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frost-queen · 1 day ago

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Romancing Mr. Bridgerton (Reader x Benedict Bridgerton)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @floatlosers, @alex–awesome–22 @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown, @wildiefleur , @meyocoko , @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedrava-bitch-187, @erikasurfer , @slythetic , @eliscannotdance, @p0nycurtis

Swallowing nervously, you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold this position. Having sit down for over an hour now. Feeling the sun bath on your face through the window. You needed to move, your body needed to change before you would actually turn into a statue. Taking a deep breath, you went for it. Turning your head towards the sun like a flower would do. Eyes closed to take in the sunlight for you could use all the sun’s blissful energy right now. – “Uh-uhm!” – you heard loud, making you turn your head. Benedict looking past his easel. Gesturing at you to take on your previous position. It made you sigh annoyingly loud to him.

“Are you nearly done?” – you asked with some irritation. Feeling your nose itch, you were even afraid to scratch it. To not ruin his sketch. Benedict came looking past his easel once more, holding his pencil between his fingers. – “You can’t hurry perfection. It takes a lot more time with you. I have to adjust so much to even make this sketch worthy of appeal.” – he replied with a teasing smile. – “Har har.” – you laughed out dryly. If you didn’t know him this well, you would’ve been insulted. Yet it was just his way of teasing. Throwing in sarcastic and laughing comments to make everything lightful.

Benedict focused back his sketch as you sighed again. – “I heard that.” – he spoke from behind his easel, not even bothered to look around. It made you cross your arms annoyed. Thinking half a second about it before setting back in to your position. Benedict appeared once more from the easel, making you throw him a sarcastic smile back. He smiled sarcastically back at you before gesturing at you to turn your head back right. So you did, watching him disappear behind paper once more.

Your gaze looked around the room to occupy yourself. Needing anything to fight this boredom. Gaze gliding to the side seeing one of his paintbrushes on a low cabinet. Pressing your lips together, you had an interesting idea. Remaining still as Benedict’s head popped up once more. Waiting for him to hide behind his paper once more to snatch the paintbrush. You held it underneath your nose, lips puckered up to keep it there. Now you only had to wait for him to look once more.

Benedict looked past his paper to you. Needing to do a double-check, eyelashes blinking rapidly with surprise. You could barely contain your laughter. Catching the paintbrush in your hands once you laughed loud. – “Was I supposed to find that amusing?” – he said making you roll your eyes at him. Having enough of modelling for him, you jumped off the stool. – “I…I wasn’t done yet.” – Benedict called out. You puffed his comment away, coming to take a look at his progress. Your eyes widening. Cheeks bloating up with anger. – “Benedict!” – you shouted loud slapping him hard against his arm.

“Au.” – he chuckled out. You snatched the paper from the easel to show it up more closely to his face.- “You have been sketching the fruit bowl beside me this entire time while I sat there still!” – you tried really hard not to freak out, wanting to scold him for making you sit so boringly long with not even a single line of you drawn out. Benedict started to laugh as it angered you even more. Slapping your hand against his shoulder numerous times to punish him. Benedict unable to stop laughing.

“Y/n be gentle with him.” – Anthony said, speaking from the door opening. Having heard some commotion whilst passing, unable to resist looking. Looking upon the scenery of you beating his brother up. – “He!” – you called out pointing firm at Benedict to make your statement. Cheeks bloated from frustration. Sucking in the rest of your words for even though you knew Anthony for a long time now, you would not argue with him. You let go of Benedict so he could straighten his jacket. When Anthony walked out, you threw him an irritated glare. He could only smile annoyingly charming back at you. Having his head tilted, you so wanted to punch him again.

You helped Benedict clean up his sketching material. Collecting paintbrushes from all around. Benedict stood with his back to you, humming whilst putting his pencils back into the long wooden box. Biting your lip you weren’t sure how to say this. Express what you had decided a few days ago and had been wanting to tell him ever since. – “I’m going to do something different this season.” – you said out loud.

“Like what change your hair?” – he added a snort to mock you just that little extra. – “No.” – you replied firm, hands resting on your hips. Taking a deep breath, you let your hands fall to your side. – “I’m going to find myself a husband this season.” – you let out without warning. – “What?” – Benedict responded loud, nearly startling with how loud his voice was. – “It is my third season, Ben.” – you explained leaning back against his desk, looking painfully away.

“It’s my third season too.” – he answered with a shrug. – “But you’re a boy!” – you let out, gesturing at him. – “Man.” – he corrected you with a smug smile. – “Boy.” – you corrected, corrected him with a sarcastic smile. – “Clearly nothing is working for me as I don’t have any men falling over me.” – you told him. – “Would hurt their knees.” – he answered by bringing his knee up with a pained expression. Sighing loud, you sometimes found it irritating that when you tried to be serious, he was trying to make everything funny.

Feeling already too irritated that he wouldn’t listen properly to you, you had enough. Waving your hand to dismiss the conversation. Benedict removed himself from against his table, rushing over to you. Grabbing you by the wrist to stop you from charging out. – “Alright, alright I’m listening.” – he said tugging at you to stay put. You gave him a glare to not make fun anymore. He responded by throwing his hands up in defence. You exhaled deep making him look with actual concern at you. Throwing you those sweetfull eyes with slight furrowed brows. Trying to get a grip of your internal emotions.

“I am just hopeless.” – you let out, catching your face with your hands. – “Nah.” – he responded loud making you look between the gaps of your fingers. Hand slowly lowering at his dazzling smile. He came sliding his arm over you. – “You just need someone to teach you to flirt. To woo men.” – he responded giving your cheek a good poke. – “I don’t need to learn flirting!” – you exclaimed, feeling a bit offended. Benedict clicked his tongue. – “Your flirting is as stiff as a broomstick.” – he answered with a laugh.

You rolled your eyes at him, arms crossing. Hating to admit that he was spot on. Your flirting was bad. If it was any good, you would’ve found a match a few seasons ago. – “But do not worry my dear Y/n.” – he began pressing a hand on his chest. – “I will take the hard task on me to do so.” – smiling nobly back at you. You elbowed him back for that slight mockery that he always slipped in. He doubled over, rubbing his chest watching you take your leave.

The weather had settled with a soft warmness. Birds chirping happily up in the air. Waiting at the side of the gravely path. Waiting for perhaps the worst day of your life. – “Good day Y/n.” – Colin greeted you with a nod. You curtsied back at him, getting pulled back up by your arm by his brother Benedict. – “Alright, alright.” – he waved his brother away. Colin blinked confused, turning on his heel to keep up with his other siblings. You looked surprised down feeling him slap a fan against your chest to accept.

“What… what is this for?” – you asked confused examining the fan. – “To begin your first lesson.” – he replied with a teasing smile. Taking you by the arm to lead you in the opposite direction of his siblings. – “What… what do I have to do.” – you asked tapping the fan against your palm. – “You’re a girl. Flutter your eyelashes and wave your fan. Men are simple creatures. They would fall over a pleasing smile easily.” – he told you. – “Alright I’ll show you.” – you paused turning more towards him.

“No, you will show them.” – Benedict pointed at a few men standing underneath a tree. Chattering. – “Absolutely not.”- you let out already turning around to run away. Benedict knew what you were up to. Grabbing you by the shoulders. – “Come on.” – he forced out, pushing you forwards while you kept protesting. Leaning back against his hands so he couldn’t shove you so easily over to them. – “No, Ben please…” – you begged regretting ever asking. – “Don’t be a baby, you are the one that wanted a man.” – he breathed out, pushing you forwards to the men. You stumbled forwards as the men turned their heads curious at you.

“Gentlemen, I believe you are familiar with miss Y/l/n.” – he addressed. The men tipped their hats at you. You only gawked at them, feeling too shy to do anything. It took an elbow nudge from Benedict to get you started. – “What… what splendid weather… is it not.” – you uttered out, flashing your eyelashes perhaps a bit too much and fanning hard. – “Are… are you quite alright miss Y/l/n?” – one of the men asked. You nodded with a hard swallow. Benedict snatched the fan from you, having enough of your tornado wind coming at you.

Smiling sheepishly and awkwardly back at them. He grabbed you by the shoulder, leading you away from them. – “Sorry.” – you told him, feeling ashamed. Benedict pinched his nose bridge. – “No, no it’s alright.” – he sighed out. – “We’ll just go again.” – he added. – “What?!” – you called out in a panic. Panic that he would endure this agony on you more. – “Just…” – he started snatching the fan out of your hands. – “no more of this.” – you gasped loud when he threw the fan behind him into the lake. Watching it settle on the surface for a moment before the weight of the water drowned it.

He forced you towards two other gentlemen. Introducing you and encouraging you to flirt with them. – “I… I truly like… your… hat.” – you nearly shouted out the word ‘hat’ for you had no other clue than what to compliment him on. Benedict shook his head, rubbing his fingers over his forehead in disappointment. With another embarrassment, he led you away. Forcing you towards new gentlemen for a third time. This time you could barely utter a word. Feeling extremely shy with five men staring back at you.

Not able to contain the attention. Stuttering and stumbling over your words like a blathering buffoon. You were relieved that Benedict didn’t drag you for a fourth time to any gentlemen. The first day of lessons was already humiliating enough. So humiliating you immediately left for home. Not even taking the time to greet the other Bridgertons. Needing to get out of here as quickly as possible. To lay down on your bed and wallow in self-pity for how terribly right Benedict was. You were awful at flirting.

Loud muttering deafened out as your hearing couldn’t settle on one voice. Blinking almost tiredly as you stood by the buffet. A presence sliding next to you. – “Lesson number two.” – Benedict said, holding two fingers up. Sighing softly, you turned more to him, listening to what he had to say. – “You my terrible flirter.” – he booped your nose with a teasing smile. – “must talk to five men tonight.” – he finished. – “Five?” – you whined out at how difficult he was making it for you. – “Would you like to have seven then?” – he answered with a cheeky smile.

As a response you gave him a shove. – “Oh and I’ll be watching you Y/n.” – he called out as you had already turned half away. – “Like you have anything else to do.” – you muttered under your breath. Leaving to find five hopeless men to chat with. Feeling Benedict’s presence not far away as you ventured from room to room. Stalking you like a hawk. You found your first victim by the drinks. Approaching him fast.

“Good evening my lord.” – you called out, startling the poor man. Making him choke on his drink as the content splashed up in his face. Staring in shock back at him. He wiped his nose dry, coughing loud. – “I’m so sorry my lord.” – you apologized. Feeling too embarrassed to even continue the conversation. You turned on your heel, meeting briefly with Benedict’s confused gaze. Taking a run for it to venture into another room.

Hoping to get rid of the embarrassment you couldn’t seem to shake. You found another seemingly victim, approaching him with more ease. Laid-back to not give him the fright of his life. – “Good evening my lord.” – you started with a curtsy. The man bowed back at you. – “Lord Morrison, I’ve heard you like dogs is that true?” – you asked to stir up a conversation. The man’s expression turned blank. – “My dog recently died.” – he let you know. Lip quivering as he dropped into loud sobs. – “That… that is unfortunate…” – you answered with awkwardness as you had not expected such a reaction from him.

Foolishly you backed away. – “What happened, what did you say to make the poor man cry.” – Benedict spoke, falling in line with you. – “Apparently his dog died.” – you answered. Seeing how Benedict had to press his lips together to not laugh at that. To not laugh at how much of a fool you had made of yourself. – “Must I really continue this?” – you sighed out, not in the mood for it anymore. – “Yes, you must.” – he answered giving you a little shove to get you back on your path.

So you did trying to complete your task before the end of the night. Filling your evening with walking and mustering up the courage to speak to men. Speak with little effects as seemingly all that you said was not pleasing enough for men to make them fall over you. Utterly exhausted you let yourself drop in a chair. Having lost sight of Benedict. Feet hurting from wandering around for hours. If you could, you would flop your shoes off and rub your pained feet for all to see.

“You must be demanding.” – a man’s voice spoke, catching your sudden attention. Turning to look at the voice, you met up with a gentleman standing beside you. – “I beg your pardon?” – you blurted out, caught off guard. He chuckled deeply, hands shyly folded before him. – “I said you must be demanding.” – he repeated himself. Yet it only raised more questions with you to what he was referring to. He noticed the confusion on your face, gesturing at your feet.

“Your feet are in discomfort. It must be from dancing all night.” – he made himself clear. – “That is where you are wrong my lord.” – you replied with a smile. – “Is that so?” – he answered intrigued. You hummed loud, showing him your dance card. Dangling emptily from your wrist with a cord. – “Good gracious!” – he blurted out. – “These men must truly be blind then.” – he added. You fluttered confused with your eyelashes when he took your dance card in his hand. – “To not ask a fine lady as yourself for a dance.” – you watched as he wrote his name down.

You retrieved your hand, admiring the name on your dance card. The first ever name written down. – “If your feet allow you, I would very much like that dance.” – he spoke. You jumped up out of excitement. – “They allow it.” – answering with euphoria. The man laughed at your silliness. Taking your hand to lead you up to the dance floor. Coming to stand before you.

You greeted him before the music started. Violins and cello’s filling the room with their notes. Both of you stepped forwards, meeting there to step back. Stepping forwards once more to change positions, crossing with your backs at each other. Facing each other once more. Meeting again to come nearer with your side at his and back. He took your arms, letting you turn underneath them. When you weren’t facing him, you pressed your lips together to supress a wide smile. Filled with joy that a gentleman was dancing with you.

Benedict had been searching for you. For one moment, he had his attention drawn away. Only to find you nowhere near when he turned back. Now he roamed the halls wonderingly in search of you. Following the strokes of violins and cello’s. Entering one of the big halls. Finding his brother at the side-line. Gently pushing a man out of the way by his shoulder, he made his way over.

“Colin have you seen Y/n?” – he panted out. Colin pointed forwards, making his brother turn his head to look. Eyes widening on spotting you on the dance floor. With another man. Watching you waltz with someone. Turn and press your back against his chest. Compelled to stand at the side-line and watch. Watch one of his closest friends share a dance, with a smile on her face.

“Aren’t you happy.” – Colin said nudging his brother in the side. Benedict smiled forced back at him. Unsure what to feel, but happiness was not the feeling he would describe. Staring unsettling back. Overwhelmed by something he could not name. The only thing that seemed clear was that it disgusted him. That he felt the urge to pull you away. To yell at you to stop for whatever possessed you. Tensing his jaw ever so lightly he wasn’t sure he could supress his expressions. Having a sense of passing out, he took a stumbling step backwards.

“Are you quite alright brother?” – Colin questioned. Benedict swiped his hand across his forehead, feeling that it was sweaty. Not wanting to explain himself to his brother, he took his leave. Disappearing into the crowd in the hopes to drown out the events from just now. Finding his way to the outdoors, the wind gave him a cold shock. Bringing him back to reality. He grabbed on tight to the railing of the balcony. Laughing loud. Laughing at how silly he was being. Silly for actually feeling bothered by it.

Was it not his intention to help you. Was it not why he chose to do so. Laughing even more at himself for being so ridiculous. You were only Y/n. Just Y/n that he had known almost his entire life. So why did it bother him then? After the dance, you searched for Benedict to let him know the great news. To show him your dance card with the man’s name on it. To show him you weren’t a complete failure this season. Yet no matter how thoroughly you searched, you did not find him. You guessed that was the end of his lesson. Returning to your parents afterwards to leave for home.

You stretched yourself out, coming to lay down on the blanket. Staring up at the clear blue skies with a satisfying exhale. – “Lord Kingsley came to my house this morning. He brought flowers for my mama.” – you spoke turning your head to the side. Looking upon Benedict’s face as he laid beside you. He sighed deep, still looking up to the heavens. – “That is what a true gentleman does. Oh and he likes chocolate too, admires poets just like you.” – you nudged Benedict in the side with your elbow.

He barely moved, staring bothered in front of him. He sighed soft, turning his head to you. – “You have been annoyingly charmed by him.” – he let out with a sarcastic smile. It made you click your tongue. Benedict moved his finger up, pressing it against your cheek. Pushing against it, forcing you to tilt your face away from him. He was too bothered to even look upon you. Sighing loud, you were looking back at the clear skies. Curling up a smile. – “Stop it.” – Benedict spoke. – “With what?” – you answered. – “You are thinking of him, stop it.” – he made himself clearer.

You exhaled deep, coming to sit up straight. – “You are no fun.” – you told him. Benedict came up as well, mimicking your words with childish mockery. Leading to you to give him another shove and get up. Taking your leave from him as you didn’t need his mockery today. Benedict sighed disappointed with himself that he had chased you away. That was not his intention. He just couldn’t stop himself from vexing over Lord Kingsley whenever you spoke of him.

Benedict clasped his hands together to rub any dirt off. A shadow falling over him. Blocking out the sun on his back. With furrowed brows, he turned around to look. Only to find lord Kingsley to his annoyance. Benedict got up, collecting the blanket from the ground. – “What do you want?” – he called out bitsy. The lord cleared his throat nervously. – “You are friends with miss Y/n are you not.” – he asked. – “Yes.” – Benedict replied harsh. Ready to take his leave as he could not stand to be in this man’s presence any longer. Yet Lord Kingsley moved to block out his path.

“I… I was wondering if you could assist me in a matter.” – Lord Kingsley asked fumbling with his hands. – “What matter?” – Benedict let out, carrying the blanket under his armpit. – “I…I heard you are exceptionally good with words… I was wondering if you would perhaps guide me into writing a poem for miss Y/n.” – He offered. Practically begged for him to help. Benedict could only stare blankly at him. Needing to process his request till he fully understood it. An immediate response coming out.

“No!” – loud and clear. – “I…I beg your pardon?” – the lord stuttered out, caught back by his harsh response. – “No!”- Benedict repeated, bumping hard against his shoulder. Storming off before he would wrestle the man. His patience had taken a peak as he couldn’t take it anymore. He had one conclusion. He couldn’t stand Lord Kingsley and he couldn’t stand that he was with you. Dropping the blanket with his mother and siblings, he went to search for you. Search for you, for he wanted you to know the truth. Know the truth about Lord Kingsley.

He found you near the woods. Staring mindlessly at the ducks in the lake further away. – “Benedict?” – you called out when he grabbed you roughly by your arm. Pushing you, dragging you away from any meaningless eyes. Forcing you underneath a willow tree away from society’s prying eyes. – “What is going on with you!” – you shouted, forcing your arm free. Benedict was panting. Unable to keep his eyes away from you. – “That man is a fraud!” – he let out, pointing somewhere beside him. – “Wh… who is?” – unsure to who he was referring too.

“Lord Kingsley.” – he spitted out his name with disgust. His reaction made you scoff loud, turning away in utter disbelieve that he would react this childish. – “You simply cannot comprehend that I for once am wanted.” – you told him. Benedict grabbed you firmly by the arm, forcing you to look at him. – “Comprehend? Comprehend? He speaks of poetry yet cannot even fantom himself to utter a single word. To lay down his feelings with compelling words that flutter your heart.” – he exclaimed, eyes scanning yours desperately for understanding.

“Like you?” – you answered a bit rude. Benedict gave your arm another tug, not wanting you to look away. Forcing you to keep your gaze locked. Captured as there was no escape. His eyes staring longingly back at you. – “What is it truly to admire a woman!” – he called out. His words catching you by the throat, making you nearly jump out of your skin. – “To look at her and feel inspiration?” – he added in a more settling tone.

“To delight in her beauty… so much so… that all your defences crumble…” – his eyes venturing down at your lips. Settling there for a moment before he flashed them back up. – “that you would willingly take on any pain… any burden for you.” – he spoke taking a step closer to you. Touching your arm with his hand. – “To honour your being.” – he breathed out. – “With my deeds and words.” - raising his hand to let his knuckles brush against your cheek. A heavy breath released from your lips, feeling a tug in your chest. Having the need to swallow to dampen the thoughts flashing your mind.

“For that is what a true poet would say.” – he spoke letting his hand rest there. His gaze flashing down to your lips once more. – “For that is what I say to you.” – he corrected himself. Your gaze lowered on his lips as well. Feeling your heart beat loudly in your chest. Relieved that it could not fall out of your chest. – “Ben…” – you whispered out leaning unconsciously closer to him.

Yearning for his lips on yours. Nearly feeling his breath on yours. Benedict allowed his other hand to hold your cheek. Cherishing your face in his palms. – “For you are all my inspiration Y/n.” – he whispered out before closing his eyes. Decreasing the distance between you. Letting his lips find yours. Pressing them gently on yours. Allowing them to settle there for a moment. Retrieving them with a shuddering breath.

Then his lips crashed down on yours once more. Craving more of you than he could ever imagine. Lips kissing you deeper, more rougher as you followed his pace. Grabbing for his back to let your fingers draw deep over his back. Needing him close, closer than he already was. Senses taking over as you became fully blinded by your surroundings. Hand moving to his neck as he deepened the kiss. Panting loud between short releases.

Out of breath, you parted ways. Yet not too far as he allowed his forehead to rest against yours. Panting out a laugh. You smiled back at him, flushed to the bone. He touched your chin with a wide smile before giving you another short kiss. – “I want us to have forever.” – he said. – “Starting from right now.” – you nodded as he took a step back. Taking your hand to lead you out from under the willow tree. For you needn’t be concerned about the season now. For you had romanced yourself a Mr. Bridgerton.

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imtryingbuck · 1 day ago

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My world

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Rockstar!Bucky Barnes x plus size!fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky’s relationship with Y/n becomes public knowledge.

Word count: 1,371

Warnings: fluff. Bucky’s in love. slight angst (mean people commenting on Y/n’s weight.)

A/N: thank you so much for the request! I am so so so so sorry that this took forever for me to do. I hope you like it🤍

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“Just a few more questions and then I’ll let you go, your latest song, is there anyone in particular it’s about?” The interviewer smiled softly at the man whose rock band Avengers Assemble that had taken the world by storm, the leader singer Bucky, smiled shyly before moving his shoulder length hair out of his face.

“Y/n.”

“And who is that?”

“My world.” His eyes shot to the side where she was standing, a grin on his lips as her cheeks began to go red.

“A thousand of hearts have just broken all over the world.” The interviewer laughs, Bucky does too and shrugs. “How long have you two been dating?”

“Coming up to five years.”

“That’s sweet.”

Bucky gives the woman a warm smile and after saying their goodbyes and the woman thanking him for sitting down to talk, he rushes straight towards Y/n.

“Hello beautiful.”

“Hello, you did amazing.”

“You think?”

“I do.”

“Why thank you my love.” Releasing his arms from around her, he makes her giggle when he bows.

Bucky’s arm was around Y/n’s shoulder as she snuggled further into his warmth as the film continued to play, pressing a kiss to her head his phone lit up and began vibrating as notification after notification began to hide the photo of Y/n and their cat Alpine snuggled up on the very sofa he was currently sitting on.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m not… oh, that interview came out and fans are going crazy.”

The film was long forgotten about as Bucky and Y/n scrolled through social media giggling like schoolchildren at the posts and comments surrounding their relationship, with everyone wanting to know who she actually was - the second they figured out who she was her instagram account had hundreds of follower requests.

Then came the mean comments, ranging from accusing her of using Bucky for fame to making comments about her weight and appearance. The “fans” were shocked to find out that a man like Bucky was dating someone like her, they said that he should be ashamed and dating a model and not someone plus sized, before she could even let the nasty comments get to her she smiled at seeing people defending her and their relationship.

“Baby, are you alright? Please don’t listen to them, I don’t want anyone other than you.”

“I’m alright, I promise.”

“But you know that, right? That it’s only you that I want.”

“I know.” She beamed up at him.

Bucky came back from the store with a skip in his step as he proudly showed the cupcake mixer box to Y/n, and that’s how Steve found the couple, in the kitchen with Bucky sitting on the counter swinging his legs as he licked the whisk clean as Y/n put the tray in the oven.

“Buck… are you having fun?”

“We’re making cupcakes.” He said happily.

“I want one, also has Tony rang you?”

“Only one! And I don’t know, my phones in the living room, why what’s up?”

“We’ve been nominated for a Grammy.”

“Don’t joke.”

“I’m not.”

Bucky jumped down off the counter, picking Y/n up and spinning her around before wrapping his arms around Steve. “This is amazing!”

The night of the Grammys had Bucky pacing around the house with nerves as Y/n got dressed - he begged and pleaded with her to come with him as his date, cheering when she finally caved and said yes.

His pacing only stopping when their bedroom door came open, his jaw dropping as he laid his eyes on her. There weren't enough words in the world for him to describe her, nothing could ever truly do her justice and he had tried, way too many times, even going as far as making up words - much to her amusement.

“My love…”

“D-Do I look okay?”

“Okay? My love you are the most stunning thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing.” His heart tingles as she blushes at his words. “You’re a goddess and I am so lucky to call you mine.”

As her blush deepens she smiles shyly up at him and whispers. “Thank you. You look very handsome.”

“As always.” He laughs with a wink.

Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off of her as the camera flashes blinded the both of them, his hand never leaving her waist as they posed with the rest of the band. His hand clung to hers as they sat down, his leg bouncing up and down with nerves only stopping when she squeezed his hand.

“And the winner is… Avengers Assemble!”

Bucky looked straight at Y/n as to ask if he had heard right, her beaming, proud smile had him laughing before kissing her passionately.

The speech had the audience laughing and clapping, with Bucky ending it by holding up the award and looking straight at Y/n. “This one is for you, my love.”

They all agreed that they wouldn’t go to the after party that they had been invited to, instead choosing to go back to Y/n’s and Bucky’s to celebrate their win just on their own.

Grabbing her glass Y/n stood in front of the band, her family. “I am so proud of all of you, I knew you guys would win and if it was up to me you would have won every award.” They all laugh. “I’m being serious! But anyway, you all deserve it and I know there’s going to be so much more to come.”

After each of them hug and thank her for everything Bucky takes her hand and leads them outside.

“I love you.” He whispers as he rests his forehead against hers.

“I love you.”

His hands trail down her arms until they find hers. “You’re my world, my everything, my light and my love.” Getting down on one knee and pulling out a small box out of his pocket, he smiles up at her as her eyes widen. “Will you continue to make me the happiest man alive and marry me?”

“Yes! Yes I’ll marry you!”

As he slides the ring onto her finger the back garden erupted in cheers and applause as the band - their family - watched the whole thing, all gathering around them to offer their congratulations.

In every interview Bucky did he always mentioned Y/n, whether or not he was asked about her, from the moment their relationship become public knowledge he was finally allowed to post photos of her on his public account.

When he got asked about why he kept their relationship private he simply replied. “It wasn’t, my family and friends knew we were together.”

“Some people think that you were ashamed-“

“Ashamed? No.” Bucky cuts the interviewer off. “I simply chose to keep my relationship away from the world because it has nothing to do with anyone other than me and Y/n.”

“So why now? Why after five years?”

“For what? To make my relationship public?” The interviewer nods. “Because I can. Because I got fed up of people thinking I was dating Natasha who by the way is my best friend.”

“Does it not bother you that Y/n’s overweight?”

“Are you joking?“ He looks straight at Tony - the bands manager - and even his eyes were wide. “My fiancée is perfect in my eyes, and at the end of the day that’s all that matters. I’m done here.”

When that interview came out the bands fans were angry at the interviewer and praised Bucky for handling that question without getting angry - not like they could blame him. Obviously what they didn’t know is that Bucky was calling that interviewer all the names he could think of as the car took him back to the hotel where Y/n was waiting for him, the second she was in reach he burst out crying - he couldn’t understand why people couldn’t see her the way he did, he couldn’t understand why people had to be so nasty for no reason about a person they didn’t even know.

