#(I'm sorry it's so LONG you do NOT have to match that length)

[anyfight]

@bitmorerouge (CONT)

For the first time in what felt like a long time, he wasn't going out of his mind. Riff had been anxious and downright mean since before Tony went to prison ( but his incarceration had only exacerbated Riff's anxieties).

He still didn't know what had been going on with Tony, or why he had wanted to start japping downward towards Hell's Kitchen. The fact that it turned into an all-out rumble was something else all together.

Sure, Riff was as ready as the next guy to defend their turf. He'd been running his mouth just as well as throwing his fists when the mood struck. He'd asked Tony not to go down that way. If the Emeralds were as big a threat as Tony made them out to be, then let them prove it.

He had thought if he hadn't been there, then Tony wouldn't have gone out without him. They did everything together, surely he wouldn't have started all that without him.

He couldn't let him start all that. Not when Joe lived down that way. Joe was his best kept secret. Not even Tony knew about his half brother. Riff simply couldn't let him know. Not when Joe came out looking like that. Like one of them.

it wasn't like Riff saw much of the kid anyway, though he did try. It wasn't until Tony had declared his intent to go japping, the hit and run kind of fighting, that Riff realized that accidents could happen. They could mistake some idiot kid off the street and not recognize him as just a coolie. any snot nosed brat worth his salt could be misidentified as an Emerald. Gangs got big after all, and when tensions were high, it didn't matter if you belonged or not, you still could get hurt.

Riff had been right not to go. He'd been right to choose Joe and to steal his kid brother away for the day. Tony had paid for it.

But so had Riff. There were consequences for simply abducting a kid int he middle of the night.. He'd lost Tony, and now Joe.

If he knew where his brother was, then that would be one problem solved. He could keep him safe like he always did and no one would have to know he was related to someone who came out with the drop in the bucket genetics... even if that drop looked like the whole ocean. He was just as much ashamed of his brother as he was of himself for feeling that way. He'd take that secret to the grave.

He was calm. he was sitting next to the best girl in all of New York. This was the kind of girl that would spend an entire two dollars on a six pack of beer instead of the standard forty nine cents for a severely cheap bottle of wine. She was tough, he couldn't deny that. those wild curls reflected what remained of the city lights like stars.

He couldn't lose her too. He couldn't imagine being alone.

He couldn't help but smirk a the way she guffawed through her sip, the nature of that beer going down the wrong tube somehow endearing. he shifted where he sat, the motion awkward and stiff given his bad back, but his left hand reach out toward her face, his mother's old silver wrist watch ( now nothing more than a wrist band he'd soldered closed around his wrist ) slid up his skinny wrist, exposing an old tattoo that read 'Velma', before he'd tried to remove it himself with his pocketknife.

his hand finally collided with the corner of her mouth, rubbing away some of the aspirated beer.

"Yeah." he said, " I mean it."

[angelsandemons]

@a-hell-of-a-time

Ever since Alfred began working for Stolas and Stella, his tasks had always been more focused on delivering things. Usually it was delivering things to one or both of the two Goetia. Sometimes it was something special, like rare plants for Stolas or extravagant ball invitations for Stella. Sometimes it was something more mundane, like a telephone with a call or a glass of water with ice. Once in a while, he'd be asked to deliver something from them to another party, but that was much more rare.

It became less so once Octavia was born.

Suddenly, he was hearing his name called by his masters more often—or 'Pringles' at any rate, it seemed like Stella had taken to that name as well—asking him to deliver things to the newest member of the family. Whether it was small pink mice or gentle pats on the back until one of the parents could get over to coo and fuss over her, it was always a very temporary thing. Stolas and Stella typically liked to be the ones feeding or cuddling her, particularly when she was just a hatchling. But as she grew, sometimes he was the sole delivery Imp for small things like food or toys. And of course, he helped take care of the less pleasant things, carious clean up that occurs when you have a young child in the house. But it was never anything of any real significance.

At least, until tonight.

When Stolas first asked him to read Octavia her bedtime story, all Alfred could do was stare back in confusion. He'd certainly delivered the book to Stolas often, but that was so he could read it to his daughter. Alfred had, admittedly, sometimes lingered by the door to listen when he could afford to, so he knew the story fairly well already. But to read it to the princess...

"Don't look at me like that" Stolas pleaded, returning Alfred's perplexed look with a pained one of his own. "I know she'll be disappointed. But Stella is out at one of her parties and I can't miss this." Tonight was apparently a particularly rare astronomical event that was frustratingly difficult to predict ahead of time, at least from what he understood. Alfred nodded and bowed, clutching the book to his chest. The prince let out a sigh of relief.

"Good. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Once Stolas was gone, Alfred hurried to Octavia's room, opening the door and closing it was habitually little noise, and walking over to see if the princess was already there waiting.

[notverybrighton]

Bloodbath treasures now in her hands, a canteen in one and a knife in the other, Sable knew it was time to move. She saw the opening to what she knew to be tunnels under the Arena, and she passed it. She'd head down later, after all the other tributes who were going to use them made their way further, deeper, and Sable wouldn't have to fear every single corner. Now, she took to the stairs of the stands and ran up, up, up, until she could hardly breathe, until she'd made her way into a room that overlooked the Cornucopia far below.

She wasn't sure where she was. She remembered this Arena from her history classes, of course, but this room hadn't been something that was covered, as far as she could recall. And perhaps that would be to her advantage. Perhaps other tributes wouldn't think to come up here. Perhaps she could hide, lock the door, and wait out the Games.

But, when tested, the door didn't lock. Taking in her surroundings - chairs and tables, like the viewing rooms in the Tower - Sable gave herself time to even out her breath. She took a long drink from her hard-won canteen and gasped until she managed a steady rhythm, in and out. She needed a plan. She needed the strategy that Brighton had studied. She needed to be Brighton. But if there was one thing she'd learned in the Bloodbath, it was that she wasn't Brighton. She was Sable, and she didn't have what it takes to win.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as her breath threatened to lurch again, this time in sobs. She couldn't let it. She placed her canteen on the ground next to her and bit down on the fist that didn't hold the knife to silence herself as best she could, lest some stray tribute overhear - or worse, a tribute who had followed her. Or even worse than that, a mutt. As Sable cried, presumably ruining Brighton's spotless reputation, she waited by the door, ready to attack whoever came in, because she had to try, dammit. She had to try.

@decimafaustina

[red-hemlock]

@ghosts-of-gotham (For Nora!)

Bullets and batarangs. Sounds like the title to a cheesy work of fiction, not at all pleasant a way to spend one's Sunday evening. But then again, not everyone had the luxury to stay at home to catch-up on TiVo, or indulge the latest soap on the tube.

Case in point? One Riversong Locke, who'd all but dragged herself in from the cold and rain, like the scruffy wounded animal that she very much was. Bullets and batarangs, after all. Cheesy title, but fully capable of turning you into swiss cheese if Lady Luck hated your guts in that moment. The worst of the worst of her wounds was currently being stymied by a firm hand to her side, but from the look of that blood trail...

"Heard you're a doctor. Normally I'd do what I could myself, but-" Words trail, cutting her explanation off as River shook her head in a bid to stave-off vision made hazy, "...I don't think I'm going to be awake for much longer."

"Pinkie-promise. I'll pay you for a patch-up, plus interest." The back of a trembling hand brushes one of the many red stains painting her face, and somehow she's able to gasp-out a wheezy chuckle, "If not? Well, then I promise to stain this nice rug to heck on my 'way out'."

[pedroscurls]

We all know Hugh HATES to be late at events/dinner or people who are..but what if his girl is a little needy 🥵 and "nervous" 😩 about what to wear?

late to the party (one-shot)

summary: possibly already late to ryan and blake's party, hugh becomes just slightly annoyed when you can't decide what to wear... and when he realizes that you're doing it on purpose, he only knows one way to make sure you don't do it again. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader content warning: smut (18+, mdni), quickie, dom!hugh, light spanking, dirty talk, fingering, doggy style (against the wall), unprotected p in v (be safe folks!), creampie (oopsies!), no use of y/n. word count: 1.8k a/n: once again, this one is really late to post so i'm sorry. i'm slowly catching up with all my requests! to the anon that requested this, i hope you enjoyed it! (btw - i'm gonna try something new with these headers moving forward, it takes so long to pick photos and figured just choosing one hugh pic is better lol). as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman.

“Baby, come on. We’re already late,” Hugh calls out, straightening out his tie. He then glances at his watch and when he sees that it’s already past the time that you both needed to be at Ryan and Blake’s house, he grabs his phone to send a text to them. 

You’re standing in the closet, dressed in a matching black lace bra and thong. You bite your lower lip at Hugh’s voice; you know he’s always so punctual and hates it when other people – including himself – are late. 

“I know! I can’t figure out what to wear.” You can hear Hugh’s footsteps approach you, can hear him let out a quiet sigh of frustration. You have your arms crossed over your chest, a thoughtful look on your features by the time he enters the closet with you. He has his hands in his pockets and when you turn to look over at him, his brows are furrowed together and his lips in a straight line. 

“That black one is nice,” he says, nodding his chin to the black dress you’re standing in front of. “Come on, baby. You know I hate being late.” 

“Well, we’re already late and I don’t know what to wear.” 

He sighs again. “Whatever you decide to wear will look good on you, love. Just put on that black one and let’s go.” 

You bite your lower lip and shake your head, turning your back to him as you walk further into the closet to look at the other dresses you have hanging. You can hear the tapping of his foot and you’re trying to hold back the smile on your lips. 

“Baby…” He walks after you and reaches for the dress he pointed out. It’s a black dress with subtle floral print, a ruffled square neckline and sheer short sleeves. It has an empire waist that he knows will fit perfectly to each curve as the bottom of your dress flows out. It looks like the length will stop right at your shins and he walks towards you with the dress in hand. “I’ll pick for you. It’s this one.”

When you turn around to face him, you bite your lower lip and look up at him. You see his eyes deviate to your body, a glimmer of desire flashing through his eyes before he remembers that you’re both already late for the party. 

“I don’t know about that one though…” you say with a sigh, but the corner of your lips turn upwards and Hugh narrows his eyes. 

“Are you–” He hangs the dress back up on the clothesline and then steps closer to you. “Are you doing this on purpose?” 

“What? No!”

Hugh narrows his eyes even further and moves a hand to your hip, pushing you further into the closet until your back gently hits the wall. He reaches out with one hand and places it next to your head, leaning down until his nose is touching yours. 

“Looks to me like you’re doing this on purpose.”

“I just– I just don’t know what to wear!” you lie, biting the inside of your cheek as you feel the hand on your hip tighten. 

“Sounds like you’re lying, baby.” Hugh brushes his lips against yours, hearing your breath catch in your throat as you gasp quietly. “If I reach down here,” he whispers, moving his hand from your hip to between your legs, cupping your sex instantly. “And if I feel that you’re wet…” he continues, moving the strip of your thong to the side as he runs the tip of his finger along the length of your sex. “Oh, you are wet. How long have you been wet, huh?” 

“Hugh…” you whimper, reaching out to rest your hands on his suit jacket but careful not to wrinkle the clothes he’s wearing. After all, you both still need to attend Ryan and Blake’s party. 

“So, let me ask again… Did you intentionally make us late?” 

You shake your head and he clicks his tongue, thrusting two fingers deep inside of you. Your arousal makes it easy for him to push his digits into your tight heat and when he feels you about to grip onto his suit jacket, he uses his free hand and grips your wrists in one hand, gently placing them above your head. 

“Oh baby,” he growls. “Don’t lie to me.” Hugh pushes his fingers in and out of you at a fast pace, knowing that it won’t take long for you to reach your climax, but just as he feels your walls begin to clench, he pulls his hand away. 

“Okay!” you exclaim, trying to squirm against him, hips pushing forward and off the wall to chase his fingers. “I did it on purpose… I saw you in that suit and I just– I need you. I knew that the only way I could get what I need was if I made us late and–” 

Hugh growls and releases your hands to grip your hips, roughly turning you around. He watches you place your hands on the wall in front of you, bracing yourself once he pulls your hips closer to him. You can hear him undo his belt and his zipper. You look over your shoulder to watch him drop his suit pants and boxer briefs down his legs. 

He tugs your thong down your legs and you gasp, feeling his warm and leaking tip press against your opening. 

“Hugh, wait, I–” He pushes his hips forward, filling you to the brim in one thrust. He’s so deep that it literally takes your breath away. You gasp, feeling him pull out to his tip until he thrusts back into you. 

“This what you wanted?” Hugh growls, using one hand to grip your hip tightly as he brings his other hand down to connect with your backside. It leaves a red imprint, the sound of the spank echoing throughout the closet. It catches you off guard and your walls clench at the sensation. 

“Y– Yes!” you answer, pushing back against him as he delivers another sharp slap to your ass. He lets out a loud groan, ceasing his movements only to watch you push back against him. He looks down at your bodies, the sight of his glistening manhood appearing and disappearing with each of your movements. 

“Fuck, baby,” he groans. “That’s it, take what you need…” Hugh releases his hold on your hip to hold the bottom of his dress shirt and tie upwards and away from where you’re both connected. He certainly doesn’t want to have to change, especially since you’re both already so late. 

Hugh feels your walls begin to clench around him, your walls sliding along every inch of his throbbing length. He pushes his hips forward, feeling himself delve even deeper within your depths. 

“Hugh! Oh god– I’m close,” you gasp, bracing your hands on the wall as Hugh grips your hip with his free hand and begins to slam into you repeatedly. You can feel each vein on his manhood, can feel him throbbing within your depths and it only urges you closer and closer to reach your high. 

“My naughty girl,” Hugh groans, the sounds of skin slapping against one another mixes in with your continuous moans. He shuts his eyes, your walls continuing to tremble and clench around him. His thrusts become more erratic as he feels the tightness build in the pit of his stomach. 

“Gonna fill you up,” Hugh growls, delivering another slap across your ass. “Gonna have me dripping out of you the entire fucking night.” 

“Hugh!” you push back against him roughly, your walls clenching around him as your walls tremble. You’re so wet, and already so sensitive as you reach your orgasm. 

Hugh groans, picking up the pace with his thrusts until he slams into you with a loud grunt. He paints your walls with his release, hips stuttering. You can feel his come fill you up and when he does pull out slowly, you look down between your legs and see thick drops of his spend trickle down your legs. 

Hugh licks his lower lip and looks down, a broad smirk lining his lips. “You gonna put on that dress now?” 

“Can you give me a minute?” you ask, turning to look over your shoulder with a small smile. 

“Oh, I’ve given you plenty.” 

You let out a quiet giggle and then watch him tuck himself back into his pants as he makes himself presentable again. You watch his eyes deviate between your legs before he leaves the closer only to come back with a wet and warm towel to wipe the release from between your legs. 

Hugh then helps slide your thong back up your body and you bite your lower lip when you turn around to face him. You can feel him so deep inside of you and it makes you smile, almost makes you yearn for another round with him but you know that you should really be getting to Ryan and Blake’s party.

You grab the same dress he had picked out for you and slide it on, turning around so that Hugh can zip you up. Once he does, he places a gentle kiss on the side of your neck and looks at you from top to bottom. 

“Beautiful,” he smiles. 

“I’m gonna be feeling you all night,” you admit. 

“Good, and just so we’re both clear,” Hugh says, gently gripping your chin as he looks into your eyes. “Your punishment isn’t over.”

“Punishment?” you clear your throat, excitement bubbling in your chest. 

“Oh yeah,” he grins. “You’re not going to get away with making us late that easily.” 

“Can we– Can we skip the party and just get straight into it?” 

Hugh narrows his eyes. “Such a naughty girl,” he growls. 

“Is that a yes?” 

“No,” Hugh chuckles. “Now, let’s go. Consider having to wait as part of your punishment.”

“Yes, sir.” you respond, biting your lip. 

Hugh growls and releases his hold on your chin as he takes a step back to look at you from top to bottom. “If we don’t leave now, I’m going to throw you over my knee and–”

“Okay!” you interrupt, squeezing your legs together. “Let’s go before I tie you to the bed.” You don’t give him a chance to respond because you’re already walking out of the closet.

Hugh chuckles and shakes his head, pulling his phone out of his pocket to see a response from Ryan who had replied to tell him that the party wasn’t going to start for another hour. Hugh shakes his head and runs out after you, seeing you with a knowing smirk on your lips.

“Oh, you planned all of this.” Hugh points out.

You nod and then reach out to gently grip the end of his tie. “Do you really think I’d make us late for the party, Hugh?” 

“On the bed. Now.”

“But what if we’re late–”

“We have an hour,” Hugh growls. “And I ain’t done with you yet.”

---

forever taglist: @haytchee @wolverigrl

[kikixreverie]

It's called: freefall

Bucky x Female reader

Summary - Things get heated between you and your closest friend Bucky, when you're made to play a married couple on an important mission. Neither of you can help yourselves when you end up stuck in a hotel room together, with sexual tension you could cut with a knife.

Word count - 10k

Warnings - (18+) smut, fingering, p in v, friends to lovers, fake marriage, gross misogynistic man (not Bucko), borderline sexual harassment (not too intense, just gross words, and also not Bucky ofc), fluff, kinda angst, more misogyny.

A/N - Hi, this took me weeks to edit for some reason, sorry, and apologies if it's too long/wordy, i got carried away again. I'm not a big fan of the first half ngl, maybe that's because it's bad, or maybe it's because I've read it about a hundred times. The smut is good though, and that's what really matters.

________________________

"It's just a quick job, I promise. It'll be easy."

Steve gave you a smile of encouragement, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of him, before politely averting his gaze to the floor when you lifted your dress slightly to slide your usual dagger into the holster on your thigh.

"Then what's with the getup?" You asked, lifting your head to catch sight of yourself in the mirror opposite you, looking at the dress you had been made to wear.

It was a pretty dress, beautiful actually, the colour beautiful against your skin-tone, perfectly fitted in all the right places, and it flowed down to the floor, a slit travelling up the length of your left leg, ending at your upper thigh.

You felt confident in it, and it was certainly a boost to your ego when Natasha wolf-whistled at the sight of you and Steve turned an impressive shade of red, but it wasn't something you were used to, having spent the past few years of your life dodging and refusing Tony's party invites, sticking to the comfiest clothes you owned when walking about the compound. It was a beautiful dress, but you couldn't help but feel like an imposter wearing it.

Natasha strode over to you and slightly adjusted the placement of your knife, ensuring it wasn't visible through the dress. "Daniel Kozlov. He's been on Shield's hit list for years now, fucker keeps catching and killing our agents on the inside."

You scoffed amusedly and shook your head, "What, so you send me in to get killed too?"

"Don't underestimate yourself, I've seen you take down four armed men with a screwdriver; you'll be fine, plus, you'll have Bucky and he knows how to stay undetected." Steve reassured you and you smiled at him, nodding to his words.

You heard footsteps behind you only moments before another voice spoke up, and you turned to the door, your breath catching in your throat as you did.

"That I do," Bucky nodded to Steve as he entered the room, eyes focused on his hands, adjusting his cuff links with a furrowed brow, before he finally tilted his gaze up, meeting your wide eyes with his own.

You barely noticed him looking you up and down, as you were too busy doing the exact same thing to him, no doubt probably being incredibly obvious as you stared with your lips parted. He looked like pure fucking sin.

Unadulterated and unfiltered sin.

His suit was all black and his pale, blue eyes contrasted against the colour, somehow making them stand out even more than usual. His already incredibly muscular arms and legs were accentuated, the expensive fabric tight against his skin, without it looking strange and uncomfortable, it only drew your attention to how broad his shoulders were compared to his narrow waist, or how thick his thighs looked in the black dress pants.

Multiple silver rings graced his fingers, matching with the silver, designer watch on his left wrist and you did a double-take when you noticed that his watch was wrapped around skin, not vibranium.

"Your arm." You said, sounding more like a statement than a question and Bucky forced himself to tear his gaze from your exposed thigh and tried to hide his pink dusted cheeks and breathless intake of air as his eyes followed yours to his metal arm, now concealed by what looked to be skin.

