets the camera up again, squinting at it to make sure it was still working before turning off his room light and settling back into bed.

From: cohost (tgs) maybe if u smiled at her she’d hate u less

From: cohost (tgs) have u considered taking a shower

Bucky turns his phone on silent, and switches it right off just to really make sure.

He stares at his wall, still bare as the day he moved in.

He’s never really thought to fill it before. Having the doll on his dresser only makes him acutely aware of how boring his room really is, considering that was the most interesting thing there.

Maybe he’d consider putting up a photo. There’s a photo of Sam, Steve and him out there somewhere in which he doesn’t look half bad. Not a complete resting bitch face. Partial.

The clock, the only other decoration in the room, tells him it’s past midnight. He had to be up in less than five hours.

As a last chance, he turns to look at the doll before he shuts shop for the night.

And it’s floating.

Above his dresser.

He blinks once, and then twice.

It continues to hover, creepy smile pointed right towards him.

He sits up slightly, leaning on his elbows.

Bucky stares at the doll floating in his room.

“Okay,” he says.

Because what the fuck else is he supposed to do?

Throw a pillow at it? A army knife? At the doll that was probably pissed at him already and was flying in his fucking room?

The thing continues to float ominously.

“Fuck off,” he cribs, perhaps a little too annoyed, because it rises higher into the air.

The stupid REM-POD stays quiet and Bucky wonders for a brief second, as if there was not a haunted doll levitating in front of his very eyes, if he was supposed to charge it or something.

His attention switches back to the thing staring at him from near the ceiling.

Bucky stares right back, not even entirely sure he’s awake right now.

Right.

He accepts rather quickly that it was time.

He had finally gone insane. Lost his marbles. Entirely amiss in the noggin.

Then he hears it.

Unmistakably.

A giggle.

He sits up straight.

A series of footsteps so light, that if he wasn't as hyperaware as he was at that moment, he wouldn't have heard it.

It clicks a second later.

“Are you outside my fucking door?” he hisses, sitting upright.

The laugh gets louder and the stupid doll rises higher until it bumps into the ceiling and falters.

He rolls his eyes so hard it aches.

“Are you fuckin' serious right now?” he barks. “What is wrong with you?”

Bucky launches a pillow at his door and the doll drops to the ground.

“Fuckin'–” he mutters, shoving his head under a pillow and drowning out the remainder of your laughter.

Ridiculous.

“Hey, Buck.” You chirp at him over your cup the next morning. “Interesting night?”

Bucky doesn’t even acknowledge your presence.

“Wanna see Clint use his mouth to try to catch a jar of–”

Bucky turns and exits swiftly.

He continues with night 3, because Bucky is not a coward.

He is a dumbass with little to none self-preservation extinct, but that’s a conversation for another day.

This time he was fucking ready.

He instructs FRIDAY to put the whole floor on lockdown. No one getting in, no one getting out.

The camera stays blinking in the corner.

The REM-POD has fresh batteries in it. One sits outside his door in case you manage to hack your way in somehow.

He was prepared.

Bucky settles into bed, pulls the cover over his head and decides that no matter what happens, he would not get up.

The clock ticks.

Bucky sits there in silence for God knows how long, waiting for sleep to blanket him.

Twenty minutes go past with shuteye no where in sight, and his mind once again drifts towards thinking about his room decoration.

Maybe a succulent.

Wanda kept a lot in her room, and they never seemed to die. He could use a few tips. Offer her something he carved from wood as a return favour.

Maybe he could make himself something. Head back to the woodworking shop. It’d been a while—

And exactly at the same time as the night before, there’s a giggle.

His eyes snap open, and he groans extraordinarily loud.

“I will shoot you,” he says loudly into the pillow. “I got a gun. I got two guns.”

The giggle gets louder, but it’s away from the door, on the opposite end of the room.

There is no fucking way you’ve climbed outside his window.

His jaw tightens and sits up straight, convinced that he will indeed push you off his balcony with no regrets.

“Two nights is too fuckin’ mu–” he begins, eyes darting to the right where the window is.

Something along the way catches his sight.

His eyebrows pull together. Head tilts to the side, while his breath all but stops.

There’s something faint in the corner of his room. He’s not even sure it’s really there– he can still see the fold in the wall through it, and the figure is so small.

The same size the day he last saw her.

Blue pinafore, brown curls messy around a wild face. Fingers wringing in front of her, and the same mischievous grin he’s come to realise is a sure-shot sign of knowing she’d gotten herself into trouble.

“Becca?” he calls out, quiet and unsure.

She opens her mouth to say something.

His heart twists painfully in his ribs.

A loud screech tears his attention away, and towards the REM-POD going fucking haywire.

And then with the swiftness with which it started, it goes silent again.

Bucky’s head snaps back towards her.

But there’s no one there.

And it seems like no one ever was.

He doesn’t dare to exhale.

The REM-POD stays quiet for the rest of the night.

And Bucky keeps watching the corner of the room.

“Sorry,” he tells you the next morning, hoarse. “Forgot to turn the camera on last night.”

Your head cocks to the side.

There is a strain in his voice and he’s making too much eye contact. The irises were bloodshot.

“All right,” you tell him, a little confused. “No issues. We’ll work with what we got.”

He lets out a small exhale, and turns on his heel to leave.

“Buck,” you call behind him. “Y’okay?”

He gives you a weak thumbs up.

Your brows pull together. “Get some sleep. You look exhausted.”

He nods.

He doubts he’ll be getting much sleep for a while.

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