The band had just won their fifth Grammy, Bucky beaming proudly at Y/n as he held up the award. “This is for you, my beautiful wife, I love you.”

Tags: @imcinnamoons | @pigeonmama | @capsbestgirl77

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the-daydreaming-show · 2 days ago

Text

(1.) Threads of Time.

SUMMARY: Ever since you arrived in the Night Court, you've avoided awkward confrontation and the thought of going out of your way to talk to Feyre. You've barely looked at her in an attempt to avoid facing the very thing you came here for. But finally, one evening, after a flight over the mountains with Balerion, you come face to face with the past and present you've been avoiding.

After not seeing each other for over a decade, you and Feyre finally meet in the woods again, but nothing is the same, not even the two of you. You make an agreement to try to find a balance, and you fail miserably.

NOTE: (All together, we are going to ignore that this should have been published yesterday.) The plan is for there to be an episode every Thursday, until it is finished. So stay tuned for that.

We are skipping many dinners and political discussion meetings because I did not like them and in the end what you need to know about them is explained by the reader in her monologue.

As always, English is not my first language so sorry for spelling mistakes and mistakes of the type, any comment on it is welcome if it is respectful. I am always trying to get comfortable and improve my writing in this language.

I hope you like it, let me know in the comments your opinions. XOXO Ella

“The past is never dead. It's not even past.” — William Faulkner.

The night in Velaris was as beautiful as it had been said to be during the endless negotiations with the Night Court's emissary, Morrigan, and in the secret meetings of your council regarding this visit.

The balcony you had ended up on after insomnia woke you before the sun came up was the size of a ballroom, and you suspected that was what it was used for due to the beautiful marble that decorated the floor. It had a view of the entire city, spreading below you in all directions.

Since you had arrived three days ago, it was the first time you could stop and admire the view that the House of Wind offered you of the city over which it loomed. Between uncomfortable meals, less-than-secret conversations, and discussions about the court's functioning, you had not had time. And you thought it had been for the best.

Upon your arrival at the house, you had been greeted by the High Lady and High Lord, with their court, as well as Morrigan, who, as the one in charge of the negotiations, was in charge of the introductions. Feyre had been perfect—the perfect image of a ruler that is everything. But you had not seen her outside official meals and meetings. Your people, and you suspected that she stayed at the private residence by the river. It made sense, given the matter of the child. In the house with your court, there was Nesta with her husband, General Cassian, who owned the residence and had opened his home to you.

It did not escape your notice that the highest point in the city was ideal for you, because it did not allow you to move around too much without being noticed. It kept your dragons as far away from the city and its inhabitants as possible.

You'd seen more of Nesta than Feyre or her husband, Rhysand, which didn't bother you as much as Armin said it did; he must have given her the disrespect he claimed she represented in matters of politics. But Night Court politics were more lax than the mortal ones they were used to, so you told him to relax. Well, to do what Armin considered relaxing. You weren't going to ask for a miracle, either.

You found it amusing to see how the proud and seemingly shallow Nesta Archeron was married to and in love with a man like General Cassian. They were so opposite in the eyes of the world that it was fun to watch them interact. It even made you feel tender. Nesta had caught you staring a couple of times, and she had already told you several times to shut up, even when you hadn't said anything.

You had seen Elain the day you landed too; she had been fascinated by Dreamfyre, one of the dragons that had come to the Night Court with you, along with Caraxes and Balerion, your own mount.

You hadn’t looked at Feyre much. Or at least, you hadn’t looked at her normally—not thinking much about how the interactions would be normal. You didn’t want to make her uncomfortable either, and you knew there were things you couldn’t control if you looked at her. Like the way it made you gasp at how she seemed to glow in her place in the world. She looked so comfortable and right where she was, and it led you to believe that you no longer had a place in her life, which led you to believe that was selfish.

And her husband could reportedly read minds, so you'd rather not think about her, out of respect for him. You didn't look at him much at first either, but it seemed like you'd be spending some quality time with him during meetings he wasn’t going to.

The sun began to peek over the mountains as you finished your thoughts, and the lights in the city slowly faded as the city took in the morning light. You decided you needed to get out and quickly returned to your room in the house so you could change into your riding gear.

As you changed in your room, Balerion woke up in his sleeping spot in the mountains, which he had taken as his own for the first few days of your visit. You could feel the way he moved, the way his muscles stretched, and the way the earth shifted beneath his claws. Finally, the feeling of both of your bodies coordinating through the bond, until your breathing and the dragon's were coordinated as if they were one, washed over you. Filling you with a calm that nothing else in this life had ever given you. Your breath felt hot as you pulled the harnesses over your head to adjust them at your waist and hips, then hooked those to the harnesses on your thighs.

Balerion took flight in the mountains as you walked around the house to the highest point you could reach on foot and began to climb without any problem to the house's highest point. Balerion circled the house twice before he was close enough for you to jump into the void and land on his back, something you had done many times. You got hooked on the mix and took Balerion to fly over the city and then the sea for a good while. You enjoyed the feeling of flying together and allowing yourself to leave all worries on the ground for a while.

You wanted to fly back to the house for breakfast, but Balerion was feeling like heading out into the woods and mountains, so you let him wander around the outskirts of Velaris with you on his back as well.

“Haven’t you played enough these days?” you asked the beast beneath you as he circled the sky in slow loops, indicating that he wanted you down there. He had probably smelled some prey in the mountains and couldn’t wait to drop you off at the House of Wind. A growl, the equivalent of an eye-roll to humans, sounded through the bond. “If I asked so nicely,” you scoffed, letting go of the reins of your mount and unhooking your harness from your saddle. You leaped off and landed in the woods surrounding the city, swooping down to the meadows that surrounded it. It was the first time Balerion—or any of your dragons—had seen mountains and forests of that immensity.

The three eldest, Vhagar, Balerion, and Meraxes, had been born in the lava of the volcanic islands. While these had a jungle surrounding the massive, steamy mountains, it was nowhere near a sight like Prythian and the Night Court. The rest of your dragons had already hatched by the time you reached the bay, so they knew only the burning desert and colorful cities. Dreamfyre, the youngest of the dragons you brought, was fascinated by the flowers and meadows surrounding the city. Balerion was obsessed with the mountains and the fighters he could take there. And Caraxes, the middle one, had a fascination with flying over the sea and perching on the rocky outcrops of the hillsides a few miles from the city. He wouldn’t go into the sea, but he fought the waves that rushed toward him when the tide came in.

Balerion's roar as he charged forward and the ground shaking at his energetic landing further up the mountain only made you laugh as you descended the mountain and admired the surrounding forest. You made it down a couple of meters when you heard a pair of footsteps in the forest and stopped dead in your tracks.

You had known these footsteps for years.

You walked through the forest, following the small, noisy footsteps. They were where you had been told they would be, and you approached, making noise so she would notice you, but you soon realized that the girl's awareness was not yet trained enough. You should have made more noise, but now it didn't matter. You would scare her one way or another because, standing a few meters behind her, young Feyre hadn't noticed you were there.

Something twisted deep inside you. If you were a man, and you had bad intentions, she wouldn't have noticed until it was too late. The hunters in the area were mostly good husbands and sons, good hunting partners to go out with from time to time, too.

But you can never know someone well enough, especially a man.

You saw a branch on the snowy ground and stepped on it, making a noise that would cause the girl to notice, with the file raised. At least she had good reflexes, you thought.

“Hey,” you greeted her with a smile, the same one you used to give Rue when you wanted to encourage her to do something new. “You are being too loud. You aren't going to find anything being so noisy.”

You approached the area where the footsteps were sounding, and with the silence that had characterized years of habit, you silently came to stand behind the footsteps that advanced with a predatory rhythm on the ground. They stopped dead a few seconds before she entered your vision.

The image was strangely familiar.

There stood Feyre, bow in hand and arrow on the string. She was watching a fully grown deer eating the grass a few feet away, visible between the trees. But she wasn't ready for the shot. You didn't understand why she wouldn't get a better angle to kill such a large animal. Her feet weren’t positioned for the shot or the possible chase. The string wasn’t stretched, nor was the bow raised to aim. If she moved too much now, she could make noise on the ground, and she’d miss the shot.

She wasn’t really looking to hunt that animal, you realized.

You could have turned around and left the place as quietly as you came. Feyre wouldn’t notice, as she hadn’t noticed you were so close, letting the opportunity slip away and going back to ignoring the moment until there was no other option. But you were here just for this, so you let habit take over.

“Are you planning on waiting for the deer to walk to the arrow on its own, Fey?” you asked, loud enough to send the deer running.

If she wasn’t ready to shoot when you found her, she was now. Feyre had turned fully and nearly fired her arrow at the sound of your voice, but you didn’t even blink and just let your gazes meet. With the hearing of a High Fae, Feyre must have grown unaccustomed to being surprised.

“Fey,” you called, and the rabbits that were just a few feet away from Feyre ran away in terror at the noise, returning to their hidden cave underground and easily avoiding the fired arrow.

“Stop scaring me,” the aforementioned begged irritably, her youthful and elegant voice echoing through the woods, probably scaring any other animals that might have been in the area.

“Stop being so mean and thinking so much, Fey,” you recommended with a mocking smile. “It’s not a good combination for a hunter.”

“So she can be loud or dubious? But not at the same time?” she asked, mocking your logic.

“You have a bow and arrow; if you want to hunt loudly, you simply train your hands and eyes to be able to reach greater distances,” you explained softly as you crouched down beside her and pulled a wild blackberry from your pocket. Feyre leaned in but gently moved her chin out of your reach. “And if you want to hesitate, you can let nature decide for you.”

You left the innocent-looking blackberries a few feet away from you, and both of you went off to continue your hunt. That day, when you walked down the road back to the house, a rabbit lay dead with blackberries in its mouth, with no physical wounds to be seen. Nature had decided.

“Good to know you still know how to draw a bow. For a second there, I thought you didn’t remember how I saw you there.” You turned to look at her, approaching her, not offended by the arrow pointed at your face.

You stood a meter away from her and looked into her eyes as she slowly lowered her bow, coming out of the fight instinct. You heard her subtly sniffing the air for any trace of a non-human scent on you, the same way Morrigan had when you had done the same to her once when she visited the bay as an emissary during negotiations. But like Morrigan, Feyre wouldn’t find anything amiss, and you wished you had an explanation to give her, but you barely knew more than she did about what you were these days.

“You ruined my dinner,” Feyre said matter-of-factly, to which you smiled knowingly and simply crouched down, grabbing a rock from the ground. You heard Feyre shift her feet out of habit.

It was like the world had suddenly lost all sense of time, as the present bled into your past. When you threw the rock at the tree, causing a group of hidden birds to fly away, and Feyre killed two of them with a single arrow, it felt like nothing had changed. Even though neither of you was even the same species you were when you used that trick.

A silence formed between the two of you and the forest, with only the abrupt sound of birds falling to the ground echoing around the area before silence returned. She wasn’t sure if she was expecting you to leave or if she just didn’t know what to say about the sense of time running out around the two of you. It was all the forest’s fault.

“I’m sorry about Rue,” was the first thing she said to you directly after all these years.

The forest moved naturally as you and Feyre each held Rue’s hand while venturing out on the little girl’s first expedition. At ten years old, Rue was two years younger than Feyre, and she seemed excited to teach someone else as you had done with her. The fact that she was teaching your little sister felt like a full circle for her—a way of repaying you for your teachings.

Watching her crouch beside a trail in the dirt, diligently explaining how to follow it and how much time had passed since the animal had gone by, you realized that you could never tell her the truth about your teachings.

“Look, Rue,” Feyre whispered lovingly as she pointed to where the trail ended, at the door of a cave where the rabbits lived. “We need to set the traps here, near the cave. Not too close so that they leave and create a new entrance, but in the area where they’ll take a path in search of food. Look over here.”

Feyre led Rue, who was watching her intently, by the hand through the area. You didn't interrupt her lesson.

When you learned that Nesta and Elain were alive, despite everything they had been through, you found envy in your heart.

Rue had been safe, barely managing to buy her freedom from the brothel where she had been sold, without ever having someone lay a hand on her, thanks to your uncomplaining work. Nesta and Elain had been in the middle of a war, turned into beings they didn’t understand, fighting with their own identity and caught in the crosshairs of many enemies.

The odds had been on Rue’s side, not Nesta’s or Elain’s. You should have felt something about the fact that the sisters had survived against those odds, while she had died in a situation that hadn’t even been targeted.

But you quickly realized, with sadness, that you were only relieved the Archeron sisters had beaten the odds—all three of them together and against all logic. The absence of your sister weighed on your heart like a stone sewn into it, tugging at the stitches, opening unexpectedly at the thought of something she would have liked or moments she would have enjoyed seeing.

Never fully healed, but never truly as raw as the moment she bled out in your arms. You wanted to say something, but a lump formed in your throat, and you realized you didn’t really have anything to say to that. All you could manage was to acknowledge that it was what it was—and you meant it deeply, too.

That always drew looks from people you didn’t like, and you didn’t want to, nor could you, allow Feyre to see you that way now.

“I hope you’ve learned to cook with seasonings over the years, Fey,” you said, moving a little closer to her and pointing at the dead birds a few meters away. “Because wild geese require skill so they don’t turn out dry on the grill.”

Feyre grimaced as she looked at the fallen animals. She quickly concluded that, first, she didn’t need the meat since she didn’t hunt for food anymore—she just went out shopping—and second, she lacked the skills to cook them even if she wanted to, judging by the face she made while staring at the dead birds.

There was a time when such a hunt would have been a relief, providing a week’s worth of food for both families. The weight of the present lingered between you both more than you’d like.

“What are you doing out here so early?” Feyre finally asked, trying to spark a conversation and shake off the awkwardness. You realized the one stuck in the past was you, not her, so of course she wanted to escape the memories that were creeping into the moment. “I thought you’d be sleeping in, given the late meetings your court had.”

As you walked downhill asymptotically, pacing yourself to avoid getting too close, you thought about what she might have said if you did approach: We know what you are doing; We are in the house, and we are watching you.

But you and your council had anticipated that. There were magical barriers you couldn’t defend against. Still, you knew what not to say, simply assuming that the shadowsinger would pass his information along to his superiors one way or another. Communication, in your humble opinion, was much easier that way.

“I’ve found sleep less necessary than usual these days,” you commented as you passed her. “And if I didn’t take Balerion out for a ride, he’d start getting fussy and end up landing on the house just to annoy me. It’s a very nice building, and I fear Nesta would poison me for dinner if even one brick of her house moved because of my dragon.”

You heard Feyre moving through the forest, but you resisted the urge to turn around and look. You allowed yourself to walk slowly, telling yourself to watch for uneven ground. Feyre joined you silently, the birds tied around her neck, with her quiver of arrows resting on her back.

“Personally, I like to keep my quiver on my hip,” you pointed out as you adjusted yours in its place, hanging below the bone on your left side. “It’s easier to draw several arrows at once that way. With my eye, it’s sometimes necessary before I get a prey to fall.”

Feyre nodded, looking at the left pupil that dripped down onto your iris. She had noticed the way you turned your head to the left over the days, so she had gotten used to walking on that side every day.

“Balerion?” Feyre’s question set off a roar that echoed into the distance. She looked in the exact direction of where your beast was in the mountains, and with her hearing so precise, she would surely create a beeline to it if she wanted to.

“He’s a bit of a diva,” you explained as you began to walk down the mountain.

In the pace of the walk, you naturally ended up half a step ahead of Feyre, with her to your left—the same formation you used when walking in the woods to hunt. Your right eye was not only a genetic anomaly, but it was also a cause of vision loss on that side. You had never known how that drop had gotten there. Your mother had once told you that you were born with it. Your father had once coldly told you that it had come to you by accident.

Now both of your eyes could see perfectly—both of them. The fire and the lava had healed them the same way they had healed any scars or pains on your body. But you didn't say anything about it.

At the foot of the mountain, at the edge of town, was a clearing of green grasses and small white mountain flowers growing in random places. You and Feyre walked in silence; you wished you had something to say, but anything felt wrong. When you stopped, you waited for her to keep walking, assuming she didn't want to either; she had nothing to say.

As you began to walk across the grass and passed the first patch of flowers in your path, Balerion flew over the area, casting a shadow that made it seem like night had covered the hillside. Feyre looked up to see him pass. Your feet settled on the ground, ready for the tremor that came as the dragon landed dangerously close to your position, but Feyre stumbled enough that she had to instinctively grab onto your arm.

When the earth stopped shaking and Balerion settled back on the ground, Feyre was still clinging to your arm. You could understand why. You were the odd one out in this situation, smiling at the beast in front of you like it was a puppy barking at your arrival at the house because it brought a new friend.

“Relax, Balerion,” you demanded, using the language of dragons, making sure he understood and heard what you were saying, still not approaching the part of the dragon that was raised in front of you. “You are like a child!!”

The dragon's breath washed over both of you, and you pulled Feyre's arm so she was behind you. The color radiating from Balerion's breath was always bright; sometimes it could burn the grass he breathed on when he took naps, and sometimes it was like a summer breeze.

You never knew what would happen, and you didn't know how Feyre would react to the worst options. You knew it wouldn't affect you, so the instinct to protect led you to act before thinking. You immediately felt uncomfortable with your actions. You were out of place, you shouldn't have done that, you thought to yourself.

You let go of her hand and walked toward the dragon's snout; his jaw was higher than yours, but Balerion lowered his head so you could caress his nose. You took a deep breath, resting your forehead against the tip of his nose, and he imitated you naturally.

The way Balerion moved under your hands and the sound of their coordinated breathing left you baffled by the world for a few seconds. You didn't notice when Feyre relaxed into place and sighed heavily.

“I don’t know what to say,” Feyre confessed from behind you. You lifted your head from where your forehead was resting against Balerion, but you didn’t look at her. “It feels like I don’t know you, but I know I do, and I want to know everything about why—I don’t know how to ask without feeling like I’m invading someone’s life and that I have no right to want to know when you were alone.”

Silence.

“We both live what we have to live, Fey,” you said, caressing the scales on the dragon’s nose, looking at the shape your sunlit hand made against Balerion’s blackness, which seemed to absorb the surrounding light. “You have to believe that we are both where we should be now, and that will not change.”

Silence.

“The past doesn’t change either,” Feyre said, whispering your name at the end, the same way she used to call you when you were both young.

She was right; they both are who they are now, but they had also once been what they had been, neither canceling out the other despite the feeling that filled you these days. Sometimes you wished one would undo the other, that the past would be enough to win over the present. Or that the present would wipe out the past. But it didn’t work that way. Maybe, just maybe, you might be able to accept the mix, to lose nothing and have everything.

Could you do it?

Yes, you could try.

“He wants to know who you are.” It wasn’t a lie; Balerion really was like a puppy wanting to meet a new friend; he probably sensed through you what Feyre meant. But you were desperately changing the subject with them.

“Looks like he wants to eat me or you.” Feyre stared blankly at Balerion from her spot, bowing over the man, dead birds still in her hand.

“He always looks like that; he just has a problem with not knowing when to stop eating.” The joke caused an irritated growl from the dragon, who blew to ruffle your hair and playfully tease you. “It’s the truth.”

Balerion sat his butt down on the grass with a slam, agreeing to change position so that his new friend could get closer, thus making his form smaller in front of both of them. This was an attempt to make himself less intimidating, you assumed.

“Would you like to introduce yourself?” you asked Feyre, and she saw that for what it was: an attempt to not want to ignore the past or the present, an attempt to find a balance between the two without what they were and what they are or will be preventing them from knowing who the other is now. And she nodded slightly.

You motioned for him to put down the birds, bows, and arrows on the ground. He walked calmly and steadily up to where you were standing in front of Balerion's enormous head. Balerion moved closer in excitement, and you pushed him back into position immediately by pulling on one of the tusks protruding from between his fangs, while Fey waited for you to signal him to come closer.

“Give me your hand,” you asked when she was at your side. Feyre gave you her right hand. You placed her hand on the scales and let it sit there for a moment, letting the tension of the moment pass. When you felt her body realize there was no danger and her fingers moved only over the scales, you let go of her hand and allowed her to pet the dragon herself. “See, he’s a very big pup.”

“A fire-breathing one,” Feyre joked back, Balerion snuggling under her hand like a kitten, causing you to roll your eyes at his attitude. He’s not all that gentle and obedient when it comes to dealing with younger dragons. “He’s quite beautiful for such a dangerous animal,” Feyre commented as she stroked the scales with both hands and felt the heat of the fire running beneath Balerion’s scales. You smiled at the sight.

“You should see it at night, in the moonlight. When he flies through the sky, it looks like he has stars and can camouflage himself perfectly. He disappears from view if you are underneath him,” you explained, proud of Balerion and how he had grown from a rock in the volcanoes to the enormous beast he was now.

A glint on Feyre's hands caught your attention. Her wedding ring, a jewel that sparkled in the sun, reflected in your eyes as if it wanted to purposely annoy you more than its meaning could.

“It must be quite a sight,” Feyre commented, and your frown changed before she saw your face as she turned to ask you more questions about Balerion.

To your chagrin, you quickly realized that the plan for acceptance and balance you had outlined with Feyre that day was far too ambitious for your circumstances.

It all started the next morning. It was time to visit the Illyrian Mountains. Armin, as your general, and Luka, your secretary and master spy, refused to let you go alone, despite your insistence. It wouldn't make any difference if they tried to kill you, whether they were there or not, but you still gave in, in the end, for their peace of mind. Rhysand, Morrigan, and Azriel were your guides on that occasion.

You figured Cassian was staying in town because the dragons were supposed to be staying there, too. Though that must have meant Feyre’s court believed the Illyrians would be able to handle several dragons at once if need be, which you found amusing, both because it sounded like something Cassian would do and because it also meant they hadn’t decided yet how much control you had over the beasts.

It was even funnier when the three of them appeared flying over the camp hours after you arrived, where you had to explain that it was difficult to tell them to stay far away from you. Dragons are protective beasts, and you were their mother, after all.

Cassian joined you not long after. He was the punchline in your statuses, and Armin had to hit you to stop you from laughing.

Spending time with Rhysand was torture. You wanted to hate the bastard.

Would that be the most logical thing to do, right?

You wanted Feyre, and he had her; hate should have been the healthiest way out of everything. But you didn't. You severely suspected he was perfect. Not because he didn't have flaws. No, you'd heard plenty of those flaws from Luka. But you also knew what he'd done, which was more than you should know.

When Luka, with his tattooed face, ink-blackened hands, and raspy voice, had offered the most drastic way out for information, you had refused his sacrifice. But ultimately, you knew there was information about the High Fae that no information network you could muster would get from them without them noticing. You needed the tactical information if you were going to move forward with negotiations and visits for a potential deal, and you desperately wanted to follow through.

So you ended up giving in, knowing that it was the only way to overcome the Shadow Singer, or at least level the playing field as much as possible in your favor.

You had offered to make the sacrifice, but he had refused, as there was no telling what your blood might do to the process, and so now Luka had no ring finger on his left hand. “I don’t plan on listening to wedding tales for myself. So I can’t do anything but grip my daggers, and I can use my other hand for that until I get used to it,” Luka had told you.

The ritual gave you the information you knew you needed, even if you didn't know you needed it or that you needed it at some point. For more precise information, more sacrifice was needed, and you wouldn't let your friend sacrifice a full hand for you, even though he had been more than willing until you sternly ordered him not to.

The information you had been given was indeed what you required. Your council needed to know how trustworthy the Night Court was and what they might find there if they went. That they had received, and perhaps all too effectively.

Rhysand played the annoying idiot role well enough, but you had the information to see through him in a way you hadn't expected to be able to. You weren't sure if it was his love for his people or his loyalty to Feyre, but you couldn't find it in yourself to hate him. You respected him in a way that wasn't just out of fear, but because he seemed to be where many (including you) would want him to be and not waste the chance (like others).

And it only made everything more difficult because the trip to the mountains confirmed the information about the Illyrian armies you had thanks to Luka's missing finger. You returned to the House of Wind on Balerion to ensure that you got the dragons out of the mountains as quickly as possible, as the few days you were there caused nervousness among the locals. You definitely wouldn't be going on vacation to the mountains at the invitation of anyone from the area anytime soon.

“And?” Mayhem, your lady-in-waiting and bodyguard, asked. You glanced at her through the mirror, and it answered the question sufficiently. You silently wondered if Azriel and his shadows had already realized that they weren’t communicating, as if they already knew what they should know and what they shouldn’t.

You still didn't understand how you would manage the balance if the path remained as marked as it had been since before you left the Bay. The next stop would be the Court of Nightmares, so you could see the other part of the court's military forces.

You found yourself standing on the same balcony, looking up at the darkening sky the night after your arrival from the mountains.

“Hello,” Feyre greeted, appearing in the doorway. The two courts were supposed to be dining together that night—some sort of political dinner, you supposed. You waved back, leaning over the balcony railing, looking down. She leaned against you, and you shifted in place to put some distance between you, even if it was just a few inches. “How were the mountains?”

“Very windy,” you commented, sighing heavily, “and it seems the locals didn’t like me very much. I’m still not sure if it was my lack of a penis or my extra dragons. A mystery indeed.” You scoffed, and Feyre laughed in response.

“Devlon is a delight to be around, no doubt about it,” Feyre explained as she turned to sit on the edge and looked at you for a moment in silence, as she often did when she wanted to tell you to stop thinking. “I hope you still enjoyed the beauty of the mountains.”

“I did,” you admitted, glancing at her briefly and pointing at Balerion in the distance with a smile. “And Balerion seems to want to take up residence in those sacred mountains of yours. He says it has good hunting, which is a guarantee of moving by their standards, but I don’t think he’d be very welcome.”

“I don’t think they could do much about that, could they?” Feyre seemed amused at the idea of the massive dragon you called a pup taking up residence in Ramiel and no one being able to stop it, the same way she imagined you taking the bay. Her imagination wasn’t close to the truth, but they didn’t know, nor would they be told anytime soon.

“The wedding,” you pointed at her ring, shining in the sunset, looking at it instead of her face, afraid something would betray you. “And the birth.”

“Thank you,” Feyre whispered sincerely and looked at the ring on her finger fondly, as if remembering her happiness and being happy about it. You moved your gaze to the horizon again.

“I hope he was and is chubby.” You wished for him, remembering the words that adults in your town exchanged when a baby was born alive in one of the families. The memory made Feyre smile honestly.

“Yeah, I guess that’s consistent,” Feyre whispered, and you nearly rolled your eyes as the scent of expensive cologne hit your nose before you looked at the man in question.

“Your husband has nosy tendencies,” you blurted out before you could control yourself, crossing your arms. Feyre let out a laugh at the lack of malice in your voice.

“A little,” she admitted, looking over at where Rhysand stood, his expression feigned offense.

“And I wanted to tell him that the food is ready, but I ended up being insulted,” he complained, approaching Feyre. And before he could reach her, you were already on your way to the door. “I thought we were all friends.”

Rhysand stood in his way as if expecting you to confront him and share a mocking fight, but you simply muttered and continued on your way, not even looking at him, running away from the situation as if you weren’t even aware of the fire.

“Something like that.”