"Yeah." His voice came out as a sigh. He didn't know why, most amputees like him he was sure would be over the moon with the impressive technology, but it just made him uncomfortable, seeing his arm how he did 70 years ago. I felt inherently wrong. "Tony."

You nodded, looking away from his hand. A part of you was annoyed Tony had given it to him, knowing that it took Bucky years to accept that part of himself, and this seemed like it would be a setback in that department, though you still understood why it was necessary, Bucky was the best for the job, and chances are a criminal as 'highbrow' as Kozlov, would recognise the arm.

You wanted to change the subject, and you could tell Bucky did too, so you huffed a laugh and met his eyes, jokingly poking his chest with your finger, "You look like a mobster."

He nodded and chuckled, "Thanks, I guess. You look like a mobster's wife."

"Wife huh? Is that what we're doing?" You ask, turning your head to look down at Nat questioningly as she finished with your dress.

"Did they not tell you?" Bucky asked and you shook your head.

"I missed the briefing but Steve here thought he'd sign me up anyway." You gave the blonde a jokey, reprimanding look and he sighed, picking up two folders from the table and handing them to you.

"Blue one is about Kozlov, and the black is about who you and Bucky are going to be playing."

You take the folders from Steve, handing the blue one to Natasha as you open the black one, "James and Lucille Walter. Hey, how come he gets to keep his name and I get Lucille?"

"That's just a coincidence and I'm sure Bucky isn't too happy about it either. You're pretending to be a real couple, James Walter is one of Kozlov's newest buyers, he doesn't know him very well though, that's why you two shouldn't be caught out by anyone."

Nodding to Steve's words, you quickly skim over the rest of the folder, memorising as much as you can, before swapping with Nat and reading the other one, "And where are the real James and Lucille Walter?"

"Dead."

You stop your reading and turn to Natasha at the sound of her voice, giving her a look when she tried to hide her smirk.

"Ah, yes. Courtesy of Natasha Romanoff herself, Mr and Mrs Walter are in fact, dead" Steve spoke dramatically, causing you to scoff and wink at the redhead beside you.

"We should leave now. I'll explain further in the car and give you a rundown of the plan. Should be an easy job." Bucky takes the folders from you and tucks them under his arm, signalling for you to walk out the door and you give Steve and Natasha a smirk before you leave.

"Wish me luck guys."

_______________________________________

You were picked up from the compound by one of Stark's trusted drivers and Bucky described the plan in detail to you on the way there, but as you arrived closer and closer to your destination, you felt the nerves come on.

Usually, you were behind a computer screen on missions, hacking security cameras and breaking into encrypted files, you had no doubt of your fighting skills, you've been training almost your whole life, and the few missions you've done where you've had to fight were smooth sailing, but you had never done undercover before.

You started nibbling on your lower lip as soon as the car pulled up, doubting yourself again despite the amount of times Natasha has given you a whole speech about why you had no reason to ever do that.

The door on Bucky's side opened and when he offered you his arm to help you out of the car, meeting your eyes and giving you a gentle smile, you felt the nerves calm slightly.

You and Bucky were close in a way that no one had expected, considering he had the tendency to keep himself away from people and stay quiet when he was forced to socialise. You were slow-paced and gentle with him, a huge contrast to the way Sam would constantly be on Bucky about his lack of social skills, or Tony dragging him to parties he had no interest in. Sam always has the best intentions, but sometimes can be a little too enthusiastic for Bucky, and Tony, well sometimes Tony's just a dick with full knowledge of the fact that he's being one, and not a single care in the world about it.

You and Bucky both had an understanding, you had confided in him about your fears, your anxiety, and he had managed to do the same.

You just couldn't help but develop a teeny tiny crush on him over the past few months.

"Don't work yourself up, stay in character, stay alert, and remember the plan."

Nodding to him, you took a deep breath and put yourself into character, reminding yourself of yours and Bucky's new names, keeping your head up as you entered the party, an expensive diamond wrapped around your left ring finger with a similar pattern to the silver band Bucky had on his.

The hall was beautiful, gold detailing adorned the large doors and walls, reaching up to the ceiling to create beautiful patterns against the pristine white of the building. The party-goers were even more beautiful, hundreds of gowns and suits worth more than your life, probably bought and worn for a single night, before they're discarded and forgotten in the back of their walk-in closets.

You felt like you didn't fit in at all, but you watched as party guests eyed the two of you, and they seemed to be approving.

It didn't take you and Bucky long to get situated, stood in the corner of the extravagant hall with a glass of champagne now in your hand as you surveyed the exits and bodyguards, and Bucky looked for the target.

The mission was just a small lead in a huge investigation. You and Bucky were just here to buy something from Kozlov and then get out.

"Got him, 4 o-clock. He's surrounded but he should be expecting us so it shouldn't be an issue." Bucky had leant down to whisper in your ear, his breath tickling against your neck and causing a shiver to rake over your shoulders.

Fuck, he smelled like sin too.

It made you want to take a deeper breath, made you want to pull him even closer, close enough to close that small gap between your lips and kiss him till you run out of breath, and as much as that would be inconspicuous and normal for James and Lucille Walter, it would be completely inappropriate for Bucky and Y/n.

"We shouldn't go over yet. Let's just mingle a bit, get more of a feel of this place and blend into the background as much as we can." You add, and Bucky nods, surveying the room again before meeting your eyes.

"Good idea, but when we do go over, don't make eye contact with him and don't say anything," said Bucky. You couldn't help but roll your eyes, giving him a slightly annoyed, but understanding smile, and he smiled back apologetically, "I know, it's stupid, but that's what these guys are like. If he so much as thinks that you're either, on the table or threatening his masculinity, we're in trouble. Okay?"

You understood what Bucky was saying, men like Kozlov, they see women as property, or in some cases, currency. It's best to stay off their radar as best you can, which includes not threatening his masculinity by daring to look him in the eyes.

Women were to keep their heads down.

Which was bullshit.

"Okay."

He gives you a final nod and you think he's finally about to pull away and have mercy on your heart, but before he does, he pauses and presses his soft, warm lips to your cheek in a gentle kiss.

Air gets caught in your throat as it happens, but you try not to make an audible noise, quickly pulling yourself together and reminding yourself that you and Bucky are pretending to be a couple and he's just trying to sell it better. It makes sense.

It's just pretend.

You spend the whole evening with your hand wrapped around Bucky's bicep, neither of you breaking apart for anything as random people come up to you and try to start conversations. Usually, one of you will take one for the team and has to stand there talking about money and beach houses for five minutes, plus the occasional question about kids, which seemed to make Bucky blush every time, as the other keeps an eye on Kozlov.

"So how long have you two been married?" A seemingly kind lady asks, her red dress matching her lips as they stretch into an awkward smile.

"A year in June," You respond, well-rehearsed at this point as you smile up at your pretend husband, "Can't believe how quickly it's going."

Bucky is quick thinking with the act, and he smiles down at you, his arm wrapping gently around your waist and squeezing you to his side. Your heart probably stopped beating for a moment, and you wondered how he got so good at this, before brushing the thought away and looking back to the woman in the red dress, smiling warmly at her too.

"Ah, bet you two are still in the honeymoon phase. You look completely smitten with each other, it's adorable." She scrunched her nose up on the word 'adorable', her gaze flicking between the two of you before she glanced at her own husband, standing a few feet away as he laughed with a larger group of men, a big glass of whiskey in his hand. She sighed.

You tried to keep your face neutral, smiling and nodding along, but something about what she had said had caught in your chest, and you wished you could see just for a moment from someone else's eyes, just how 'smitten' you both look.

You felt bad for the woman, who stood in the middle of the huge ballroom completely alone and abandoned by her husband, but there wasn't anything you could do for her, and Bucky was subtly hinting to you that you were to go speak with Kozlov soon, so you kissed her cheek and bid her goodbye.

You spared Bucky a quick glance and he was focused on Kozlov, his face stoic as he glanced in his direction discreetly, scanning the exits too, checking for close-by security cameras and windows again, just in case.

"I think it's time, doll." He murmured.

You quickly lift your head to meet his eyes, the pet-name he usually only used when you were tipsy and would brush it off casually, slipping off his tongue, though it had the same effect sober or not, you blushed and nodded.

He smiled at you, almost looking fond, though you were pretty sure he was just offering you a break from the stoic, mission orientated Bucky, before he took a deep breath and reached for your hand on his bicep to hold it with his own, gently squeezing before guiding you towards the target.

As you walked Kozlov's way, who was surrounded by burly, most definitely armed bodyguards, you noticed the women surrounding him too, some with their husbands and all of them looking beyond uncomfortable, staring out at the party with bored, or even nervous expressions.

"James Walter," Bucky nodded to one of the bodyguards, who had stopped you both from passing, and the bodyguard shared a look with another, before nodding and letting you walk on.

Daniel Kozlov was sat comfortably in a velvet armchair as he swirled a glass of whiskey in his hand, seemingly stuck in a boring conversation as he stared at the wall before him, completely uninterested in what the man talking to him had to say.

"Mr Kozlov, I'm James Walter, It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

Kozlov perked up at the sound of a new voice and a wide, Cheshire cat grin formed on his lips as he regarded you and Bucky, though you kept your eyes to the floor, or seemingly 'admiring' the expensive decorations as the men spoke.

"Ah, my new friend! I was hoping you'd show up, had a few men flake out on me recently," The man spoke dramatically, his thick European accent prevalent and images of his file flashed in your head, remembering that Shield had been taking down his buyers one by one, either arresting them on other charges or putting a bullet between their eyes as Natasha had done with the real Mr and Mrs Walter.

They weren't particularly very nice people, so you didn't hold much guilt for their deaths, or stealing their identity after the fact.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, sir. Heard you've got something I have my interests set on." Bucky's voice was smooth and charismatic, matching Kozlov's energy as best he could, and you couldn't lie, it made your blood run warmer, heat spreading to certain parts of your body you were ashamed to admit were reacting to the confidence he exuded tonight.

"Hm... I suppose I do. Do you always allow your wife to be a part of your deals?" Your looked up slightly at his mention of you, and Kozlov smirked wickedly at the expression on your face, "Women can be god-awful gossips sometimes."

This fucking guy-

Bucky squeezed your hand tightly, forcing the words from his tongue, "I assure you, sir. She is nothing to worry about."

He was just as pissed as you were.

"I don't know, she doesn't really seem like the quiet type, I reckon she's a loud-mouth once she's on her back, although I'm sure having her on her knees will shut her up nice and quiet." He chuckled darkly and Bucky's hand was holding yours so tight, his jaw clenching and unclenching, measured breaths exhaled through his nose, he still managed to keep his face blank though, as did you, quietly seething as you put on the frightened baby deer look that men seemed to love, staring down at the floor.

He needed to think you were in the same position as the other poor, frightened women here, that he'd get bored with you all the same.

You swallowed your tongue though, wanting nothing more than to speak up and put the bastard in his place, right before beating the absolute shit out of him, though you knew that would come in due time, for now all you could do was finish this fucking mission.

"She won't be a problem."

Kozlov laughed, knowing he was getting under James' skin. He stood from the armchair and nodded towards Bucky, the smile sinking, trying to look intimidating, despite the fact that he was practically less than half the size of Bucky, "Make your payment."

Bucky pulled a phone from his pocket, sending a single word in a text and waiting for the confirmation only seconds later, before tucking it away again, "Payment made."

Daniel looked over at a man sat in the corner with a laptop and when he nodded, he turned back to look at Bucky, his hand sneaking into his own pocket and pulling out a hard drive, handing it to Bucky before taking a step back and looking you up and down.

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

You swallowed your irritation, narrowly avoiding the urge to roll your eyes at the way he was eyeing you like a piece of meat, Bucky opened his mouth to speak but was quickly cut off by a glare.

"I asked the wife, not you. Name?" He spoke through gritted teeth, obviously quick to anger, and you fought back the urge to fucking bitch slap him, take the dagger from your thigh and press it to his neck, but you were sticking to the deer in headlights act.

"Lucille."

A smirk overtook his face, a healed scar on his cheek stretching as he did so, "Pretty name for a pretty thing."

At this point, Bucky was squeezing your hand so hard again, your fingers were starting to go numb, the rings he was wearing digging uncomfortably into your skin, but you didn't pull away, instead, you returned the tight grip to try to reassure him.

Taking a step closer to you, Daniel Kozlov lifted his hand to your cheek, making you flinch slightly and you clenched your jaw when the back of his hand caressed your cheek, his skin ice-cold against yours.

"I happen to collect pretty things."

Bucky felt sick to his stomach, knowing that he couldn't do anything besides stand there and watch, stepping out of line in any way would end in a fight, and he knew he couldn't risk lives, or the mission.

A part of you was expecting him to backhand you, but he never did Instead, he touched your cheek for a while longer, glancing over at Bucky with a smile before he took a step away from you and laughed at the murderous look Bucky was trying to hide, he knew that Bucky was in a position where there wasn't much he could do to stop him, and he openly mocked him for it, "I could take her off your hands for the night for you, teach her some manners. Maybe she'll learn to answer her superiors quickly, when they ask her a question."

"Not necessary." Bucky's voice was scarily even, but his jaw was aching from how hard he was grinding his teeth together and he started pulling you closer to him, shooting Kozlov a dangerous glare, "I think it's time we leave."

"Of course, of course. No doubt you need to get her to bed."

Bucky ignored his words and turned, pushing his way past the bodyguards and pulling you along by your hand, making you stumble in your heels.

"James." You called out as you tried to catch up with him. His grip on your hand was starting to hurt again but he kept walking with intent, pulling you out of the grand doors at the entrance to the hall and towards the expensive car you had arrived in.

He handed the driver a wad of cash and told him to leave, giving him a silent glare which obviously meant 'fuck off' when the guy hesitated.

As Bucky pulled open the passenger seat door and helped you into the car, you glared at him, though when he ducked his head into the car and leant over you to put your seatbelt on for you, the intensity behind the glare faded and you were left just staring wide eyed at him, and instead of yelling at him and telling him that you were perfectly capable of doing your own seatbelt, you were lost for words with how close his body was to yours, his breath fanning against your bare shoulder.

You could only breathe when he pulled away and slammed the door shut, rounding the car to get into the driver's seat, not sparing you another glance as he turned on the engine and put the car into gear, speeding off into the city.

his frustration and anger filled the space with tension.

"Bucky, you need to calm down," You tried but he continued to ignore you, one hand on the gear stick and the other gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles turned white. You sighed, his frustration and anger filled the space with tension, and you concluded that he was a grown man who could calm himself down.

You dropped your head against the seat as you focused on the view outside your window, the lights of the city burning bright against the night sky.

You glanced at the side-view mirror, and rolled your eyes when you realised it was the same car that was behind you when you left the party, "We're being followed."

Bucky's hearing was obviously working. When he heard what you said, his eyes lifted to the rear-view mirror and he sighed heavily, "Fuck."

"Where are we gonna go? None of the safehouses are fancy enough for Mr and Mrs Walter."

"We'll have to go to a hotel, they shouldn't give us any trouble unless we seem suspicious. There's no way Kozlov would have us killed immediately after a sale, too risky," You nod at his words, knowing that Bucky was an expert at things like this due to his past with Hydra, he knew how men like Kozlov worked, how their brains ticked, and you trusted him completely. "Okay, I know where to go." He said as you kept an eye on the car, taking note of the plate number and trying to get a view of the person driving it, "Text Nat with the burner in my pocket, tell her we'll be at The Pierre, tell her to bring backup just in case but keep them minimally armed, it's just a precaution."

You sigh again, looking away from the car behind you and back to Bucky, "Which pocket?"

"Inside pocket, left side."

You nibbled on your lower lip as you reached over to him, and he tilted his body to you slightly in assistance. Bucky gulped, and you blushed as your hands brushed against his shirt when you reached into his suit jacket, searching for the pocket.

His body was incredibly warm and it only made you want to draw out the situation even longer as Bucky fought to keep his concentration on the road and the car behind, but eventually, your fingers brushed against the phone and you hesitantly pulled it out and sat back in your seat, a long exhale coming from him as you did so and he readjusted his grip on the steering wheel, shooting you a quick glance, his gaze falling to how exposed your thigh had become with the movement, though he tore his eyes away quickly.

You slipped the phone back into Bucky's pocket once you had received Natasha's quick response, and Bucky pulled up to the hotel. You watched in quiet amusement as the man following parked not-so-discreetly, a bit further down the street.

"Remember who your playing." Bucky shot you a final glance as he turned off the ignition and got out of the car, straightening out his suit jacket as he walked to the passenger side and pulled open the door, offering his arm to you and helping you out of the car.

You hated how real it all felt, him doting on you when you were trying desperately hard to convince yourself it was an act, but you still wrapped both your hands around his arm, draping yourself against his side as you walked towards the entrance, telling yourself that you did it only for the upkeep of the ruse.

The tension between you was undeniable as Bucky looked down at you, his expression serious, but not stern, only intense.

"James? Are we going in?" You asked, using his fake yet real name and it seemed to wake him from his daze, nodding as he reminded himself of his surroundings and the man now wandering closer to them, his phone to his ear, though he didn't speak into it.

"Course, doll. Just admiring my wife's beauty in the city lights."

Your mouth fell open slightly at his words but he didn't give you much time to react before he was walking you into the hotel, and you were thankful that he wasn't dragging you this time.

Bucky didn't waste any time, quickly moving to one of the people running the front desk and glaring down at him.

"Name?"

"James Walter," He spoke and the man nodded, typing something out on his computer before handing Bucky a black key-card, giving him a fearful smile.

Stepping away from the front desk, Bucky moved to your left as he discreetly put his hand into his pocket and slipped the burner phone into your hand, and you switched the phone into your right hand once you realised his plan, tossing the phone into the garbage bag on the back of a janitors cart before walking into the elevator.

You sighed heavily as you both finally entered the hotel room, trudging to the bed in the middle of the giant room and collapsing on it as Bucky started scoping out the room, quickly checking the bathroom and shutting all the curtains.

"We're going to have to stay here all night, aren't we? That guy isn't gonna go anywhere." You sighed, closing your eyes as you sunk into the mattress.

"One bed." Bucky said, and you peaked your eyes open one at a time, moving your gaze to the man now slouched in the armchair tucked into the corner of the large room, still looking beyond annoyed.

"Huh?"

His jaw ticked in annoyance as his head fell back against the chair, "There's only one bed."

Oh.

"Oh," You sat up on the bed, looking around the room awkwardly.

You didn't really want to think about what that could mean, it either formed butterflies in your stomach, or disappointment.

He didn't have to act so upset about it.

"Is it that bad?" You scoffed, half joking, half serious, and Bucky lifted his head, his eyes widening, lips parted.

"No, that's not what I-" He cut himself off, sighing and furrowing his eyebrows, looking guilty, "Sorry. I'm just so fucking annoyed."

You smiled and nodded, "I know, me too. We're one step closer to getting this guy though, Buck."

He nodded too, eyes closing again, his jaw unclenching, finding some kind of relief in your words.

"We don't have to share if you don't want, but I'm okay with it if you are. I trust you. Plus, we've fallen asleep on the couch together before, can't be that much different." You shrugged, acting nonchalant, although you felt extremely not, as you stood up, sick of the feeling of your knife's handle digging uncomfortably in your skin.

You pulled your skirt up to expose your other thigh, lifting your right foot to rest on the bed, while making sure not to flash Bucky in the process as you pull the dagger out, throwing it back on the bed, leaving the garter on for now.

His breath caught in his throat at the sight, watching as your dagger glided against the skin of your thigh as you removed it from yourself, tossing it onto the white bed sheets before dropping your foot back to the floor.

"No it's... I don't- uh." He trailed off, losing his train of thought, obviously distracted.

You looked at him, eyes dropping to follow the movement of his tongue wetting his lips, and you knew you'd never get the sight of him right now out of your mind. His legs were spread, sitting comfortably in the chair, one of his arms draped over the arm of the chair, while he rested his elbow with the other one, holding his head up with his thumb and index finger on the side of his tilted head.

He regarded you silently, his eyes dazed, and you wondered if it could possibly be because he was feeling the same exact way as you right now.