The balance slipped from your grasp as if you were trying to hold onto seawater in a storm, and it cruelly hit your face during your visit to the Court of Nightmares. You sat in an elegant chair in front of an elegant table, with your boots on the polished marble floor, so polished it was like a mirror. A high-faced fae stared at you in disgust from her spot directly in front of you. You didn’t know if it was your presence or your casual attire (your usual riding clothes) that bothered her. You suspected it was a mix of both.

Rhysand asked for updates on the court and didn’t explain who you were or what you were doing there. He just allowed you to sit and listen. The fae whose name was Keir was the ruler of this side of the court on behalf of Rhysand and Feyre. Keir answered Rhysand’s demands, not taking his eyes off the way your boot was thrown over the edge of the table and into his line of vision because of the way you had crossed your legs. You had only made sure he had that angle of vision, much to his irritation.

Azriel was leaning against a wall not far from where Rhysand was sitting, and he seemed as entertained by Keir's irritation as you were, though it was less subtle.

For some reason, you felt the comment coming. Ever since you’d taken over the bay, it always got through to some people, and you’d learned to feel almost like you were an oracle when the need to point fingers got the better of people. You picked up the wine glass on the table, and the single sip you took while Keir was talking about what you knew about court caused him to grimace in disgust.

“Is our finest wine of the season not enough for our mortal guests?” Keir asked, his tone making it clear where he had changed the word he wanted to use to one that wouldn’t get him into trouble. But he spat out the word "mortal" with such abruptness that it felt just as insulting in some way. Now that was a skill, you thought with amusement.

“Is this the best there is here?” you asked, genuinely concerned about the quality of the spirits here. “I guess you can’t expect much from a vintage made in stone and darkness.”

“The whiskey is more passable,” Rhysand commented in amusement. You let out a murmur and looked at him skeptically.

“We have better wines in the Bay, and it’s a desert!” you pointed out indignantly.

The floor is a mirror; the wine should be just as luxurious; it was a huge contradiction in your opinion. You wondered when else that place was just part of a facade for the rotten and bitter beneath.

“That is true,” Keir said again, looking and speaking with undisguised disgust now. You looked at him in response. “The Aspiring Whore of the Slaves sits with the Night Court this moon.”

You smiled. There it was, the comment.

“Well, I’m retired as a courtesan. And I use the term 'courtesan' because if I had been just a prostitute, I would have been cheaper,” you commented. You settled back against the back of the chair to move your boot in front of him again, annoyed as much as you could.

“You’d think a courtesan would be better educated,” Keir spat.

“You wouldn’t know, with the quality of wine you drink. You couldn’t pay me dead,” you explained simply. It was true that, at your peak in the market, you had been one of the highest-paid in the Pirate Islands. It wasn’t something you were bragging about; it was a fact. You knew what you had been and what you were. That idiot couldn’t use it against you. You had learned that long ago. “And in my view, I have tasted fine wines in the Night Court, mostly in the restaurants of Velaris. I assume you haven’t had that opportunity, given their low standards.”

A bitter but malicious smile formed on Keir’s face, and there you knew. The idiot.

“I haven’t had the honor yet, but soon, I hope.” The arrogant idiot. If only he’d kept quiet. Or maybe you could have, but you needed the information.

You dined with your court privately that night. Nesta and Cassian were gone, but you wouldn’t let a word slip out of place because you knew that didn’t mean you weren’t being heard.

“Was the visit as we expected?” Luka asked casually as he figured out how to hold the fork with his missing finger, trying out positions and attempting to poke his potatoes, slowly figuring out how to best use it.

“Yes,” you said in a tone that ended the conversation before it even began. You downed your entire glass of wine (the same one you bragged about that afternoon in the Court of Nightmares) in one go. You quickly wiped the little that escaped your lips with the napkin on the table.

Everyone at the table knew what it meant. There would be no alliance because the Night Court had not yet recovered from the Hybern War.

Luka's sacrifice had not only shown the truth of Rhysand and his Inner Circle's character; it had also laid bare the results of the wars and circumstances that had wronged the Night Court.

With Amarantha ruling for sixty years, leaving Rhysand trapped without the ability to control his queen, the Illyrians had grown too accustomed to freedom, not only resisting the High Lord's ancient rules but the laws as well. They had gone to war through gritted teeth, but more for the chance at glory, and had been slaughtered in the thousands at a time. Many believed Rhysand had driven many to their deaths, knowing they had no chance, and though death in war was noble in the culture, the grudge of those who hadn't died still smoldered. To top it off, Nesta and her Valkyries had been spit in their faces, for they surely hadn't expected her to survive as she did.

To add Keir's forces to his troops, a deal had been made, one that the appointee himself had confirmed had not yet been paid.

The rest of the war with Hybern wasn't enough to get you back into battle, something you needed them to do if you signed that treaty. It was sooner rather than later because you had fired the first arrow when you declare yourself queen of all mortal lands. The queens of the continent were quick to respond with their own declaration or action, which wouldn't be long in coming, and it was only uphill from there.

She would be flying with Balerion into battle before the year was out, something he had seen coming. And the Night Court could not offer you the troops you required even if they now intended to help you, and you could not walk into battle with one of the Inner Circle as your weapon. They would tear apart any mortal army that crossed them, and you were not going to rule over ashes other than those of your own making.

What security would it give to the people who would be your subjects, who feared invasion because of the lack of a wall, if you won their lands with the direct help of those they saw as enemies?

There would be no balance, no matter how much you held on or wanted to put on or take off the scale. The reason you were there was nonexistent, and that left anything else you built on top of it in the dust.

You knew that. But you had still come. You had come anyway, knowing the possibilities, and you knew it would break your heart one way or another. It was a reality now, and it didn't feel any better even though you saw it coming.

TAG LIST: @pinksmellslikelove @saltedcoffeescotch @raisam @asweetblueberry2 @kabekusa @throneofsapphics @makayla2036789 @jojodojo02

#acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #feyre archeron x reader #rhysand x reader #feysand x reader #poly!feysand x reader #feyre archeron #rhysand #acotar fic #feysand #friends to lovers #strangers to lovers #second chance love #fated mates #mates #dragons

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fruitsofhell · 18 hours ago

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I am amazed by so much about Hazbin Hotel now that I'm finally, FINALLY watching it. There's so much to comment on but I have GOT to get this out of the way that has been distracting me going into the final episode. I need you to know that I'm like grimacing in a mix of pain and amusement rn. I feel like a teacher about to tell a student their essay earned the most entertaining F I've ever seen.

I want to do a little case study in Vivziepop's design ethos in the Cannibal Town bit y'know. I don't have the steam to write a full essay right here but I will try to get into this and how it relates to something that so fascinates me about her art. I was a fan of Vivziepop back in like 2014 when she first gained some notoriety in the animation community from her Die Young short and I watched nearly every piece of her old art content where she expressed her character designs and story ideas. I was really invested in them when I was younger, I thought and still do think her designs and ideas are very evocative in a good way, but which have slowly unraveled with time and scrutiny in all respects.

In her show... there's a district in hell run by cannibals, and the WHOLE gag of them is that instead of being your usual sort of racist stereotype they're a kitschy little victorian looking district who still sing about loving consuming flesh and blood and all that. See, this was evocative IN 2014, but it's not 2014. Which is not really interesting to say in itself because the show is utterly drowning in early 2010s Hot Topic-ass design sensibilities that I will probably talk about some other time, what I'm really getting at is the hypothetical thought process behind this.

Vivzie is a lover of all things impish and vintage, so of course in hell she thinks there should be a place full of cannibals who go beyond the usual stereotypes. And in her mind she's imagining how evocative the idea of smiling genteel demons running around eating human fingers is and goes with it. And a plus for her, it skirts around the racialized baggage attached to the taboo of cannibalism, maybe she even thinks its anti-racist to spin things like this. But like. It really really just stops there.

Hazbin Hotel wants to use its framing of heaven and hell to make a social commentary on morality obviously, and in the way its doing it it also is creating a sort of statement on class. There is this idea of moral meritocracy that angels are exploiting to keep themselves and those humans they like above those they dislike for arbitrary reasons, and just in the language - written and visual - of how heaven and hell are distinguished you see this slums vs metropolis thing going on. But I mean, someone else can probably tell you about how busted it is so I won't get into it, I'll just say that comparing hell to any sort of metaphor for a ghetto where disadvantaged and flawed people are grouped together unsafely looks bad for Vivzie lol.

This is where I come back to Cannibal Town which is so so so SO obviously a chance to make the most blunt-obvious social commentary on human exploitation that Vivzie just DOESN'T cause she finds people in victorian pristine garb talking about eating flesh funny and that is the full extent of her conversation on these ideas together. There's really really nothing else it seems that Vivziepop feels like saying about a kitschy upper-middle class town of people who eat other people other than isnt it funny when upper-middle class people want to eat others. And it does boggle my mind when so much other talk of exploitation, abuse, and class stratification is so laid bare on the table of this show.

In design and narrative this show really likes to touch on these deep but kinda basic tenets of social commentary but keeps doing the 2014 Hot Topic reversal of motifs and then just leaves that there like its something in itself. MMMaybe we could be doing more to say something about how when a bunch of people are arbitrarily thrown together in a lawless area under very broad assumption of moral degeneracy some seek to wield powers over others by reinforcing their simultaneous dehumanization. And how then those slumlords try to sell scraps of privilege to enrich themselves and stuff and how bad that is.

Like we kinda do sometimes, but then you have Cannibal Town which could have so fucking obviously been about liiiike??? IDK, the overlord of the area is someone who takes peoples souls and then gives them an insatiable urge to consume both physically and material goods that is symbolized through cannibalism and exploitation of other demons so that they are further reliant on the overlord??? ANd they all sit in their little village thinking theyre above others because they keep everything so orderly only by running themselves on the exploitation and consumption of other human resources. I don't even fucking know man but I just know that the Cannibal Town in the show is nothing but a joke and wank session for Vivziepop's historical fashion fetish and it drives me up the wall.

I want to be really invested in the politics of this world but this Vivziepop motherfucker just wants to create things like the town of white middle-class victorian cannibals for the lolz.

#midnight rambles #shut the heck up #hazbin hotel critical #im smiling rn i love this show its like a dream come true its the worst thing to ever happen to me #you cant even comprehend what this show means to me #vivziepop is in my blood and i feel the itch of a decades old idol still writhing around in my veins #she and lupisvulpes - famously clowned upon transphobe furry animator dwai -#- WERE my art back then half of my oldest ideas and ocs were just theirs with the numbers switched #read this like my villain monologue - her art is personal to me #/not even parasocial im just fascinated #Its like watching someone make something out of my own ocs from when i was 10 because her characters occupied so much of my mind then #its genuinely like looking back at my older self and im like jesus some people never grew out of this #DONT. GET me STarteEd. on Angel Dust.#we will get there i lov ehim #its like watching a plane crash im morbidly obsessed #tag talking

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ask-detective-toodles · 18 hours ago

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"Another universe, eh?..." Dandy hummed thoughtfully, tapping his chin as his smile widened ever so slightly. A glint appeared in his eyes—one that was unreadable, sharp and fleeting—before he shifted back to his usual charming, cheery demeanor, letting out a soft chuckle.

"I see! No wonder you two seem so out of place. After all, the Shrimpo and Rodger I know would never seek me out for anything—or even talk to me, for that matter." His grin remained, but there was a hint of something sharper beneath the surface as he continued. "Well, maybe the Detective... but his questions are always so... personal. Of course, that’s his job, I suppose." His tone dipped slightly, and his petals twitched as he mumbled under his breath, "But he still shouldn’t stick his nose into someone’s business..."

Quickly brushing off the comment, Dandy’s grin grew brighter as he clapped his hands together. "Oh? I’m a god in your universe?" His voice carried a mix of amusement and intrigue, his petals bouncing slightly as his tail flicked behind him. "My, my! I would love to ask how I look as a god—or even better, how I act—but I’ll save those questions for another time!"

He leaned forward slightly, his curiosity evident as he raised a brow. "Now then, what is it you want me to help with, dear friends?"

Toodles, meanwhile, stood off to the side, watching the interaction between Dandy and the two Toons with a slight awkwardness. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Dandy’s enthusiasm hid something beneath it, but she tried not to think too much about it. Her thoughts were interrupted when Pebbles rubbed his rocky head affectionately against her leg.

Toodles beamed, immediately kneeling down to pat the rock puppy’s head. "Hi, Pebbles!" she giggled softly, scratching behind his 'ears' as Pebbles wagged his stone-like tail happily.

Dandy’s gaze flicked toward Toodles and Pebbles for a brief moment, his expression unreadable, before his focus returned to Shrimpo and Rodger. His smile remained intact, but his sharp eyes lingered, waiting for their response.

“Ah, Toodles! Hey, kid, have you seen Rodger around? He… wait, you’re not… oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else… now I can tell you’re not. You look exactly like Rodger’s daughter. But something tells me you’re not the exact one I need… yet my gut tells me you’re not a mimic too. If you do see Rodger, just tell him I owe him an apology. He usually wears a brown and black suit, a purple tie, and is usually practicing his fire magic. I really need to work on my outbursts…”

He took a step back, trying not to scare the child in front of him with his talking. Possibly Rodger would be around here somewhere… but this universe was different than his own. A sound was then heard. A low growling. He whipped around and drew his sword.

“Stand back, kid! I think there’s something coming!”

(ooc) from blog @shrimpo-skilinia

Toodles stared at Shrimpo, her expression a mix of surprise and puzzlement. This wasn’t the Shrimpo she was used to—the grumpy, cranky one who often snapped at others or sent them off with a dismissive comment. No, this Shrimpo was… different. He wasn’t rude or gruff, and instead, he seemed almost gentle with her, as though he didn’t want to scare her. It was something she hadn’t expected at all, and for a moment, she wondered if she should call her dad or another Toon for help.

But before she could decide, Shrimpo’s words pulled her attention back, leaving her even more confused. "Another me and Dad?..." she muttered to herself, her brow furrowing. "And Dad uses fire power? That doesn’t make any sense—" Toodles could feel her head start to ache as questions began to pile up with no clear answers. For the first time, she could truly understand the frustration her dad and other detectives must feel when facing a case full of dead ends.

She shook her head, trying to focus, and looked up at Shrimpo—or whoever this was. "You can count on me to tell Dad, or… uh, different Dad? If he’s even here..." she said with a hint of uncertainty, still trying to wrap her head around what was going on. She hesitated before asking, "Oh, and what do you mean by mimic—"

Her question was cut off by a low, guttural growl that sent a chill down her spine. Her eyes widened, and her body tensed as fear began to creep in. She turned toward the sound, her heart racing. That growl wasn’t something a Toon could make—at least, none that she knew of.

Before she could fully process what was happening, she saw Shrimpo pull out a sword. Her jaw nearly dropped at the sight, her eyes briefly sparkling with awe. She hadn’t expected that. But any amazement quickly faded as the gravity of the situation sank in. Something—or someone—was coming.

"W-What is happening?" she stammered, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and confusion. Instinctively, she stepped behind Shrimpo, peeking her head out from behind him to try to see what was going on.

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loadinghellsing · 1 year ago

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@madderbatter

#i contribute #doodle #funny #alexander anderson #hellsing #hellsing alucard #---#aka:#the bird of hermes #me? poorly editing cat memes into andercat?#more likely than you think #either way hope this is what you hade in mind #/amuses you as much as it amused me to see your comment

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thingsidrawgohere · 2 months ago

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Alright. I'm calling it done before it kills me. This is Second Head. It's an Art Book containing instances of the phrase "second head" in fanfics found on AO3. I'll explain much, MUCH more in the cut.

So when I say 'art book', I mean this is an intrinsic piece. I have no motivations aside from personal amusement and interest in outcome. A lot of money was lost/transmuted into free frustration in this project and I have no claims, obviously. I will prolly be the only person alive to read this.

THAT SAID. I have noticed in my years reading fanfic, there's a few linguistic shibboleths that arise in authors who also have experience in the mines. I think there's not a soul alive who hadn't wandered across a 'ministrations' when reading Narutos oral sexing. There's- Hold on. Here's some pix.

There's an impulse, I think, to in-group even when performing a creative act. A feeling that there are certain ways one Should go about the act, by virtue of seeing it performed that way. Especially so when 'training' at the act is often just Doing. Double Dog Especially when the act is exclusively for oneself with very little oversight. Which is to say, we make what we see and we make what we think we should make. At least, at first.

Now, I've been noticing 'grew a second head' (to insinuate surprise) in fanfic for some time. I've never seen it used Outside of fanfic. (Edit to add: I am not making the argument the phrase is from fanfic. Nor do I Believe it is from fanfic. Jesus Hopping Christ, people. That's not what this project is about.) That may speak to my own bad habits but it got me curious. So a friend and myself downloaded a mirror of AO3 from July of 2024. He did some code- Stuff to scan the mirror for "second head" and of the ~13 million works, ~70k (English) results were returned. That's a rounding error, honestly, but Far FAR more than I expected.

This book is 401 such examples that I personally selected for a variety of reasons. The number itself was arbitrarily chosen. Each page is separate fic, the roughly 300 words around our key phrase.

I don't think repetition or mirroring is a negative thing. I think it's quite charming. Nor do I think it's a sign of a 'bad' artist or 'bad' art. I think it's a signifier of personhood, of belonging, of enthusiasm. Of culture shared and wishing to share. I think it's real sweet. I always smile when I catch a 'grown a second head' in a work.

And it's really fucking funny when it's John Sherlock getting a sloppy toppy. Bless.

Edit: Fixed a very VERY funny error.

Edit: I am not making the argument that the phrase is exclusive to fanfic or, fucking forbid, FROM fanfic. I'm stating this Again because we skim here. Also- If you would like slamdunk my ass by stating the phrase predates the Internet or your GenX parents use it, please use 'sailboat' in your comment so I know you're specifically trying to kill me.

Edit Edit: You know what? Fine. I DO think this phrase came from fandom. I think ENGLISH came from fandom. I think YOU came from fandom. I think EVERYTHING came from fandom. The Sun, the Moon, the Seas- Fandom. Specifically Sonic Mpreg. The second head was Shadow the Hedgehog crowning. Congrats!

#book #fanbinding #bookbinding #ficbinding #fanfic #second head

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lilreidgirl · 1 month ago

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Do I wanna know?

Summary: You and Drew are best friends, but you want more. What happens when you get invited to a day out on Drew’s friend’s yacht and get more?

Warnings: MDNI(18+), fem!reader, thigh riding, daddy kink, nicknames used (princess, baby, little lady, good girl…), kissing, alcohol (beer), swearing, no use of (y/n), reader wears a skirt, shy!reader, pining amongst friends, English is not my first language, if I forgot anything; please let me know!!

WC: ~2.4k (no idea how that happened)

A/N: I got inspired by this photo so I wrote this at like 2 am and I’m posting it now at 5 am, this is a mess, gn my loves (NOT PROOF READ, SORRY) (also this is my first fic about Drew so yeah)

When your best friend, Drew Starkey, invited you to a small get together on his friend’s yacht, you were more than willing to go. You and him had been friends since years, getting to know each other through mutual friends and suddenly you were eating take out with a b-list celebrity every other night.

You twirled around in front of your full body sized mirror, watching with amusement as your skirt twirls with you, the ruffles bouncing as they fluttered in the wind.

“Wow. Really doesn’t take much to get a smile on that pretty little face of yours, huh?” Drew chuckled as he watched you spin around.

Startled by his voice you stopped your little turns, looking at him with a small playful glare when the dizzy fog finally cleared from your vision.

“I’m just a happy person. You should try it sometime” you shot back, but you knew it was no use. Drew was great at talking, arguing, whatever. He was great with people in a way you just couldn’t figure out for yourself.

But honestly? You were fine just standing on the sidelines watching him do his thing, waiting for him to abandon that and come talk to you for a bit.

You had been fine with it.

Lately every time he laughed and grinned at one of your sarcastic comments and every time he stared at you like he was a theoretical physicist and you had the answers to string theory, you couldn’t help but want more. Couldn’t help but want that “best friend” status to be upgraded to “girlfriend”. Hell, you even dreamt of being called his wife.

For now though, you were just going to try and enjoy the day on a luxurious boat.

Soon you found yourselves in the car. You clicked on random songs on your phone and sand along to the “wait, this is the best part, shut up”’s before yet again changing the song as Drew drove to the harbour, admiring the way you seemed so enthralled by the different songs and music.

“Would love to continue listening to your big world tour concert, little lady, but we’re here,” he announced once he’d gotten the car carefully parked.

Excitedly, you jumped out of Drew’s car, watching as he did the same before you both made your way closer to the water where many ships floated atop the sea.

At the same time, you both spotted Drew’s group of friends, waving at them as they saw you two as well.

You’d gotten to know them a bit but the amount of group hangouts you attended, didn’t really allow you to form a strong bond to any of Drew’s friends.

What can you say?

You’re just not a people person.

You’re a person person.

A Drew person.

You squashed the ridiculous thought, giggling it off before you checked that your outfit was neatly in order.

Upon seeing you inspecting your clothes, Drew leaned down and whispered in your ear, his breath tantalizingly brushed against your ear and neck as he spoke, “You look amazing, baby, don’t worry.”

As you reached the boat, the smile you had shared for a few enchanting seconds came to a sudden end.

“Hey, Drew!” Various different voices greeted the both of you and you both returned the favour with just as much enthusiasm.

One of the guys, the one whose yacht it was presumably, invited everyone aboard.

Your eyes flitted to everything around you, spotting a few seats, some complicated looking boat equipment and random day-to-day fun stuff lying around.

The smell of fish and sea breeze filled the air and your nostrils, but that scent quickly evaporated when Drew stepped next to you, finally finished with catching up with his friend and was now holding out a beer bottle for you to take. His cologne took over, overwhelming your senses. Something you were definitely not complaining about.

You accepted the beer from him, taking a sip before handing it back to him and watching as he repeated your action of drinking from the bottle.

Your gaze drifted to his Adam’s apple as it bobs when he took gulps of the alcoholic drink. He lowered the glass container from his lips, putting his strong bicep right in your line of sight.

As embarrassing as it is to admit you could have almost moaned from just looking at his muscly arm.

He must have taken off his shirt sometime between helping you up the steps on the side of the ship, his hand securely wrapped around your thigh to keep you from falling, and when he seemingly appeared behind you as you admired your surroundings.

Then your eyes found his chest, strong pecs priding over his abs that seemed carved from the very marble that Michelangelo had used to sculpt David, each muscle defined with an almost perfect precision to it.

Just before you could take a good look at his black swim shorts hanging off his hips and hugging his beefy thighs, his voice called your name.

“Hey, come on, picture time,” he reiterated what he had said when you were still zoned out.

“Oh. Okay,” Throwing your thoughts back into reality, you watched as everyone made their way over to the discussed upon place where the photo would be taken.

“Who wants to set the timer?” A girl, who you’d forgotten the name of, asked.

Something with an F? L? A? Who cares.

“Not it!” Was called by everyone but you, your face quickly morphing from a surprised look of “who the hell still uses ‘not it’?” to an accepting face that you were in fact “it”.

The girls and boys all took their places on the netting of the boat. The 5 people in front of you got ready to pose for the group photo.

Efficiently, you adjusted the tripod so that the camera of the phone pointed perfectly towards the centre of everyone.

You bent down, looking at the screen of the mobile. You saw Drew depicted by many pixels, your thighs clenching when he moved his hips up to readjust his position on the midnight blue blanket that lay sprawled over the rough nylon net.

Fuck, he was perfect.

Of course, you fixed your hair one last time before pressing the white button on the right side of the device, starting the 10 second countdown until the picture.

Swiftly, you made your way around the tripod, and plopped down onto the free space between a dark haired guy, you’ve come to know as Matthew, and Drew. You smiled sweetly at the round circles on the back of the phone as Drew slung an arm around your shoulders.

Once the photo was taken, everyone scattered and the usual chatter was back. You ran up to the phone and you looked at the image.

Well fuck.

Drew looked absolutely freaking ethereal.

His sitting in a reclined position with one leg bent and the other stretched out, manspreading, almost made you go feral. He was smiling widely toward the camera, his impossibly bright grin attracting all the attention in the photo.

His body looked like a dream. For a moment, you thought maybe you were dreaming, if you were you would hold onto the memory of the photo, even if it was just a dream, for the rest of your life.

God, pining for your hot best friend made you sound so so pathetic.

The thought that what you were experiencing was just a dream was snapped in two like a twig when Drew came up from behind you and flicked your bare back.

“Ouch!” You exclaimed, a frown forming on your face.

“‘M sorry, princess,” he swung his arms over your shoulders, holding on to you from behind like a koala would his mother, peering at the screen in your hands.

“Did it turn out good?” He asked casually, acting as if he didn’t see how your face was blushing an awfully deep shade of red and don’t even start to think that he missed the way you were obviously turned on.

“Yup,” you answered curtly, ducking down to be released of any physical contact with him, because you felt as if you would melt if he touched you a second longer.

“I’m um… gonna go below deck. The sun uh- it’s hitting me pretty hard right now. I have a headache,” you lied, coming up with some excuse to just get yourself somewhere where you can have your alone time.

“O…kay…” He didn’t seem convinced but that wasn’t for you to deal with in that moment. You made your way down the stairs leading below the deck of the ship, the room was nice and cozy.

With a sigh of relief you sat down on a wooden bench near the kitchen and slipped your phone out of your purse.

After a few minutes of mindlessly scrolling through various social media apps you heard footsteps nearing you, causing you to look up.

Your eyes met none other than Drew Starkey himself.

“On your phone when you have a headache? Really?” He asked unamused. “You lyin’ about the headache or you just stupid?”

“Stupid…?” you offered in a quiet meek voice.

“C’mon, sweetheart, what’s the problem, huh? You don’t like my friends or something?” He questioned as he sat himself down next to you on the oak plank.

“No, no, they’re great, I just…” You really should have been able to come up with something to say but the way his forearm was flexing as it rested on his thigh distracted you.

A smirk grew on Drew’s face. “No yeah, I uh-“ he chucked as he shook his head in what looked like slight disbelief, “I know.”

Unsure of the true meaning behind his comment you averted your eyes to the floor, focusing on the swaying of the boat on the water instead of Drew’s piercing blue eyes staring intently at you.

He leaned back with a sigh, his legs spreading wider and his arm sneaking behind your back and around your waist. “You’re kind of ridiculous, you know that?”

All you could do was nod which earned you yet another laugh from Drew.

Just as you were about to persuade yourself to actually speak, you were pulled onto Drew’s lap by his arm, his hands quickly settling you on his thighs.

“Wha-“

“I know, princess,” he cooed.

You know you should have felt at least slightly degraded or mad because of his tone but the only thing it did, was make you want to clench your thighs together. Which of course wasn’t possible because each of your legs rested on different sides of Drew.

“You look so pretty today, baby,” he said, tucking some loose strands of hair behind your ear before moving his face down to your neck and pressing soft, fleeting, sensational kisses to the side of your collar.

Your breathing became panted and you unintentionally slowly rubbed your core along the material of his pitch black swim trunks.

“Not even a thank you?” He murmured teasingly as his kisses walked over to the area right under your ear and his large hands gripped your hips harshly, stopping you from any further movement.

“Th- thank you…” You whispered, your tone dipped and coated in your lust and arousal.

You felt a small nip on your throat that made you let out a small “Ah-!”

“Thank you…?” He muttered expectantly.

“Sir?” You tried, getting your confirmation of that being the wrong answer when a more harsh bite was left just under your jawline.

“Daddy..” you practically moaned out, the small pleasure that you got from the bites making you rut against Drew’s strong hold on your body.

“Good girl…” he praised, his face finally coming up to meet yours, kissing you softly but also at the same time with an unforeseeable force.

His fingers stopped drilling into the skin over your hipbones, letting you push your aching core down onto his covered thigh.

He broke the kiss, his plump lips and hot breath trailing over your cheek as you both gasped from air.

His hand roughly grabbed the back of your head, wrapping his fingers around your messy hair, holding you tight against him.

Immediately after, his other hand took hold of your hip again, helping you grind down on his swim pants.

“That’s right, baby, use daddy’s leg,” he breathed out heavily.

“Such,” he pressed a sloppy kiss to your jawline, “a,” another kiss was placed on the corner of your mouth, “good,” he said before pecking your lips, “girl,” he murmured into your mouth before shoving his tongue down your throat.

The press of his thigh onto your bikini bottom made a perfect friction emerge against your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

“What about-“ you started.

“I locked the door, sweetheart, no worries.”

The way he basically read your mind made you feel even more turned on.

Your folds rubbed back and forth in your

soaking wet swim bottoms as you gripped Drew’s shoulders tightly, eyes squeezed shut as he continued to spew out praise after praise to you.

Suddenly a knock resounded throughout the room, a sudden halt coming to your despicable actions.

“Hello? Anyone in here? Why is the door locked?” A female voice asked from the other side of the door.

“One second!” Drew called before returning his attention to you.

“We’ll finish this later, yeah?” All you could do was nod, still completely dazed.

He picked you up off his lap, helping you settle back into a standing position and smoothing out both of your guys’ clothes.

With a casual smile on his face he unlocked and opened the door, spouting out some excuse for the door being locked before leading you upstairs with him.

For the rest of the afternoon, you sat, with a drink in hand, watching Drew talk amongst his friends, his eyes flicking to you every once in a short while.

Once other people started leaving and the sun started setting, he walked up to you.

“Ready to leave, princess?”

“Uh-huh,” you uttered out, standing up and saying your goodbyes to everyone that still found themselves on the yacht.

As you walked down the dock, admiring the sunset, you gripped onto Drew’s arm.

“Everything okay?” He asked.

You looked up at him with an “Are you serious?” face, annoyed at his nonchalant antics.

“Gee, sorry, okay?” He chuckled.

“I’ll make you feel good soon. Don’t worry, little lady.”

@emma-e-a

#drew starkey #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x female reader #rafe cameron #drew starkey fic #drew starkey smut #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader

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sttoru · 3 months ago

Text

tags. dad!toji x wife!reader. fluff. reader gets called ‘doll’

“toji, you’re gonna break that thing,” you stifle a laugh as you watch your husband’s muscular form squeeze into one of the playground equipments. megumi is on his lap, giggling as he gets to experience what it’s like to go down a slide with his parent.

toji rolls his eyes and grumbles something along the lines of ‘the damn brat forced me to’. you know how weak that man gets when his son looks up at him with those big, sparkly blue eyes. you’d have given in to megumi’s requests as well if you were in his place. thus you don’t blame your lover at all.

“papa, go!” the little boy pats his dad’s thighs, excitedly smacking the muscles. the pure glee on his tiny face makes you smile as you witness the scene from the bench nearby.

“give me a sec, kid,” toji responds with a grunt. his legs are pressed tightly against each other, trying to wiggle down the slide. his body isn’t going anywhere— not even moving down one centimetre.

you can’t help the laugh that erupts from your throat while you watch toji struggle. the confused and impatient look on megumi’s face as he glances up at his father is pure gold. “papa go?” your son pouts and squirms.

this is embarrassing for toji. he can’t wait to get off and go home. the only thing he can do is pray that no one else sees this view of a grown ass man stuck on a slide.

you pull out your phone and start recording the hilarious sight. “hun,” you call out to toji, covering your mouth while giggling behind the camera. “you can do it!”

your humorous encouragement makes the dark-haired man kiss his teeth, “tsk, quit that.” he manages to move his legs in a certain way so he could glide down. the process however is quite. . slow.

toji’s body stutters and goes down the slide in a wonky way. megumi is not amused at all as he sits there and stares downwards, cheeks puffed up. he expected to go much faster than this.

the toddler looks like he’s about to complain the moment he reaches the bottom.

“mamaaaaaa!”

as expected, the little boy quickly hops off toji’s lap, leaving his humiliated dad sitting at the end of the slide. megumi runs off to you and jumps up onto your lap, an angry yet adorable frown on his face. he whines and hugs you, refusing to face your husband who’s walking towards you.

toji scoffs at the sight. “oi, you ungrateful little shit,” he comments and crosses his muscular arms over his chest, “y’ should be thanking me for squeezin’ my ass up on that tiny thing.” he glances down at his son who’s clearly sulking in your arms, disappointed in his performance.

you’d usually scold toji for using such foul language around the kid, though you can’t stop yourself from giggling at the situation. megumi actually got offended by his dad being unable to properly go down the slide with him; it’s adorable.

“no, papa shit!” megumi retorts unexpectedly, causing you to laugh even louder. you shake your head and try to make a serious face - to reprimand your child from saying such words - only to fail.

toji clearly didn’t expect the boy to mimic him again. he raises an eyebrow and you know he’s not going to hold back. that man will fight anyone, even his own son who’s only a toddler.

“whadd’ya say there, bud?” your husband huffs and takes a step forward. megumi squeals as he feels the intimidating aura of his dad get closer to him. he squirms off your lap and runs off into the playground, squeaking.

you watch your child scurry off in attempt to escape toji. you grin to yourself, seeing the excitement return on megumi’s face at the aspect of playing with his parent.

toji runs a hand through his messy black hair as he sees the toddler run around the park, excepting him to follow and play with him. he wouldn’t admit it out loud, but it’s adorable how his son never stays mad at him for long.

it perfectly describes the father-son relationship they have. he wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

toji then shoots you a smirk, leaning down so you’re face to face. he flicks your forehead gently and pinches your cheek, reminding you of one thing before going off to chase after megumi;

“i’ll be dealing with ya later for that video y’ made, doll. don’cha think i forgot.”

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #jjk fluff #toji x reader #toji fluff #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk x you #toji x you #jjk x y/n #toji x y/n #jjk x female reader

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mostly-imagines · 5 months ago

Text

The Alchemy vol. II

jason todd x fem!reader

aka the progression of your relationship with the red hood

part one

warnings: depictions of blood and injury, standard gotham violence, jason doesn't know how to have feelings, reader is angry, threats against readers life, implied concern of sexual assault

It might be a matter of deficiency in self-preservation skills, how the sound of your window sliding open does nothing to phase you. You don’t know if that’s your fault or his.

“How’s it goin’ down there?” You mumble, not sitting up from your position on the couch.

He pushes the window shut in his wake, huffing. “I am up here for a reason,” he says factually.

You crane your head back just in time to see him tug the red helmet off his head, setting it down on your side table. He has on his under-mask that covers the lower half of his face. You don’t like that one.

He glances around your apartment as he approaches with slow steps. “Why are all the lights off?”

“Forgot to turn ‘em on,” you tell him simply.

He frowns at you, confusion evident.

You pay him no mind though, taking an exaggerated breath and pushing yourself up off the couch before trotting over to the kitchen. You open the fridge and scrummage for a water bottle. Jason thinks it’s odd how long it takes you to find one in your own fridge.

Once it's (eventually) in your hands, you chug down several gulps and toss the half empty bottle towards the counter where it lands with a sloppy thump and rolls.

When you return, he’s leant against the armrest of your chair, watching you. You stop in the middle of the room, a contemplating stare on the floor. He tilts his head at you, wondering what you could possibly be thinking so hard about.

You take a deep breath before plopping down to lay on the carpet all in one go.

He peers down at you, barely trying to hide his amusement. “You’re drunk.”

You shake your head, “I’m not sober.”

“That’s—yeah.” He stands all the way, coming to lay down on the floor next to you, using significantly more coordination than you had.

He lays in between you and the couch, though it doesn’t seem you’d left him much room. If he minds, it doesn’t show. “What’d you do?”

“I jus’ went out with my friend,” you tell him, closing your eyes. “She moves pretty fast..”

It occurs to him that you might be laying on the ground because you got nauseous. He turns to look at you, scanning you over. “You good?”

“I feel great,” you keen. “I feel…swooshy.”

He gives you a bemused look. “Dizzy?”

You shake your head with a great deal of consideration on your face, “No, not even dizzy, just…swoosh.” You throw out a hand with a theatrical flick.

“Mhm.”

You pucker your lips to the side. “You come here a lot,” you comment, clearly working up to some greater observation.

“You’re in my neighborhood,” he shrugs.

Your head tilts, “You live here?”

He pauses before correcting himself, “My territory.”

You hum, “Still. There has to be other people around here you know. ‘Specially if you’re passing out on balconies on the reg.”

He frowns, “I try not to make a habit out of it.”

You continue on, “Why do you always go to my apartment? There’s—”

“I don’t always come to your apartment—”

You deadpan, “You’re here like three nights a week. And I don’t even help you that much anymore, you’ve used up my whole first aid kit.”

You can literally feel the eyeroll like you have a sixth sense for it. “That thing wasn’t exactly impressive to start with..”

“Did enough for you, didn’t it? Anyways, my point is: I think you like me,” you say with a nod.

That has him going absolutely rigid, “What?”

“I’ve heard you’re an asshole.”

“What?”

You nod, “Like, people that run into you. They say you’re kind of a dick. You help ‘em ‘n everything, but also while being a dick. Sometimes.”

“Okay...”

“But you’re nice to me. Sort of,” you squint. “I think you like me.”

He hasn’t felt this straggled in a conversation in a while. “I—well I’m not here because you’re a world-class medic.”

You scoff, “There’s no world-class medics..” But then your tone switches up, into something lighter. “We’re friends aren’t we? I think we’re friends.”

He shakes his head, staring up blankly. “Sure, we’re friends.”

“We’re friends and you like me,” you reiterate.

He really wishes you’d stop saying that. “Okay.”

“I like you too. Even though you’re kinda sketchy.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

You hum into the silence, looking up at the ceiling. “J…James, Jack, John…”

He smiles, gaze dancing across the egg-whitened popcorn texture of the ceiling. “I’m not going to tell you.”

You ignore him, “Jake, Jaden, Jason, Josh, Joe, Jesse…”

You’re about three shots too drunk to notice the way he briefly stiffens.

“Juuhhh…” you lull your head to the side, the letter fading out slowly as you look into his eyes. If you focus, you think you can make out a few of those little specks of green again.

He seems to already be running his own study on your irises, his eyes now softer than you can remember seeing them before.

His next words are whispered, the sounds barely escaping. “You’re pretty.”

What?

“What?”

“What?” He seems taken aback by his own words, like he also wasn’t expecting them to climb out of his mouth.

You can literally feel sobriety seeping back into your blood. “I’m…pretty?”

He blinks a few times, apparently trying hard to decide on what position he’s going to take here. “I—well…yeah.”

You blink once, relaxing. “I think…I think you’re pretty too.”

“What?”

“We can’t do this again.”

He breaks eye contact, looking almost dejected.

You turn your head down to where his hand thrums against the carpet. “I mean, I know I haven’t seen your whole face in one go, but I see the top half now and the bottom before, so I…maybe I shouldn’t be saying this.” You reset with a shallow breath, “I don’t know what your whole face looks like.”

“That was,” he blinks, eyebrows raised. “Fascinating.”

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You close your eyes again, though this time you remain facing him.

He feels a slight pang of guilt for the way he continues to ogle at you, eyes tracing over every detail of your face. But that ounce of guilt does nothing to outweigh the reward of gazing upon you. He didn’t mean to say it but he definitely meant it: you’re really fucking pretty.

Your eyelashes flutter for a moment before stilling, a display of peace washing over your features. It’s when your breathing steadies over and your face relaxes completely is when he starts to feel like a creep. It takes a lot of strength for him to force his eyes shut, depriving himself of the view.

And he doesn’t do it on purpose, but after a few moments his inhales and exhales take to the same rhythm of yours. The thin layer of the rug isn’t doing much to protect his back from the hardwood below and he’s pretty confident later he’ll curse himself for lying like this for so long.

But as he lays, he doesn’t find himself focused on the dark red-gray of his eyelids like usual, so much as the warmth from the proximity of your bodies. He’s usually so concentrated on whatever the hell is going on in his head and it prevents him from really truly resting, but now, the only thing taking up his attention is physical sensations.

He feels this warmth in his heart that if he didn’t know any better, he’d call burning. His hands feel numb and he can distinctly feel the beat of his own heart in his chest, thrumming away.

He presses his lips to your forehead with a feather light touch, slow to pull away. He doesn’t make it all the way back to his original position before his movement lulls and his body relaxes again, joining you gladly in unconsciousness.

Gotham City has a particular gift for inconveniencing you at the worst possible moment and doing it multiple times a week.

Tonight's round of problems resulted in an entire city district getting shut down, the district which is regrettably right between your job and your apartment.

So on top of having to hole up into your work for two hours longer than you were supposed to, it took you an extra 45 minutes getting home while trying to maneuver around every other person in the same situation. And just to cement the quality of this night, the door to your apartment building slams nice and hard against your side and the light in the hallway is out.

You groan when you fail to get your key the lock the right way for the third time, lodging it in a final time and shoving the door open. You flick on the kitchen light and dump your bag onto the counter, kicking the door shut behind you.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed, as you lean your head back against the wall. The second you crack your eyes open again, a pile of red mass on the floor behind your couch catches your attention and startles some energy right back into your chest.

“Oh, shit,” you scurry over towards the window, crumbling down onto your knees in front of him. Your eyes dart across the red helmet, trying to makeout any signs of consciousness. “Hood?”

There’s no response from him, no movement. You tug his helmet off, finding him eyes-closed with blood running down the side of his head. You push a hand down on his chest armor, shaking him. “J? J!”

His eyes flutter open slowly under his domino mask, adjusting to the light. With the disorientation on his face he looks younger, more his age. His hair is tousled up and you can make out some distinct curls in it when it's undone like this.

He grimaces, gloved hand coming up to his head. He looks wearily at the blood on his fingers, before plopping his hand back down and blinking up at you. “Hey..”

You sit back on your heels with a sigh, “What the fuck?”

He makes a strained effort to sit up on his own so you try to heave him up by his forearm. As he comes up all the way you glance behind his back at a bag crumpled discarded on the floor. You can barely see some sort of fabric poking out the top. “What is that?”

“Huh?” He throws back a tired glance, “Oh. They're..curtains.”

“Explain.”

He looks at you blankly, “You don’t have any curtains.”

You blink. “Explain.”

“It’s dangerous for people to just be able to look in and see you. So. Curtains.” For a guy who reads Dostoevsky, he’s not much of a wordsmith. Though that could be the concussion.

You reach around him and pull some of the fabric out of the bag, inspecting the linen. They match the theme of your living room.

You set it back down, blinking. “Thanks.”

He only gives a half-hearted shrug.

You look back at him, “How bad is the…?” You gesture to the side of your head.

He feels at the blood again, “It’s mostly just a cut. Shoulda stopped bleeding by now.”

You nod, “I’ll, uh—I’ll clean it up.”

He looks at you, shaking his head. “You don’t need to. Your kit’s almost empty anyways.”

“I restocked it,” you tell him, rising to stand. He lets you go retrieve your aid box without protest, listening blankly to the faucet run in the bathroom while you’re gone.

You return momentarily, damp rag in one hand, kit in the other. “Here, sit on the couch,” you tell him, nodding him up.

He lugs himself up off the hardwood and onto the cushion with a groan. You position yourself on the cushion next to him, leaning over to inspect the cut. You brush through his hair as gently as you can, though you have to suspect he wouldn’t have minded either way—if only based on the pain threshold you know him to have.

As much as you are completely in his space, you’re having trouble getting all the access you need to fix him up right. You turn and adjust your angle this way and that but none of it works.

You huff, sitting back. “I can’t..”

He nods his permission at you without delay, and you shift yourself over to sit fully on his lap, straddling him on the sofa. You put your focus into cleaning his wound, but you have to notice how deep he’s breathing and how he’s seemingly trying very hard to avoid eye contact. You’re sure your own breath is uneven and telling, and frankly you’re kind of hoping he has a concussion just so he might not notice it.

An unexpected sting has him flinching and grabbing your hips on instinct, a certain heaviness lingering in the air after contact. His hand tenses and he’s about to remove them from you completely when you manage to catch his gaze, and the few moments of silent eye contact are enough to convince him to stay. He forces his hands to relax against your waist, his fix on your face wavering before fizzling away completely.

You go back to dabbing at the blood and it’s clear that his thoughts get the better of him quickly. “You should move.”

“But then where would you go?”

He makes a rumbling noise from the back of his throat at that, saying nothing more.

You continue to wipe away at the blood until you can’t see it anymore, beyond the slice of the cut. You misjudge your own spatial awareness as you pull back from him, and the tips of your noses graze. Though the contact surprises you, you don’t move away from it. You become very acutely aware of his touch on your waist, how warm it feels atop your shirt.

His head leans forward just barely before stopping. He retreats slightly and his body ultimately decides to come closer. He doesn’t stop until his lips, slightly parted, skim across yours.

Your breath catches as he looms nearer, lips touching against yours softly. He tests that pressure out for a moment, before moving to kissing you with more intent. You kiss him back, and though there’s an increasing resolve on both of your parts, the connection itself remains gentle, reposeful.

The last slight movement of his lips gradually slips away as he rests his forehead against yours.

A long beat passes before he’s tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you up to stand. You aren’t given the time to process the shift as he’s moving straight past you, head down. He pauses only when he gets to the window, back turned to you.

“Sorry—I’m…” his shoulders drop, “Sorry.”

He climbs out and scales the fire escape in total silence until he’s gone completely.

You stand frozen in position, staring at the window with incredulity burning across your face.

What the fuck?

Two weeks pass of voided midnight visits.

You’re not sure what to make of that. He kissed you, not the other way around. You couldn’t possibly have done something to upset him or throw him off since he’s the only one who did anything. All in all, it’s a little disappointing.

There had been tension there and it wasn’t shocking for you to learn that he wanted to kiss you. It was a bit of a surprise for him to actually do it, though not a bad one. But you were thrown for a grand fucking loop when he immediately bailed out.

Maybe you can’t read him as well as you think because you’d expected him to at least say something about it. It was a borderline given that he would come back and there would be a bonus surplus of tension but then there would be a resolution. Because he wouldn’t kiss you and then never come back. Nobody would do that, it doesn’t make sense.

It’s a little more than embarrassing to admit that you’ve been purposefully staying home in the hope that he’ll drop in. After fifteen nights of disappointment, you decided to put your focus elsewhere.

You’d asked a friend of yours to go out with you tonight, and never one to decline a night out, she agreed happily.

The bell above the door jingles as you crack it open, peaking your head in. You find Chloe quickly, stood behind the bar with bottles in hand.

“Hey gorgeous,” she smiles at you, waving you in.

You step in, air conditioning hitting you hard. The sparkles on her cocktail dress catch your eye as she turns this way and that, trying to find the right spot for the whiskey.

Chloe hums to herself as she searches, honestly taking a bit longer than she should. “You been cool?”

You nod, “Yeah, just—you know…” She doesn’t. Your affiliation with the Red Hood is something you’ve kept to yourself, though you don’t know why. It would be safer, more responsible to let someone else know about these drop-ins, but something about it feels personal. A strange feeling to tack onto it, you think. A regrettable one, at least.

You take a deep breath, “You’ve been busy. Jessie call out again?”

She laughs dryly, “Oh yeah, of course. But it's fine, I love staying over an hour after close.” She sighs, “I’m almost done anyway.”

You circle around the bar, looking over the several yet-to-be-sorted bottles. “You need help?”

“No, there’s—” she cuts herself off as she looks over at the front door, face dropping. “Oh, shit. Duck.”

“Wha—” she yanks you down to the floor to crouch awkwardly behind the counter.

You hear the bell ring as the door swings open, followed by several pairs of footsteps and low voices.

“—Christ, if she forgets to lock the door one more fucking time I’m gonna kill her.”

You look at Chloe through furrowed eyebrows, her grip on you still tight. She shakes her head and puts a finger to her lips.

A second man mutters something you can’t make out.

The first voice continues, “Go around back and lug the crates in, we gotta start packing that shit.”

Another voice, “The crates? They’re not here..”

There’s a heavy beat before the first voice speaks, “What the fuck do you mean they’re not here? She needs them now.”

“Well…the first shipments will be in later this week. The next batch’ll take until the end of the month, probably.”

A sigh, “Dumbass…”

The first voice huffs, “The end of the month? Are you fucking kidding me? I told you to get that shit ready weeks ago and you’ve got it coming in at the end of the month?”

“I’ll…I’ll see what I can do to get it sooner.”

“Yeah, you do that,” he grumbles. “Motherfucker. I need a drink. Get a bottle of something.”

One of the men rounds the counter, tracks falling short at the sight of you and Chloe huddled against the counter.

“What the fuck?”

You and Chloe are wide-eyed and frozen as he sneers down at you. Still, he looks like he’s trying to be tougher than he is, compensating for size that he does not have, with an attitude that doesn’t match up with the way he sped around the counter to get the other man a drink.

Another guy comes around and you quickly recognize him as the man in charge. He frowns at Chloe, sighing, “You’re not supposed to be here still, Chloe.”

She shifts her weight, “I was just…finishing inventory…”

The bossman’s eyes move to you, laced with nothing but inconvenience. “Oh and you brought a friend. Great.”

“Mr. Murray, we were just ab—”

He’s quick to cut her off with a hand, “Chloe. Stop talking.”

Her face falls flat and her words die off without hesitation.

“Get up.”

She’s pushing herself off the ground instantly while you’re still on the floor catching up with what the hell’s going on. As she moves out from behind the bar, you scurry to follow her. Your arm bumps against hers as you fiddle with the seams at the bottom of your outfit.

You dressed to go out with your friend on a Friday night, not to meet three mobsters in a closed bar with no witnesses. That’s to say, you’re feeling a little exposed.

You stand in the center of the bar, the three men looking various degrees of annoyed looks across their faces. Though the oldest looking of the bunch has something else in his eyes as he looks you up and down, in no rush to hide his engrossment in your bare legs.

“How old are you, honey?” Even without the blatant ogling, that’s never a good question to hear from a fifty year old man.

Your eyes avert to the floor, lips pursing.

“Hey, don’t be rude. I asked you a question.” He nudges your chin up a bit rougher than necessary, forcing you to look him in the eyes.

Somehow, you feel like there’s no answer here that would help you.

The man at the bar serves as an unexpected saving grace of sorts, muttering, “We don’t have time for this.”

Your pursuer shakes his head, looking you over in a way that makes you feel very small. “I think we got plenty of time.”

“I disagree.”

All heads whip to the doorway where the Red Hood leans against the frame, checking his phone. A never invited but always welcome addition to the party. At least for you.

The man in front of you instantly steps back, putting some distance between the two of you. Hands across the room instinctively fly to holsters only to begrudgingly relax at their sides, probably figuring drawing on Red Hood isn’t in their best interest. Though your focus lies on the bell above his head that didn’t make a peep whenever he came in.

Hood shuts his phone off and puts it away with a quiet sigh before glancing up at the tension-filled room. He literally double takes when his helmet scans past you. You somehow feel more in trouble now than you did two minutes ago.

“Hood..” the bossman says measuredly. “What are you doing here?”

He stares at you for a second longer before tearing his gaze away. “Just thought I’d check up on you, Murray. Make sure you’re not causing trouble in light of our agreement.” He makes a point of looking back at you and Chloe at that last part before looking to Murray expectantly.

He waves that off easily, “This is nothing. Just two late-shift employees.”

Hood takes a piqued breath. “You picked a bad time to lie to me,” he says flatly.

Murray shakes his head, “Look, we’re just cleaning up a mess. No harm.”

“Really?”

“This clean up benefits you too, they heard too much. The one girl—Chloe, get out. She’s fine, she’s not talking.”

Chloe wastes no time exiting hastily. Bye Chloe.

He continues, “We only need to kill one of them.” He says it like this is an ideal compromise. You’re feeling differently.

Hood huffs, pulling out a gun from his holster. “I’m thinking it’s implied that killing innocent people is a form of causing trouble. Which is in direct violation of our agreement.” He cocks the gun, pointing it at Murray’s head.

Murray steps back dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Hey, an alliance is an alliance!”

Hood wavers his head to the side, “Alliance is a strong word. Temporary tolerance maybe…”

The short man pipes up, “Okay, calm down, calm down. Nobody needs to get killed. We can cooperate.”

“That’s the spirit,” Hood quips, lowering his gun.

The older one shakes his head, “We don’t have anything on her, she’ll talk.”

The short man demurs, “We don’t know that—”

“She saw too much, we can’t have her walking around with that information,” Murray says, moving towards you.

Hood puts his hands up like some kind of mediator, “Nobody’s killing anybody.”

Murray scoffs, “You were gonna kill me!”

Hood's hands drop as he stands in full, “And I still might!”

Boldly, Murray steps up to him.

But Hood looks down at him, easily a full head taller than him and at least twice his muscle mass. “Let's weigh out your odds here, Murray. Is that a fight you’re winning?”

The look on Murray’s face tells you it’s not and he struggles to maintain this chest to chest confrontation.

It only takes him a moment of wavering to decide to back off, though he sure as hell doesn’t look happy about it.

Hood pushes past him, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you towards him.

Murray splutters, watching you go. “You can’t—I-I know people.”

“I am people,” Hood grumbles, steering you towards the door.

Though you can be sure they have them, no one voices any objections aa he pulls you outside.

His stride doesn’t even falter as he marches you down the sidewalk in the direction of your apartment. Aside from the sound of the breeze wisping past your ears, it’s silent between you.

After two blocks you get the strong impression that this muted exchange of energy is just going to keep on, so you force yourself to find something to rattle off about. “That uh, that seems like something he’s gonna be mad about.”

He huffs, “Yeah, well he can get over it or die so I guess it’s a personal choice.”

You frown at his tone, “What’s your problem?”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say as his head snaps in your direction. “Why the hell are you out here?”

His sharp attitude has you stumbling a bit. “Why are you out here? You have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion,” he grumbles. “And I just saved your life so maybe complaining about it isn’t your best move right now.”

You try to stop and face him but he doesn’t let you, keeping you moving along with him. “That’s what we’re doing? Really?”

Are these about the social skills that you had expected from him based on your first meeting? Yeah. But that first meeting was months ago. He’s proven again and again that he has half a brain and the ability to read a room so you’re really not fucking sure what the hell his problem is. He won’t acknowledge that he kissed you and all but jumped out your living room window, but he will snap at you for asking about his concussion that there’s no way he doesn’t have. Especially if he’s acting like this.

He ignores your comment, blatantly at that. “Did they say anything about a drug shipment?”

This is what we’re talking about? Sure. Fine. At least you’re talking.

You open your mouth briefly before closing it again, eyes narrowed. “I don’t know.”

He tries again, “What about Nocturna? Did you hear that name?”

“I…I don’t know.” You weren’t exactly taking notes behind the bar counter.

His head drops down heavily, “Okay, I think I’m seeing a trend for how this conversation’s gonna go...”