Bucky was struggling to think straight, scrunching his face up in frustration when he finally snapped out of his daze, the frustration completely different to what he was feeling before, now he just couldn't get the image of your thighs out of his mind, or the black thigh garter you still wore under your dress.

God, you drive him fucking crazy.

You chewed the inside of your cheek when he sighed again, "Buck, you need to chill out. I know Kozlov is a fucking asshole, but we expected that. We got the mission done with no big issues."

He stared up at the ceiling, feeling so guilty that he was looking at you that way, thinking about you in that way, especially after the reminder of Kozlov and how undoubtedly uncomfortable he must've made you feel.

"I know, I just hate feeling powerless. That prick was touching you and saying horrible shit and I just stood there-"

"Bucky."

He huffed a breath and opened his eyes, only to be met with the beautiful sight of you stood before him, only a few feet away, your dress clinging to all the right places and your eyes locked to his and he felt a familiar heat stirring up inside him again. He stared up at you as if you were a heaven-sent angel.

The tension in the room was so thick, and you both knew why, though neither of you had the guts to admit, nor say anything about it.

Your intentions were pure at first, and for some reason, on the way towards where he was sitting, you never thought about the very un-pure version of your actions until you were stood in front of him, barely thinking about it when you sunk to your knees before him, your hands resting just above his knees on his spread legs.

At first, you told yourself it was because you wanted to talk to him properly, make sure he was okay, and that included you being on his level physically, but now you realised it was mostly because you so desperately wanted to see him like this, his gaze heated, looking down at you between his thighs with parted lips.

It didn't matter that you were the one on your knees, you'd never felt more powerful.

His gaze was unwavering, the intense, lustful look in his eyes alone had you clenching your thighs together as you thought about your next move, and Bucky lifted one of his hands towards your face, brushing the back of his fingers down your cheek, just as Kozlov had done earlier, though this touch was completely different, and your eyes fluttered shut, a sigh escaping you as his fingers caressed your cheek, ridding the memory of Kozlov's cold skin against yours with his soft, warm touch, and you pulled your eyes open to meet his again, lifting your hand to take hold of his.

You looked down at the rings he was wearing, one on almost each finger, apparently it was a common style choice from James Walter, and it wasn't the first time tonight that you'd silently thanked the dead mobster for that fact.

They'd been catching your eye all night, and you lifted his knuckles to your lips, placing a kiss against the smooth metal of the first one on his index finger, and then the next one, and the next.

Bucky watched you kiss his rings, his eyes darkening with every touch of your soft lips to his knuckles, so entranced by you, slowly sinking further into the seat, melting with each touch.

He couldn't think of any repercussions right now, couldn't think of a single reason to stop you, all he could think about was what you were doing to him right now, and where these actions could lead you, and his pants were getting tighter by the second.

You met his eyes with your lips still on his knuckles, and you both immediately knew what this was, where this could be going, and that the thick tension between you, was sexual tension like no other.

Bucky's heart must've stopped when you opened his fist and slipped his index and middle finger past your lips, enveloping them in the hot, wetness of your mouth, your soft tongue circling over his digits, sucking on them, He couldn't help but groan, leaning his head back, though still keeping his half-lidded eyes on you.

"Fuck, doll. So fuckin' gorgeous."

You weren't thinking straight, you must not've been, because why the hell would you be doing this, why was it something you didn't even have to question, why did it feel so natural, and so fucking right.

The words that slipped past his lips were doing things to you, and the way that his fingers pressed down on your tongue slightly, but weren't nearly as heavy against it as something else you wanted on your tongue would be, you were a goner, and your underwear was already soaked.

You pulled his fingers from your mouth but kept hold of them as you crawled onto his lap, his arm immediately wrapped around your waist, holding you to him, his lips so close to yours you were sharing breath.

Slowly, you guided his fingers down, sliding them under the slit in your dress to bring them to your covered core, watching his facial expression intently, watching for any sign of discomfort.

There was none, and his breath caught in his throat when his fingers made contact, the heat of you radiating against his hand, he could already feel how wet you are.

"Fuck." He breathed, eyebrows furrowing, forehead resting on yours, "You sure about this sweetheart? You want me to touch you?"

You nodded immediately, biting your lower lip, pressing his hand against you harder, "Yes. Are you sure?"

He nodded back, "Never been more sure about anything in my fuckin' life."

You moaned when he finally started moving his fingers, circling your clit gently over your underwear, though with enough pressure to give some sort of relief, but it was when he pulled your panties aside, and dipped his fingers into your wetness, spreading your folds and gathering your slick, before pressing his fingers against your clit and rubbing you in tighter circles, that you were a mess in his lap.

"Bucky-" You whimpered, rolling your hips slightly, and he licked his lips again, nudging his nose against yours, wanting so desperately to kiss you, but also not wanting to miss a single expression you made, he wanted to watch you fall apart under his touch, again, and again, and again.

"You know something, sweetheart?" He asked, waiting for confirmation that you were paying attention to him before continuing.

You rolled your hips again, staring into his eyes, moaning out in pleasure, "What?"

"You drove me fucking crazy tonight, every time you touched me, every time you looked at me- God, whenever you said my name- I'd never heard you call me that before, my first name, fuck I don't ever want to stop hearin' you callin' me that."

His words made you dizzy, the confirmation that he'd felt the same as you all night, the confession that he loved it when you called him 'James' just as much as you loved calling him it, you were sinking deeper and deeper into this feeling, that this moment couldn't be more right, more necessary, like you'd both been needing this for months now.

By the time he had finished talking, he had slowed his touch to a complete stop, and dipped his fingers lower, pushing them inside you.

You gasped, he groaned, and when he curled them, finding that sweet spot inside you and pushing against it perfectly, you cried out, dropping your forehead to his shoulder and tucking your face in his neck.

He didn't let up with his gentle thrusting, and the insistent rubbing against that spongy spot inside of your cunt. He used his free hand to move your head from his shoulder, leaning himself forward slightly, holding you closer, and finally kissing you.

You whimpered and moaned against his lips, though returned the kiss passionately, both of your hands in his hair, your tongue gliding against his own.

This was unlike any experience you'd ever had, every touch dialled up to 100.

He used his thumb to rub your clit, still curling and rubbing his fingers against your walls, and when you started to clench down on him, he pulled back from the kiss.

"C'mon, kitten, cum on my fingers like a good girl." He purred, and your head tilted back, moaning as you came, your orgasm only spurred on quicker by his words.

"James-" You whimpered, his touch not letting up as he pleasured you through your orgasm, though when you were through most of it, you crashed your lips to his.

You kissed until you ran out of breath, doing exactly what you had wanted to do earlier, what you had wanted to do for months. Bucky gently eased his fingers out of you, and when you tucked your face in his neck again, catching your breath, you could tell he was sucking them clean, moaning at the taste of you.

It was quiet for a moment between you, only the gentle sound of your slightly laboured breath filling the space, Bucky held you close to him, his fingers gently tracing up and down your spine through the fabric of your dress, you gave a pleased hum and kissed his neck, just above his collar.

It didn't matter that you'd just barely come down from an orgasm, you needed more, you needed him.

"James." You whispered against his neck, just below his ear and he just about melted into the chair beneath you, humming to let you know he was listening, though you didn't say anything else, a part of you just wanted to say his name again, and to feel his pleased reaction to it.

His body was so warm under yours, but there were far too many layers of fabric between you and him and you desperately wanted to fix that, 'adjusting' yourself on his lap just so you could provide some friction between you, biting your lip and sighing into his ear when you felt how hard he was beneath you, he groaned and gripped your hips tightly.

"I wanna feel you inside me, James." Your voice was as sweet as sugar, breath warm against his skin, and your heated core was seated just above where his hard cock was pressing tightly against his pants, throbbing with every small movement you made.

"Fuck, sweetheart." He husked, no doubt sounding like a broken record, though he didn't care much about that, not when you were pressing yourself against him like that, slowly rocking in his lap, not when he could still faintly taste you in his mouth from where he had sucked his fingers clean, not with your mouth on his neck, whispering dirty things.

You kissed the hinge of his jaw, then ghosted your lips lower, pressing a kiss just below his ear, before making your way to the other side, leaving sweet kisses as you went.

You met his eye as you traced your hand up his black shirt, watching his expression as you slowly loosened his tie, and popped the top button open, and then the next, giving yourself better access to the skin there, kissing below his Adam's apple.

"C'mon, Buck. You wanna fuck me?" You asked, looking up at him through your lashes this time, teasing him with a smirk.

He bit his lip, holding your cheek in his palm, thumb swiping across your cheekbone, his eyes darting across your face, taking in every detail he could while he was so close to you.

So pretty.

"I do, of course I do, doll." He said back, his eyes following the movement of his thumb against soft skin. You could sense the 'but' coming, "But... I don't think we should-"

"Bucky." You interrupted, stopping what you know would've become this huge, self-doubting, self-sabotaging speech, and he met your eyes again, sighing slightly, his head tilted, "If we both want this, then why can't we have it?"

He didn't know what to say, he couldn't imagine a world were someone would really want him, as he was, much less a smart, loving and kind, beautiful girl like yourself. He believed you when you said you wanted this, but was still unsure if you would really want him, want him beyond this moment.

"If we go further, I'll never be able to get enough of you." He spoke quietly, this moment between you was so intimate, which was something he'd not experienced in decades. It was terrifying, but so perfect, so right. 

"You have all of me, Bucky. I want you, not just tonight. I've wanted you for months, honey, and if you want me too then what have we got to lose? You can have me whenever you need me, whenever you want me, I'm yours, yours now, yours tomorrow. If you need a hug," You wrapped your arms around his neck as you spoke and held him tighter, "If you need a kiss," You pressed your lips to his, "If you need a release; I'll be there, because you have me, always have."

By the time you were just halfway into your speech, Bucky was a puddle, his brain short-circuiting, his heart beating much faster than it should be with him just sitting, and his whole world view collapsing.

You were his.

You wanted to be his.

He was yours completely.

He surged forward to press his lips to yours, and kissed you for a long moment, using his tongue to memorise the feel of your mouth, the heat of your own tongue against his, and he stood as he kissed you, holding you in his arms as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

He carried you with such ease and sat down on the edge of the huge bed, not once breaking the kiss, or putting an ounce space between your bodies.

You helped him to shrug off his suit jacket, tossing it to the floor as if it didn't probably cost hundreds of dollars, and deft fingers quickly reached to undo his tie.

The tie was silky and smooth, and your imagination was bright with ideas, the image of Bucky fucking you, with your hands tied above your head, or maybe tying Bucky up just the same, kissing his cock teasingly, without letting him touch you.

You tabled the ideas for now, tossing the tie aside.

You could experiment with him in due time, for now you just wanted to be able to touch him as much as possible.

You were both still enraptured in the kiss when Bucky stood again, this time turning around, and laying you down on the mattress, pressing himself against you as he placed one last kiss on your lips, and pulled back to admire the sight of you, blushing with kiss-bitten lips as you lay beneath him.

He traced his hands down your body and stood at the end of the bed, his shirt almost halfway undone.

His fingers glided down your legs, and ended at your ankles as he eyed the strappy heals you wore, admiring how beautiful you looked in them. He imagined keeping them on you, stripping you down and bending you over the closest surface, whilst still wearing the heels, maybe keeping on the thigh-garter too, but he wanted you comfortable, and he wanted you naked.

Gently, he undid the strap on one of your heels, and slowly pulled it off, before doing the same to the other one.

He kept glancing up at you as he did so, watching you so intently, he didn't dare miss a single moment, a single change in your expression.

His hands traced back up your legs, this time, he kissed his way up too, kissing you ankle, your shin, just below the garter.

He stopped himself though, and looked you in the eyes, that serious look returning, "Are you sure you want this?"

"Yes. Please, James."

He smirked, he couldn't not, and his hand drifted to your hip, squeezing there, before using both his hands to flip you over, leaning over you and pressing his hand against your back.

You gasped in surprise, and then felt his fingers against the zip of the dress, his breath against the nape of your neck.

"Should we take this off?" He asked sweetly, and you nodded silently, your voice trapped in your throat, that cocky, dominant persona you had taken on earlier apparently about to be fucked out of you. You couldn't wait.

He flipped you back over to help ease the dress off, leaving you only in a lacy pair of underwear, your chest exposed to him, and once the dress was on the floor, and Bucky allowed himself the chance to finally look at you, he groaned roughly, draping his body over yours and reaching up to caress your breasts, watching as his thumb traced over the hardened peaks of your nipples, "So fucking gorgeous."

Your hands were in his hair, back arching into his touch when he took your nipple into his mouth, paying attention to the other one with his fingers, and as much as you were enjoying it, he was still wearing way too much, and you put your fingers under his chin, pulling his mouth away from you.

He kissed you as you unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and pulled it off, quickly followed by his pants and soon you were both left in your underwear.

You pushed at his shoulder, and he eventually got the memo, and rolled aside, letting you sit on top of him, carefully moving the dagger you had left on the bed onto the bedside table.

When you pulled back from the kiss, he continued to kiss down your chest, but your eyes drifted to the hand he had on your waist, the left one, that still looked like skin even though it wasn't.

You had almost completely forgotten about it, it felt just like skin, was warm like skin, and looked unbelievably life-like, but there was something about it that you really didn't like, it wasn't him, it might've been once, but as Bucky has told you before, he's not been the man he was back in the 40s in over seventy years, and he probably wouldn't ever be him again, which you reminded him was okay, that he didn't owe Steve the version of himself that Bucky thought he would need.

You knew about the struggles Bucky has had with his metal arm, the history that there is behind it, and the hatred he had for it when he was first rehabilitated. You didn't want this impressive Stark invention to become something he used to hide this part of himself, against the needs of his own healing.

You started at his left shoulder, and traced your fingers down the arm, stopping at the silver watch on his wrist, and Bucky stopped kissing you, watching you, waiting.

"Is it the watch?" You asked, and he hesitated, before nodding.

"You don't have to take it off."

You paused, looking down at him, he looked slightly uncomfortable, and you needed to change that.

"I'd like to take it off. Do you want to leave it on?"

He was quiet for a moment, thinking about your question. It made him uncomfortable, seeing the uncanny, flesh arm in place of the metal one he knew was there, and to see a human arm, yet not be able to really feel the touch of your skin against it, only pressure and heat. He didn't like it.

He shook his head, and you smiled, kissing him again as you carefully undid the watch with your mouth still on his, pulling back to see his metal arm visible again, and you intertwined your fingers with his, metal against skin.

You did the same with his other hand, intertwining your fingers, before lifting them both above his head, pressing them into the mattress. You knew he could very easily break out of your grasp, but that didn't make the sight any less pleasing.

You rocked your hips against his, just as you did before, and he groaned, lifting his own hips, seeking more friction.

Reluctantly, you released his hands, and quickly took off your underwear, leaving you naked above him, before you took his off too.

You couldn't possibly be any wetter, your inner thighs a mess of slick as you watched his cock slap against his stomach, painfully hard and leaking at the tip.

"Fuck, James. D'you know how beautiful you are?" You asked, slowly touching the underside of his cock, tracing an enticing vein, before gripping him in your hand and squeezing him.

A moan slipped past his lips, hips lifting from the bed again.

He shook his head in response to you, smiling, "Do you know how beautiful you are?"

He flipped you both over again, his hands tracing your body, lingering in certain areas, squeezing your breasts, caressing your stomach, lifting your thigh to rest on his hip, dipping between your legs to press down on your clit, "You're fuckin' breathtaking, doll, and so fucking wet."

He gathered some of your wetness on his fingers, and dipped them back into his mouth again for a taste, moaning around them.

"I wanna eat you so bad, kitten." He lowered himself to you, resting on his elbows on either side of your head, kissing your neck.

"Later. I need you inside me, James." You pressed your core against him, and he nodded, reaching between the two of you to line himself up, slowly easing inside.

You both moaned as he slid inside you, Bucky's eyes fluttering shut, savouring the sensation whilst trying desperately hard not to give in to the urge to immediately bury himself at the hilt, and fuck you without a moments hesitation.

His hips twitched, cock throbbing inside of you, both of you were so desperate for this, and when he finally pulled his hips back, and rolled them back to yours, it was relief like no other.

His first few thrusts were slower, so enraptured by how you felt around him, hot and wet, and fucking perfect. Eventually, he started to speed up, but favoured fucking you harder, rather than faster. He didn't want this to end too quickly.

You were sprawled beneath him, biting your lower lip and moaning with every stroke of his cock against your walls, his body completely draped over yours so with every roll of his hips, his pelvis stimulated your clit. When he started to fuck you harder, repeatedly hitting a spot deep inside you that made you see stars, you were crying out in pleasure, already feeling close to another orgasm.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good, y'know that? I'm never gonna get enough of this, gonna want to fuck you all the time, 'm never gonna think of anything else." His forehead was resting on your shoulder, one of his hands on your stomach as his other held him up on the bed, "I want you to be mine. Mine to fuck, mine to kiss, mine every minute of the day. God, I want everyone to know, sweetheart, want them to know you're James' girl."

You were moaning with every word, nodding along, whining when his hand drifted lower, his thumb hovering over your clit, but staying completely still, teasing you.

Your heart was so full, just like your cunt, and you hoped to god he'd follow through on his promises, you needed to be his, just as much as you needed him to be yours.

"James, please." You begged, arching your back into him, and he lifted his head from your shoulder to look at you, smiling with a shake of his head.

"You beg real pretty, doll, but you can do better than that. Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you."

Your eyes practically rolled back, fuck, you loved hearing him talk like this, "I want to cum, please."

He nodded, leaning in close to you, "You want to cum? I'll let you cum, princess."

He began to rub your clit in steady circles, keeping up a steady rhythm that dragged you so close to release.

"C'mon, come for me, sweetheart."

Your eyes fluttered shut as your orgasm rushed over you, and you gripped Bucky's hair tighter, your cunt clenching around him sending him head first into his own orgasm, his hips stuttering against yours as he came inside you, filling you up with his seed.

His forehead was pressed to yours, both of you slowly coming down from your high, and Bucky waited till you'd caught your breath to lean down and kiss you, slower this time, savouring the taste of you as best he could.

You kissed him back eagerly, aftershocks of your orgasm washing over you and making you clench down on him, still inside of you. Bucky groaned into your mouth, before he hesitantly broke the kiss, and leaned back to slide out of you.

"Fuck, sweetheart, such a fucking mess we made." He breathed roughly, glancing down between your legs, watching his cum seep out of you, so turned on by the filthy sight, before looking up at you again, tracing his eyes up your body, completely bared to him. He took in every detail, and smiled at your flushed cheeks, "You're so fucking beautiful."

You smiled back at him, shaking your head as you wrapped your legs around him and reached out, pulling him back down to you to nudge your nose against his, watching the way his nose scrunched up when he smiled, "So are you."

He huffed a laugh and kissed you, before burying his face into the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around you and holding you as close to him as possible, practically laying completely on top of you, though he held most of his own weight. As much as you would completely, happily welcome the weight of him on top of you, you also know that breathing is kind of a necessary thing to survive... sadly.

"We need to shower." He murmured against your skin, rubbing his stubbly jaw against your shoulder.

You hummed and nodded, raking your nails across the surface of his back.

"We should probably talk too." He followed, keeping his face hidden from your sight.

"We should, but I don't think there's much to talk about that we haven't already. We both want each other, and not just physically."

He lifted his head and gazed down at you, his expression vulnerable, more vulnerable than you'd ever seen him, even with him naked above you, "So... like lovers?"

You smiled at the old-fashioned term, much preferring it to boyfriend and girlfriend, and you nodded, gently brushing hair from his face, "I'd love that, Buck, if you want that too?"

"Yes, I want that, so much."

"Good, let's make it official then."

He nodded smiling down at you, before he stood from the bed, and he picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and carrying you to the hotel en-suite like he had carried you to the bed earlier.

"You're my girl now, sweetheart." He whispered to your ear, loving the way it sounded on his lips.

"And you're my guy." You replied, kissing his nose.

"Sure am." He smiled proudly, setting you down on the bathroom sink as he turned the shower on, before he turned back to you, leaning on his hands, which rested either side of you, "I will be taking you out on a date when we get back, just so you know."