You gawk at him, astonished that he thinks it’s you who’s handling this discussion poorly. “You cannot be serious right now.”

He sighs, slowing as you approach the steps to your building, “Just—why’d they let Chloe go?”

You blink a few times, “I mean, she has a drug problem…” You guess that might be where she’s getting them from…

He nods solemnly, “Okay.”

You huff, turning to walk up the steps, shoulders heavy. You hope he’ll come up with you and maybe, just maybe, address the elephant in the room.

“Are you—” you turn around to face him again, met with nothing but vacant air.

A deep, tense, breath from you before calling out, “Really?”

One month. One month. And he decides to show up tonight like it’s no time lost. But there was some fucking time lost.

Count ‘em up, that’s one period, two paychecks, three grocery trips, four laundry days, and thirteen showers. And that stupid fucking vigilante ransacked your head during every single one.

You went through the five stages of grief for this bizarre, undefinable relationship and then discovered about six more while you were at it.

So when you walk out from the bathroom, you’re a little pissed to see him sitting there on your living room floor, helping himself to a glass of water.

Maybe it’s his domino mask that gives his expression the illusion of neutrality. Or maybe he really has no idea how insane it is that he would occupy your apartment like this after skipping out on you for an entire lunar cycle.

He leans against your armchair, inspecting a scratch on his lower arm. You enter silently, watching him the whole time as you make your way over to the far end of the couch.

He doesn’t look up at you though, not until after a minute or two of silence.

“You got any bandages left?” he asks, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

You stare at him incredulously.

After ten seconds with no response from you, he turns around fully, frowning. “What?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I—” he squints, eyes flickering across your face. “No?”

You continue to gawk at him, not trying for any words.

He stares back, eyes wide. “I don’t know what you want me to say...”

You tear your gaze from him, preferring to stare at the wall. “You know what, I think I know what your problem is.”

He gives a laugh with little life to it. “I only have one?”

You bite down on your lip, “You only have one I’m ready to kill you over.”

He sits with that for a minute. A long minute, before asking softly, “What is it?”

You shake your head, glaring at an unoccupied nail in the wall. “That you’re an idiot,” you mutter. You start to walk away before turning around again after a few steps. “Where the hell have you been?”

He blinks, “Uh, there’s just been a lot of—”

“Bullshit.”

He’s about to argue his point, but quickly decides to concede, “Yeah.” He takes a deep breath, sitting back. “I…wasn’t prepared for this conversation,” he says carefully.

You scoff with a nod, “Yeah, neither was I, but it’s happening. I m—what did you think was going to happen here? I—you kissed me, you kissed me!”

“No I—” he huffs, “I shouldn’t have done that, okay?”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

He sighs, throwing his hands up at his sides. “What do you want me to say?”

You shrug without genuinity, “Anything that could possibly rationalize that sequence of decisions. You kiss me, run away, ghost me for a fucking month, and then show up again like nothing happened.”

He shuts his eyes, shaking his head. “I know, I know, I’m sorry!”

“I’m not asking you to be sorry, I’m asking you to pick a fucking lane and stick to it!”

He falls silent at that, eyes on the floor. It’s quiet for long enough that you start to think he’ll accept the silence as his cue to leave. You’re not sure if you want him to or not.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed. “I need you to start being straight with me. Now.”

He doesn’t look up, taking his time to find his words. “I am sorry,” he tells you. “I…I’m not good at this. I’m not good with words so I shouldn’t have fucking done it.”

Honestly you weren’t expecting him to actually come up with a reason, so you’re not prepared to weigh out whether or not it’s a good one.

“I like you...a lot. And I didn’t know—I don’t know—what to do about it so I kissed you and I didn’t think it through, and…I guess I panicked.”

That’s more than enough for you to warrant looking back over at him. It doesn’t take long for your gaze to start shifting around awkwardly while you scratch at your neck. “I would’ve taken you for more of a fight over flight kinda guy.”

He nods to himself. “Jus’ depends..” he says quietly.

And then it seems neither of you have anything else to say. You’ve run out of angry words to spit and he’s run out of apologies and excuses. But neither of you feel like you’re done.

The quiet lingers on for a painful amount of time. Your annoyance dissipates into something else, something more uncomfortable, but you couldn’t find a name for it. It’s got your thoughts going faster though and your chest feeling more hollow. Maybe not hollow…maybe just softer.

He cuts through your thoughts before you can, “Are you mad that I kissed you?”

You shake your head, “No. I’m mad about what happened after.” You’re just mad about what happened after. Should’ve said just.

He thinks about that for a moment.

“I can be honest with you,” he tells you. The way he says it, it’s somewhere between a peace offering and an assurance to himself.

You look at him again. He reads oddly vulnerable for a man his size with his reputation. You believe him.

He goes on, “I trust you, you know? I want you to trust me too, if you can.”

You blink a few times, processing. “I…I don’t know anything about you.”

He nods, an anxious aura radiating around him. He leaves you hanging for longer than a few moments, getting you convinced that the conversation is just going to end there.

It doesn’t though, and after a few minutes, he sits up and reaches up to his mask.

It has you sitting up too, like he just pulled out a gun. Your hands fly up instinctually, as though this is completely uncalled for, as if he’s crazy for doing it.

He pauses his movements for a moment, making eye contact with you. His eyes reaffirm his words. He trusts you and he wants you to trust him.

You allow your hands to relax onto your lap and he continues on, taking his mask off.

You’re not revealed to much more of his face than you’d already seen before, but entirely in view like this, he’s a sight. You try not to stare but there’s little reward to removing him from your sight whereas the alternative…

All together like this you can see how his features balance his face out so nicely and make for a warm countenance, if not rough.

He takes a deep breath, setting his mask to the side. “My name is J…” he says with assurance. “Todd,” he tacks on.

You don’t mean to, really, but you’re sure the frown on your face is evident as puzzle pieces start forming and connecting in your mind.

J…Todd…J…Jay…Todd…Jason…Todd…

Your mouth hangs open, “You’re Jason Todd. You’re de—” Well a couple things are starting to add up. “How are you…how are you not—”

He waves that away, tiredly. “It's a long story. Not particularly happy, either.”

Autopsy scar. Fuck.

“I mean, I’ll…” he hesitates, “I’ll tell you if you want me to.”

He says it, but discomfort is painted across his face. You’re quick to shake your head, “It’s okay.”

He nods, likely relieved.

You stand up from your seat, crossing the room to sit down next to him. You’d half-expected him to tense up, but his body relaxes when you lean back against the chair.

You close your eyes before asking, “Who’s Nocturna?”

“She’s just this woman that’s been causing trouble for us.”

You don’t say anything and he continues on, shaking his head. “She’s more annoying than anything.”

You open your eyes, looking over. “Yeah?”

He shrugs, “Just trying to take over the underworld, the usual stuff. Nothing you need to worry about.”

You give a laugh that’s barely more than an exhale, relaxing your body completely..

There’s the slightest lull in activity before he sets his hand down on the floor, right on top of yours. The sounds of your breathing are the only thing that fill the room for a few minutes, save for the occasional car horn.

He glances at the clock on the wall, nearing midnight. “I have to go...” He says reluctantly.

You try not to let the disappointment show through your body language. “Go where?”

He pauses before telling you, “A cemetery.”

You nod vacantly, “Oh. Just for fun, or…?”

He gives a dry laugh, “Just meeting an associate. They’re a bit dramatic, so.”

“Yeah, I’d say.”

“I’ll come back—I’m going to come back,” he mutters against your hairline.

You don’t respond, but you both know he’s good for his promise.

He looks around your apartment for a second before seemingly getting an idea. He pushes himself up off the ground and heads for your kitchen. You watch as he rips a sticky note off the deck on your fridge and scribbles something down on it.

He returns to you, kneeling down and pushing the square of paper into your hand. “Here,” he says, looking you in the eye. “If you need anything. Anything.”

You engulf the note in your palm, nodding sincerely. His eyes flicker across your face, like he’s thinking about something. He hesitates for a moment, turning towards you, away from you, then towards you again. He holds the back of your head tenderly before pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead.

You look at each other up close for a second with nothing short of starry eyes before he turns away and ducks out the window.

You open up your palm and look down at the paper, at the ten digits scrawled across it.

Huh.

Must be official.

🧨 reblog or die (this is a threat) 🧨

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elixirfromthestars · 15 days ago

Text

By The Warmth Of The Oven

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: You are baking cookies for the Avengers holiday party when a certain super solider comes into the kitchen tipsy for the first time...

Word Count: 1.1k

Warning(s): none. pure fluff. tipsy bucky.

Prompt/Event: @the-slumberparty december daze -> is it those cookies that smell delicious or is it you?

a/n: This fluffy drabble is my holiday gift to you my dear Bella @nickfowlerrr ♡ In honor of Can You Feel It? being the first of many beautiful fics I read of yours 🥹🩷 Thank you everyone for reading! ₊˚⊹♡ Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡

bucky masterlist ♡ || fluffy winter drabbles masterlist ❆

“Smells good…” Bucky’s voice comes out of nowhere from behind you as you grab another tray of chocolate chip cookies from the oven. You glance over your shoulder to find him sauntering into the kitchen, making his way over to you.

“Freshly baked cookies always do,” you reply with a gratified grin, placing the tray on top of the stove so the cookies have some time to cool off before you plate them. Your friends had already gone through three batches of them and they practically begged you to make more. It was a nice feeling, almost rewarding in a way, knowing something you made was so loved by your friends.

“‘m not talking about the cookies, doll,” there’s a bit of a slur in his cadence that catches your attention at the same time that your heart skips a beat at his words. You turn to him to see he’s staring at you with a dreamy smile and a twinkle in his eyes, propped up against the counter by his elbow. You frown at his unusual nonchalant demeanor. You’ve never seen him act this way before.

Your head tilts slightly as you examine him a little closer. There’s a bit of a sway to his stance and his cheeks are tinted pink. “Bucky, are you drunk?” Almost immediately he shakes his head at your question, “No. I can't get drunk,” he replies with an obvious tone, and yet the pouty frown on his face tells a different story.

“Right, you can’t…” you affirm, mulling it over for a moment,“Unless…did Thor give you some of his special Asgardian liquor?” You ask, stepping slightly closer to him, the apples of his cheeks getting rosier in response.

“I took a shot. I started feeling funny and came here—felt safe,” he mutters that last part reluctantly, sharing something with you he wouldn’t if it weren’t for the alcohol in his system.

“In the kitchen?”

“With you.”

Your amusement is replaced with a soft expression at his response. He most likely hasn’t felt the effects of alcohol in decades and a part of him doesn’t know how to cope with the resurfaced inhibitions. The fact that while feeling unwell his first instinct was to come looking for you—it made a warmth spread throughout you that could easily rival the heat of the oven.

You reach out to cup his cheek, soothing the flushed skin with your thumb. He instinctively leans into your touch, his eyes shining with a gentle vulnerability that causes your heart to squeeze in your chest. You and Bucky have always had a flirtatious friendship for as long as you can remember, but it's never gone past that. Seeing him so openly affectionate with you stirs emotions deep within you that you aren’t sure you’re ready to bring to the surface.

“I don’t think the alcohol is going to stay in your system for long, Buck. How about we do this…you wait for me here while I go out and serve the cookies I baked,” his eyes widen slightly and you can tell he wants to protest until you add, “I’ll bring back some hot chocolate for us to share and we can enjoy it along with some cookies while we wait for that liquor in your system to wear off. How does that sound?” You suggest softly and you can see the way he thinks it through before he agrees with a nod.

He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as you plate a few dozen cookies on decorative plates, leaving a handful behind for you and Bucky to share. You make sure to quickly take them out to your friends and serve up two piping hot mugs of hot chocolate before making it back to the kitchen in no time.

When you meet back with Bucky you find him sitting on the counter where he watches his legs as he swings them lazily to and fro. You observe him fondly for a moment longer than necessary. Trying to commit to memory how carefree and unguarded he is at this moment. When he notices you his face lights up in a way that makes you feel like the most precious person on earth.

“Here, as promised,” you hand him a mug of hot chocolate which he takes eagerly—too eagerly—as he immediately goes for a sip of it. Before he can, however, you stop him, placing your hand as a barrier between his lips and the mug. His mouth ends up pressed into your palm, and you ignore the heat that finds its way to your face at the softness of his lips brushing against your skin.

“Bucky, it's scalding hot! You’ll burn yourself! Wait until it cools down a bit, please.”

“It’s not gonna burn me, doll. I’m a super soldier. Watch—”

“Bucky!”

You use the cookies as leverage to coax Bucky into waiting for the hot chocolate to cool down before he drinks any of it. For the next hour or so, you enjoy each other's company. Between the sweet treats and the lighthearted conversations, time flies by in a heartbeat.

Then, while in the middle of a discussion over your last mission, Bucky does something that completely takes you by surprise in the best way possible—he kisses you. It’s short, but profound in the way he pours everything into it. Every flirtation you ever questioned could mean something more was proven here with this kiss, that it had meant so much more for more than just you.

You’re speechless when he pulls away beaming as if his heart might burst.

“Looks like I was right.”

“Huh?”

“I asked myself what was sweeter. You or the cookies. I knew it'd be you,” he states as a matter of fact, drinking up the way his words affect you as much as the kiss had. There’s a part of you that doesn’t believe him, but it's not because of him, but more so because you think you must be dreaming.

“That's the liquor talking.”

“I've sobered up a while ago, doll.”

You search his eyes for the truth of it all and you find it. This is real. This isn’t a dream. And the yearning that burns bright in his eyes is one you know all too well. It’s the same one reflecting in your eyes as your gazes lock on one another.

“I still think the cookies are sweeter,” you whisper, your eyes shining with a playful challenge despite the way your heart races in your chest with anticipation. He catches on, licking his lips as his flesh hand snakes its way to the back of your head to cradle it gently.

“‘m gonna prove you wrong, doll,” he declares in a huskier tone as he pulls you in for another kiss. And that night, by the warmth of the oven, Bucky continues to kiss you until he successfully proves you wrong.

#glimpses of love in the snowfall #elixirs snowfall daydreams #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky imagine #bucky fluff #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes oneshot

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whytheylosttheirminds · 22 days ago

Text

home for the holidays (part two) - r.c.

❄️ a frat!rafe cameron holiday mini series ❄️ (part one here!)

summary a simple favor for a friend ends with you reluctantly bringing Rafe Cameron, resident campus fuckboy, home for the holidays. It’s gonna take more than a little mistletoe for him to win you over…

content “enemies” to lovers, copious amounts of flirting, eventual smut, a dash of familial angst, parental illness and mentions of parental death, 18+ mdni

(taglist for this series is closed. please see author's notes at the end of the chapter for important info about the taglist!)

Somewhere between his house and yours it dawned on Rafe, much to his annoyance, that he had a big, stupid crush on you.

He tried everything to suppress it. He reminded himself that you didn't like him, that you probably thought you were better than him. He reminded himself how stupid it’d be to get attached to someone only a few months before graduation.

Jesus, really man? He thought. She’s not your type, Rafe. She hates you. Be a fucking man and pull it together.

But it was the way you were perched in the driver’s seat, scooted all the way forward leaving no room between you and the wheel, smiling as you sang along to Mariah Carey. You looked so soft and cute, the sleeves of his hoodie slipping over your hands as they clutched the steering wheel.

Fuck, he definitely had a crush on you, and he hated having a crush. There was way too much room for rejection. This was one area in which he’d never really grown up, so he opted for his usual defense mechanism - pushing your buttons, like he was ten years old on the playground, pulling your pigtail just to get a reaction.

“So was I right about you not having many hookups in college?” He blurted out sometime during the third play of All I Want for Christmas is You.

Your head snapped toward him, complete confusion and not even a smidge of amusement on your face.

“What the fuck?” You grumbled. “That’s kinda personal, actually…”

“I’m just saying, I’ve never seen you at parties, and you don’t seem to have a boyfriend. Four years is a long time…”

“Everything is about sex with you, huh? Some of us are actually in college to learn,” you scolded him. It was his intention to push you away, and yet the repulsion in your voice still stung.

“Alright, I’ll stop asking,” he conceded.

“Good,” you huffed, shoulders slumping a little.

He looked over at you every so often, determined to find a flaw, some blemish or ick that he could use as a dealbreaker. This plan backfired terribly, his eyes only discovering more pretty features and cute little mannerisms that made his stomach leap every time he looked at you. He felt like a moth, brainless and hopelessly drawn to the warm light of a lamp that was sure to zap him dead at the slightest touch.

After twenty minutes of freezing him out for his “no hookups” comment, you gasped and excitedly pointed out the first of many road signs for your hometown, your annoyance with him replaced with excitement as the signs advertised you were getting closer and closer to home.

Then you finally gave him something to resent you for. After a remark about how excited you were to see your family, you looked over at him with big, kind eyes, nervously broaching the topic with a light touch on his arm, “I’m sorry about your family leaving you behind. That totally sucks.”

There was a softness in your tone that was so warm and inviting it made him want to jump out of the moving car. He knew he was fucked up for being mad that you were being nice, but he couldn’t help it, the tenderness in your gaze made him feel like a wounded puppy, and he hated your pity.

He pulled his arm away from your gentle fingers like they’d hurt him.

“I’m fine,” he snapped. “They didn’t leave me, it was just a miscommunication.”

You withdrew in more ways than one, pulling your hand back and falling awkwardly silent. Rafe kicked himself mentally, of course just when you’d started to come around to him, he pushed you away. Little did those girls in your dorm know, that was the true Rafe Cameron special.

“So, uh, you were saying something about presents for your brothers? How old are they?” He asked, praying he hadn’t made you shut down for good, trying to re-stoke the fires of the friendship you had been building since you offered for him to come home with you.

You were chewing on your nails, picking at the dead skin nervously. At his prompting you started to speak again, though a bit less enthusiastically than before he’d shut you down.

“Uhm, well,” you sat up a little. “There’s Luke, he’s sixteen. And then Reese is thirteen and Bennett is ten.”

“Fun ages,” he nodded, wincing at his cliché words.

“They are fun,” you nodded, a smile returning to your lips at the thought of your little brothers. The sight of you smiling again soothed the ache in his chest and he leaned back into his seat, full of relief.

“Luke is such a teenage boy, too cool for everything. I got him some Nike cleats because he plays football, he’ll pretend he doesn’t like them but I think he’ll wear them. And Reese is quieter, he’s always been a bit more sensitive. He wants to be a photographer, so I got him a vintage Polaroid camera. Benny was the easiest to shop for,” you smiled at the thought of your baby brother, Rafe could tell you had a special love for him. “I got him one of those giant gummy bears that comes in its own plastic case. It cost a fraction of what I spent on the other two but I guarantee you he’ll be the most excited.”

“I’m sure they’ll all like what you got them,” he assured you.

“They better, they cost me a whole paycheck,” you huffed, thinking of all the hours you’d worked slinging drinks at your college’s go-to student bar to pay for the presents that were currently sitting in your trunk.

“It’s better than what I got my sisters,” he reminded you with a laugh.

“Hey! I spent six whole dollars on those souvenirs!” You scolded him, smiling at the memory of the crappy little knick-knacks in the backseat.

“And I’m sure they’ll love them,” he agreed.

“What about your sisters? How old are they?” You asked.

Surely, you were just being polite, keeping the conversation going after he’d asked about your brothers. But he wanted nothing less than to talk about his family right now, the thought of them all hanging out at the Bahama house, completely forgetting that he existed, still stung fresh. He wondered if Sarah and Wheezie even asked his dad where he was, why he wasn’t on the plane. Maybe they were relieved to celebrate the holiday without him annoying them, he probably deserved it.

“Hey, isn’t that your exit?” He pointed at the highway sign, advertising that the off ramp to your hometown was only half-a-mile away, trying to distract you from your question.

“Yes!” It worked, you sat up in your seat, excitedly pressing a little harder on the gas as you celebrated the proximity to home.

“Woah, slow down, I’d like to celebrate Christmas alive,” he joked as the needle on the speedometer climbed higher and higher.

“Oh shit sorry,” you giggled, pulling your foot back to slow down a little. “I’m just excited. It’s gonna be so cozy. My dad will have put a bunch of colored lights all over the front of the house, and the tree will be up, probably a fire going and Christmas music playing. I can’t wait to see them!”

His jealousy was almost debilitating. What must it be like to feel this excited to go home? To know what was waiting for you was going to bring you so much joy? He wanted what you had so badly, he was tempted to reach out and touch you just to see if he could absorb your happiness by osmosis.

The little town you called home was just as small as Rafe was picturing, if not more. Though, the tiny houses lining the main street were decked to the nines with Christmas decorations, so much merriment in such a tiny little hamlet. The further into the country you drove, green street signs giving way to rickety, hand-painted ones, the more he felt like he understood you.

You smiled at all the lights, body absolutely buzzing with each turn that brought you towards home. Finally, you turned on a long dirt road, past a field of horses Rafe recognized as the farm you said you grew up next to. Approaching a mailbox with your last name on it, your smile fell from your lips, eyebrows creasing as you turned onto the property.

At the end of the long driveway was a small little split level home Rafe surmised to be yours, only where he expected a display of twinkling christmas decor, there was only one single flickering porch light. If he hadn’t known better, he’d assume the family who lived here didn’t celebrate Christmas at all.

“What the hell?” You mumbled under your breath, concern on your face growing as you pulled the car up and parked behind an old, rusting mini-van.

Arms full of presents, Rafe helping with your bags, you stumbled anxiously through the front door. The inside of your house was just as disappointing as the outside. It was messy, dishes on the counter and the echo of obnoxious video games ringing through the halls where there should be the familiar chatter of your family having dinner.

“Hello?” You called out, setting the presents down on the kitchen table. You peaked your head over the island, into the open space of the living room. In the far corner, where there should’ve been a Christmas tree, there was a pile of unfolded laundry.

Two messy headed boys peered over the back of the couch, the third head not moving from its fixation on the TV as his fingers continued to click away on his controller.

“Gigs!!” The smallest one, who Rafe assumed to be Bennett, shouted, he and the second smallest, who he identified as Reese, rose from the couch and made their way towards you.

“Gigs?” Rafe repeated under his breath.

“As in Giggles. It’s my childhood nickname,” you explained, and when you saw his teasing smirk added, “shut up.”

Reese and Bennett nearly tackled you, colliding into you with little bear hugs. Reese was nearing your height, though not quite there yet, and Bennett was small but stocky, his chubby arms squeezing the air from your lungs.

“Rice and beans!” You sang affectionately as you returned their hugs, messing up their hair and pinching their cheeks. You looked to Rafe to answer the question you could see already forming on his lips, “rice and beans, as in Reese and Bennett, their nicknames.”

He smiled at your affectionate embrace with your brothers, nodding with a little, “ah.” Something in him ached, like a haunted limb, a muscle he didn’t even have that was sore from lack of use.

After several moments, Bennett pulled away, eyeing Rafe and pointing a stubby little finger right at him, “who’s he?”

Reese covered his brother’s finger, forcing his hand down correctively.

“Benny, that’s rude,” you said, unable to suppress the little chuckle at your brother’s boyish indifference.

In your concern over the state of the house, you hadn’t planned out how to explain Rafe to your brothers. ‘He’s a friend’ wasn’t totally accurate, but it was the only language they’d understand. Before you could open your mouth to explain anything, though, your youngest brother blurted out, “are you Giggy’s boyfriend?”

“Bennett Alan,” you snipped at him through gritted teeth, giving him a motherly glare as you used his full name in warning. “You’re being rude, and he is not my boyfriend.”

This was true, though Rafe wasn’t sure there was any need for the tinge of disgust in the way you said it. He could sense Bennett formulating another pot-stirring question and jumped in before he had the chance.

“I’m Rafe,” he set his bag down next to the counter and held out a hand.

Bennett puffed out his chest, putting on his best adult voice as he shook Rafe’s hand, “I’m Bennett, my friends call me Benny.”

You and Reese gave each other knowing smirks, sharing eye rolls over your brother’s precocious antics.

“And which should I call you?” Rafe played along with his all-business tone.

“Depends, how much money you got?”

Rafe smirked, but you were mortified. “Oh my god, Beans! You can’t ask people that. Here, make yourself useful and put these presents under the tree.”

“We don’t have one,” Reese told you, the first words Rafe had heard him speak, and by his quiet tone and the way he avoided eye contact he understood why you’d called him the sensitive one.

Rafe caught the way you allowed worry to flash across your face for only a second before you smoothed your features back into faux nonchalance, like you were putting on a show for the kids.

“Oh okay, well then I guess we’ll just leave them on the table,” you shrugged, as if you hadn’t been raving about your family’s grand Christmas trees just minutes ago.

Your eyes drifted back to the living room, where your remaining brother still hadn’t risen to greet you.

“Lukey? Help me with my bags?”

The shaggy haired boy finally turned, eyeing Rafe with a cold distrust that felt like looking in a mirror.

“Looks like he’s already got ‘em,” he grumbled.

You gave him an authoritative glare that had much less playfulness than the one you’d given Bennett.

“Where are mom and dad?” You asked Reese in a hushed tone, shielding the question from Bennett, who was busy dragging a chair over from the kitchen table.

“It’s Thursday,” Reese responded, giving you a knowing look like you should know what that meant. When you clearly didn’t, he added, “chemo day,” in a whisper so quiet Rafe could barely hear it. “Mom’s been asleep since they got back and dad had to work the evening shift.”

Rafe did hear though, and your eyes flicked to him quickly with a vulnerability he hadn’t seen from you yet, like he somehow had something to hold over your head now. He wanted to say the exact right thing to put you at ease, to let you know your family’s business was safe with him. As he was formulating the words, Benny was climbing up on the chair he’d dragged over, standing directly between you and Rafe.

“How tall are you?” Benny asked Rafe once he could meet his eyeline.

“Uhm,” Rafe cleared his throat, pulled from the moment, “I’m 6 '2.”

“I’m 4 foot 1 and three quarters,” Benny explained, as though if this were a competition, he was just a few points behind Rafe, and gaining.

“Nice! 4 '1 is very respectable,” Rafe smiled, deciding it was best to be on Benny’s good side.

“And three quarters,” Benny corrected through gritted teeth.

“Right, sorry, and three quarters,” Rafe put his hands up in defense.

Benny crossed his arms and gave Rafe a once over, as if he was the man of the house deciding if he was allowed to stay.

Sensing your brother was about to say some other rude thing to embarass you, you stepped in, “Benny why don’t you go show our guest where we keep the air mattress,” you grabbed him off the chair and lowered him to the ground with some difficulty, “and be nice,” you added in his ear.

Benny obeyed but gave Rafe narrow, suspicious eyes the whole way down the hall.

“There’s like a thirty percent chance Benny tries to fight him,” Reese noted as the two of you watched them go.

You chuckled, settling on the couch between your two brothers.

“So who is he really?” Luke asked, still not pausing his video game but at least acknowledging your existence.

“He’s just a guy from school,” you shrugged. “He’s Brody’s friend.”

“Is Brody here?” Reese asked hopefully. You and Brody had been friends your whole childhoods, and your brother’s were always big fans.

“No, he had an internship or something, but I’d already told Rafe I’d give him a ride, and when we got to his house his family was just, like, gone,” you explained. “They went on a trip and didn’t even tell him.”

“Yikes,” Luke said. “That’s shitty.”

“Language,” you scolded, making him roll his eyes. “But yes, it is shitty,” you added, making him smirk.

“He’s like Kevin from Home Alone,” Reese quipped. All three of you laughed.

“Honestly? It was kind of exactly like that, only sadder. Like a lost puppy. I mean, who just forgets their kid?” You lowered your voice a bit, hoping it wouldn’t carry down the hall. “I felt so awkward I didn’t know what to do so I said he could come here.”

Your brothers seemed satisfied with your explanation. Even though nothing you said was technically untrue, you still felt like you were somehow being dishonest. You’d never admit it, but it wasn’t all out of pity, there was some small part of you that wanted to bring Rafe home, that was intrigued by him and wanted to see more. But there was no way to explain that to two teenage boys, so you settled for the Home Alone excuse.

Benny came back around the corner, leaping onto the couch and nearly knocking over Luke’s soda.

“Beans, chill,” Luke groaned as he narrowly caught his Mountain Dew before it spilled all over the coffee table.

“Where’s Rafe?” You asked Benny, looking around to see if he’d followed your brother back out.

“He said to tell you he’s going to bed, he seemed kinda grumpy,” Benny shrugged, stealing Luke’s soda when he wasn’t paying attention and taking a swig.

“Oh,” you said, trying to hide the hint of disappointment in your voice. “Okay.”

Down the hall, Rafe snuck quietly into the laundry room as the fading voices of you and your brothers were drowned out by the sound of the water heater, which sat in the cramped space right next to the air mattress Benny had helped him set up.

Your voice echoed in his head, ‘I felt so awkward I didn’t know what to do.’

So it was a pity invite. You saw him as some sad character from a 90s movie, not an actual companion you wanted to spend the holiday with.

He settled on the uncomfortable inflatable mattress. He was in a house full of people, and yet he was beginning to think he might actually feel less lonely all by himself in Tannyhill.

Up before the sun, out the door before breakfast’s done; that’s the way your dad had been your whole life, working a string of manual labor, blue collar jobs that meant he was usually gone before you woke up.

This morning however, you were determined to talk to him before he left, to confront him about the complete lack of Christmas you’d found at your homecoming. You set your alarm at an ungodly hour so you could wait for him to come down the stairs.

Hunched over the counter by the brewing coffee pot, you ran your hands over your face. Your holiday homecoming was nothing like you imagined, the biggest surprise of all being the person you came home with, but you’d figure out how to broach that subject later.

“Hi Gigs.” Your dad’s footsteps were so quiet, you hadn’t heard him enter the kitchen. When you turned to meet him, he flashed you a tired grin.

He’d gotten home after you went to sleep last night, this was the first you’d seen him since your anticlimactic arrival. He looked more exhausted than you ever remembered seeing him. Even more tired than after Bennett was born and he had colic for six months.

“Hi dad,” you approached and gave him a hug before returning to the coffee pot to pour some for him in a travel mug.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asked.

“A lot on my mind,” you said, turning to face him. “Made you some coffee. If you stay and talk to me I might just be persuaded to make you breakfast.”

Your dad slumped into a chair at the kitchen table, pulling on and lacing up his heavy work boots.

“No time for breakfast,” he waved you off. “You know that.”

“Dad, what’s going on?” You asked, knowing your window to get answers was closing quickly.

But he didn’t answer, he just sighed heavily and shook his head, avoiding your gaze.

“Just not a breakfast guy that’s all,” he joked. You knew he knew that’s not what you meant.

“You didn’t even hang any lights,” you mumbled softly, feeling a bit childish. “And there’s no tree.”

Your dad sighed again. You wondered if there was a record for how many times someone could sigh in one conversation.

“I’ve been working double shifts, there just hasn’t been time. I’m sorry,” he shrugged. “It’s been a long year, kid.”

“Why didn’t you tell me it’s gotten so bad? I would’ve come back sooner,” you said, pulling a side eye from him that you read as: and that’s exactly why I didn’t tell you.

“I don’t know, why didn’t you tell me about the frat boy in the laundry room?” He countered.

‘Oh, right,” you blushed, feeling like when you were twelve and he found you hiding a stray cat in the garage. “Was gonna mention him but, you know, you were working.”

“Could’ve told me you were bringing your boyfriend home,” he scolded you.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you rushed to explain. “He’s Brody’s friend. He needed a place to crash.”

“Ah, Brody’s friend. That makes me feel so much better,” he rolled his eyes.

Your dad was never a fan of Brody, too much of a ‘knucklehead’ as he called him. You knew Rafe wouldn’t fare much better in your dad’s good graces, no guy you liked ever did. Not that you liked Rafe. Fuck, your blush was getting deeper. You quickly looked down at your feet, hoping your dad wouldn’t notice.

Luckily, he was too tired to read your facial expressions, he huffed as he rose from his chair and approached you, digging in his pocket for some cash. “Here, grab a tree and some gifts for the boys -”

“You haven’t even gotten them gifts yet?” You sighed.

“I know, I know,” he nodded, his baggy, tired eyes begging you for a little slack. You’d never seen him look so tired, sympathy overpowering your disappointment. “I’m trying here, gigs.”

“I got it,” you gave him a small, dutiful smile and pocketed the cash.

“I knew you would,” he gave you a side hug and accepted the travel mug of coffee you handed him. “I’m sorry things aren’t exactly what you expected. but I am glad you’re home.”

As he slipped out the front door into the chilly dusk, your mind spiraled. You knew your mom was having a rough patch with her breast cancer, but you had no idea it’d gotten this bad. No Christmas was simply not an option, maybe things would never go back to normal for you, or your parents, but that was adulthood wasn’t it? Your brothers shouldn’t have to grow up just yet, and you’d make sure they didn’t.

Everything felt wrong, off kilter in a way that made your stomach twist with the familiar anxiety that comes with any situation you can’t control. So you did what you always do when things feel uncertain; you made a list.

Pulling a notebook from the kitchen junk drawer, you uncapped a pen and quickly scribbled everything you could think of that needed to be done:

Decorations

⇢ box in garage? lights working?

Presents for the boys

⇢ wishlists? budget??

Buy and decorate tree

⇢ Douglas Fir? tree lots still open?

Under each item you scribbled all the steps you could think of, as well as any conflicts you might hit along the way. Maybe if you could just work the problem, you could fix this, save Christmas and by extension, your family.

You eyed the empty checkboxes next to each item with worry. If you were going to pull all of this off in just two days, you’d need to call in some reinforcements.

The door to the laundry room squeaks if you open it slowly, which you did deliberately, milking it for all the disruptive sound it’s worth. Rafe was sprawled out on the air mattress, which had deflated just a bit in his sleep, making his legs stick up in the air a little higher than his upper body.

He was snoring away, just like he had in the car, your noisy opening of the door not doing what you’d hoped it would.

You sighed loudly, he didn’t stir. You cleared your throat, still nothing. You coughed theatrically, he was still out cold.

Finally, you opened the lid to the washing machine, taking off one sock and dropping it in, letting the heavy metal lid slam closed as you started a rinse cycle. At the crash, Rafe shot up, nearly falling off the air mattress.

“Oh good, you’re up!” You chirped, as if you hadn’t caused the sudden awakening.

“What the hell are you doing?” He grumbled at you, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His hair stuck up at all angles and he squinted, barely able to open his eyes in his exhaustion. You gave yourself one second to think about how cute he looked before redirecting your focus to the reason you were in here.

“Just doing some laundry,” you told him as he reached around in the dimly lit room for his phone. “But since you’re awake...”

“What time is it?” He slurred, still half asleep.

“I dunno probably like 9,” you shrugged, knowing full well that wasn’t the case.

“I can’t find my phone,” he sunk back into the mattress, making like he was going to go back to sleep. That wouldn’t do.

“Oh, here!” You flicked on the fluorescent overhead light, making him wince and pull the covers over his head.

“Gah! Turn them off please!” He cried out, voice muffled from under the blankets.

“It’s time to get up, we have a big day ahead of us,” you walked over to the mattress, kicking it to jostle him around on the half-inflated plastic.

“I’m on vacation,” he protested.

“Yes, exactly, Christmas vacation,” you walked around to the end of the bed, grabbing the covers in two hands and pulling them from his body, making him groan and curl up in the cold air like a rolly polly bug. “We have Christmas things to do.”

You tried not to notice the sculpted arms revealed by his grey tank top, and you really tried not to notice how the thin material of his flannel pajama pants was leaving very little to the imagination. He looked up after a moment, blinking his eyes open to catch you staring, his lips twisting in a cocky grin. He opened his mouth to say something smug and flirtatious, but before he could, his eyes caught the clock on the wall behind you.

“It’s 6am?!” He yelled.

“Oh is it?” You laughed, no longer trying to hide your scheme. “My bad, 6s and 9s look the same to me.”

Swiftly, Rafe stretched out his long leg, hooking his foot behind your knee and pulling you toward him, sweeping you off your feet and onto the mattress. A sharp “oof!” left your lips and as you crashed down onto what little air was left in the mattress to catch you. Landing hard, you immediately slid towards him, your body settling square on top of his.

“You wanna talk some more about 6s and 9s?” He grinned at you, his morning voice low and raspy in a way that sent goosebumps rushing up your spine.

“Ugh, you’re a pig!” You smacked him on the shoulder, pins and needles lingering in your hand where your skin had met his, and tried to push yourself up.

Wobbling on the plastic mattress, your attempts to get off of him only had you wriggling further down until your face was hovering over his. This was the closest you had ever been to him, suddenly noticing just how blue his eyes were. The glow of them under the fluorescents actually knocked the wind out of you, freezing your body in place over him as you took them in, feeling like you might drown in them if you stared too long, but letting the waves pull you under anyway.

“Morning,” he lips curved into a smile that was so handsome it almost made you forget your mission.

Grasping at your reason for coming in here like it was a lifeboat, you decided to use the compromising position you had him in to your advantage, leaning a little closer as you said, “I need you.”

Rafe’s eyebrows shot up in shock, was this really about to happen, right here in your parent’s laundry room?

“Oh yeah?” He flirted, muscles tensing in anticipation beneath you. “What do you need, hmm?”

“Just say yes and I’ll tell you,” you purposefully dropped your voice lower, adding a tinge of suggestion to your words to really bring it home.

“Anything,” he agreed, his mind five miles ahead of you in the wrong direction.

You sat up, straddling him, and pulled the list of tasks from your pocket.

“Great, get dressed, we’re leaving in five,” you smiled down at him, relishing the completely baffled look on his face. “We’re gonna save Christmas.”

“No, we don’t have time to stop, we gotta stick to the list,” you protested as Rafe turned the car off the road and pulled into a drive thru.

After tricking him into agreeing to help you, you’d rushed him through getting ready and out of the house, convinced the stores would be packed as soon as they opened. He dragged his feet the whole way, but somehow you’d managed to wrangle him into the car, insisting he drive so you could look through some catalogs to map out gifts for your brothers.

“If I have to be up at the asscrack of dawn, I’m getting coffee,” he shot you down.

“Okay, fine, but if we get there and all the good deals are gone, I’m blaming you,” you conceded.

You tapped your knee anxiously as the line of cars in the drive thru crawled like a herd of snails. Rafe watched your fingers strum out of the corner of his eye, noticing for the first time the way your nails were bitten down to the beds. He wasn’t paying much attention, but he was fairly sure they weren’t that messed up yesterday.

“What do you want to order?” He asked, unsure why but suddenly only caring about finding a way to distract you.

Without needing to look at the menu, you recited, “venti blonde americano with two extra shots of espresso and a splash, like a really small splash, of oat milk. Actually no oatmilk. And four shots.”

Rafe blinked back at you, your fidgety fingers lifted to your lips as you chewed on your cuticles.

Pulling up to the speaker, he leaned in and said, “yeah grande black coffee for me, and uh, a tall green tea please.”

“That is not what I ordered!” you snipped as he pulled forward to the first window.

“Yeah, I’m cutting you off,” he explained. “If I let you have any more caffeine, you won’t have any fingernails left.”

You dropped your hand quickly, surprised that he had noticed. You were miffed that he was denying you your coffee, but he was probably right. You took a deep breath and sipped your tea as he drove to the first stop on your list.

Somewhere along the highway, the radio jingled the familiar first notes of All I Want For Christmas is You. You sat up, excitedly reaching to turn the volume up.

“If I have to listen to this song one more time, I swear I’m gonna drive the car off this bridge,” he groaned, his hand covering yours to stop you from making his misery louder.

“Oh my god you’re so dramatic,” you raised your eyebrows, giving in and returning your hand to your lap. “She’s the queen of Christmas!”

“Please,” he gave you a pouty lip from the driver’s seat. “It’s killing me.”

“Okay, fine,” you laughed, rolling your eyes at him. “No more Mariah Carey.”

The department store parking lot was swarming with last minute shoppers. You hated that you belonged with them, punished for procrastination. Usually you did things early and thoroughly, now people would think you were one of the careless who pushed things to the last minute. It was a silly thing to worry about, but everything seemed to worry you today. You even made Rafe exchange phone numbers with you in case one of you got lost in the crowd and you couldn’t find each other. Your mind was running wild with worst case scenarios.

Rafe found a spot far from the door, as you walked towards the store’s entrance, you flipped through the catalog you’d snatched from your parent’s junkmail.

“Okay, so I circled everything that’s similar to what’s on the boys’ lists but on clearance,” you explained to him as he grabbed a cart, not fully listening to you. “We’ve got like fifty dollars for each of them, I think we can find a couple good things.”

Once inside the door, Rafe immediately grabbed a bag of chocolates off of the stocking stuffers display.

“That’s not on the list,” you reminded him, jaw dropping when he opened the bag and started eating the candy right there in the middle of the aisle. “And you didn’t pay for that!”

“Relax,” he held the bag out to you, “have some chocolate. Get into the Christmas spirit.”

“Since when are you the expert on the ‘Christmas spirit?’” You eyed him, noticeably not accepting a piece of his stolen candy. “You just threatened to throw Mariah Carey off a bridge.”

“No, I said I was gonna throw myself off a bridge if I had to listen to her one more time,” he placed his hand over his chest as if he was proving his innocence. “Besides, one of us has to have a little joy,” he noted, tilting his head a little to emphasize his point.

He was right, you were stressing a little too much. If Rafe Cameron was out-Christmasing you, then clearly you needed an attitude adjustment.

“You’re right,” you sighed, accepting one of his chocolates and popping it in your mouth as you looked around the store to map out your shopping plan. “Alright, aisle ten for Reese’s camera lens and then aisle four for Benny’s lego-”

Your sentence was cut short at the feeling of Rafe’s thumb on the corner of your mouth, his face cool and casual as the pad of his finger ran across your lip. Your eyes shot around, there were at least a dozen people in this section, all close enough to see him circling your mouth with his finger.

Before you could push him off, not that you really wanted to, he pulled back. You stumbled a bit, subconsciously chasing the feeling of his touch. He revealed his thumb to you, he’d collected a little glob of chocolate that had smeared around your mouth.

“You’re gonna get us caught for our little shoplifting scheme,” he joked, licking the chocolate off the pad of his thumb as if it were the most normal thing in the world, and not an incredibly sensual action for a fluorescent lit department store at 7am.

“W-we are not shoplifting,” you stammered, fighting speechlessness and praying he didn’t notice the way your cheeks were burning. “You better pay for those.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughed. I’ll pay for them, I promise. But if I forget, I’m saying you took them.” He dropped the chocolates into the cart before you could protest and wheeled toward the first aisle on your list, making you scurry a bit to catch up with his long legs.

“Bastard,” you mumbled, still feeling flustered.

Somewhere between the frozen food section and the office supplies aisle, you actually started having fun.

Your cart filled slowly, the rush you were in when you entered the store slowing with every moment that passed walking around the store with Rafe. You joked about the hideous holiday decor, and the cheesy romance novel shelf. You stood on the back of the cart as he wheeled you around, nearly taking out a display of canned goods, and got a stern warning from a stock boy that sent you both into a fit of mischievous laughter. He tried on a series of truly awful hats for you, and even let you snap a few pictures.

As you laughed and shopped together, you couldn’t help but notice the cheery looks of the older ladies that passed you in the aisles. You returned their friendly glances with a blush, wondering, though it made you feel like a silly schoolgirl, if they thought Rafe was your boyfriend.

You’d remind yourself how foolish the thought was as you checked items off your list, seeing as this was not the real Rafe Cameron. The real Rafe Cameron wouldn’t be caught dead shopping for gardening gloves and barbeque tongs for your parents, he’d rather be pregaming a party or kicking the girl from last night who’s name he’d already forgotten out of bed.

And yet, here he was, pushing the cart while you rattled on about Christmas when you were seven when it snowed so hard the power went out, the last time you remembered actually having a white Christmas. The way he nodded along intently had you actually wondering if it could be real, if being with him could be more than just a distraction from a stressful morning.

Your thoughts spiraled even further when he stopped to point out a his and hers sweater set, one reading “naughty” and the other “nice.”

“As long as I get to be the nice one,” you smiled as he pulled the itchy wool over his head.

He leaned down to tug its partner over your head, his voice low in your ear, “Only ‘cause I know you like it when I’m naughty.”

Butterflies did pirouettes in your stomach, you snapped a picture of the two of you in a mirror, Rafe towering over you from behind as he smiled for the camera.

“Yeah, we’re definitely buying these,” he said, tucking the tag into your collar, his knuckles ghosting over the skin of your neck.

After a few more shenanigans, you realized two hours had passed, and you still had several more items on your list.

“How about this? For your brothers?” Rafe asked, pointing out an Xbox in a display case.

You snorted, “there’s no planet on which my brother’s would think that actually came from our parents. They’re still using an old PlayStation someone gave us years ago.”

“Well then I’ll get it for them, you can say it came from Santa,” he shrugged, as if the astronomical price tag below it didn’t even exist.

“Our Santa brings, like, socks and candy. He doesn’t have a black card,” you pulled his arm, guiding him to a cheaper aisle.

“And what does your Santa usually bring you?” He questioned, a not so subtle way to find out what you wanted for Christmas.

“I don’t ask him for much,” you brushed the question off. “I just want my family all together.”

Rafe didn’t push any further, watching you out of the corner of his eye, realization dawning that you were serious, you actually didn’t expect to get any gifts for Christmas.

Not noticing his eyes on you, you scanned over everything in your cart, adding it up on your phone’s calculator for the hundredth time. You couldn’t remember a day in your life you weren’t worried about money. Every penny counts now more than ever with your mom not working and your dad unable to find a job that pays enough to keep everyone afloat without completely running himself into the ground.

Without realizing it, you brought your fingertips back to your mouth, biting your nails anxiously for the first time since Rafe had pointed out the bad habit several hours ago.

“Hey you know what?” Rafe said, and you were so lost in worried thoughts that you flinched at the sound of his voice. “Why don’t we split up to get the rest of the list? We’ll cover more ground that way. Also, I think I saw some fake trees on sale back there, so I can grab one.”

“Okay,” you agreed, feeling the little bubble of your flirty shopping spree pop.

He was clearly ready to be done with this little excursion. But you’d had more fun than you thought you would, and there were still several days of break left to enjoy with him. You could feel the walls you’d so carefully built around your heart swaying just a little bit in his wind. The thought terrified and thrilled you all at the same time.

After collecting your half of the gift list, you searched the store for Rafe. You found him in the jewelry section, leaning against the glass display case. You made your way towards him, prepared to tease him for wasting time in a section that wasn’t on the list, before you saw his reason for being there. You stopped short, ducking behind an inflatable Santa to watch with a disappointed glare.

He was chatting up a pretty sales girl, her store uniform fitted tightly as she smiled down at him, her cheeks rosy pink and pretty smile blindingly white.

Rafe gave her the charming grin you’d begun to hope he only reserved for you, probably drawling some cheeky compliments to cause her to blush in the way you surely did when he talked to you.

The feeling in your chest was unfamiliar, and painfully uncomfortable. Reluctantly, you identified it as jealousy. No, no, you were not jealous over this obnoxious frat boy, you wouldn’t allow yourself to be. That was not how you were gonna start your Christmas break.

Just as you’d resolved not to be jealous, he reached up and brushed his hand against the necklace she was wearing, admiring her jewelry surely just as an excuse to bring his hand close to her chest. She beamed at him, his attempts at flirting clearly working.

A deep frown settled on your features. He was supposed to be shopping for your little brothers and instead he was feeling up a sales girl? You felt so delusional for thinking you’d misjudged him on the drive down. He was the same guy you thought he was when he showed up at your car yesterday, you should've trusted your gut.

Hoping he wouldn’t catch you watching, you turned quickly on your heel, beelining for check out.

Taking the bag from the sales girl with a wink, Rafe tucked the small item at the bottom of his cart, under the presents he’d collected for your brothers, and began searching for you in the crowded aisles, looking forward to the pleased look on your face when he informed you he’d found everything on his half of the list.

When he found you, you were already half way through checking out, loading items onto the belt and watching with tense shoulders as the total on the screen climbed higher and higher.

“What, were you gonna leave without me?” Rafe joked as he started adding his items to the belt.

“We’re on a schedule, we don’t have time to keep fucking around,” you grumbled.

Rafe met eyes with the college-aged guy who was working as cashier, both of them flashing knowing smirks as if to say, “chicks, am I right, man?” Their boyish camaraderie made you even angrier.

Once your cart was empty, you started to help Rafe empty his cart, but he jumped around to the front before you could, blocking your access.

“No, no, I got it,” he said nervously, his body blocking you from reaching into his cart.

Irritation crept up your chest, threatening to take over completely. You suddenly felt so petty and immature, like you were Benny’s age, knowing you were about to say something rude you’d later regret.

“Fine!” You shoved the cash your dad had given you in Rafe’s hands, “I’ll just go pull the car around then.”

Rafe watched you leave through the store’s sliding glass doors, arms crossed as you exited to the parking lot, which was wet and slippery from the wintery sleet mix that had started falling at some point when you were in the store. You paused and huffed deeply, annoyed by the shift in weather, throwing the hood of your jacket up as you jogged across the lot to your car.

He had no idea what had changed in the thirty minutes you’d been shopping separately. There had been a moment earlier when he thought he’d finally won you over, and now you were back to treating him like he was the bane of your existence.

“This too?” The cashier asked, holding out the decorative mistletoe Rafe had thrown in the bottom of his cart, thinking he could work in some cheeky joke with you and get that perfect eye roll/reluctant smile expression you make that he’d become a little obsessed with.

“Yeah, sure, whatever man,” he agreed with a frown.

As promised, you brought the car around, giving Rafe the cold shoulder as you loaded the gifts into the trunk. When you got to the fake tree Rafe had snagged from the holiday section, you paused.

“What’s that?” You questioned him.

“A tree?” He snapped back. “I told you I was gonna grab one.”

“No,” you shook your head, “we have to get a real tree.”

Rafe looked up at the sky pointedly, the worsening weather causing shoppers around you to duck and run to their car to get out of the misery.

“Are you serious?” He grumbled. “What’s wrong with this one?”

“It just…it has to be real, okay?” You huffed. “I found the last tree lot in the county that still has Douglas Firs, so you can take this one back.”

“Why don’t we keep this one just in case you change your mind,” he suggested.

“Fine, keep it, but I’m not changing my mind,” you threw the box with the fake tree into the trunk and slammed it closed, nearly catching Rafe’s hand in the heavy door as you did.

You stomped around to the driver’s side, leaving Rafe to return the carts to the main entrance, his jaw clenched in frustration the whole way. What had started as disappointment in your change in demeanor had turned into full-on anger. He may not be your favorite person, but you weren’t the only one having a shitty Christmas, and he definitely didn’t think he deserved whatever the fuck this was.

“I’m telling you, it was veer left, not turn left!”

The windshield wipers were working overtime, squeaking against the glass as they tried and failed to keep the freezing rain out of your line of vision. You sat all the way forward in your seat to see through the watery streaks they left behind. You had pulled onto some muddy back road as Rafe read directions from the GPS, trying to find this obscure tree lot several miles outside of town.

“Veer left doesn’t make any sense, I know that road, it’s all factories and empty lots,” you waved him off.

“Okay, well it’s clearly not this road! Is this even a road? It’s like a fucking swamp out here, I don’t know how your tires are even still moving,” He argued back.

“Not everything around here is as nice here as it is in the Outer Banks, Rafe. We’re doing our best, sorry if we don’t meet Cameron standards,” you griped at him.

“Oh my god, that’s not what I meant, just admit you’re fucking lost,” he snipped back.

“I am not lost. It’s probably just taking me on a shortcut. The road will clear up any minute.”

As you said those fateful words, the road got even more unstable, dirt and gravel mixing with the precipitation to make what looked more like a vat of chocolate pudding than a road.

Stubbornly, you accelerated, determined to get out of this patch of road and prove to him you were right. As you sped up, the steering wheel turned erratically under your hands, your tires skidding on the slippery road, eventually stopping movement at all.

“Hmm interesting,” Rafe quipped sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched you try to navigate the situation you’d gotten yourself into.

“It’s fine, I just need to…” you accelerated more, your spinning back tire kicking up mud as it fought for forward motion.

“Stop, you’re gonna - “

POP! The car skidded forward violently just an inch before stopping altogether, the weight of it sinking underneath you as a loud whistling noise echoed from the rear tire.

“- blow your tire,” Rafe threw his hands up in exasperation as the low tire pressure light on your dash illuminated with a little ‘ding!’

You avoided his eyes, hands still clutching the steering wheel as you clenched your jaw in anger.

“Thanks a lot,” you mumbled.

Rafe blinked at you in disbelief, jaw hanging slack.

“Me?” He scoffed, looking around the car as if there was someone he could look to for confirmation that you were being insane. “How is this my fault?”

“You’re rushing me! I know how to drive on back roads but you were distracting me!” You were grasping at straws, you knew it, he knew it, but logic had flown out the window when the tire blew.

Rafe just chuckled humorlessly, pinching the bridge of his nose, “let’s just call someone and -”

But you were already opening your door, booted foot landing with a squelch in the mud.

“What are you doing?” He called after you.

You leaned down to look at him through your cracked door, “never changed a tire before, rich boy?” With a smirk, you slammed the door in his face.

Scrambling in the mud behind you, Rafe tried to reason with you.

“It’s pouring, you’re gonna get sick! Please just let me call someone and we can get a tow home - ”

“We still have to get the tree,” you shut him down, loosening the spare tire from the back of the hatchback.

Rafe threw his hands out in disbelief, “you’re not serious right? You’re still trying to find this fucking farm that, I gotta tell you, I’m starting to think doesn’t even exist.”

“Yes,” you said simply, lowering the tire to the ground and pulling the lug wrench from the trunk.

“You might actually be the most stubborn, ridiculous person I’ve ever met. What is it about getting this tree?” He yelled over the steadily increasing rainfall.

“Because, Rafe, I can!” You dropped the wrench in the mud and turned on him, tears stinging your eyes as you yelled, letting all your frustration out on this boy, who just yesterday was a stranger. “I can’t get my dad a better job, and I can’t buy my brothers the presents the really want, and I can’t cure fucking cancer! But I can get a goddamn Douglas Fir, like we have every year since I was born. So I’m getting this tree! You can call your new friend from he jewelry department to come pick you up, but I’m staying here and changing this fucking tire!”

Standing back, Rafe buried his hands in his coat pockets, nodding along as you let it all out, the loose threads all twisting to finally weave together an explanation for your shift in mood. He spotted the tears as you mentioned your powerlessness over your dad’s job and your mom’s cancer, feeling like he was starting to understand your stubborn insistence to make this cursed Christmas joyful.