"I can't wait, baby."

[tonycries]

After reading your ever single one the writing I have one question.

How long do you think the jjk men are? As in there length

WELL....why stop at analyzing only length? 👀👀👀

Toji - oh god, man is thick. One of the thickest here fr. Uncut. I'm thinkinggg about 8.5 inches but he says he's 9 - either way OUCH 🤕 Such a pretty creamy color, too, and so VEINY. Probably super unruly with his pubes and you'd have to 😈convince😈 him to shave it off if you wanted otherwize.

Nanami - PHEWWWWW BIG D IN THE HOUSE 😈😈 I say a good 8.6 inches and the moment he spots your pretty wedding band while pushing you into the meanest mating press then he can probably go for 9 😳 Cut, shaved, and pretty - the tips of his ears blush the same coral pink as his tip.

Geto - OUUUU so he's another thick one - double c's n' all. Probably about 7.8 - 8 inches and erm...pierced 😩 A pretty studded Prince Albert's, and he's so girthy that Geto has to have you toy with him to actually see it. Probably uncut and slightly on the unruly side like Toji but not as much, he just doesn't care too much for it when leading a cult and serving evil cunt ykyk 😔

Choso - HMHMHMMMM now either he's 7.2 inches or fucking 11 👀 Your pick 👀 Genuinely wonder what magic he could do with that cursed technique of his oml 😩 Uncut and blushes such a pretty strawberry pink - but I think he'd be pretty unruly after being kept in a jar for 150 years so. Deffo shaves and tidies himself up in an instant if you ask!!

Sukuna - girl....RIP that pussy 🤕 You think he'd be seven feet tall and NOT have a monster cock - I'm sorry but man is probably around 13 inches on both cocks 🤕🤕 YEOWCH 💀 Doesn't care too much for manscaping but- honestly- do you even have time to worry? Worry about your internal organs.

Ino - around 6.9 (hehe) to 7.1 inches and pretty UGH we have another pretty boy 😩 Not overly on the girthy side, but Ino's special power is in the way he's curved - just the exact few degrees upwards to bruise your g-spot like no other 💯 Shaved and cut I'd say and he probably thought about getting it pierced to make you feel better (awwww bby) <333

Gojo - don't even ask about his dick because he's got one to match that stupid ego of his ☹ Smh about 9.4 inches mayhaps, and cut. Not especially girthy but you know damn well he's making use of that length RIP 💀 Spends some of the most time keeping his happy trail n' his pubes kempt and oooo he's probably the one that gets the reddest of them all 😋 Like those strawberry lollies he steals from you 😋

[pascaloverx]

HAUNTED

Summary: You awaken from a two-year coma to find that Detective Lois has been eagerly awaiting your recovery, believing you might have witnessed something crucial to catching a serial killer. What you didn’t expect is to learn that she suspects your doctor of being the murderer—and even more shockingly, it appears that you are married to him. Now, you must uncover your lost memories and find out who Charlie Mayhew truly is to you.

Author's Note: Yes, I'm writing another fanfic featuring Nicholas Alexander Chavez’s character from Grotesquerie. The characters belong to the universe created by Ryan Murphy in the series Grotesquerie (2024). This fanfic will include violence, strong language, and adult content. It will portray the character Charlie Mayhew as a doctor. I hope you enjoy the fanfic, but there's nothing certain about its future. If you like this fanfic, please interact, leave comments. This author will be grateful for any interaction.

TWO FOUR

© credits for the owners of the pictures used. they don't belong to me. credit is not mine for the pictures.

THREE

After a long bath, during which you took your time exploring every detail of the lavish bathroom, you found yourself standing before your wardrobe. It was massive, with mirrored doors that reflected your every movement. The clothes inside were mostly high-end—elegant dresses, tailored blazers, and pieces that leaned toward the extravagant. After some deliberation, you chose a red dress that bordered on being too seductive, with a daring slit that revealed your legs up to your thighs.

Tonight, you wanted to capture your husband’s attention even more. Once dressed, you carefully applied perfume and styled your hair, slipping into a pair of high heels that, while uncomfortable, perfectly complemented the dress. As you stood before the full-length mirror, you questioned whether the effort was worth it. You weren’t entirely sure if you remembered how to do makeup, but you made an attempt—enhancing your lashes with mascara and applying a bold red lipstick to match the dress.

When you finally left the master bedroom on the second floor, a nagging curiosity tugged at your thoughts. What was inside Charlie’s office that he was so intent on keeping locked? But your husband would be home soon, and the anticipation of dinner with him distracted you as you descended the stairs, feeling a flutter of excitement. Mary, the housekeeper, greeted you warmly and kindly offered to give you a tour of the house. She was an older woman with a sprightly demeanor and an air of maternal care. She walked you through each room, explaining their purposes and sharing small anecdotes about the home. Her warmth was comforting, and she mentioned that dinner would be ready in just a few minutes.

However, as the minutes stretched into an hour and then two, your excitement turned to unease. Charlie still hadn’t arrived. Mary, noticing your disappointment, eventually joined you for dinner, doing her best to fill the silence with polite conversation. Her sympathetic gaze was hard to ignore—it was clear she felt sorry for you.

"Mary, could you tell me where to find the key to my husband's office?" you ask, interrupting the conversation you had both been carrying on. Mary’s gaze shifts to the window, her eyes fixed on the emptiness outside, as though weighing her response.

"I really shouldn't meddle in the personal affairs of my employers," she says hesitantly, her voice soft but tinged with unease. "Just point me in the right direction, and I promise no one will ever hear a word about it," you reply, your tone gentle, almost coaxing, as you offer her a small, reassuring smile.

"Mrs. Mayhew, please don't put me in a difficult position," Mary says, her voice wavering as if she were truly torn. "I don’t remember anything, Mary. I have no awareness of my life beyond what surrounds me now. Please, help me. I beg of you," you implore, leaning forward and clasping her hand in yours. Your earnest gaze meets hers, and for a moment, she looks conflicted.

Finally, Mary sighs, her shoulders slumping as if weighed down by the burden of her decision. "There’s a drawer," she begins hesitantly, "in the last cabinet of the kitchen. It has a hidden compartment." Her words hang in the air, charged with secrecy and a hint of guilt, as she glances away, clearly regretting having spoken.

As if bound by an unspoken pact, you give Mary’s hand a gentle squeeze before leaving her seated, silently affirming her trust. You make your way to the kitchen, heart pounding in your chest as you search for the hidden compartment she described. Your fingers tremble as you fumble with the drawer, the anticipation almost unbearable. Then, with a soft click, you find it—the key.

The house is eerily quiet, save for the sound of your hurried footsteps as you ascend to the second floor. Clutching the key tightly, you waste no time unlocking the door to Charlie’s office. The moment it creaks open, you are greeted with a scene that steals the air from your lungs.

The room is a macabre gallery of horrors. A large bulletin board dominates one wall, adorned with photographs of mutilated bodies—cadavers sliced apart, their lifeless forms frozen in grotesque poses. One image depicts a body cleaved in two, while another shows a woman with her abdomen grotesquely opened; her distended belly suggests she was pregnant. Your breath catches as your eyes fall upon a photo of yourself, pinned among the others. Beneath it, in bold writing, is your name with the word "Suspect" scrawled beneath it. Not far from it is an image of Charlie, labeled "Primary Suspect."

The walls bear even more—a chilling collection of painted recreations of the crime scenes. The artistry is disturbingly exquisite, each brushstroke capturing the raw, visceral nature of the acts committed. The paintings are hauntingly lifelike, as though frozen moments from a nightmare. On the desk, amidst scattered papers, rests a dossier with your name emblazoned on the cover. It’s thick, filled with notes, photos, and what appears to be an exhaustive investigation into your life.

You carefully scrutinize every detail in the office, even though parts of your dossier have been redacted. Ensuring everything else remains undisturbed, you lock the office door behind you and descend the stairs with a fury that feels volcanic, ready to erupt. Your steps are hurried, each one fueled by the tempest of questions swirling in your mind. You want answers from Charlie—immediately. Not only about the grotesque contents of his office but also about what could have possibly been more important than dining with you tonight.

Reaching the base of the stairs, you place the key firmly into Mary’s hands. She looks at you without a word, her expression a mixture of understanding and quiet resignation.

"Mary, return this key to its proper place, and afterward, pack some of my clothing and essentials into the guest room. Once that is done, you’re dismissed for the evening," you say, your voice taut with suppressed rage. It takes all your composure to keep from snapping, your anger simmering beneath the surface—anger at your husband’s deceit, at that ghastly mural, at those haunting paintings, and most of all, at the invasion of your privacy. Mary nods silently and turns to summon Ed, who arrives shortly, adjusting his jacket as he steps into the house.

"Ed, I believe Mrs. Mayhew would like to see her husband," Mary says, her voice calm and matter-of-fact. Ed hesitates, glancing at you as though questioning whether this is wise, but your determined stride leaves no room for debate. Without waiting for further discussion, you step out of the house, your heels clicking sharply against the stone as you head toward the car. Settling into the back seat, you fasten your seatbelt.

"To the hospital," you command, your tone brooking no argument. Ed nods and starts the car, and the journey begins, the air in the vehicle heavy with your unresolved fury and the weight of the revelations awaiting confrontation.

You don’t take long to arrive at the hospital. At the reception desk, you’re informed that Dr. Mayhew is currently attending to a particular patient. Frustration wells up within you as you rack your mind for a plausible excuse to gain quicker access to Charlie. Fate, however, seems to be on your side. From across the hall, you spot your husband emerging with his patient, their conversation light and pleasant as they approach the hospital’s entrance. The moment Charlie's eyes meet yours, it’s as if he instantly senses that something is amiss. Yet, it’s not just his presence that catches your attention—it’s hers.

The woman with him feels unsettlingly familiar. You quickly piece it together: she was on the mural in Charlie’s office. If your memory serves you correctly, her photo was captioned with Detective Megan Duval alongside the words romantic past. Like a puzzle clicking into place, the realization stings.

"Darling, what are you doing here?" Charlie asks, his voice calm yet edged with unease. He steps away from Megan and approaches you, placing his hands gently on your arms as if to comfort you. But you brush him off with a sharp movement, your temper barely restrained.

"I came to confirm that Detective Lois might have been right after all. But aren’t you going to introduce us, dear husband?" you ask, your tone laced with biting sarcasm. Your eyes bore into him before flicking to Megan, whose expression hardens alongside Charlie's.

"I can introduce myself," Megan interjects, stepping forward with a measured tone. "I’m Detective Duval. I assure you, you’re jumping to conclusions. I’m here as a patient, and your husband is my doctor." She extends a hand toward you in a gesture of civility.

You glance at her outstretched hand, but the sight only fuels the jealousy roiling inside you. "Save your platitudes for someone gullible enough to believe them, Detective Duval. I won’t keep interrupting whatever this is. Have a good evening," you retort, your voice dripping with venom as you turn sharply on your heel.

Your emotions are a whirlwind—jealousy, betrayal, and anger all threatening to consume you. You think fleetingly about causing a scene but find yourself too overwhelmed to do so. You just want to leave. You make your way toward the car where Ed stands, waiting patiently. But before you can reach him, something stops you. Or rather, someone. Charlie strides past you, moving with alarming determination. Before you can react, he hoists you off the ground and unceremoniously throws you over his shoulder, completely ignoring your protests.

"What do you think you’re doing, Charlie Mayhew?" you demand, your voice seething with indignation as you struggle against his grip. He doesn’t respond immediately, his steps firm as he carries you away from the hospital doors, leaving both Megan and Ed in stunned silence.

He carries you with unwavering determination to what you assume is his car in the hospital parking lot. Despite your protests and the sharp slaps you land on his well-toned back, he doesn’t release you until he places you firmly in the back seat of the vehicle.

"If you wish to keep protesting, then fasten your seatbelt and save your anger for when we’re home," Charlie says, his voice steady yet laced with a quiet authority. He adjusts your position as best he can, ensuring you’re seated properly before closing the door with a firm click. Without another word, he circles to the driver’s side, the tension between you hanging heavy in the confined space of the car.

Without exchanging another word, Charlie drives you both home, his knuckles tight on the steering wheel and his demeanor tense. You notice his stress as he occasionally picks up his phone, typing out terse messages to someone. You make a pointed effort to ignore him, directing your focus instead to the passing scenery outside the window. It doesn’t take long before the car pulls into your driveway. The house looms ahead, quiet and still. Mary has likely already left for the evening, and Ed is nowhere to be seen, leaving no trace of having followed behind.

When Charlie parks the car, he steps out briskly and moves to your door. Without hesitation, he leans in, releasing your seatbelt with deliberate care. His face is close to yours, and the air feels charged, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on you both. "I’ll be waiting for you inside," he says in a low voice, his gaze steady as it locks with yours for a lingering moment before he straightens and walks toward the house.

You take a deep breath before stepping out of the car and heading toward the house. Once inside, everything appears meticulously arranged. On the dining table sits a prepared plate of food, likely Mary’s thoughtful gesture for Charlie. However, he stands in the middle of the living room, tension radiating from him as he nervously removes his tie and lab coat.

"I’ll be sleeping in the guest room," you state firmly, your tone brooking no argument. You turn on your heel to make your way to the guest room, but Charlie’s hand shoots out, gripping yours and halting your retreat.

"While I do regret leaving you waiting tonight," he begins, his voice steady but undercut with frustration, "that does not excuse your behavior. You have crossed a line." His eyes bore into yours, the weight of his words settling heavily in the space between you.

"I crossed a line?" you counter, your voice rising with incredulity. "And where exactly is this so-called line when you're the one keeping secrets from me? Or are you really going to stand there and tell me that you and Detective Duval share nothing more than a professional relationship? That there wasn’t a single other doctor in this city she could consult? Spare me, Charlie."

Your words are sharp, cutting through the tension as you step closer, your movements circling him like a predator confronting its prey. Despite the fury simmering between you, he seems unfazed—or perhaps too confident. He takes a deliberate step toward you, his hands moving to unbutton his dress shirt, the faint rustle of fabric punctuating the charged silence. A sly, almost teasing smile tugs at the corners of his lips, breaking through the serious expression he had worn moments before. His eyebrows lift slightly, a mischievous glint lighting up his eyes as if daring you to push further.

"Are we done with the accusations, or would you like to continue?" he finally asks, his tone low and edged with amusement, even as your frustration mounts.

"I fail to see the necessity of you removing your clothing while we’re in the middle of an argument," you say, your resolve wavering slightly as your focus slips from the reason for your confrontation. "But let me make one thing clear—you will not distract me. I won’t let you deceive me, Dr. Mayhew," you add, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as you can muster, though your words carry a partial untruth. You could reveal what you found in his office, expose the secrets he's so carefully hidden. Yet you don’t. Perhaps because you’re unsure of your next move, or perhaps because a part of you is, indeed, distracted. Your eyes betray you, drawn to the sharp lines of his well-defined chest as his shirt slides from his shoulders. A twinge of frustration flares within you—not just at him, but at yourself for letting him affect you this way.

"My beloved wife, if I were having an affair with Detective Duval, I’d be far more discreet than to let the entire hospital catch wind of it. But you are correct—Megan and I do not share a purely professional relationship. She was my girlfriend before I fell in love with you," Charlie says, his tone calm yet deliberate as he shrugs off the last of his shirt and tosses it onto the sofa. "In fact, our relationship ended because I chose you. What you perceive as a sign of infidelity is nothing more than two former lovers finally reconciling after years of bitterness. Does that satisfy you?" You study him carefully, your mistrust lingering despite the ring of truth in his words. There’s a certain earnestness in his voice, one that’s difficult to ignore, but the revelation stirs unease within you.

"If that is all you have to say, I shall take my leave," you declare, turning on your heel to retreat to the guest room. Yet your attempt is futile. Charlie’s arms encircle your waist, pulling you firmly against him. His lips graze the back of your neck, planting a soft kiss before trailing down to your collarbone. His warm breath fans against your skin, unraveling any coherent thoughts from your mind.

"I would never betray you, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice low and full of conviction. "For two years, all I ever wanted was to hold you in my arms; I would never risk losing you. You and I are more than husband and wife—we are partners." His face buries itself in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent before pressing more kisses along your skin, his path leading to your ear. You say nothing, unable to form a response, and instead turn to face him. The tension between you is palpable, burning you from within. Your fingers graze his lips, as though committing their softness to memory. His arms tighten around you, drawing you closer with unrelenting need.

You cup his face in both hands, pulling him toward you. Your lips meet his with a hunger that surprises even you, as though only he could quell the yearning deep inside. His lips are impossibly soft against yours, and you hardly register when the kiss deepens. Your tongues dance together, a gentle yet fervent battle for dominance, while his hands roam your body—caressing your waist, gripping your hips, exploring the curve of your back. He begins to tug at your dress, lifting it as if desperate to rid you of it, guiding you toward the sofa. But before he can take control entirely, you pull him down first, making him sit as you take charge.

You settle onto his lap, feeling the undeniable evidence of his desire for you grow beneath you. Your nails trace over the expanse of his chest, leaving faint red marks as you savor the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. Charlie captures your lips again with fervor, his hands firmly gripping your waist, guiding your movements against him as if ensuring you stay anchored in his embrace. The heat between you is all-consuming, maddeningly intense.

Yet, the image of him with Megan flashes in your mind—a thorn of doubt piercing through your desire. The uncertainty gnaws at you, twisting your emotions. Without thinking, you bite down on his lower lip with more force than intended. Charlie pulls back sharply, a pained groan escaping his lips as the faint taste of his blood lingers on yours. "What the hell, Y/N!" he exclaims, his voice tinged with irritation, his gaze locking onto yours with a mix of confusion and frustration.

"That, Doctor Mayhew, is what you get for testing your wife’s patience," you retort, steadying yourself as you rise from his lap, your tone cool yet charged. "Goodnight, Charlie," you add with finality, stepping away from him and heading toward the guest room, your mind a whirlwind of emotions—confusion, anger, and something you can’t quite name. Charlie calls your name a few times, his voice softer now, almost pleading, but he ultimately lets you go, leaving you to your thoughts.

[tenacquity]

If anyone could easily send Ryunosuke into a whirlwind of confusing emotions and keep him ever on his toes, it was typically Kazuma. One would think—given all that practice—he’d be a lot more equipped to deal with a similar nature in someone else, and yet… The present situation was doing a fine job of proving the young lawyer had much to learn: new terrains he needed to establish a footing in first before even attempting to walk.

Kaeya was—and perhaps always would be, Ryunosuke entertained—an entire puzzle of a man. Most of the time, as much as Ryunosuke desired to understand him intimately, he found himself running into one wall after another—as if each wall he managed to break through only made ten more rise up between him and that clarity: between him and knowing for certain what lived beneath a facade he’d at the very least learned Kaeya kept up in every interaction.

The Cavalry Captain strung him along on that thread of intrigue. He (somewhat shamefully) hung on to Kaeya’s every breath with the eagerness of any detective on the verge of solving a mystery—right there on that precipice, so close to finally reaching a conclusion only for the cliff to crumble beneath him and whisk him away ruthlessly. Because here, even in this moment, Ryunosuke felt like he was spiraling down an endless drop: one where he only on occasion would be upright, discerning anything going on around him, before the world turned upside down again.

Kaeya teased him—he always did. He had that knowing look on his face: a handsome smirk (it was no wonder he could charm most anyone he came across), a twinkle in his eye, a few well-placed statements on how fake their little “relationship” had been this evening as if he wanted to make that blatantly clear to Ryunosuke: Don’t get ahead of yourself. It was all for fun.

But, well. Who are you trying to convince with that? Ryunosuke wondered.

Something he’d suspected—one of the few aspects of Kaeya he’d grown to understand—became entirely clear: He lies to himself as much as he lies to everyone else… Doesn’t he?

Over the course of this well-practiced explanation, Ryunosuke felt his heart doing about a thousand different things: racing so fast it might as well jump out of his chest, screeching to a halt, tumbling down that chasm with him. Pink hopefully suited him; with how persistently warm his face felt, he assumed the color was well on its way to being permanent. As a hand roved over his waist, as those fingers became tender in their hold on his hand, Ryunosuke didn’t break eye contact. He searched the farthest reaches of Kaeya’s stare; he kept digging, digging, looking—

What are you so afraid of?

“Kaeya.” The word came out on a breath, somewhat of a prayer to the night breeze as Ryunosuke gathered the tattered remains of his composure. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t move an inch. He just stood there, a prolonged blink before meeting that eye again. “I— … You don’t have to—” A sigh seeped out, not at Kaeya, but at his own fumbling while he attempted to put his confusing thoughts (and feelings) into words. “You… know you’re allowed to feel things—right?” And he gave that hand another squeeze. “No matter what the other person’s ‘reaction’ might be… that doesn’t make anything you are feeling any more or less important.”

Finally, Ryunosuke moved. But not to leave Kaeya’s side. With their hands still intertwined, he led the captain forward, and thereafter pulled him into a quiet alley where the intimacy of their conversation was less likely to be heard.

“No, I suppose… you’re not wrong,” he confirmed then, casting a furtive glance to the main road to ensure no one had seen them. “But why you’re more concerned about my feelings as if they— As if you need permission to feel anything yourself… What did you expect me to do, exactly?” Ryunosuke pinned his gaze again, something stern but unmistakably compassionate burning in his eyes. “Reject you if my feelings didn’t line up with yours—? Kaeya, whatever you may be… Whatever we may be—now or in the future—you’re important to me. And I’d never turn my back on you for something as honest as… ‘matters of the heart.’”

His mouth slid into half of a smile: quaking ever so slightly at one side. “You didn’t need an excuse to say or do any of those… ah—things back there. Just for future reference.”

Given his ability to keep up with Kaeya to an impressive degree, Ryunosuke's fumbling in this moment spoke volumes. Kaeya could always find a way under one's skin if the desire struck; he could always read another well enough to turn the tide in his favor. Observation was one of his greatest strengths. Nothing escaped his notice.

Thus, in the moments after his calculated strike, the impish Captain caught the hitch in Ryunosuke's breath and the astonishment widening dark eyes. As his companion slowed to a stop, Kaeya's steps followed suit: keeping them locked in that orbit, dancing end-over-end in this game of cat and mouse. In the midst of his scrutiny—studying and memorizing every response he earned—Kaeya was struck by how charming Ryunosuke looked in his fluster. The mischief in his grin grew more pronounced the more he floundered.

"Hmm, well...Technically all of it was," Kaeya said with an easy shrug. "Surely I don't need to remind you that we're not, in fact, a couple." And while he didn't verbally acknowledge it, the gleam in his eye as he glanced down at their interlocked hands seemed to challenge that statement as much as the gesture itself.

"As I said: the main reason was to ensure the extension of our evening together. The second reason..." and he trailed off purposely, relishing in the drama, the anticipation of the pause— "...was to fluster you." Kaeya dipped inward with that admission, drinking in the swath of crimson that painted Ryunosuke's cheeks. "I'd say that was a resounding success.

"But if you want the truth?" Before that truth was even offered, those words felt foreign on his tongue. Bitter. Kaeya swallowed the taste; he wouldn't back down now. "I wanted to see how you would react. Onlookers have certain expectations when they think two people are a couple. If I were to speak about you that way, or touch you that way..."

Uncharacteristic for a man whose heart had long since fractured into shards of ice, his hold on the bend of Ryunosuke's fingers was gentle—even tender. Kaeya used it to tug him nearer. He stepped into his space, his opposite hand daring to cross that distance to settle at the curve of his waist.

"I can discern almost anything about anyone from the briefest conversation." His voice too had lowered; hushed not out of respect for the late hour, but for the preservation of this moment. Only for Ryunosuke to hear. "But I'm afraid that matters of the heart are where my talents find an abrupt end. I couldn't predict how you'd react."

Kaeya's thumb stroked over his knuckles—unconscious, almost hesitant. A coy smirk attempted to hide that uncertainty. "You still look like you want me to mean it. Am I wrong?"

[nahoyasboyfriend]

Tonight you are mine

Warnings: somno (James is a freak,) very slight dubcon, brief mentions of cutting you, written with the intent to be afab reader but there's no penetration, thighjob, James being a perv.

Word count: 839

A/N: hii! I'm so sorry if there's any errors. I didn't proofread, and I'm not the best writer. I also don't write smut often so I'm sorry if it's bad. Despite that I hope you enjoy it.

James had come later than usual, and normally you're sitting in your shared room waiting for him. Greeting him with a low, "hello James." While looking up at him with tired eyes and a soft smile. Today you were snuggled up in bed, back facing him, completely unaware that he even came in. He shed his coat and gingerly peeled the cover off of you. You were wearing one of your skimpy sleep sets. A white camisole and a pair of matching shorts.

You always looked divine, but being wholly oblivious to the world made you irresistible. You were completely vulnerable. His hand brushed over the exposed skin of your thigh, and you stirred slightly but remained asleep. A heat began igniting within him. You were so soft— so pliant. He half expected to see the indent of his hand when he pulled away. Unfortunately, it wasn't there, and James thought about seeing the skin split instead. The idea of deep red blood staining your body brought a grin to his face, although that would be saved for another day.

For now, he unzipped the fly of his pants, and pulled down his underwear just enough to allow his cock to spring to life. A fat dollop of precum beading at the ruddy tip. He shuddered, and wrapped his hand around his length. His hand began working at a steady pace, occasionally running his thumb over the slit. A low groan tumbled out of his throat, and his eyes flit over to you. He expected you to rouse, to rub at your sleepy eyes and ask him what he was doing, but you didn't. You were still sleeping peacefully, unaware of the debauchery happening next to you.

This elicited a louder groan from him, and he realized he couldn't take it anymore. He needed something that wasn't his own calloused hand. He needed something warm, and that's exactly what what you were. He laid down next to you, shuffling closer, and the heat radiating off of you was addicting. He wanted to bite you, to rip the clothes off of you and take what he wanted. He refrained, only because you're so enticing when you sleep and he wanted to enjoy it as long as he could.

It seemed like even unconscious you were a tease. Your legs were practically glued together, and he's certain if he moved them to get access to where he wished to be most you'd wake. He knitted his brows together, pushing his lips into a thin line, contemplating what his next move should be. Then an idea struck him. he made quick work lining himself between your thighs, and the precum still coating his length would hopefully help lessen the friction. He didn't rush to get to the part he was waiting for, deciding to tease himself. He slowly thrusted his hips forward, and although it ached from the lack of real lube. The discomfort was gladly welcomed.

You murmured something unintelligible, and attempted to shift your body as if to change position. This was swiftly thwarted when James pressed a firm hand on your hip, forcing you to be still. He was finally getting an ounce of relief and he couldn't have that ripped away. Not now. He was just starting to have his fun. His arm wrapped around your front, holding you in place to prevent any attempts to run away. He started fervently rutting into you, uncaring if he woke you now.

Throaty growls and muffled grunts tumbling out of him as he worked himself to relief. Your entire body is jolted forward with every snap of his hips. You wake up confused, and the slick feeling of something sliding between your thighs only worsens your frazzled state. "James," you call out, your voice hoarse from lack of use. The sound of your hushed voice yanks a whine from him. "finally awake, my dear. Don't mind me, go back to sleep," He hums, pressing a kiss to your nape.

You sigh, letting your eyes flutter shut when you reach an understanding of the situation, "you couldn't wait until I woke up?"

"not when you're so alluring when you sleep," he muttered, the feeling of his breath against your skin making you shiver. His pace had mellowed out, signaling his imminent release and a part of you wishes you were awake to help him from the beginning, but that's now in the past and all you can do now is lay here while he uses you to get off. A few minutes later, he came in thick ropes, shamelessly grunting in your ear as he rode himself through his orgasm. It runs down your thighs in rivulets, and slips down onto the mattress. Any other time, you'd get up to wash yourself off, but today you lie there.

"When you're ready please wipe that off of me, I don't want to wake up dirty," you huff, feeling the soft waves of sleep overtake you again. He chuckles at your request, pressing another kiss to your shoulder this time, "Of course, my dear."

[storiesfromafan]

Spark - Benny x Reader

A/N: this isn't apart of the series I'm writing, just a stand alone one-shot. I just have a thing for writing meet cutes with Benny x Reader. Maybe it could be its own series.

I got this idea from another one-shot where the reader is in collage with Danny, but I can't seem to find it so I could link it. But when I do, I will add it.

This is the product of a late night, awake till after 1am finishing lol.

Warning: fluff, a little tooth rot.

Books were great friends. They can always stimulate your mind, telling you classic stories and take you on endless adventures. But they could not completely replace physical, flesh friends. So, while in college you had a handful of friends, ones that understood your love for books. One of those friends being Danny, a student studying photography.

Danny is nice, smart and looking at the world through his camera lens, his photos showing you how he sees the world around you both. Because of this you were close, like siblings. And that was why you decided to visit him. He had told you how he was hanging out with a motorcycle group called The Vandals, he was talking about how he was photographing them for the summer and listening to their stories. You found it all so fascinating.

So, here you were, sitting in a large park in the heart of the town waiting on Danny to meet up with you. You had decided to grab lunch and catch up, before later on hitting up the bar The Vandals hung out at. While waiting you had your nose in a copy of Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. A controversial novel for its time, even to today, but a guilty pleasure of yours. Who doesn’t love an anti-hero who gets revenge on the people that kept him from his love?

The loud roar of an approaching motorbike caught your attention, lifting your gaze you saw the bike pull up to the curb a few meters from where you sat. Upon the bike sat a man with greasy blonde hair, with matching stubble, dressed in black boots, dirty white jeans and a Vandals jacket. Sitting there with an idling bike, the man looked behind him before back to what was in front of him. He then turned his gaze in your direction, letting you see his gorgeous face.

You felt your breath get stuck in your chest when his eyes landed on you. How could this good-looking man have you in a choke hold? When he realized you were staring at him, a small smile formed on his full lips. Only making you melt more. He really should be illegal, for he could kill with just his looks alone.

You were unsure how long this moment between you and this Vandal lasted. But the arrival of another bike was what broke it. Hearing Danny’s voice brought you back to reality, turning from the man who had captured you, you saw Danny talking to another Vandal. You pieced together that Danny must have gotten a ride from him. You marked the page of your book before putting it away as Danny turned to see you. He smiled brightly as he called your name.

You returned his smile before getting up and hugging him when he made his way to you. Holding you at arm’s length Danny looked you over. Commenting how different you looked, to which you rolled your eyes, saying it hadn’t been that long since you’d seen each other.

A suggestive whistle caught both your attention, turning you saw both bikies watching you. The one who Danny rode with was the one to whistle.

“Is that your girlfriend!?” Called the man with a laugh.

You blushed stepping away from Danny, who didn’t reply to the guy, embarrassed like yourself. You looked to the guy you had shared a look with, only to see a sour look upon his face. Did he think Danny was your boyfriend?

Both riders readied themselves to leave, revving the engine of their bikes. A few words were shared between them before they looked to you both again.

“Have fun kids! See you later!” Called the second guy.

Both men pulled away and proceeded to ride on, leaving you and your friend alone. Danny looked to you and you both laughed in embarrassment.

“Sorry about Cal” apologized Danny. “He’s a wild card”.

You smile nodding your head. “It’s alright. Shall we get lunch?”

Smiling, Danny nodded. You both turned and began to head for a near by diner. The place was cute and cozy. Taking to a booth in the corner you and Danny looked over the menu. When a waitress came over, you both relayed your orders before being left alone. So began your catch up. You filled Danny in about going home and how your parents were doing. You talked about visiting bookshops and finding some first editions. Then how you had been looking forward to this trip, and seeing how his photography of The Vandals was going.

Danny talked about The Vandals and what he had been up to with him. Telling you about their picnics, how they found themselves scrapping with other biker groups only for them to become friends, bonding over the little things. You found it all so fascinating. Some of the stories would be something you could see being in a book you’d read. You even suggested they would make for good stories for a book or books. Which Danny laughed at.

You both ate and talked, the comfortable atmosphere between you both something you missed. After you’d eaten and the table cleared, Danny finally pulled out some of his developed photographs, which excited you. You smiled at the candid photos of various men from The group, along with some portraits.

“You really have a way of capturing people” you commented moving from one photo to another.

Then you saw it, saw him. The man who first pulled up to the curb. In the photo he was standing at a pool table, hands planted on the edge of the table, head hanging down. You looked over his arms, the tattoos you could see while he wore a black muscle t-shirt. The photo oozed sex appeal. You felt your cheeks heat up from the thoughts and feelings this picture brought up.

“That’s Benny. One of my favorite photos” Danny smiled, having watched your reaction to the photo.

You nodded. “Yes, I think mine too”.

You both laughed, moving on to the next photo and so on. All the while that photo of Benny staying front and center in your mind. You hoped the guy would be at the bar later. The banter between you both flowed, it always had with you both. Danny was easy to talk to, and the passion he has for his art is something you could always listen too. Just like when you talk about books, or saying you want to write your own novel. Danny always encouraging you to do it, write a novel that would one day become a classic read. A book that will be mentioned or remembered fifty years from now. Which always made you laugh.

But to write a novel one must have a creative mind, or experiences that could be put to paper. You may have some creativity but lack any experiences worth writing about. You voiced this to Danny, who told you to go out there and have those experiences. You laughed at him, but he was serious.

“What experiences could I have, huh?” You questioned when leaving the diner. It was late afternoon, so you both began to walk to the bar.

Danny shrugged. “Anything! You’re going to a bikie bar, here’s an opportunity!”

You shook your head but couldn’t deny he had a point. This was a good place to start. You told Danny you would do it; you’d observe the bar and see if you could find a story there. He smiled brightly and was glad you were going to start trying to write something.

After leisurely strolling to the bar, it was late afternoon when you both arrived. There were a dozen bikes in front of the place. But as the night went on, Danny said it would be livelier. Stepping up to the doors, Danny opened the door and gestured for you to enter, which you did. Upon entering you were greeted by the smell of smoke and the sound of music coming for a joke box. Danny led you through the room before taking to a table off to the side. You gracefully took a seat, making sure the skirt of your dress wouldn’t wrinkle from sitting down.

Danny sat across from you, pointing out who was in the bar and supplying their names. Not that you would remember them all so easily. By the pool table you saw Benny and Cal. Benny was having a game with another guy, while Cal watched on and talked with another.

“There’s Cal and Benny” Danny comment, having followed your gaze. “Along with Corky, the guy playing Benny, and Wahoo”.

You laughed softly. “Why are there so many funny names?”

Danny smiled. “They are funny, but I’m not sure. They’re just their nicknames”.

You turned your eyes back to the pool game, eyes lingering on Benny. Watching how he would look over the table when it was his turn, thinking about what shot to take. Watching how he would lean over the table, hands holding the pool stick and resting it on. How his arms moved when he took the shot. Benny’s eyes watching the white ball hitting its target and sinking it. A tiny grin crossing his sinful lips with rejoice.

Feeling eyes on him, Benny stepped back from the pool table, eyes looking to the almost empty bar. Finally, he spots the person, it was you. The little bookworm from the park. The same girl who was close to Danny. That left a bad taste in his mouth, you being Danny’s girl. He had nothing against the kid, but you were just a cute little thing that Benny couldn’t take his eyes off. You looked sweet and innocent, the opposite of him. He felt a spark between you as you stared at each other, but he couldn’t do the wrong thing by Danny. He is a good guy.

Seeing that you were distracted, possibly by a muse for your writing, Danny took the moment to slip away to get you both some drinks. When he voiced this was when you turned back to your friend, giving him a nod and smile. When you turned back, Benny was taking his next shot, which he was successful in sinking another ball. The next shot wasn’t so lucky, but no doubt setting something up. You noted that Benny had handed his stick to Cal before heading to the bar. Standing next to Danny, he and Benny exchanged some words before clapping Danny on the back, grabbing a beer and head back to the pool table.

When your friend returned you questioned him and he just smiled, saying it was nothing. But you didn’t buy it, yet let it go. Taking the offered bottle of pop, you sat back and took a sip. Soon more Vandals piled in as the evening came, then the night. Over time you had met more of the Vandals, talking and laughing, having a good time. Yet every so often you could feel yourself being watched, and when you looked back to the pool table, it was always Benny watching you.

He couldn’t help himself. Benny couldn’t stop watching you, making sure you were alright. Even more so when different men joined you and Danny. Benny knew what most of the guys were like, especially when they’ve been drinking. But from the smiles and laughs, he knew you were alright. Yet he wanted your focus on him, for him to be the one to make you smile and laugh.

After some time it was just you and Danny, you mused over the different Vandals that had joined you and their stories. Even if they weren’t that refined, they had their own charms. Danny agreed with you, before asking if you wanted another drink. You nodded and just like that, you were on your own. Which didn’t bother you that much. You turned your gaze back to the pool table to watch Benny, but he was gone. You frowned, not sure where he’d gone.

Suddenly Danny’s seat was grabbed and turned around, a body falling into it, arms resting on the back of the chair. “Looking for me Angel?” Came a gravelly voice.

You turned to the person, about to make a comment of no. But upon seeing Benny, you sat there quietly. Now up close you could see his eyes were a baby blue, that sparkled with amusement. And fully focused on you.

A bright smile graced his lips. “I’m Benny”.

You sat there like a fool, mouth opening and closing before you finally registered what was going on. “Oh, I’m (Y/N)”.

You could kick yourself at how foolish you must look and sound. But this man had left you speechless. From his looks to that voice, you were in trouble. But he was the perfect muse for your writing. The words you could use to describe him, no doubt that would sell books. Imagine if you used one of Danny’s photos, just to really get the point across to the reader.

“That’s a pretty name” Benny replied continuing to grin. He was a charmer.

“T-thank you” you stuttered.

Not once did Benny take his eyes off you, nor did you take yours off him. That spark between you both in full force. Silently communicating with each other. From this man’s gaze and smile, you could tell he was interested in you. Which in turn made you feel shy. You fidgeted in your seat, trying to remain calm.

That was when Danny came back with your pop and two beers. Handing one to Benny, who never took his eyes off you, and took a sip from the bottle. You gulped at how good he made sipping a beer look. Was he actually real? Or was this all in your head?

Danny looked between you both before chuckling to himself, gathering his bag and beer, he decided to leave you both alone. Not that either of you noticed when he left. Shakily you took a sip of your pop, not once looking away from Benny. He was enjoying this. Enjoying that he was your main focus, and no one else.

Putting down the bottle you felt a little less shy. “Can I ask, what did you and Danny talk about at the bar earlier?” But then felt silly to have asked, taking the bottle and having another sip out of embarrassment.

Benny chuckled, a delightful sound to your ears. “Nothin’ much. Just asked if you were his girl” – you choked on your drink – “he assured me you weren’t” he winked at you.

You coughed softly, hand over your mouth.

“You alright Angel? Do I need to come over and pat you on the back?”

You shook your head, which Benny laughed at. He thought you were so adorable. Getting your cough and self under control, you put the bottle on the table and left it there for the time being.

“You good?” Benny asked after a moment.

You nodded. “Y-yes”.

His smile returned. “Good. Couldn’t have you choking on your drink”.

Your stomach flipped at his smile and words. You felt yourself sinking further under his spell. And if those baby blues kept staring into your soul, you would whole heartedly give yourself over to him.

“Say, you wouldn’t want to go for a ride, would ya?” Benny suddenly asked sitting up, arms still resting on the back of the chair.

You blinked a few times at his words. “Ah, well...I don’t know...”

Benny raised his hands. “You can say no if you want, won’t hurt my feelings Angel” he winked once more.

Your heart skipped a beat. You didn’t want to say no to the beautiful man before you. But you were scared to get on the back of a bike. Not just because of the thoughts of crashing. But because of how close you would be to Benny. Yet the thought of being close to him was so appealing, so thrilling.

“I’m wearing a dress, that isn’t ideal...” you mused, not outright refusing him.

“Is that all?” Benny questioned with a chuckle. “I can work something out Angel. So, we going for a ride?”

Experiences, that was what you and Danny had discussed. Here one was presenting itself to you. Accompanied by the ideal muse. Time to throw caution to the wind.