Though he knew he should be comforting you, he couldn’t help the little upward twitch of his lips at your comment about the jewelry girl. That explained your mood at check out, and if he was being honest, made his heart leap a little at the thought of you actually being jealous for his attention.

After several moments of his eyes on you, sizing you up as he digested your outburst, you suddenly felt exposed, and a little silly, “what?” you asked him with a burning blush.

“Nothing,” he shook his head with a grin, leaning down to pick the wrench up from the mud, “just didn’t know you were the jealous type.”

Your jaw fell slack, out of all you’d just said, of course he was zeroing in on your comment about the girl in the store. You were somewhat relieved though, glad to have an excuse to move on from talking about all the sad, stressful things going on at home.

“You’re such an ass,” you laughed, the air between you growing a little lighter. “I bet people call you that a lot.”

Rafe knelt down in the mud, beginning to loosen the screws of the flat tire.

“Not everyone, some people go with ‘lost puppy’,” he muttered under his breath.

Your smile fell from your lips, your eyes grew as you realized he was quoting you back to you. He had heard you talking about him to your brothers last night. You replayed all your words in your head with a wince - laughing about how he was like the kid from Home Alone, saying you only brought him home because you felt awkward. God, now you felt like an ass.

“Rafe, I’m…I’m so sorry, that was not cool…”

“It’s fine,” he said, a small grunt leaving him as he used the wrench to loosen a particularly rusted bolt.

“No, it’s not. We shouldn’t have been laughing. I didn’t just bring you home because I felt bad-”

“Why did you then?” He stopped what he was doing, his eyes landing on yours so suddenly, you jumped back a bit, taken by the striking blue, and the vulnerability you were seeing in them for the first time.

Deciding it was time to get your own jeans muddy, you knelt down next to him, hands wrapping around the wrench handle next to his to help him pull, both of you struggling due to the rain making the wrench so slippery.

The bolt still didn’t budge, and you paused for a minute, sitting back on your heels and looking at him.

“Because it’s Christmas,” you answered his question. “And I wanted to spend it with a friend.”

The tips of his ears burned red, he hoped you’d think it was just from the cold.

Going in for a second try, you both tugged on the wrench again, gritted teeth and white knuckles as you combined your strength to turn it as hard as you could. Frosted rain slipping between the end of the wrench and the bolt made it slip, the metal flying through the air. You and Rafe both slipped in the mud under your knees, Rafe trying to catch himself on his hands so he didn’t land on top of you, but not quite in time. His large body landed on top of yours and you both went tumbling down the side of the road, landing side by side in the muddy ditch with an unsettling squelch.

Both of you completely covered in mud, panting and shocked, Rafe turned his head to look at you, “fake tree?”

“Yeah,” you breathlessly agreed. “Fake tree.”

You and Rafe snuck in through the garage, both of you tracking mud with every step. There was no way you’d make it all the way up to the bathroom without destroying the floors in your wake.

You’d laughed together the entire drive back to the house. What a disaster the shopping trip had turned into, and yet, you were more in the Christmas spirit now than you had been in a long, long time.

“Oh shit,” you yelped, slipping on your own muddy boot and knocking down a pile of boxes as you tried to stabilize yourself.

Rafe’s arms shot out to catch you, your nails digging into his forearms to hold yourself up. You eyed him, still wearing the “naughty” sweater you hoped he’d remembered to pay for.

“Well these are ruined,” you sighed, looking down at your own mud-soaked pullover. “And there’s no way we’re making it upstairs without tracking in mud.”

Before your sentence was even finished, Rafe was hooking his hands into the collar, pulling the sweater up and off with one pull, peeling off the soaked t-shirt underneath it, too.

Failing miserably to hide your shock at his sculpted form, you bit your lip to silence the gasp that was begging to escape. He was just as built as you expected, if not more. His abs creased in a perfect set of six, sturdy pecs and two thick blue veins running through each bicep. He was somehow tan in the middle of December, and his skin was perfectly smooth apart from the little line of rough hair that ran from his belly button down to the waistband of his jeans.

He caught you staring, of course he did, and smirked as he flustered you further by unbuttoning his jeans and letting them fall to the floor in a muddy heap, left in only his black boxer-briefs.

Frozen in place, you subconsciously pulled your sleeves down over your hands, as if covering yourself up more could clear the cloud of attraction fogging your brain. Rafe turned and walked towards the door that led into the house.

“Wha-where are you going?” You asked him, snapped out of your trance.

“To take a shower,” he said, like it was obvious. “I’m fucking freezing, but you can stay here and drip.”

He smiled at you expectantly, there was a challenging dip in his voice as he over pronounced the last word. Something competitive rose in your chest, he clearly didn’t think you had it in you to strip down, too. At the end of the day, you were a classic oldest child - you didn’t take kindly to losing.

Keeping your eyes locked to him, you grabbed the hem of your sweater and pulled it off over your head, copying him by pulling the shirt underneath off too until you were standing in front of him in just your bra. Rafe tilted his head as his eyes raked over you, raising his eyebrows when he got to your jeans, just as muddy and destroyed as his had been.

With a hard swallow, you undid the button and zipper with shaky hands, shimmying your hips a little to pull the wet denim over your curves. Rafe went pale and speechless, taking in the little show with a heavy rise and fall of his chest. You piled all of your clothes in the corner, hoping no one in your family stumbled upon them before you had the chance to wash them.

Rafe didn’t even try to hide the way he was drinking you in as you padded towards him in your underwear, brushing past him to get to the door first.

“I mean, damn,” he wolf-whistled at you, quietly so no one inside the house came looking for the sound.

“Shut up,” you rolled your eyes, stepping ahead of him so he couldn’t see your pleased smile.

He followed your tiptoed steps through the hall and up the stairs, stopping at each corner to make sure no one was going to come around it and catch the two of you sneaking around in your underwear.

Once you made it to the upstairs bathroom, you turned on the shower, excited to step into the steamy water and finally warm up. You were surprised to find Rafe still standing in the open doorway when you turned, sure he’d get the hint that he should wait outside when it came time for you to really strip down.

“What are you doing?” You whisper-scolded him.

“Enjoying the view,” he winked.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, pushing him by his chest so he stumbled back into the hall. “I don’t need your help for this pa-”

Your sentence was cut short by the creaking of wood under incoming footsteps. Panicking, you grabbed Rafe’s wrist, pulling him into the bathroom and locking the door behind him.

“Woah, is this really happening?” He asked breathlessly, licking his lips before you slapped your hand over his mouth to shut him up, his eyes going wide at your boldness.

“Someone’s coming,” you mouthed, urging him to be quiet as you kept your palm firmly sealed over his lips.

The footsteps in the hall grew louder, their owner getting closer and closer to the door, not knowing you had a half-naked man pushed up against the other side as steam swirled around your bare bodies.

As you both waited with baited breath, your eyes drifted over Rafe’s body, so close to yours in the tiny bathroom. You couldn’t help it, sure that desire was painted all over your features. There was no use in denying it, as the warm steam caused a single drop of sweat to roll down his chest and into the ripple of his abs, you finally allowed yourself to accept that you wanted him, bad.

He felt it too, you were sure of it, his eyes half closed with heavy lids as he looked down over you, drinking in all the exposed skin and soft lace of your underwear set.

Just as his hand slowly started rising toward your hip, a knock on the other side of the door made you both jump, a little yelp of surprise almost leaving your lips before Rafe threw his hand over your mouth, the tables turned.

“Hey Gigs?” Benny’s little voice called from the other side of the door.

You tried to move Rafe’s hand from your mouth, but he only allowed you to lift it enough to respond before covering your lips again.

“Y-yeah, Beans?” Your voice cracked in response, Rafe flashing you a teasing grin at your flustered state. You shot him a warning look, praying your little brother couldn’t sense what was going on.

“Can we open the presents you bought us now, pleaseee?” Benny asked.

Normally you’d say no, that they had to wait until Christmas day. But as you were about to reject his request, Rafe pulled his hand from your mouth, letting his thumb tug your bottom lip down as he dragged his fingers to your jaw and brushed the soft skin of your neck. You could tell by his wicked grin he was enjoying seeing how far he could push you, drunk off your blushes and gasps.

“Yes, sure, th-that’s fine,” you told Benny, eager to get him away from the door. Rafe chuckled quietly at your compliance, making you clench your jaw even harder in annoyance at him.

“Sweet, thanks!” Benny called, hurrying back downstairs, clearly not having expected you to give him the answer he wanted.

Once you were sure the coast was clear, you glared up at Rafe, “you can’t do that!”

He threw his head back in satisfied laughter, bringing it back down only to drop his lips close to your ear.

“So, how about that shower?” He whispered.

With a little grin of your own, you leaned in too, “Rafe?”

“Yeah?”

“Get out.”

Rafe managed to find his way back to the laundry room without bumping into any of your brothers. He ran his hair under the utility sink faucet to get the flecks of mud out, throwing on some clean, warm clothes before heading to the kitchen in search of a much needed glass of water, his mouth still full of cotton at the thought of you nearly naked in front of him.

As he rounded into the kitchen, he stopped short, surprise flashing across his face.

A painfully thin woman, who he could only assume to be your mother, stood in the middle of the small space, bony hands on the back of an empty kitchen chair. Her bald head was wrapped in a silky scarf, and she smiled an easy grin that reminded him so stunningly of yours.

“You must be Rafe,” she said. “Have a seat.”

(to be continued)

a/n: okay not the single longest post I've ever made on this website. period. thank u for reading!! two more parts w the last taking place on New Year's Eve. merry everything!!

taglist note: the taglist for this series will be posted in replies asap and has gotten very long so it is closed. I'm soooo thankful that ppl want to know when I post you have no idea! but it takes me a long time to do and makes posting difficult, so I am asking that in order to stay on the list for the rest of the series, you interact with each post in some way (reply with feedback, a rb, an ask - anything you'd like!) it really helps me as a writer! thank you!!

if you missed the taglist, just follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs to be first to know when I post!

1K notes · View notes

lovelivision · 15 days ago

Text

THE COMPLEX ✧₊

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: fushiguro toji/reader

𝐖𝐂: 9.7k

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: after you catch your ex cheating on you in your shared apartment, you run into your mysterious neighbour. surprisingly, you find a friendship in him you weren't expecting. he's especially handy in helping you put together your new bed frame

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ only, smut, swearing, cheating (not by reader or toji), flirting, dirty talk, cunnilingus, p in v sex, mating press, dacryphilia, fingering, multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation, creampie, cum play, tease!toji, f!reader

Coming home after a long day of work is something that should bring you joy but as you cross the threshold of the apartment you share with your boyfriend; you know something is wrong. The abrupt cut off of what sounded like moans followed by frantic shuffling doesn’t give you much of a chance to think the best of him.

Already knowing what’s coming, you begin looking for your suitcase you have stored away. Checking the linen cupboard in the hall first and pulling it out, dragging it behind you when your – soon to be – ex-boyfriend leaves your shared room.

“You’re home early!” He looks nervous, like he can’t tell if he’s been caught or not yet. He’s about to say something else when his eyes flick to the suitcase you pulled out of the cupboard, “Going on a trip or something?” The chuckle he lets out is awkward and off-putting.

Ignoring his question, you walk past him wordlessly, pushing towards your bedroom, you just want to pack as much of your shit as you can manage and get out of here.

He rushes to get in front of you, stopping you from entering the room, “Why won’t you say anything?”

“What do you expect me to say?” You look at him with nothing but apathy, giving him no chance to pull a fast one on you, “You want me to scream? Cry maybe? Beg you to tell me all the dirty little details?”

“I expect you to care at least a little bit! Ask me why, how long, anything!” His voice raises at you, like he has any right to be mad.

“Those kinds of questions give you hope that I’ll stay,” your hand reaches for the door handle behind him, “And I have no intention of staying,” walking forward in spite of him blocking you, forcing him to either move or stop you.

Acquiescing, he lets you pass him. There is no shock when you’re confronted with the half-naked girl in your bed, the bed you bought – he can keep it. It’s also no shock to see she’s someone your boyfriend works with, what was it again? His work wife? No matter how many times you mentioned that her clinginess and his unwillingness to set boundaries made you uncomfortable he never did anything to make you feel better.

Maybe if you had been paying more attention to him, if you hadn’t checked out of the relationship months ago, you would’ve been able to stop him from cheating. Then again, if you have to stop someone from cheating they aren’t worth your time.

You’d consider saying something to her but there isn’t anything that wouldn’t be a waste of breath, not when she’s sat so smugly wrapped in your favourite sheets. She’s proud of herself and you just can’t seem to comprehend why, the prize she won is some loser who was willing to cheat on his long-term girlfriend.

The suitcase in your hand is thrown onto the bed haphazardly, she startles at the bounce in the mattress, like you were going to hurt her or something. That’s something you find amusing, smile small as you tug open the zipper calmly.

Your boyfriend follows you around the room as you pick up all the necessities you can fit, “Are you seriously just going to leave like this?”

Without looking at him you answer, “Yeah.”

“Why won’t you even try and fight for me?” He sounds desperate and angry.

Pausing, you look him straight in the eyes, “Because I don’t want you.”

“No wonder he cheated on you,” his work wife scoffs from the bed, finally pulling herself out of it, rushing off to the bathroom to change. The speed in which she leaves the room after her comment almost makes you chuckle, like she’s still scared you’ll hurt her.

“Don’t you love me?” He pleads, ignoring her comment.

Instead of answering, you turn it back on him, “Did you love me while you were fucking her?” You don’t wait for his reply, going back to your suitcase.

“Of course I did,” he cements, like he means it, and hell maybe he does but just because he means it doesn’t change what he did.

“Why are you so surprised?” You pull the zip closed and tug everything off the bed, looking at him in exasperation, “I told you that cheating is a deal breaker for me, it always has been, and it always will be, so stop acting so incensed or like I blindsided you with this reaction.”

He glares at you harshly, like he’s the wronged party here, “I thought you would care more.”

“You thought wrong,” it’s taking a lot to continue this façade of indifference, and while you certainly don’t feel as effected as some would, it still hurts, you’re still livid, but mostly you’re tired.

“I never realised how much of a cold-hearted bitch you were,” his tone is cold, words cutting through you sharply.

Sighing at him, you say, “I’ll come back for the rest of my stuff later this week, if any of it’s missing or damaged I’ll be calling the cops.” Grabbing your handbag, you walk to the front door, suitcase rolling behind you, “Just in case this wasn’t clear enough, I’m breaking up with you.”

“You haven’t even let me say anything,” he’s almost frantic, like he’s stunned by your verbalisation of the breakup. “Wait, don’t leave! We can talk about this can’t we?”

Pulling the door open, you don’t look back, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Your steps in the hallway of the building are rushed, worried that he’s going to follow you. Finger pressing into the elevator call button quickly like that will make it come quicker. It opens just as the door to your apartment does and you feel your heart rate spike, thumb slamming into the ‘door close’ symbol.

Foot tapping impatiently on the floor as you wait for it to reach the lobby, hoping you get there before him. The fact he can switch so quickly between calling you a cold-hearted bitch and begging you to stay is chilling, just who were you living with for all these years.

When the elevator dings you’re so caught up in your thoughts that you jump slightly and then you haul ass, going for the front door before thinking better of it. If he really does intend on coming after you then it might be better to go out the back.

The back of the building is a grimy alley and while you’d really rather not go back there, you’d really rather not run into your ex more, so grimy alley it is. It’s a struggle to open the door with your handbag on your shoulder and suitcase in your other hand. You manage it though, it’s just unfortunate that when you start down the steps you stumble slightly as your suitcase wheel gets caught on one of the stairs, your handbag falls to the floor as you struggle to catch yourself on the railing.

You’re pissed off and grumbly as you pull on your suitcase forcefully, “Just my fucking luck, God, what an awful fucking night. These stupid fucking stairs, always hated it back here–”

A short chuckle sounds from behind and it scares the hell out of you. Spinning around quickly and placing a hand over your racing heart, you see it’s just your neighbour. You’ve seen him in the hall a few times, never saying more than a friendly hello and quick nod of acknowledgement.

He seemed polite enough, you would’ve gotten to know him better, but your ex had told you to stay away from him. Making claims like he was dangerous and bad news; you don’t know if you ever believed him, but he clearly felt some type of way about you being friendly with him, so you kept your distance. Mostly out of respect for your relationship and your partners boundaries but that’s a little bit ironic now, after tonight.

Your neighbour is all too amused when he apologies for obviously frightening you, “Sorry, doll, didn’t mean to scare ya.”

Turning your back on him and leaning down to your bag, you acknowledge his apology, “It’s fine,” you’re trying to be polite but you’re still in a foul mood.

“Need any help?” He offers when he sees you struggling to put everything back in your handbag. Head tilted as he checks out your ass in your tight work skirt before realising he’s staring and looking away before you can notice.

“No.” You answer without looking up, though it comes out harsher than you mean for it to, clearing your throat lightly, you add, “No, I can manage, thank you though.”

His tongue clicks, “What are you doing in this alley, shouldn’t you be going out the front?”

Without missing a beat, you turn the question back on him, “What are you doing in this alley?” Finally standing and raising to look pointedly back at him, handbag placed precariously on top of your suitcase.

Wordlessly, he takes a drag of the cigarette you hadn’t noticed he was smoking, blowing the smoke off to the side, away from you. His smile too big when he notices how your expression twists in slight embarrassment when realising his very obvious reason for being back here.

“You gonna tell me why you’re back here or are you going for some kind of mysterious woman vibe?” He’s glib, annoyingly so.

But attractive, in an irritating kind of way, the kind of way that pisses you off because how dare he be that hot and also be looking at you like that.

Your reply is straightforward, “It’s not a mystery, you’re just a stranger.”

“Cranky little thing aren’t ya?” Smirking to himself when he mentions your bad mood, like it’s so funny.

That pisses you off, you were trying so hard to be polite to him and while you were failing, you were trying, “Listen here mister ‘I’m so handsome I can get away with being an annoying asshole to strangers–’.”

“–Toji.”

You fumble slightly, taken aback by his interruption, “What?”

“That’s my name,” he looks pleased with himself for throwing you off. It’s like he’s trying to win an award for annoying you.

Frowning, you brush him off and continue on your mini tirade, “Right, well, I have had an especially foul evening and the last thing I need after walking in on my boyfriend cheating on me, is some dick telling me I’m awfully cranky. I think I should be crankier actually!”

He huffs out an amused breath at your frustrated rant, “Normally you give your name back after someone’s offered theirs.”

You squint at him, scrutinising his person. Hesitating in answering him but ultimately you give him your name, not seeing the harm in it.

It’s like he mulls it over, smiling to himself before saying unprompted, “A damn shame to see you go, doll.”

“I’m so sure,” you snark back.

Taking a step forward, you go to leave the alley, but he speaks again, “I got one question though…”

Stopping in your tracks, you turn to face him properly, hand propped on your hip, “And what’s that?”

“Why are you the one leaving?” His head tilts at you.

You don’t know why, but you decide to answer him, “It was his place first,” you shuffle from side to side, “Plus I’m not particularly fond of the fact that they’ve potentially fucked in every square inch of that place…”

He barks a short laugh at your statement, “You know… if you were my girlfriend,” he leans in towards you, “I wouldn’t cheat on you.”

“Yeah that means so much to me mysterious neighbour who I’ve never spoken more than a few words to in passing,” you deadpan back at him.

There’s an entertained look on his face as he eyes you up and down, grinning to himself before taking another drag of his cigarette.

Your foot taps impatiently while you wait for him to say more, he looks like he wants to say more but the longer it takes him to talk the more you’re not fully convinced he has anything to say. Puffing, you turn to walk off, only to get stopped by his words, again.

“You got a place to stay?”

Your brow raises at him, “Yeah… I do.”

He shrugs, “That’s too bad.”

“Stop flirting with me! I literally just found out my ex of many years has been cheating on me,” frown prominent on your face as you accuse him adeptly of hitting on you.

His shoulders shake with a chuckle, “The first time I’ve gotten to say more than a few words to you in passing, just making the most of it.”

Something clicks for you, “Now I see why my ex didn’t like you very much.”

“And why’s that?” He’s smug when he asks.

“He’s insecure and you’re very clearly a flirt.”

Unbothered, he answers simply, “Not usually, you just so happen to be my type.”

You click your tongue, caught between shocked and completely unsurprised by him, “Awfully blunt aren’t you?”

Toji smiles at you as he takes another drag, blowing the smoke away quickly, “If you want someone there when you’re picking up the rest of your shit from that jackasses place, feel free to knock on my door,” he follows up his statement with a wink, dropping his smoke and stomping it out. He’s walking to the door, adding, “Stay safe out there, doll. I’m looking forward to seeing you again.”

How presumptuous of him, he’s such an ass, and just as you go to tell him as such, he’s closing the door and presumably going back up to his apartment. Your face scrunches as you think of all the things you could’ve said to him and at the things you shouldn’t have said to him. He didn’t need to know all about your relationship like that… tonight just keeps getting worse for you.

At least you wasted enough time that if your ex did follow you down like he seemed he was going to, he’s probably left by now.

✮.

Staying with your friends is uncomfortable, they’re dating and happy and you’re sour about it. Their displays of affection are prompting you to get into motion though, finding a reasonably cheap place to live fairly quick. Fuelled by nothing but bitterness and a sickening feeling like you’ve wasted too much time with your ex.

The next step is going back to that apartment and collecting more of your valuables, having left behind a bunch of things that would’ve been too much of a hassle to grab in the moment. Taking a day off work and borrowing your friends’ car is the move, aiming to go while the place is empty.

It’s still going to be a bit of work moving stuff from the apartment down to the car and your friends can’t take the day off to help. As much as you feel uncertain about it, you might ask Toji for help, he offered after all.

By the time you’re finally heading back to that apartment complex it’s been a few days, not having felt ready enough to come back any sooner. It’s funny how everything about the building is the same and yet you feel so different about it all now, it doesn’t feel like home anymore. There’s no warmth here, just another cold place that one day you’ll pass and not feel a tug in your heart over.

Nerves run through you as you stand in front of Toji’s door, uncertainty sitting heavy in your chest. Maybe he wasn’t genuinely offering, or what if he’s busy, or what if he’s not even home. You’re stupid, you didn’t even consider that he might not be home today, feeling flustered you ultimately don’t knock on his door.

Entering your now old apartment feels odd, most of your stuff is still here but you feel detached from the place. Amazing how a few days can change your outlook so drastically. Thankfully it doesn’t look like he touched any of your things, though you never really had all that much to begin with.

It was his apartment first and a lot of the furniture is his or was bought by the two of you together. Aside from the bed but that’s just because he didn’t want to pay for a new one. If you’re being honest, it never even felt like your place. You lived here and you called it home, but it doesn’t look lived in by you. After a while you stopped trying to buy trinkets and decorations for the place, he never seemed to like them. Always leaving you feeling like it was his place first and a shared home second.

You guess, at some point, it stopped being noticeable but as you stand here now and look through your belongings, you’re realising you really do not have all that much. Whatever you take will hardly make a dent in the large ocean of his belongings, poetic in a way. You’re a small part of him but he was a large part of you.

Grimacing at your own thoughts you move on, not wanting to start feeling those emotions in fear of crying. Instead sourcing the boxes you kept from your initial move in, you tape them back into shape. It’s been so long they look weak and old; time has not been kind to either of you it seems.

On your trips back and forth from the apartment to the car, you pointedly ignore Toji’s door, not wanting to linger on thoughts of him either. It embarrassing that you told a stranger that much about your life and then was willing to have him help you move out. Though he had big arms… he’d probably be really helpful.

This whole thing is taking longer than you thought it would, your arms growing tired from each trip. As you look at one of the few boxes you have left, you wonder if it’s even worth it. Most of what’s in these are clothes or the few decorative trinkets you own.

No, he doesn’t get to keep any part of you. Not the parts that were solely you anyways, he can keep those fucking sheets. Picking up the box, you trudge out the door for what feels like the billionth time. Not able to help the frustration in your steps as you stomp out into the hallway.

Just as you’re about to pass by Toji’s door, your box splits underneath and your things spill out. Thankfully it only really has some clothes in it, but you clearly overfilled it, too heavy for the poor old cardboard. Letting it drop to the floor; all you can do is look at the pile of clothes.

A deep sigh pulls from your lungs and your eyes brim with tears, you’ve yet to cry about this all but your box breaking feels like the last straw. Fighting your tears off desperately and failing as they drip down your cheeks.

Your voice is small when you mumble a tiny, “I hate everything.”

A hand on your shoulder makes you jump, apparently out of it enough to not hear someone leave their apartment and approach you. Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised when you look and see Toji, but you are, feeling a little confused at the small amount of relief that runs through you at seeing him.

His tone is careful when he asks, “You okay, doll?” Like he’s actually worried about you.

And maybe it’s because he’s the first person to properly ask you that, or because his hand is warm and large against your shoulder or maybe it’s just because he’s here, you move to hug him. Realising now just how alone you feel, desiring comfort from him.

He doesn’t push you back, instead he wraps his arms around you and lets you soak a portion of his shirt in your tears. A kindness you don’t think you’d expect from someone who looks – or quite frankly – acts like him.

Mumbling in his shirt, “Sorry…” Before pulling back, “I’m okay… sorry.”

“You apologised twice,” he notes.

“Sorry…”

An amused look on his face at your third apology, his thumb reaching up to wipe at the tear on your cheek before speaking again, “Your box broke.”

“I know, it made me cry.”

“Don’t cry over spilt clothes.”

Somehow that poor joke has you cracking a small smile, “Very wise of you.”

“I’m full of that shit,” he moves for your box, letting all the clothes spill onto the floor, “Wisdom.”

“You sure you’re not just full of shit?”

“Ah there’s the girl I met the other night,” Flipping the box upside down, he scoops up your clothes and shoves them inside again.

Realising he’s picking up after you, you tell him, “I can do that.”

“I’m sure you can,” he picks up the box easily, resting it over one forearm as he moves for his apartment door.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re taking my stuff?”

“Finders keepers,” his tone even.

“Hey?!” You call after him, following him into his apartment.

It’s a mirror image of yours, furnishing a bit boring but befitting of what you assume is a single man. Toji drops the box of your clothes onto the floor by the front door, pushing it off to the side.

His words interrupt your snooping from afar, “How many more boxes you got?”

“Uh, only a couple,” you blink up at him, still lost on what’s he’s doing.

He hums at you, “Come on.”

“What?” You’re then following him back out of his apartment and over to yours, he walks in like he’s been invited. Flustered and confused as you hurry along behind him, “Toji, what are you doing?”

“You used my name,” you can hear the smile in his voice, “Almost made me blush, doll,” he teases back at you.

Purposefully not indulging his flirting, “Shut up, why are we over here?”

“Grabbing the rest of your shit, put it at my place before that dick gets home,” he stacks the last two boxes on top of each other, smaller than the box that had your clothes in it. Picking them up with ease, he walks past you, “Could ya get the door for me?”

Mindlessly, you open the door. Why is he doing this for you? “Toji–”

“Do a once over and check you got everything,” he nods back at you, “Don’t take too long though, he gets home from work soon.”

He walks off before you can say anything, so you decide to do what he said. Checking the apartment all over to make sure you got everything you wanted, you were right earlier, your stuff barely made a dent. When you’re satisfied you’ve got everything, you go to walk out the front door, pausing at a note taped to the wall by it.