“Sure” you replied with a soft smile.

Benny beamed at your words. He stood from his chair, moving around the table to stand beside you with his hand out. You looked to his face and then his hand, before back to his face. His eyes told you; you could trust him. He’d look after you. So, you placed your hand in his and he helped you from your seat.

Benny led you through the crowd of people, the whole time never letting go of your hand. He feared if he let go you would run away, and he didn’t want that. Numerous Vandals in passing made comments or cheered their brother on, having seen the interaction between you both for a while.

Exiting the bar, Benny held open the door for you, which you smiled at him for. Words hard to form and voice. Still holding your hand, Benny led you across the street and to his bike. Only then did he let go of your hand while he swung his leg over the bike, taking to seating himself for a moment. Like any other time, Benny started his bike, the beast roaring to life. He then proceeded to lift the kickstand before holding out his hand. You stood there looking at him unsure what to do.

“Come on Angel, I’ll hold your hand while you get on” Benny stated calmly, trying not to spook you.

Snapping out of it, you placed a hand in his, enjoying the feel of his rough, calloused hand against your soft skin. Next you did your best to gracefully swing your leg over the bike, which you kind of succeeded at. Once sitting behind Benny, he instructed on how to tuck your dress under your legs.

“Don’t want to flash anyone, or else I will have to make them forget” he commented, making you blush.

Benny then instructed you would have to hold on, when you questioned how, he moved his hands back and brought your hands around his waist, resting them against his firm stomach, which was more abs. Your blush deepened at the touch to his clothes stomach. Again, he repeated for you to hold on tightly, and that he wouldn’t go too fast for your first time. No doubt you were bright red, did that man not get the doubt meaning of what he said? A soft chuckle told you he did, but he said nothing after that.

Benny pulled away from the curb, heading down the street from the bar and heading for the highway. His initial take of had you grasping his t-shirt, and squeezing him, with eyes closed. He smiled to himself at your reaction, enjoying it oh so much. The way you grasped his shirt, how your nails scratched against the fabric, it did something to him. A pleasant something.

Slowly Benny gained speed before finally hitting the high way. You could feel the wind caress your face and moved your hair. Not to mention the sound of the wind was soothing, numbing the thoughts.

“Open your eyes Angel” Benny softly commandeered. “You’ll want to see this”.

Reluctantly you opened your eyes, before you was an open road, street laps lining it. And when you pass it, you can see clearly before darkness closing in again, till the next lamp. You released the breath you had been holding, amazing at what you were seeing and feeling. If this was what it was like to ride, you could get use to it.

You smiled leaning your forehead against Benny's back before laughing. “This is amazing!”

Now it was Benny’s turn to laugh. Your reaction was cute, but he got it. Riding was freedom. Riding was getting to feel and hear the wind. You wouldn’t get this experience in a car. Taking one of his hand, hand placed it over your own, which still clutched his t-shirt.

His leather glove was cool against your skin, or was that from the wind? You didn’t know, but you liked the gesture from the male before you. It was that moment you knew you had definitely found your muse. And from this experience, and possibly more to come, you would have a story worth writing down. A possible love story with a man that was ridiculous good looking and appealing. And you couldn’t wait for it all.

^___^

[thescarletnargacuga]

Love your series….ever thought about writing a oneshot of Caine and Pomni being nervous on their first date?? Just an idea! 😁

AN: And it's a lovely idea! Two nervous beans coming right up! I'm glad you like my Raceway series, it's fun to write!

ART BY: @waffle-gal

DATE NIGHT

WARNING: gets a teensy bit suggestive at the end out of context

~~~

"Ow!" Pomni cried as Ragatha brushed her hair. "Are you trying to scalp me? Ease up."

"Sorry, I'm just so excited for you! You and Caine, finally on a date. Took you two long enough." Ragatha set the hairbrush down on the vanity and touched up Pomni's makeup.

"We've been out together before, just the two of us." Pomni adjusted the blue evening gloves that matched her ankle length dress. "It's really not that different." She was telling herself that, more than anyone else, to ease her nerves.

"Not that different!?" Gangle nearly dropped the gold necklace she was putting around Pomni's neck. "It's entirely different! You two agreed to a date. This isn't just you two hanging out. You're going to get closer romantically, not just as friends." She clasped the necklace in place and picked out some gold bracelets.

Pomni's stomach did a backflip. "It's just dinner. He doesn't even eat, we'll probably talk the whole time. We already do that. No big deal." She smiled nervously at herself in the mirror and squeezed the red shawl in her lap, trying to remain calm.

~

Caine floated with his hands on his hips in front of his closet in his dressing room. He stared at the line of tailcoats, all the same bright scarlet. His tie hung loosely around his neck. "Ugh! I don't know what to wear!" He dramatically threw his arms up. "It needs to be perfect! Pomni deserves nothing less! Presentation matters!"

He snapped his fingers and a coat appeared on his body. It looked the same as it always did. "Nope!" He snapped again, it turned green. "Nope!" Again, pink. "Fashionable! But no." Again, yellow. "No." Again, blue. "Definitely not!" Again, black. "Well, now! This is classy!"

He looked himself over in a floor length mirror, spinning his body 360° without moving his head. He snapped and his buttons and tie fastened themselves, and a red cummerbund accented his waist. "Now I just need my accessories!" He took one look around. "Hey! Who's got my hat?"

Bubble floated to him from inside an oversized toy box, wearing his top hat. "Look! I'm the ringmaster! Pomni, Pomni, Pomni!" Bubble danced around in the air mockingly.

Caine rolled his eyes. "Ha. Ha. Gimme that." He snatched his hat from Bubble and adjusted it on top of his head perfectly. He clapped his hands together and his cane telescoped out of his palms, he gave it a twirl for good measure. "How do I look?" He posed for Bubble.

"Like a [%$!#]." Bubble grinned.

Caine didn't know what else he expected. "Well, I can always count on you for an honest opinion." He popped Bubble with the end of his cane and took one more look at himself. "I just hope Pomni likes it."

He had it all planned out. He'd pick her up from her room in the tent, take her to a really nice restaurant he fabricated himself, then a romantic moonlit stroll in the garden terrace. He could do this. Consider it a special adventure. No need to be nervous. Not at all. Nope.

He was grateful he couldn't sweat.

~

Pomni paced by her door inside her room, holding her shawl around her shoulders like it would protect her from the anxiety tearing through her system. If she could go through the whole night without vomiting, it would be a miracle.

"I really will be alright, Pomni. You don't have anything to worry about. It's obvious to everyone that Caine likes you. You should try to relax and enjoy yourself." Ragatha tried to be reassuring but Pomni was practically vibrating with anxiety.

"But what if I mess it up!?" Pomni blurted out. "What if he realizes just how...how weird I am!?

The girls almost laughed. Ragatha put a hand on Pomni's shoulder to stop her from wearing a hole in the floor. "This is Caine we're talking about. If anything, he'll have to be the one to dial back the weirdness to not scare you away."

"No, no, not weird as in wacky. Weird as in awkward mess of a human being!" Pomni would have continued ranting about herself but the knock at her door silenced her.

"He's here!" Ragatha squealed. She and Gangle made sure Pomni was ready last second and hid behind the door.

Pomni opened it to see Caine in his sleek black suit; hat in hand, cane under his arm. Her eyes went wide as she looked him up and down shamelessly. "Wow.." she cleared her throat. "Hello, Caine. You look great." She smiled and stepped out of her room, leaving the door cracked. The girls inside peeked.

Caine clutched his hat to his chest. His pupils dilated as he took her in, from her red heels to her blue dress to her makeup. He committed every detail to memory. "Pomni... you're somehow more gorgeous than the last time I saw you! How did you do that!? Do you have special powers I don't know about!?"

Pomni knew her cheeks were going to be warm the whole evening, but she didn't think she'd want to dunk her face in cold water so soon. She looked down and picked at her gloves. "No, uh, Ragatha and Gangle helped..."

Caine flew around her, trying to see her at all angles. "However you did it, you look fantastic, my dear! Are you ready for our date?" He put his hat back on and offered her his arm.

Pomni gave a small smile and put her arm in his. "Yeah, let's go." Her stomach fluttered, full of butterflies. Caine being his usual boisterous self actually helped her feel at ease. If he could be confidently weird, maybe she could too.

Caine snapped and they teleported out of the tent. Pomni blinked and she was in a softly lit restaurant. All of the staff and patrons were the typical faceless NPCs, including the full orchestra performing on stage at the end of the grand ballroom sized room.

"Woah..." Pomni looked up and the ceiling was ornately painted. It looked like an A.I. generated oil painting, but it was nice nonetheless. A huge diamond chandelier glowed from the center of the room. A small two-seated table directly under the chandelier was the only one empty.

Caine smiled to himself as he watched Pomni take in the atmosphere. "I assume you approve?"

"Absolutely, I do. This place is so fancy."

"Only the best for you, my dear. I made sure of that." He escorted her to the table and her chair pulled out with a wave of his hand.

Pomni settled into the comfortable chair. The table had a white cloth and a vast array of cutlery. It looked like it had a special fork or spoon for every different type of food.

Caine sat but still hovered over the seat of the chair. He left his cane mid air and placed his hat on top of it like a hatrack. He took an inner sigh of relief. So far, so good. She likes the setting! She's absolutely stunning! They were on a date! ...now what?

Pomni made eye contact with Caine. They smiled at each other but neither said a word right away. They took in the general feel of their surroundings and decided it was a good one.

"So wha-"

"How-

They spoke at the same time and had a good laugh over it.

"You first." Pomni said.

"Nonsense, my dear. You go ahead."

"Oh, I was just going to ask what adventures you've been working lately."

"Now, now." He wagged a finger. "No spoilers. However, I will give you a hint. I've really been itching to do more underwater themes."

"Like reefs? Those colorful and vibrant coral habitats?" Pomni said hopefully. She grimaced at the thought of being under deep water.

"...that would probably be a better idea. Maybe I could make one big enough for the multi-whale." He tapped his "chin" in contemplation.

"The what, now?"

"No spoilers!" He snapped his fingers and a waiter came by the table and poured drinks. "Now, my turn. How do humans do this?" He leaned against the table.

"Do what?" Pomni took a sip of what was, at least presented as, wine.

"Date. What's the protocol? I wasn't programmed with this in mind. I, quite literally, have no idea what I'm doing. This-" he gestures to the whole room. "-was a mixture of background settings and NPC presets. So, how do humans, uh...what's the word I'm looking for here? Consummate?"

Pomni did a spit take. She coughed and spluttered and wiped her face with a napkin. "No. No, that's not the word. How do you even know that word? Never mind. Dating is a more intimate form of social bonding. Where two people get to know things about the other that would go deeper than just friendship." She surprised herself with her answer, it was very concise.

"I see. So, we should tell each other things we haven't shared with others? Like secrets?" He liked that idea.

"Pretty much." Pomni shrugged.

"Would you like to proceed?"

"Uhhh, how about turns? We could make a game of it."

"NOW you're speaking my language!" Cane rubbed his hands together.

Pomni giggled at how excited he suddenly got at the mere mention of a game. "Okay, it's called two truths and a lie. We tell each other three facts about ourselves, but one of them isn't true. You try to guess which one, and you win if you figure it out. But this game is more about the stories attached to the facts than actually winning anything. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, it does! I'll start!" He held up his fingers. "I was trademarked by C&A Tech Industries cerca 1997. I had a humanoid face, my current look is actually a permanent graphical glitch. And Bubble freaks me out."

Pomni thought for a second. "Bubble doesn't freak you out. You love Bubble."

"Wrong!" He said a bit too loud. He coughed and hushed himself. "Bubble is creepy! And they say the most horrific things! It just goes to show how good of a performer I am that you believe otherwise." He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, looking smug that he fooled her.

"Wow! That's hard to believe, you have such a good stage presence together."

"We keep our beef off the stage. Anyway, yeah, the lie was my face. I was made to look this handsome on purpose." He winked.

That got a good laugh out of her. "You are uniquely handsome, I'll give you that."

"It's the pearly whites, isn't it? The ladies can't get enough of my smile."

"That they can't." She paused and stared for a moment. He was so easy to talk to, even if she didn't know what to say. Probably because he could talk enough for both of them, but it was nice all the same. She didn't know what she was so worried about earlier.

Caine cradled his chin in his hands and rested his elbows on the table. "You're turn." He was kicking his feet under the table. She had called him handsome. He was going to be riding that high for a while.

"Oh! Oh right. Uh, let's see... I don't like bananas. I can juggle. And I snort if I laugh too hard."

"If the third one is true Pomni, you know I'm gonna need to hear that cute little snort."

"Oh, it's not cute. Not even a little bit." She admitted.

"Ah-ha! So you DO snort laugh!"

"Wait, hey!"

Caine laughed hard enough to bring a tear to his eye. "Okay, okay, okay, so it's either bananas or juggling. Hmmm....you LOVE bananas."

"Nope." It was her turn to be smug. "Never liked them. They taste weird and have an even weirder texture. The lie was about juggling. I mean, have you met me? I had no coordination in these noodly limbs." Her cartoonish arms squiggled out to her side for emphasis.

He chuckled and took a deep breath. His ribs hurt from laughing. "You're hilarious, you know that?"

She smiled sweetly at him. "Do you know that you're really fun to be around? You bring so much energy into a room, even when you're not in show mode. You make me laugh. You make me...happy."

Caine sat upright. He felt a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest and held out a hand across the small table. She put her hand in his and he squeezed it gently. "You make me happy too, Pomni. Happier than I ever thought I could be."

Pomni felt warm and fuzzy too. She glanced at the side of the room that had huge glass doors viewing the garden outside. "How about we skip dinner? Take a walk with me?"

He didn't hesitate. He stood and continued to hold her hand as she joined him outside. His cane with his hat floated along behind them.

Outside was quiet, say for the sound of insects and nighttime birds. The warm light of the restaurant illuminated the courtyard. A fountain took center stage. Benches occupied the four corners. All of it was surrounded by the vibrant forest that was the garden. Colorful flowers and strange plants only parted for the narrow walkways. Fireflies danced their nightly ritual, giving the garden a mystical feel. The air felt cool underneath the late evening sky.

Caine took off his coat and draped it over Pomni's shoulders. "There you go. Can't have you catching chill."

Pomni hadn't stopped smiling most of the night, but this warmed her heart. Caine was the all powerful being of this realm. He could just change the temperature if he so desired, but instead he gives her his jacket. It felt so personal. "Who taught you this?"

"A magician never reveals his secrets. As far as you know, I'm just a regular Casanova." He leaned in with an exaggerated smolder in his eyes.

This made her go all shy. She gently pushed him away. "Don't ever make that face again."

"What? This face?" He did it again, but even more ridiculous. Sticking his tongue out as well.

She giggled. "Stop."

"Why Pomni? Don't you find dis attractive? Am I wooing you?" His face got even crazier.

She laughed harder. A small snort snuck out and she froze.

Caine stopped everything. Had he just heard what he thought he heard? "Yes! I did it!" He whooped and hollered, flying in a circle.

Pomni couldn't stop. He was making her laugh more and she snorted multiple times. Their laughter rang out into the night. Pomni became lightheaded from it and swayed. Caine held onto her but he himself was unsteady. They leaned on each other as they slowly caught their breaths.

Caine cupped her cheek and wiped away the happy tears running down her face. "You're laugh is the most beautiful sound in the world. Snort and all."

"Tell anyone about it and I'll deny it."

"Heh, our little secret then. A special laugh only I get to hear. I couldn't ask for more." He looked at her with softness in his eyes.

She stood close, her hands on his waist. He felt nothing short of lightning pass through him when she touched him. His gaze drifted to her lips. "Is it weird...that this didn't feel like a first date, Pomni?"

"No. Not weird at all." She instinctively got closer, keeping her eyes on his.

His other hand joined in on holding her face. He sounded out of breath. "Pomni...I want to kiss you."

"Then kiss me..." She whispered back. She waited to see what he would do. She had NO idea what he considered his own lips.

The tip of his tongue peaked out over the top of his bottom teeth. His bottom jaw puckered with his tongue and she got a lip lock of teeth and tongue. It was nothing short of magical. All the fireworks were going off in her head. Perhaps it was the digital world's doing or Caine's influence, she didn't care. Kissing him was full body euphoria.

They separated very briefly to look each other in the eye. They silently confirmed that they both had felt the same thing and immediately pulled each other back in. His hands supporting her back and neck as he leans into her, her arms fully wrapped around him.

~

Gangle and Ragatha played cards on the floor of Pomni's room. They wanted to be there to support her if things went tragically wrong. OR be the first ones Pomni spills all the datetime tea with. A snap sound outside the door makes them pause. They both scramble to the door and press their faces to it. They heard muffled voices on the other side.

"You were wonderful company, my dear. I look forward to our next outing. Rest well, and my apologies if I was a bit ... overenthusiastic. You're quite the rare delicacy." A quiet smooch sound. Gangle gasped, Ragatha slapped her hands over Gangle's mouth.

"I look forward to the next time too. And, don't apologize. I enjoyed myself. Goodnight, Caine."

Ragatha went as red as her hair. She heard Caine snap away and she flung the door open. Pomni jumped, not expecting the girls to still be up. Ragatha eyed the teeth marks on Pomni's ahoulder. "Tell. Us. Everything."

~~~

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed it, please leave a comment! ���

[ghostsandmirrors]

"Your soldier?!" It was almost blurted out, and there was a little hint of hesitation, a minute pull back, in reaction; lessons were hard to unlearn. Lessons that made his heart beat uncomfortably in his chest. Lessons that tensed every muscle along his spine in a way that almost ached. Those lessons didn't stop him adding, quieter than before, "didn't do the hard work, ain't your anythin'." Not that he considered the soldier to be Zola's, either, even though the man did some of the hard work; it was a group effort to stop him cussing them out with every order, and Bucky could and would bring that back. No one got peace from the past, least of all HYDRA.

A lot of the remaining members already knew that; it'd been the reason they had missing hours and broken jaws, the reason his backpack had too many paper files, reason he'd decided that they deserved some sleepless nights, too.

He couldn't help his lip trying to curl in pure disgust, only keeping it mostly at bay by clenching his jaw to distract himself, determined not to give the man obvious reactions. All he got was that blank look, that neverending stare that every handler and agent and medic and scientist had gotten. Until he continued talking, that is. The laugh that escaped him at the ex-handler's words? He couldn't hold that one back. He couldn't grit his teeth and clench his jaw and wait for it to pass like every threat and ill-thought he'd ever had; it was too strong.

The laughter bounced around them, too loud for the quiet of the area, before his previously empty stare turned into something more sarcastically thoughtful. "Kinda planned on gettin' a dog. German Shepherd? American Akita? Rottweiler? Somethin' like that." He was very certain that his meaning--a dog breed he could easily train for defence purposes--was blatantly obvious. So obvious, that the hollow expression was back, any sense of emotion dropping out of his face with remarkable speed; he didn't feel the need to expand on that thread with words or expressions when he could just linger in that glassy-eyed look.

"And we both know they ain't wastin' time on me when they got so many rats to hunt down." He paused, just to let the thought sink in, that they were too busy hunting ex-agents to bother with him. Was it probably a lie? Absolutely. He wasn't going to admit that. "Think you're the only fuckin' one that ran?" he asked, frowning gently as he spoke. "Disloyalty's heavily punished, and disloyalty when you're hidin' their asset?" His expression came to life--a burning flame of morbid excitement--in the moments before he sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. "Even I wouldn't wanna be you."

"'sides," there was a soft sigh, "weapons don't have allies, just handlers, and I ain't into bein' used." The jokes that were on the tip of his tongue, that he refused to make, were ones he probably ought to confess over. The list of things he ought to confess over would probably be too long for only one father to hear, though, so he'd keep the jokes quiet for as long as he could; forgiveness was easier to ask for when the list was limited.

"There he is. Good to know my Soldier's still in there." Rumlow wasn't known for his sense of humor, but the abrupt change in him brought a smirk to his lips, the scars pulling it crooked. He actually preferred the assets with a little life in them-- a little resistance, a little agency, a little backtalk. There was no denying the Winter Soldier was highly effective without all those things, a perfectly obedient, empty-eyed robot, but Brock had always believed HYDRA sold them short of their real potential. Imagine what he could do with all that training and a brain in his head.

He didn't fear him though, never had. It was one of the things that set him apart from the other handlers. No asset was going to respect someone who was afraid of them. There wasn't a lot that scared him before, and there was even less now. He had pretty much nothing to lose except his life, and he'd never put a lot of value on that. The life he'd chosen, it was going to end bloody eventually. He'd always known that.

"Then you can stand and listen like a good little soldier, and don't try anything cute." He kept the gun on him. He wouldn't hesitate to shoot him, but he'd prefer not to. Damaging Barnes would set back his plans. "I need an ally, and you need direction. What's your plan, Barnes? Keep runnin' forever? If I found you, more won't be far behind." It was a minor bluff. Not impossible that more would find him, but there were few left in HYDRA who could anticipate his moves as well as Rumlow could.

[voltronisanobsession]

So you like my ideas, huh? Well, I hope I can continue to create some good ones for you! I shall try my best 🫡

Oh! I do have one request in mind, how about Percy being paired with reader who’s the child of Athena? Yes, yes, I know an amazing half-blood known as Annabeth exists but I had something in mind.

We all know how children of Athena are seen as wise, intellectual, clever, and combative people but what if the reader was different than that? There’s several types of intelligence after all, so what if they specialized in emotional intelligence and craft?

I can see them being insecure of their “abilities” since they know their siblings can do better, and even fear that Athena herself is disappointed in them, but, while Percy thought it was strange at first, he soon found himself enjoying those traits.

I mean, with their emotional intelligence, the reader knows when he’s upset no matter how hard he tries to hide it, and they tend to give him gifts like Melinoe!reader. They’re probably usually architectural models, weavings, mini sculptures of what he enjoys… You know all that good stuff. They probably gifted him something as something to remember them by when he went on a quest… but I’ll leave that up to you.

Combat practice to bond/as dates 👀?

Also, I’m not sure if you saw, but I like long headcanons so stop apologizing and keep it up!/lh

Poor all of your thoughts into it if you have to or want, I like it!

Percy with a Child of Athena!Reader

I literally LOVE these detailed asks UGGHHH!! I love the idea of instead having a different form of intelligence as a child of athena like damn😍 I'm getting used to brain dumping on these, its a work in progress🙈

Sorry for answering so late😭

Lowkey this reader sticks out like a sore thumb amongst their siblings😭

I like to think that most Athena kids are usually on the more serious sides, so it surprises a lot of campers outside of the Athena cabin to see Reader extremely expressive!

While the other Athena children spend their time devising tactical plans for big camp games, reader is just on the side doodling architectural designs and whatnot

They aren’t as involved in what their siblings do because it doesn’t interest them much

Like whenever they try and ask for readers opinions and start using big ass words, they just smile and nod cuz they had no idea what the others were saying

Athena's children are extremely intelligent so its difficult for reader to be on the same wave length as their siblings

It lowkey makes them feel like an outcast in their cabin because they cant really connect with their siblings like they do with each other while they talk about subjects beyond reader’s comprehension

Constantly being surrounded by books, scrolls and maps full of knowledge, reader often beats themselves over not being able to comprehend and show interest in wanting to learn about these types of things

They’re led to believing that they are a defect amongst their mothers children (crying)

They are always surrounded by reminders of their own inabilities to match their sibling’s intelligence which is why they spend little time in the Athena cabin, and even littler time with their siblings

Readers only saving grace is that they are always in tune with peoples emotions and feelings, no matter how well or little they know the people around them

Whether its feelings of anxiousness, sadness, quiet anger, or happiness, reader always seems to know how a person is feeling!

The first time Percy meets reader is when he spots them at the crafting hut

Being one of his first activities in the beginning of the day, he notices how reader is always there before anyone else

Percy probably thought you were apart of the Hephaestus cabin or something like that with how many times he’s seen you sculpting and carving away at a new project every other day

So he’s surprised when you reveal that you’re actually a child of Athena

He would definitely notice how you distance yourself from your siblings, especially during breakfast, lunch and dinner

He’s good friends with Annabeth so he sees the differences between you, her and your siblings

While she and her siblings are more closed off and have their noses stuck up a new book everyday, your always seen drawing or weaving a new tapestry for your cabin

You show your emotions more openly compared to their more dismissive nature as well!

He definitely sees you as the 'social butterfly' of the Athena cabin

The more time he spends with reader though, he notices just how in tune they are with his feelings

He could give the smallest, most insignificant indication that he's had a bad day and you'd be able to read him like an open book

It's easy talking to you about his conflicting emotions, your patience and thoughtful expression gives him more confidence to just let everything out

I think he would definitely fall for how empathetic you are in many situations

You've made many friends with campers from different cabins because of this quality trait! Always learning and understanding a situation/conflict that arises, you're always able to resolve the problems that makes it fair for all parties involved

Despite this, Percy is confused and a bit surprised to find out that you're actually insecure about this dominating trait of yours

"What?! It's literally the best thing about you though!"

"I know but its just! My siblings aren't the way I am. They're able to actually use their skills for something. All I can do is listen to people and make friends. That's nothing special. I'm useless."

It PAINS him to hear you say that because its obvious you don't understand the importance of being as emotionally intelligent as you are

He makes it his mission to show you just how many people you've helped, to show you that you have a reason to be proud of what you're able to do!

You slowly open yourself more after hearing all his reassurance, from him and other people around camp

It's definitely a positive change as you have a pep to your step now. You engage with you siblings more now that you have a confidence in your own abilities.

You make him many sculptures as thank you gifts! Even when he says that you don't need to, you cant help admit that enjoy giving him these gifts with a nervous smile

You've made him a mini version Riptide and even have given him a small owl pendant

You were hesitant to give him the pendant because it seemed more intimate compared to your other gifts, but he happily accepted it with a soft smile

AND WHEN HE PUT THE PENDANT ON IN FRONT OF YOU YOUR HEART NEARLY LEPT OUT OF YOUR CHEST I CCANNTTT

I think reader would be pretty aware of Percy's feelings for them which makes them feel fuzzy

So imagine how you feel when Percy pulls up to you one late afternoon after not seeing him for the entire day to give you a small pendant of his own

The sculpting of the trident is definitely more crude and less detailed compared to the one you gave him, something Percy abashedly admits but you wave him off

"It's beautiful, thank you Percy."

"No problem, now we're matching!"

You're aware of your own feelings for him as you are aware of his feelings for you, so it doesn't take long for a confession to happen

I mean matching pendants? come on bro its so painfully obvious to everyone

Percy falls for who reader is, not because their a child of Athena

He doesn't care that you're different from your siblings because he understands everyone has their own strengths and weaknesses

You still represent Athena with pride and he'll happily support you till the end

PERCY IS SUCH A GREEN FLAG IN GENERAL I LOVE WRITING FOR HIM💔💔

[g1rld1ary]

a little manpower - neighbour!james potter x reader

wc: 1141

cw: none? reader moving into an apartment and meets james

an: i wish it was summer here so bad I'm struggling!!! what are 1 degree mornings!!!!

Why did nobody tell you it was so bloody hard to move out? Like, everyone talks about the money and the forms and all the confusing adult things, but why did no one tell you about the actual pain in the arse it would be to have to physically move everything you own into a flat three floors up? You didn't consider yourself the fittest person ever, not by a long shot, but you worked out and you didn't think you were weak. Yet there you were, panting like a dog after carrying another box up to your new home.

And of course, it was just your luck that you'd planned your big move-out during what may be Britain's only hot day in the whole year (only slight exaggeration). Still, you felt bad complaining. Your parents had helped you in the morning, moving in some of the IKEA furniture you'd picked out and had a good go of assembling some of it too, so you did have a bed to sleep on. Plus, a college friend had stopped by for an hour or two to keep you company and lifted some boxes with you.

So you didn't have much of a reason to complain, except that you didn't want to be doing it anymore. You were tired of walking up the bloody stairs and your arms were aching from the over-filled boxes. Plus, you had one armchair you'd found at a vintage store that had been sitting near the entryway all day, waiting for you to develop the motivation to drag it upstairs.

When your full-length mirror (deceptively heavy) had you almost in tears you decided enough was enough and it was time for a break. Not brave enough to sit in the woefully unpacked flat you trudged down the stairs one more time, crumpling on the grass nature strip until you were lying on your back.

Everything seemed a bit calmer like that, grass surprisingly cool on the back of your arms and legs. Your muscles relaxed for the first time in hours and you thought if you were in a cartoon you'd probably start fusing into the earth. The only thing that would make the moment nicer would be the peace of mind of knowing your belongings were all safely away in your new flat. And maybe an ice cream.

"Alright, love?" A male voice came from just beyond your head. You tilted it back to crack one eye open. A man was standing a few metres away, more shadow than human because of the positioning of the sun.

"It's hot," You said, "And I'm tired. And my limbs don't work anymore." You knew you probably sounded a bit like a child, but who were you trying to impress? The man laughed and it didn't quite match his silhouette; carefree and juvenile juxtaposing the muscles he clearly had.

"Understandable." You could kind of see him running a hand through his hair, "You must be the new tenant, right? I heard you were moving in soon. We heard you drop something heavy before... and cry a little." Sensing the conversation probably wasn't going to end with that, you sat up and turned to face him, still squinting from the sun.

"You heard a girl cry and didn't do anything about it? What a gentleman."

"I came out here, didn't I?"

"And you're not on the way out somewhere?"

"Touché." He had the decency to appear a little sheepish, at least from what you could see of him. He held his hand out for you, pulling you to your feet effortlessly. It was easier to see him now, the sun not being at such an uncooperative angle, and you tried not to look so surprised. The man was gorgeous, tall and muscular with dark curls, but his face was so friendly you couldn't help but smile. He was physically intimidating, but in the way that you knew he wasn't trying to specifically gain muscle, it was something he'd gotten through activity, like a sport or trade.

You stood for a minute, face to face but both silent. You wracked your brain for something to say.

"I'm sorry about the big old armchair blocking the entry hall, I can't lift it on my own and I just need a little extra manpower but I couldn't get any friends over to help today. I promise it'll be gone by tomorrow," You said, glad for both something to say and to get the guilty feeling off your chest. The man's face broke out into a wide smile.

"It's no worries," He assured you, "The people here hardly ever leave their apartment, I doubt they'll even notice. Don't you worry about it." Something about the way he spoke calmed your nerves, both about the chair and moving into the building as a whole. It was your first time properly living on your own, and you wanted to find somewhere quiet but welcoming. If this neighbour was anything to go by, you'd made a good choice. You smiled in return, weight lifted off your shoulders.

"Right, thanks. I guess I'll see you around..."

"James," He finished, shaking your hand firmly in a way that you didn't expect. You introduced yourself in return and you both hesitated, unsure of how exactly to end the conversation.

"Right, well, I've got training," James said awkwardly, gesturing to the kit bag around his shoulder. You nodded, starting to step back towards the door to the building.

"Have fun with that," You said, giving him a small wave. You waited until you were safely inside before cringing at your attempts at conversation, sending a bitter glare to the armchair as you passed it.

You didn't leave the apartment until the next morning, opting to peck at whatever you had in the pantry for dinner before passing out on a half-made bed. But you had to pick yourself up and decided you did need to grocery shop and actually fill up the pantry you'd just acquired, so you laced up your Converse and picked the keys up from the temporary table next to the door.

And there, waiting outside your door, was the old green armchair, waiting for you as if it had been there all along. You smiled, rubbing a hand along the velvet slowly. There was only one answer as to who it could have been, and James was clearly honouring whatever higher being gave him all that muscle by using it for good. You decided you'd have to make him cookies to thank him and set off for the shop.

[trippinsorrows]

with me + part eleven

authors note: hi! i'm super sorry for the cliffhanger! i just have this thing where i need sections to be cohesive, and this chapter is much heavier than the previous, so i didn't wanna boggle ya'll down with all that angst!

i've also been thinking about the length of this story. currently, in terms of story timeline, we're at the very end of december 23', and i have ideas for up to may 24'. well, beyond that, but i don't want things to get stale, so i can end it around that time or keep it going? just curious because i don't want it to play out so long that it bores anyone. if that makes sense. just lmk.

status: in progress // masterlist

warnings: angsttttt (parental neglect, abandonment, trauma) language, alcohol consumption, suggestive themes, some fluff

song inspo: with me by destiny’s child

words: 6.2k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wanderingreigns

You knew as soon as he walked in that something was up.

In getting to know Joe, you’d also learned that he was, surprisingly, on the quiet side. He spoke with you, of course, but you learned he leaned more towards introverted than extroverted. It was kind of sweet and pretty surprising. But, you’d also learned there was a difference between him being his sometimes quiet self and when something was off, and something was definitely off.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to fuck it out of you?” He rolls his eyes, not even showing any excitement at the idea of fucking you. Yeah, something was definitely wrong. “Seriously, what’s up?”

He shrugs, playing it off clearly. “Just tired. Back to back matches.” 

That's when you realize what it is. “You’re hurt, aren’t you?” He shakes his head, dismissively, and you cross your arms. “Take your shirt off.”

“What?”

“Take it off, or I’ll climb your big ass and take it off myself.” Joe blows out a breath. He has to know you’re dead serious. So, wordlessly, he lifts his shirt over his head and turns around. 

You gasp almost immediately. “What the actual fuck?” Your hand reaches to touch him, but you stop yourself, knowing that his skin must be sensitive to the touch. His back is inflamed, red welts spread in different areas with a nasty bruise that looks like a borderline hematoma and other various cuts. 

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Shaking your head, you point to your room. “Go sit and wait for me on the bed.” He opens his mouth, and you lift a finger. “I don’t want to hear it. Get in there now.”

Surprisingly, he follows suit, and you start to move about, gathering the necessary supplies. Along the way, you experience a plethora of emotions but mostly bounce back and forth between irritation and concern. 

You’re irritated that he didn’t just come out and say that he was hurt. You’re also concerned because he’s obviously in pain, and that bothers you. He doesn’t have to be, he didn’t have to be if he just said something. 

Stubborn asshole. 

With everything needed and placed in a cloth bag, you walk into your room and stretch your hand out to him. “Take this.”

Joe looks down at your open palm with a single pink pill. “What the hell is it?”

“Coke,” you answer with a straight face. Rolling your eyes, you answer, “Benadryl. It’ll help with the inflammation of the welts.”

“It’ll also knock me out.”

“We’ll we’re obviously not fucking with your back all messed up, so what else are you going to do?”

“Who said we can’t fuck?”

You sigh. “Joe, if you don’t just take this goddamn pill. With your size, you probably should take two, but I’m trying to be nice by only giving you one, so accept my kindness and swallow this damn pill or I’ll shove it down your throat.” 

He sucks his teeth but also takes the pill from you followed by the water bottle tucked under your arm. “You’re a terrible nurse.”

“And you’re an awful patient. At least we’re both on the same page.” You wait for him to swallow it before taking the bottle from him. “Good, now lay on your stomach.”

He lifts his brow, asking, “why?”

“Oh my god, you’re as bad as my students.” Men when they’re sick or not feeling well are a special kind of torture you’re not sure why exactly you’re subjecting yourself to right now. “Just do it, please. I’m trying to help you here.”

He just looks at you, as if he has something else to say, probably so. But, he surprises you by staying silent and following your instructions. 

Pleased, you climb on top of him, sitting on his ass to avoid irritating his already sensitive skin. “Okay, now this may hurt a little bit at first—”

He makes a sound underneath you. “Can’t hurt anymore than it already does.”

“If you had said something sooner, I could have helped you before now,” you scold, dropping the bag on the bed beside ya’ll. Men and their tendency to downplay pain will never cease to amaze you. The minute you start getting hit with cramps, you pop an ibuprofen.

“It’s not that big a deal.”

“You’re in pain. That’s always a big deal.” Pulling out the ointment, you dab enough to your hand and start carefully massaging it into the welts. He hisses at your touch and you murmur an apology but don’t stop. It’s short term discomfort for long term benefits. 

“What is this?” He asks.

“Calamine lotion,” you answer, adding on. “I have hydrocortisone too, but my grandma always said calamine works just as well without getting into your bloodstream. Don’t know how true it is, but it always worked for me, so it’ll work for you.”

He chuckles. “She sounded fun.”

Instantly, a smile is on your face as you continue to treat him. “Always. Summers with her were always the highlight of my year.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, and you continue to work the lotion into his skin. Once pleased with the application, you move on to the next part. “Alright, I’m gonna apply some cold compresses. You’ll probably be out in another 20 minutes, so just leave em’ on, and I’ll come change em’ out while you’re sleeping.”

When he doesn’t push back, you pull the compresses out of your bag and strategically place them on different areas of his back to maximize the comfort. Once finished, you climb off of him and go to close up the blinds and curtains. “Alright, get some rest.” 

You’re at the doorway when he says your name. “Yeah?”

A slight delay before he says, genuinely, “thank you.” 

There’s something meaningful beyond just the obvious, and it brings a small smile to your face. Not that he can see that. So you settle on, “of course. You’re no good to me if you can’t fuck me.”

He laughs, loudly. “Shut up.”

Smile widening, you close the door.  ________

Joe finds you a couple hours later in the kitchen, but it’s the state of you that gives him a pause and brings a smile to his face.

You’re dancing around, clad in one of his shirts and short shorts that your ass swallows up. Brief glimpses of your side profile reveal that you’re singing too, just in a low enough voice, probably not to disturb you. 

He doesn’t know the specific song, but the voice is familiar enough for him to know it’s Taylor Swift. That definitely surprises him, though it shouldn’t. You have a weird ass taste in music to where he’s found you in the shower listening to some random rock song, other times, it was throwback R&B.

You were just so….different from anyone he’s ever known. 

It’s one of the many reasons he’s so enamored with you.

Drop everything now

Meet me in the pouring rain

Kiss me on the sidewalk

Take away the pain

'Cause I see sparks fly, whenever you smile

It’s when you turn around, mid bite on a cookie that you finally notice his presence, smiling. “Hey. You’re up.”

“I am.” He nods, walking over to you. He gestures around the kitchen. “What is all this?” 

You finish chewing and swallow before directing Alexa to pause the music. “Well, I finished my lesson planning and was bored, so I decided to bake. But then I got hungry for actual food, so I ordered takeout.”

“And the music?”

You shrug, taking another bite of your cookie. “I like the song. Don’t worry, it’s the only Taylor Swift song allowed in this African American household.”

He laughs and moves past you when you take the chance to assess his back, immediately noticing how the swelling and redness have decreased. “How you feeling?”

“Better,” he answers, moving to the cartons, seeing that you made sure to order his favorites as well. “Thanks again.”

Smirking, you climb on the island, locking your ankles together. “Not so terrible nurse after all then, huh?”

“Your bedside manners still suck.” 

“Shut up.” You watch him fix his food and when he gets ready to sit down on a bar stool, you hop off the counter, prompting, “come with me.”

“Where?”

“All these damn questions….” Grabbing a couple of cookies and placing them in a bowl, you find your sandals and slide them on your feet. “Just come on.”

“Let me at least put a shirt on.”

“Absolutely not. You need to let your skin breathe,” you lecture, taking him in, all of him. “Trust me, no one’s gonna see us, and even if they did, who the hell would complain about you being shirtless?”

Snatching the keys off the table, you open the door, allowing him to walk out first. You start to leave your door unlocked but decide against it. It’s an extremely safe town, but there’s always a first time for everything. 

Locking it, you motion for him to follow you up the two sets of steps until reaching the heavy door that you turn the knob left and then right in order to open it. Joe’s immediately hit with a nice breeze and diminishing sunlight as the evening sets in.

“Come on,” you usher him to follow you to your favorite spot, sitting down and patting down on the ground next to you.

Joe chuckles, following suit. “Seriously?”

You ignore him, pushing on his shoulder as he brings his plate in front of him to eat. “I like to come out here sometimes to just get away. Especially if I need to clear my head. My grandma used to always say the closer you are to Heaven, the clearer you can hear God’s voice.”