Not noticing it with your view being obscured by large boxes every time you walked by it, that and you’ve been a bit distracted all day. It’s obviously written by your ex, you’re half tempted to just ignore it but you’re nosy and want to know what he’s said.

It reads a simple: ‘please don’t leave me, it was a mistake. I love you’. Underwhelming to say the least, it doesn’t even move you. If anything, you feel pissed the fuck off. How dare he spit a bunch of bullshit, you’re not stupid, the day you caught them was certainly not the first time they’d fucked here. It was written all over that woman’s face, she was smug, like she’d finally got what she’d wanted by you finding out.

For a quiet moment, you consider writing something back to him, or burning the note, or even just ripping it up. But you’re choosing to leave it there, maybe he’ll wonder if you saw it and maybe he’ll always be unsatisfied as to whether or not you’d have stayed if you had. Maybe he doesn’t deserve closure, maybe he deserves nothing more of you.

You’re getting bored thinking about him, this relationship had already been on its way out, you just didn’t have the guts to leave him for seemingly no reason. Pretending like you didn’t see his shitty note, you lock up the place and take the key off your key chain. Slipping it under the door before walking over to Toji’s.

Looking at his door, you consider if you should knock or walk in. It feels wrong to enter someone’s home unannounced though, even if they did kind of hijack some of your belongings and stash them in their house. Feeling too uncomfortable to simply walk in, you knock, waiting patiently for him to open it.

When he opens the door he leans against the frame of it with his forearm, “I left it open for ya.”

“It’s rude to enter without an invitation,” you say obviously.

He points out, “Didn’t stop ya earlier.”

“You stole my clothes!” You defend.

A chuckle leaves him, “Get in,” he holds the door wider for you.

Pausing, you check first, “You’re not gonna kill me or something are you?”

“A sweet lil’ thing like you?” His smile is big and flirtatious, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of yourself,” rolling your eyes as you walk past him and into his apartment.

The door swings closed behind you, Toji watching you shuck of your shoes, “Nope.”

Standing up and turning back to him, you mumble a small, “Thanks for helping me… and sorry… for crying on you.”

He pouts at you in thought, a hum leaving as an acknowledgment of what you’ve said. “You want some tea?”

You’re taken aback by his sudden offer, “Oh… uh… sure, that’d be nice.”

“Sit wherever,” he waves his hand around aimlessly at the few seating options he has.

Cautiously, you navigate around his apartment, unsure of yourself in here. You’ve only just met him and he’s being so kind, the fact he’s a stranger a more obvious fact when you’re in his home. You hesitate for a moment before taking a seat on his couch, gazing out the window while he clanks around in the kitchen.

Finding yourself wishing you’d put more effort into knowing him, he seems kind, though with how he flirts with you it’s probably better you didn’t. His footsteps are padded as they approach you, his slippers dragging against the floorboards. The tea he’s made for you is placed on the coffee table across from you, along with another he’d made for himself.

With no grace, he flops down beside you, his head leaning back against the couch. He doesn’t seem to have very good manners, his frame spread wide, sitting closer to you than most people probably would.

After a moment, he comments, “All the furniture was still in that place.”

You guess he’s referring to your apartment, “Yeah…”

“Gonna have an empty new apartment.”

“Yeah,” you reach for your tea, “It’ll all be me though.”

His head turns to look at you, “I’d like to see it.”

You smile into your mug, “You trying to say you wanna see my new place when I move in?”

“I think I should be the first person to see it.”

Taking a quick sip, you place the mug back down on the table, still a bit too hot, “And why should you get such a high honour?”

“Because you ruined my shirt by crying into it–”

“I did not ruin your–”

“And because you’ll need someone to help with all your new and big furniture,” he smiles at you like he knows he’s right, all smug and attractive.

Being serious for a moment, you enquire, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Isn’t it obvious,” you shake your head at him and his smile grows, “I’m hoping to get into your pants.”

Your face pulls up at him and you push him away by his shoulder, “You’re pathetic.”

“Yeah, but you’re hot and single,” he barely moves at your pushing.

You continue to frown at him, “You have to help with my furniture now, after being so lecherous.”

You’re only joking but he answers as if you weren’t, “Whatever you say, doll,” he smiles arrogantly, like he knows he’s won you over, even if it’s just a little bit.

✮.

The new place is nice, smaller than your last but it’s a good size for you. It’s only been a few days since you moved in though, so your ‘bed’ has been a mattress on the floor and your living room has a sad looking bean bag instead of a proper couch. It’s strikingly bare in here but it’s all yours and you get to decorate to your hearts content, you just wish you had the funds to buy to your hearts content.

Your first big purchase has been a bed frame, deeming it the most necessary. A couch will probably go second and then a place for eating and a desk and… there is so much more furniture you need. Things that can all wait, nothing will bring down your mood. You’re feeling good, your bed frame came today and you’re going to put it together and have the best sleep ever tonight.

…

Premature optimism will be your downfall, you felt pretty good about assembling this altogether yourself. But now after having tried to put this stupid bedframe together for an hour or maybe more all the confidence you had in yourself has been drained. Sitting on the floor of your bedroom, instructions and bits of your bed in front of you, mattress pushed up against the wall and out the way, you have been defeated.

Happy thoughts, all happy thoughts, you can have it together before it’s time for bed… surely… Maybe this is more of a two-person job, you should’ve asked for help. Checking the time you see it’s late afternoon, is it too late in the day to call Toji and ask for his help. You ponder on it for a second before deciding you’re calling him; you want to sleep in an actual bed tonight. Plus, if you don’t get it together tonight, you’ll be sleeping on the mattress out in the living room and that just feels wrong.

The line only rings a couple times before he’s picking up, “Was wondering how long it’d take ya to call me, doll.”

“Don’t be smug, it makes it harder for me to ask for your help,” you roll your eyes despite him not being able to see you.

It’s scary how accurate he is in asking, “Taking me up on my offer to help with your furniture?”

“Is the offer still good?”

“For you?” he hums, “Always.”

He may be the biggest flirt you’ve ever met, “Then yes… I’d like your help, please.”

His smile can be heard down the line, “Those are nice manners you got there.”

“Shut up, just get here,” you hang up on him and text your address, he’s going to tease you plenty when he gets here, you don’t need sneak previews.

Though you are thankful you have his number, having already exchanged short messages back and forth. Sometimes you’ve even talked on the phone with him, you get a bit lonely and it’s nice to be able to call him. He’s not overly talkative but he will listen to you carry on about nothing and you like that in a man. Embarrassingly though, you tend to bring up just about anything so you can keep talking to him for a bit longer.

By the time Toji is in your apartment, you’re feeling down, having tried for a bit after the call to try and assemble it at least a little bit before he got here and failing. The pair of you look at the mess on the floor of your bedroom, his hands on his hips as his brow quirks at the sight. You feel small next to him, humiliated by just how badly you’ve done.

His head turns to the side, “Doll… what the hell am I looking at?”

“My new bed,” you pout back at him.

“You sure?” He double checks.

You’re glaring at him, “Yes. I’m sure.”

His head shakes at you, “Should’ve just called me from the beginning.”

“Well maybe I thought I could do it myself.”

“And look how that turned out.”

You whine at him, “You said you were gonna help.”

“And I will,” he places a hand on top of your head, leaning down, “I just gotta mock you first.”

“Is it out of your system yet?”

A beat before, “Probably not.”

Ignoring him, you offer, “Do you want a drink?”

He pats your head a couple times, “Quite the little host, aren’t ya?”

Your answer is dry, “No drink for you, got it.”

A laugh leaves him at your quickness, clearly enjoying the back and forth the two of you have. “Alright I’ll have your bed together quick; I don’t even know how you managed to fuck it up this bad.”

“Unnecessarily cruel,” you note.

Throwing a smile at you, he reaches for the instructions and glances over them for a moment before letting them float down to the ground. He’s clearly confident in his ability to put the bed together.

And to be fair, he had good reason to be confident. He gets it all assembled easily, barely needing your help save for a few moments where you had to hold something. Mostly, you felt like you were just there to watch him, and you found yourself not minding at all, he looked good.

As the mattress slides into place on the new frame, he gives you a helping hand in making the bed. Putting all the appropriate linens back on, including fresh sheets. It’s beautiful, all ready for you to sleep in, to think you almost cried about this a couple hours ago. The frame itself is nothing special but you’re feeling so much joy over something so simple.

“Thank you so much, Toji,” if it were physically possible, you’d have hearts in your eyes right now.

“More than welcome, doll,” he winks at you, “Want help breaking it in?”

“Okay.”

“What?” He asks again, like he’s not sure he heard you right.

“Okay, you can help me break it in,” when he doesn’t move, you ask, “Toji?”

“Hold on, I wasn’t expecting to get this far.”

You laugh airily, his surprise cute. As much as you were serious, you don’t want to put pressure on him. Moving to walk past and offering, “Do you wanna eat instead? I can order something; I don’t think I have enough in my fridge to cook–”

Your sentence is cut off by his hand on your upper arm, suddenly being pulled into him. “Now hold on, I’m not passing on this opportunity.”

“You sure? You seemed to get a bit nervous for a second there,” you tease.

“Was taken by surprise is all,” he grins.

“Are you really sure, because–”

He’s cutting you off again, his lips on yours, breathing against you, “–You talk too damn much.”

“That’s just–”

You don’t get to finish; he’s kissing you again. It’s insistent and messy, like he’s been wanting to kiss you for too long. His tongue licking into your mouth, pulling a whine from you at how his hands grope at your hips. Looping your arms around his neck, you pull yourself up into him, craving more of him.

He’s large and warm, so sturdy as you hang off him. Such a good kisser, lips slotting against yours perfectly. The way he’s making out with you has shivers running down your spine, finding yourself obsessing over his lips. You don’t want to part from him, drunk on him and the messy way he’s kissing you.

A hand leaves your hip and grabs the side of your face, his thumb pulls on your chin, getting you to open your mouth more. He wants to kiss you deeper, he wants to kiss you so you never forget what it’s like to be kissed by him. Leading you back, he walks you both to the bed until your legs are knocking on it and then he pushes you down onto it.

“You know,” his smile is suggestive, “I think I am hungry.”

It takes you an embarrassing amount of time to understand what he means, it’s not until his hands are at the waistband of your pants are you catching on, “Oh!” You’re feeling flustered, “I– you don’t– if you want–”

“–Oh, I want,” He returns quickly. “Do you?”

“Yes…” Your voice comes out smaller than you intended.

He can’t help but snicker at how you’re suddenly so much more shy, “Where’d your sharp tongue go, doll?”

“Shuddup Toji,” you snark back.

The breath that leaves him is amused, his hands pulling your pants and panties off in one go. And then he’s a little breathless because you’re so wet and pretty, his hands are keeping you spread apart.

“Keep ya fuckin’ legs open, doll,” he grunts, “Don’t deprive me of the view.”

“How can you be so– hah–”

He drops to his knees and blows cool air onto your clit, interrupting your comment in favour of a small gasp. Enjoying the way you twitch slightly at the action, “What were you saying?”

“F–Fuck you,” you curse at him.

“You’ll get the chance, don’t worry.”

Not able to hold himself back any longer, he’s putting his mouth on your cunt. His tongue spreading your folds, licking from your hole to your clit and back down again, repeating the motions over and over. No real purpose behind his actions, just enjoying the taste of you on his tongue, relishing in the sounds he manages to pull from you. Essentially making out with your pussy, reverential in his actions.

You try grinding down into him, to guide him where you want but he’s too happy to torture you, his arms hold you open and pin you still. Barely able to rut down into him with how his arms are around your legs.

“Toji,” you whine at him, wanting more.

He ignores your call to him, too involved in how he’s lapping at your cunt, making a mess. Though finally switching things up in a show of pity, his tongue slides inside your hole, fucking you with it. Your chest stutters with your breaths and your legs fight his arms, wanting to close around his head. It doesn’t work, he’s so strong and you feel so weak with how he’s turning you into a puddle.

This may be his new obsession, making out with your pussy and refusing to let you get what you want. Your pathetic whines and fruitless struggle against his grip amuses him just about as much as it turns him on. He rubs his nose purposefully into your clit, the moan you let out is shocked and cute. The way your cunt flutters around his tongue has his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

You’re really going to let him fuck you and that thought alone makes him feel giddy. Parting from you in a messy display, string of his saliva connecting him to your wet pussy, “You wanna cum, doll?”

Blankly, you nod back at him.

He smiles evil, “Ask.”

“Toji…”

“You wanna cum or not?”

“Make me cum…” You look at him and it has your heart leaping, his face slick with you, eyes glazed, “…please.”

“‘Atta girl,” he says like he’s proud of you.

All to happily, he puts his mouth back on you. Tongue fucking you with more purpose, nose pressed into your clit. The sounds of him eating you sloppy and obscene, not that you can find it in yourself to give a single fuck. Your high approaching so much quicker now that he actually intends on letting you cum, back arching off the bed as you get closer and closer.

So badly you want to rock down onto him, you want to grind on his pretty face, but he still holds you tight. He’s so mean to you, shouldn’t he want to make a good impression. Then again, he’s making you feel so good right now, orgasm so fucking close and then he does something devious. His finger slips inside your hole, alongside his tongue, never stopping and barely giving you a chance to acknowledge it.

It feels good and you feel the slightest bit fuller and you’re cumming, so unexpected to you that you’re blindsided as you twitch and cum all over his finger and tongue. Toji groans into you, drinking down your creamy slick. Your hearing is dull and you’re involuntarily twitching in his grip, soft whines dying down as you calm.

He keeps licking at you, you’re not able to tell if he’s cleaning up or adding to the mess between your legs but with the way he’s drooling on your pussy you’d have to guess the latter. Your thighs still shake in his grip, he’s going to force you into overstimulation, that or he’s going to have you cumming again.

Reaching down, you pull at his hair, “Too sensitive.”

“Couldn’t help myself, sorry doll,” he smiles lazily at you.

Your hand drops from his hair, he’s so beautiful, all pussy drunk and horny. “Is okay.”

While he waits for your breathing to start evening out, he licks and bites at your thighs, leaving behind so many marks that you will no doubt be embarrassed about tomorrow. Right now though, you can’t be bothered to move away or try and stop him. Jerking every now and again when his teeth nip at an especially soft spot on your thigh.

When you’ve calmed down, he stands up, undressing in front of you, not minding in the slightest the way you stare at him. His dick bobs under the weight of it, all heavy and leaky, precum dripping from his tip down the length of himself. Your thighs rub together at the sight of his incredibly hard cock, caught between worried about taking him and desperate to be fucked open on him.

“Your shirt,” he points at your chest, “Off.”

Pushing yourself up, you go to take off your shirt but before you can Toji’s tugging it off himself. “Someone’s eager,” you tease.

“‘Course I am,” his hands are quick to grope at your tits, “I get to open your little pussy up on my cock, what’s not to be eager about.” He smirks, fingers pinching your nipples.

“Are you always such a relentless tease?”

“Did you expect anything less?”

“Stop– hah– stop playing with my tits,” your scold has less of an effect when you’re pushing into him and fighting off moans.

He hums at you but pulls his hands back, “Shuffle back.”

Doing as he says, you move back on the bed, sitting more centred on it. He crawls onto the bed, pushing you back onto the mattress with a hand on your shoulder. Quick to open your legs again, hooking under your knees with both hands to push back on your legs. His eyes greedy as he watches your cunt closely, grinning when you clench around nothing.

“Toji, stop being a dick.”

“You want this dick, doll,” he returns, glancing at you, “Should ask real nice for it.”

You return a sharp, “Maybe you should ask real nice to fuck my pussy.”

“You got words now, but I doubt that’ll stay the same when I’m balls deep in you,” he grips his cock and rubs his tip between your folds.

“You gotta ask, Toji,” you remind.

Without an ounce of shame, he asks, “Please, let me fuck your pretty pussy, doll. Wanna feel the way she grips me tight when I fuck her open, want her creaming on me, wanna make a real fuckin’ mess.”

“I hate you,” you huff, annoyed that his words turned you on so much.

“She doesn’t feel the same as you,” he notes, humming at how your slick drips down and coats the tip of his dick.

Whining at him, “Toji, stop being such a– hah– insufferable tease.”

“You haven’t asked yet, doll,” the tip of his cock almost pushes inside you before he moves back.

An unsatisfied breath leaving you, almost having got what you wanted, “I thought you wanted to fuck me?”

“I do, bad,” he agrees easily, “What I want more than that though…” leaning down to talk next to your ear, “Is to hear you fuckin’ beg for it…”

Sadly, your resolve is weak, and you break easily, “Please, Toji. Please fuck me, anything, just stop teasing, please.” When he doesn’t move at your pleads, you add another small, “Please.”

Breathless huff leaving him at how quickly you gave in, he wonders how you’d hold up if he weren’t being so impatient himself. Working you up over and over only to deny you pleasure at the last second, making you cry and beg for his dick. The thoughts have his cock twitching, loving the idea of your wet eyes. He’ll just have to make you cry another way.

“What kind of a man would I be if I said no after you begged so nicely?” He asks rhetorically.

Despite his tone, you answer, “A mean one.”

Barking a laugh at your reply, “Never claimed to be nice, doll.” He delights in the way your eyes grow large, worried he’s going to deprive you more and maybe if he weren’t so fucking horny he would but he can’t bring himself to. “Don’t look so worried,” he coos.

Pulling back, he waits for you to open your mouth to talk before pushing the tip of his cock into you. Your face twisting in surprise, mouth dropping open but no words coming. His breathing stutters at the tight grip of your cunt, not quite expecting you to feel so fucking good around only this much of him.

He looks down to your pussy, watching how he’s slowly sinking into you, “Don’t know h– hah– how gentle I’m gonna be, doll.”

You mumble back at him, already out of it, “Ruin me.”

A shudder runs through him at that, just about cumming in you from your small request alone, “You’re a fuckin’ dream.” He keeps sliding inside you, rocking slightly, not able to help himself when you feel this good, “If ya need me to stop, fuckin’ slap me or something.”

“Won’t want you to– hnn– stop,” you gasp back.

“If you do though,” he insists.

Nodding firmly at him, like you want him to just shut up now, “I’ll– hah– slap y–you, got it.”

“Impatient little thing, aren’t ya?”

Though he’s not much better than you, especially when he’s finally balls deep, mouth salivating as his eyes almost roll to the back of his head. Only fighting the urge so he can see your face and watch how your eyes glaze over. A sight he doesn’t regret waiting for, his dick throbbing at the cute expression you’re wearing, your cunt fucked open and full by him, your brain having trouble doing its job.

Already so cock drunk that you can’t get your bearings enough to talk, he can tell you want to though, can see the way you’re fighting yourself. He’s surprised when you grind into him, against his pelvis. Clearly unable to find the words to ask him nicely to start moving, he groans at your shamelessness, enjoying you like this. You’re greedy and he likes that.

“Cute,” he murmurs, watching your pussy bulge around his dick.

Taking a deep breath, you moan out his name. All pitched and ruined, “Toji.”

“I got ya, doll.”

He pulls back slowly, his cock dragging deliciously against your walls. Your back arches as you moan, already trying to grind back into him. Toji bites his lip at the unabashed display, so willing to be openly needy when you’re this worked up. Not even a little bit shy when you whimper and try fucking up onto him.

Giving you what you want, he thrusts harshly back into you, picking up a diabolic pace. The sloppy sounds of him fucking your tight cunt filling the room, lewd mess spilling from your hole onto your fresh duvet every time he pulls back out. A fact you’d surely be bothered by if your eyes weren’t rolling, and your head wasn’t going fuzzy at how he’s fucking you. Managing to rub up against every single perfect spot inside you, your toes curling and legs shaking.

Cruelly, Toji grabs under your legs, pushing them up and back. Leaning into the movement with his weight, folding you in half. The angle new and breathtaking as he drills down relentlessly into you. If you weren’t cock drunk before you sure as fuck are now, your moans loud, the chanting of his name slurred and barely comprehensible.

“Fuck– how are you so–” Toji’s dick spasms inside you, you’re so unbelievably wet around him. Creamy pussy making an obscene mess on him, “Feel so– hnn– fuckin’ good, doll.”

You shake your head at him, “I– ah!– can’t fff–” you give up half way through, unable to say what you wanted.

He chuckles at your inability to form a coherent sentence, heart leaping at the realisation your eyes are brimming with tears. Sitting so pretty on your lash line, adding to the glassy look in your eyes. Moans slip from him when you shed a few tears, somehow, he’s folding you even more in half. The mating press mean and firm, not willing to give you a chance to change anything about how he’s fucking you.

It’s mind numbing how he’s thrusting into you, not realising how you’re drooling over it. Pussy throbbing at the way he slides into you, the feeling of being so full and split open the only thing on your mind. It can’t feel this good, why does it feel this good? The kind of sex that has you forgetting you’ve ever had sex before. Getting dicked down so good that you can’t even think of ever wanting anything but this.

Toji notices how drunk on him you are, “Hah– Good, doll?”

“Ah huh,” you nod deliriously at him, it’s all you’re really capable of.

Skin slapping against skin fills the room, his brutal thrusts echoing throughout your barely furnished apartment. His ego growing tenfold by the stupid look on your face, your pussy leaving a creamy white ring around the base of his cock driving him insane. Fucking you is messy, and he can’t help the fact that he’s obsessed with that. Loving the way you still try to grind up into him. Failing every time with the way he’s folded you, so needy for more that it’s adorable.

You’re hot and wet and so so snug that he feels like he’s dreaming, hooked on the way your pussy sucks him right back in as soon as he’s pulling out. Taking him so well despite the way you’re struggling to fit all of him, not that you mind, so blissed out and greedy that all you do is moan and pull at the sheets.

Cheeks tear stained at this point, orgasm so close if your stuttered breaths and shaking thighs are anything to go by. He keeps his thrusts the same, not changing anything about the way he’s fucking into you harshly, building you up so quickly that you’re dizzy.

Your back arches up into him, your tits presented to him so enticingly that he feels disappointed he can’t put his mouth on them right now.

“You’re s–so cute, doll,” he compliments, “Fuck– so greedy.”

His deep voice and crude praise send you over the edge, cunt clamping down so tight around him that he struggles to fuck you through your orgasm. Cumming around him so divinely that he couldn’t stop the moans tumbling from his lips even if he thought to. The sounds he makes stick inside your head, brain foggy as you cum but distinctly picking up on the moans he lets out. Pretty and arousing, you wish he had made more sounds for you.

Even as you come down, he keeps fucking you, fervent and desperate as he pummels into you over and over. New headboard slamming into the wall loudly as he fucks you, probably has been the whole time and you’re only just now registering it. Your eyes are bleary from the tears you’ve spilt, you want to rock down into him, wanting him to finish inside you so badly that it’s a feral kind of need clawing at your insides.

It’s insane how good he looks while he fucks into you, his lips parted slightly as he watches the way he stuffs his cock back into you over and over. Abs tense with his movements, eyes lazy and blown out, body sweaty from the exertion of holding you in a mating press while fucking you diabolically. His tongue runs along his lower lip, and you involuntarily clench around him, making him moan weakly, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

Glancing up at you, his eyes look wild, “You’re so adorable when you’re crying for me.”

“Toji,” It’s pathetic and pouted back at him, mind too broken to say much else.

He groans at you, “Ohh fuck!–”

The way your lower lip wobbles so pitifully when whining his name has him blowing his load, not even expecting it himself as he cums deeps inside you. When he realises, he slams his hips to yours, wanting it so deep inside that you’ll feel him for days after. His pelvis grinds into you and you practically purr at it, the stimulation against your clit has your cunt fluttering around him.

He's so sensitive he nearly whimpers at how perfect you feel around him, unwilling to move immediately, truly too obsessed with how you feel around him. The only thing prompting him to pull back being the uncomfortable way he’s folded you in half, lifting his weight off you, he allows your legs to drop.

Eyes locked onto your pussy when he pulls out, watching the way his cum leaks from your hole and down onto your bed, adding to the mess already there from the sloppy way he’s fucked you. Compelled by greed and his horny brain, he uses his fingers to scoop up his seed and push it back into you. Fingers pushing into your cunt and relishing in the way you jump at the intrusion.

“Don’t want it going to waste now do we, doll?”

“You’re a– hah– freak,” you whine at him.

“You fuckin’ like it,” he slips his two fingers deep inside and curls them, “Bet if I hadn’t pinned you, you’d be a little freak yourself.”

Your hips grind down into his hand, apparently insatiable and willing to cum for him for the third time tonight. Needy all over again that it’s almost embarrassing how willing to be fucked by his fingers you are. If Toji didn’t seem so keen to give you what you wanted you’d probably feel ashamed of how you twitch down onto his digits soaked in a mix of both your cum.

You gasp at him, “It’s– ah!– too much.”

“See…” he grins, “…You say that, but you’re rutting down into me so needily that I’m not sure I believe you.”

He enjoys the way your overstimulated body jerks at his touch, cunt swallowing his fingers happily. The sight of your overfilled pussy trying to push his cum out only for his fingers to shove it back in making his chest vibrate with groans. His thumb rubs into your clit and you whine pathetically at him, your hand clamping over your mouth as your toes curl.

So soon after your last orgasm that you’re finishing with barely any work from him, your walls gripping him as you whimper into your palm. Thighs trembling from the force of it, you can’t even hear anything, gaze so bleary that you’re unable to see for a few moments. Toji doesn’t stop moving his hand until you go limp on the bed, your breaths heaved as you struggle to collect yourself.

When he groans, you open your eyes to watch the way he sucks on his fingers. Cleaning them of the lewd mess from the both of you, he’s smug when he sees the way he’s flustered you with his actions.

“You’re so gross,” you whinge at him.

He only laughs as he gets off the bed and ransacks your apartment for something to wipe the pair of you down with. Touch gentle as he wipes between your legs with the cloth he’s found. Despite how careful he is with you, you flinch, so sensitive that you feel like you might break.

Once he’s cleaned you enough, he flops down beside you and pulls you to him, “Think we broke it in enough?”

You consider, “I don’t know… we might have to do that all again.”

“Because the beds not broken in or because you wanna get dicked down again?”

“Just wanna see if it’s like that every time.”

“It’ll be better,” he speaks low, “I went easy on you.”

A shiver runs down your spine, taking him for his word, “Then… next time?”

“Next time,” he presses a kiss to the top of your head, “I’m taking you out on a date first.” Not able to leave it as a nice moment, he adds, “And then I’m taking you back to my place to make you properly beg for it.”

“You’re gonna kill me.”

“Maybe but it’ll feel real good,” he chuckles.

You roll your eyes at him, “Fine but you gotta help with all the rest of my furniture.”

“Doll, with the state of your bed before I came over, I almost feel obligated to,” smooth in how he says, “I don’t wanna be visiting such a sad apartment all the time.”

He’s as presumptuous as ever but you don’t feel the need to point that out to him, since he’s right and all.

𝐀/𝐍: this was supposed to be up before christmas but then i had to do things to prep for it UGH... as per usual this fic was only meant to be like... 5k maybe a little less and i got carried away hehe. anyways,, happy holidays all !!! i hope you enjoy !!! <3

[⚠︎] — 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: do not reupload / repost / translate / plagiarise my works © all works are the intellectual property of lovelivision

#visionwrites #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #toji x reader smut #toji smut #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x reader smut #toji fushiguro smut #fushiguro toji smut #fushiguro toji x reader smut #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x you smut #toji x you

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