He just watches you, the way the wind blows at your curls, making them splash at your face. Everything about you has always been stunning to him, but in this moment where you sit so relaxed and unbothered, he’s never thought you looked more beautiful. 

“Plus, you obviously need to clear your head to bounce back from that ass whooping,” you snort, taking another bite of your cookie. One look at Joe’s scowl makes you giggle. “On one hand, it’s crazy to me you put your body through so much, but I also recognize your passion and dedication. So, I get it. I was an athlete too. Love of the game type shit.”

You can’t say that you would have ever continued to cheer if it left you the way Joe would come to you sometimes, but as someone who’s been in a similar situation, you understand it. And it’s so much more than just a job to him. It’s a legacy, in his bloodline. All he knows.

All he wants.

So, you support him.

You’ll always support him.

________

There’s the initial chaos that ensues in the minutes after your departure. Callie’s confusion. Joe’s confusion. Bianca’s utter confusion. And as Callie is right there, Joe can’t go immediately after you. He can’t and won’t leave her, so he does the best he can, offering apologies to Bianca and Co. before taking Callie and finding your mom who was catching up with an old friend in another part of the show.

He has some level of difficulty explaining what happened, other than the fact that you’d run off and he needed to find you. It’s really all of the information that he has to go off of, and when he’s finally able to get back to the apartment where he thinks you probably went. He's disappointed to find it empty. There’s brief moment of panic. 

Just where the hell would you go?

He pulls out his phone to check again if you’ll pick up, but it goes straight to voicemail. He then starts to call your mom to ask her if she had any idea where you would be when he thinks about what happened. You were upset, very much so. 

You needed to clear your head.

He knows exactly where you are.

On that same roof he sat on with you years prior is where Joe finds you, but what he doesn’t expect is the bottle of Hennessy that’s not only open but already halfway empty and sitting beside you. 

He doesn’t try to hide his presence and is unsurprised when you ask, “How’d you find me?” 

“Wasn’t that hard,” he answers. It wasn’t. He remembers almost everything you’ve ever told him about yourself, including how this spot has always been your place to escape.

Just what were you escaping from is what has him stumped.

“Sit down.” You pat the space beside you much harder than what’s necessary. He sighs and asks for a minute, pulling out the phone and stepping away to make a call.

Your mom answers on the third ring. “Did you find her?”

“Yeah,” Joe runs his hand over his face. “I got her, but….can you take Callie back to your place?”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

He looks over again at the bottle. “She’s drunk.”

“Drunk?” It sounds like she’s holding back a chuckle, like his words are humorous because everyone knows you don’t drink, and she says as such. “What do you mean she’s drunk? My child doesn’t even drink.”

“She did tonight” Joe’s eyes fall back over to you to see you still sitting, swaying slightly as if listening to music. There is no music. “And Callie doesn’t need to see her like this.” He especially knows you wouldn’t want her to see you like this. 

Your mom sighs, heavily, on the other end. “You’ll stay with her, right?”

“Of course.” That’s not even a question. “And once I get her settled, if Callie is still up—”

“Oh, she’ll be up. She can’t fall asleep unless she talks to you or her mama.” It feels like an inappropriate response, but there’s a small part of Joe that finds joy in this. He remembers when you mentioned to him before that Callie needed to see and/or speak to you before she could fall asleep, a sign of how closely bonded you two were. To be added to that category means everything to him. “Thank you, Joseph.”

He sees no need in being thanked but acknowledges your mom’s appreciation anyway. “Of course.” The call ends, and he brings his focus back to you. The first thing he does is take away the bottle of Henny.

You see this and instantly scowl. “You’re no fun.” 

He sits next to you, asking in a quiet voice, “what happened tonight, Y/N?” Joe is still utterly confused at all of this, your zero to one hundred change in demeanor. But, the fact that you resulted to drinking shows him just how heavy whatever it was has impacted you. “Talk to me.” 

You laugh, but there isn’t an ounce of humor. “God, where do I start?” Your eyes light up, as if realizing something. “Oooh. I know where.” You lean into his shoulder, whispering, “I’m the product of an affair.”

This piece of information definitely takes him by surprise.

He's noticed you've never talked about your father, and he's never asked. Obviously, it was a sensitive topic, that much he could garner. But now, he knows just why it was sensitive.

“I don't—I don't know exactly what happened between them. She’s never really talked about it, but I do remember when I was younger, maybe—maybe a couple years older than Callie, he was—he was at the house.” You swallow, and Joe can see the distance in your eyes, like you’re no longer sitting here beside him. But someplace else. “She told me to go to my room, but I snooped at the top of the steps. Don’t….don’t really remember everything that was said except that she was literally begging this man to have some type of relationship with me, and he refused.” You laugh suddenly, and it’s so out of place, doesn't make sense given the nature of the conversation. But it does if he factors in the liquor coursing through your system. “He called me a m–mistake.”

Joe's heart aches at your words. “Baby—”

“When I was sixteen years old, I worked at a clothing store in town, and I saved up my money for this necklace…it was gold, and I thought—I thought it was so pretty. It made me feel fancy.” You chuckle, not as humorous this time, head tilting. “And once I finally got the necklace, I drove—I drove an hour away because…because after all those years, I still….I wanted to meet my father. I wanted…I wanted him to be in my life.” 

“He’s uh—or was, I’m not sure anymore—captain of police in his town, so I went to the precinct to meet him, wearing that necklace that I worked months to save up for because…because I wanted to look nice. I remember walking into his office, and I was nervous, but—but I also figured there was no way he could reject me then. I—I was head cheerleader. A straight A student. I—I had just gotten a near perfect score on both my SAT and ACT. I was…I was a good kid, Joe.”

Your jaw fixes, and he can see you’re trying to hold back tears. It kills him to see you this upset. He’s never seen you this vulnerable. “And I—I told him all that. I told him I wanted to see if he wanted a relationship with me, and do you know what he told me?” You suddenly stand up, clearly intending to mimic this interaction. “A relationship? Why would I want a relationship with you? You’re not even supposed to exist.” 

You giggle, eyes watering. Joe frowns. He can’t even begin to fathom how someone can say something like that to their own flesh and blood.

“Oh, but that’s not even the best part.” You’re doing one hell of a job playing this all off as something that isn’t impacting you, no doubt thanks to the alcohol. But, he knows you well enough to know and even see where this is headed. “He—” you hiccup, covering your mouth to hide your giggles. “He said again that I was a mistake that he paid my mom to take care of and—” It’s starting to crack, the alcohol induced facade that all of this is fine, that you don’t care. Your voice starts to catch. “---that the money he gave her for an abortion was the biggest waste of money he ever spent.”

“Y/N—”

“Minutes later, his wife walked in and then—and then his daughter walked in, and I—I ran. I couldn’t….I couldn’t—we looked the same age, Joe. He had a daughter already, he–he didn’t need me. He didn't—he didn’t want me.” You sniffle, wiping at your eyes. “And that’s fine, I—I didn’t care. I—I blocked that out after that day. I’d—I’d forgotten about him.” A beat. “Until tonight.”

“Because—because for the first time since I was sixteen years old, I was in front of all of them again. My—my—father, his wife, my—-”

Joe starts putting the pieces together. “Bianca….”

“She’s my sister,” you answer for him, having a hard time keeping it all in at this point. “She’s the one he’s proud of. She’s the one whose kid he claims as his grandchild. She’s the one he acknowledges. I’m just—I’m just the mistake he wishes was never born.” 

Joe stands up, gradually moving toward you. 

“I did everything right. I stayed out of trouble. I went to school. I got my degree. I did—-” He’s in front of you, gently pulling you into him as you finally break. “I don’t understand why he didn’t want me. I’m his daughter.” you finally shatter, crying into his chest. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Hey, hey—” Joe brings his hands to your face, making you look at him. “There is nothing wrong with you. You are an amazing, intelligent, beautiful woman, and I can’t even begin to describe how amazing of a mother you are.” He wipes away your tears as you clutch onto his shirt. “He doesn’t deserve you, baby. He doesn’t deserve to be in your life. He never did, and he never will. Fuck him. You don’t need shit from him. I’ve got you, okay? Always.” You allow him to hold you, to comfort you, because it’s just what you need in this moment. You tried to find it in solitude, tried to find it at the bottom of a liquor bottle, but it was all in vain. You just needed him.

Joe holds you as long as you allow him, letting you cry it out until he's eventually able to guide you into returning to your apartment.

But outside the door is when you hesitate.

He notices this, immediately asking, “what’s wrong?”

Your eyes start watering again. “Callie…I—I don’t want her to—”

He shakes his head, kissing the top of your head. “I asked your mom to take her back to her place. I’ll go check on her after I get you straight.”

This seems to settle some of your anxiety, and he continues to guide you into your bedroom. He helps you out of your clothes and into a simple t-shirt that he recognizes as one of his own.

Joe moves all of your decorative pillows, placing them on the chair in the corner of your room as you pull back the blankets. He turns around to find you reaching for his hand, tugging him towards the bed. “Just—just until I fall asleep.”

He doesn’t object. Joe planned to stay with you until then anyway.

He undresses enough to climb into bed with you, and you waste no time burying yourself into his chest, feeling an instant sense of peace when he wraps his strong arms around you. You’ve always felt so safe and protected in his embrace, and in this moment, it’s everything you need. 

“I realized something tonight,” you mumble into his skin. Joe’s hand is under your shirt, hand moving soothing circles on the small of your back. “I—I didn’t keep Callie from you because of your wife. That was part of the reason, but it wasn’t the main reason.” You lift your head, throat feeling pressured as you allow yourself to finally admit, “the truth is that I was terrified you would reject her the way my dad rejected me, and I never wanted her to feel that way. And I know now that you would never do that to her, but I—I didn’t know then, and I was so wrong, and I’m so sorry. I—”

“Hey—” He cuts you off, hand going to palm your cheek. “Don’t do that. I understand why you did it now, I do. You were trying to protect her. I can’t be upset with you for that. I’m not.” He studies your face, your eyes, always so beautiful to him. “I don’t think I could ever be mad at you for too long.”

It’s not a lie. Joe’s always thought he’s known you like the back of his hand, learned you so well, but tonight has shown him that he didn’t know everything. He’ll never get back the time he missed out on with Callie, and maybe on some level there will always be a slither of resentment. But, it’s not enough for him to notice and most definitely not enough for him to actually feel.

He’s not quite sure how he could find it in him to hold your decision against you. It didn’t come from a place of selfishness or vindictiveness but love and protectiveness. You just wanted to keep her from experiencing the pain and trauma you’d endured. 

There was no faulting that. 

And you accept his grace, so understanding and considerate. You feel slightly undeserving but immensely grateful that he can extend such empathy. 

You’re quiet after that, eyes shut as you work to turn off your brain and decompress what’s inarguably been one of the most difficult days of your life. You’re almost in the early stages of sleep when his voice invades the quietness. 

“I love you.” Joe doesn’t feel any sort of movement at his confession, doesn’t feel you tense or relax. He’s not even sure if you’re still awake, but still, he continues. “I’ve always loved you, and I don’t even know how much of this you’ll remember tomorrow, but that doesn’t matter because I’ve always imagined telling you under much different circumstances anyway.”

“I want to be with you,” he continues. “I’ve always wanted to be with you, and I’m sorry for not putting you first. You deserved better than that. I should have gotten divorced long before I even met you. And that’s….something we eventually need to talk about. I owe you that much.”

He wants to say more, so much more, but he also knows now is not the time given he’s almost certain you’re asleep. Hence why he finally slips out of bed, knowing he needs to check on Callie.

He doesn’t leave without caressing your cheek and kissing your temple, relieved that you’re finally getting some rest following what was inexplicably an emotionally draining day. 

But you’re not asleep, and you did hear it.

You heard it all.

________

“Who are you?”

Joe walked into your moms house, not expecting anyone other than your mom and Callie. Only one of those individuals are present, and the other is a man he’s never in his life seen before but automatically doesn’t like. Just his aura seems off. 

Joe especially hates that this man is in the same house as his little girl.

Your mom seems taken back by this side of him and explains, “Joe, this is Amir. He’s, uhh, an old friend of Y/N. He saw her run off and wanted to check in on her.”

The day's events are definitely a contributing factor as Joe feels exhausted, both mentally and physically, but hearing that this is the infamous Amir instantly angers him. What the hell is he doing here?

“You bold as hell coming here.” is all Joe says, redirecting his attention to your mom. “Y/N tell you that she found out he and Mariah been sleeping with each other?”

What he wants to say is that they’ve been fucking, but he wants to remain respectful. Even if it is hard as hell.

Your mom is looking, mouth ajar, between Joe and Amir. “Wh–what is he talking about, Amir?”

“So you’re the one that’s been feeding those lies into her.” Deflection. It’s a typical bitch move. “You talking a lot of shit for someone who abandoned his own kid and just came back on the scene like ain't nothing happened.”

If not for the fact that you’ve already explained to Joe that you’d never told Amir what really happened between you and him because it was none of his business, Joe would have been livid. He would never abandon you. And definitely never Callie. Ever.

He’d have been with you every fucking step of the way the minute you found out you were pregnant if he’d been given the chance.

But all of that is no business of this asshole’s. 

“You can say or think whatever the hell you want about me. It doesn’t matter. You’re irrelevant, regardless, so the same way you walked your ass in here is the same way you can walk your ass right on out.”

“Apparently not to Y/N.” He’s smug, and it takes a tremendous amount of willpower for Joe to not lay this man out right then and there. He doesn’t know why you would ever settle for the likes of this prick. “Not with how many times she ended up in my bed.” 

Joe partially forgot your mom was even in the same vicinity until she gasps loudly, clearly disgusted, “my Lord. Please, this is my daughter you’re speaking about.”

With a low chuckle, Joe tries his best to remain respectful yet still abundantly clear. “And how many times has she reached out to you since I’ve been back?” His silence is all the answer Joe needs, not that he really needs one at all. Joe knows you have eyes and desire for him and him alone. He just needs to prove a point to this motherfucker. “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you to stay the fuck away from my girlfriend and especially my daughter, cause the next time it won’t be no conversation.”

And before Amir can say or even, stupidly, do anything, a new smaller voice enters the scene.

“Daddy!”

Joe is unsure if he’ll ever get over the joy that fills him at being called that. Callie is at the top of the steps but proceeds to rush down when she sees him, Joe leaning down and catching her, picking her up.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He kisses her cheek, noticing almost immediately how tired she looks. Understandable, as it’s almost 11 o’ clock, far past her bedtime. Uncomfortable with this Amari or whatever the fuck his name is being so close to Callie, Joe starts leading her back up the stairs.

With a frown, she asks the question he was expecting. “Where’s mommy?” 

“She’s back at the apartment sleeping.” Joe is unsure just how to explain tonight’s events to Callie, not really knowing how to help her understand what occurred, if at all possible. “I’ll take you to see her tomorrow morning as soon as she wakes up.”

Joe walks her into her room at your mom’s place and seats her on the bed, sitting next to her. “What’s wrong with her?”

Such a simple question in wording and massively difficult in every other area, especially when one considers Callie’s young age. 

“Mommy saw someone who was very mean to her when she was little, and it made her sad, so….she just wanted to be alone.” It’s the best, simplest answer that’s not a lie he can come up with on the spot.

Callie’s frown deepens. “I don’t want mommy to be sad.”

“Neither do I, baby,” he murmurs. “But, I talked with her, and she should start feeling better soon, okay?”

Her frown diminishes slightly, and Joe can tell she’s in thought. She then asks, “are you gonna go stay with mommy tonight?”

“I was, but I can stay with you, if you want me to.” Joe knows you’ll probably sleep throughout the night because of the alcohol and more importantly, if Callie needs him, he’s there. No questions asked.

You would do the same. 

She suddenly shakes her head. “Mommy stays with me when I’m sad, so someone’s gotta stay with her while she’s sad.” Her face grows sullen again as she asks with a yawn, “do you still have to leave tomorrow morning?”

“No, I leave tomorrow night instead.”

In the midst of all of tonight’s chaos, he’d managed to switch flights, picking an evening one instead. Joe let Hunter know there was a family emergency, and that he’d be back later than initially expected. Hunter was understanding, and while he was grateful for that, it didn’t really make a difference.

You and Callie come first. 

She’s obviously partially pleased with this information and moves her body against his, laying her head on his arm. “I’m sleepy….”

Reaching to caress her cheek with his finger, he directs, “get some rest, Callie. I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”

She doesn’t say anything, just closes her eyes. It doesn’t take long for sleep to overtake her, a mere matter of minutes really. He stays with her longer though, just to be sure, needing to know she’s okay.

He needs both of yall to be okay.

________

You wake up with an instant sense of unease and discomfort. Your head is throbbing, and your body feels heavy. Your chest feels pressured, like there’s some invisible weight on it.

But in a matter of seconds, it all comes rushing back to you. The fireworks. Bianca. Seeing your dad. Running. Drinking. 

"I love you."

Eyes shutting, you do your best to settle your brain because only one thing is at the front of your mind when you hear giggling coming from outside of your closed door.

Callie 

Just how in the hell did your brief mental breakdown affect your child? 

Pushing the blankets off, it’s then you notice the bottle of water and white pill sitting on your nightstand. Picking it up, you see it’s Advil.

“Joe…..” you whisper, realizing he must have left it here waiting for you once you woke up. Eyes watering at his thoughtfulness, you swallow it and head straight for the bathroom. You need to get cleaned up and get out there to see what kind of damage you’ve unintentionally inflicted on your child’s psyche.

You know how attached she is to you and don’t even allow yourself to think about how difficult it must have been to be so abruptly ripped away.

Especially when you’re the one who did the ripping.

The shower is kept to a minimum, and once your teeth are brushed and face clean, you don’t hesitate to step out of the room. Following the path of sound, in the kitchen is where you find Callie. With Joe. 

They’re sharing a quiet laugh, and you’re certain it’s quiet because he told her you needed your rest. Always looking out for you. 

However, it’s when Callie happens to glance your way that her eyes go big. 

“Mommy!”

She surprisingly climbs off the counter instead of outright jumping and runs over to you. You kneel down to meet her for her hug, so tight and welcoming. “Do you feel better?” 

“Oh baby, I’m always better when I get to see you.” Kissing her forehead, you add, gently, “mommy’s sorry for scaring you.” And it's true. You never meant to scare her or make her worry about you, and it's something you'll work as hard as necessary to make up to her.

But your sweet child surprises you with her authentic, mature reassurances. “It’s okay. Daddy said you were sad,” she explains and gasps. “I made you something to make you smile!”

Touched, you palm her cheek. She really is the light of your life. “I’d love to see it, baby.”

“Okay! I’ll be right back.” She rushes out of the kitchen, and you take the opportunity to talk to Joe. Wordlessly, you move over to hug him.

“Thank you.” There’s not enough thank yous to show him just how appreciative you are to have him in your life, to have him as Callie’s father. He took such control yesterday while you were busy drowning in your daddy issues. And now he’s still here when you’re almost certain that he was supposed to have flown out at the crack of dawn. “I’m really sorry about last night. That’s not—-I don’t get drunk. I would never leave Callie like that—“

“I don’t care about any of that,” he dismisses. You believe him, as he looks entirely uninterested in any explanation you want to provide him because he sees it as unnecessary. He takes the back of hand to feel your forehead. “How are you feeling? Did you take the Advil?”

Nodding, you try again, “seriously, Joe. You’ve changed your whole schedule around—“

“You needed me,” he answers. “There was nothing to think about.”

And the tears are brewing again, but for very different reasons. This man is everything you’ve always wanted and dreamed of, even better. And he loves you. He wants to be with you. Your daughter's father wants to establish a life with you, be a family. What logical reason do you have to continue to deny him? Deny yourself?

“Joe…..” Licking your lips, you place your hands on his chest. “I lo—”

“Here it is, mommy!”

Callie’s interruption is both perfect and imperfect timing. You want so badly to tell him that you love him too, that you also want to be with him. But maybe it’s not the best timing, maybe the setting should be different.

You want him to know you love him not just because of the aftershocks of vulnerability. That you’re in love with him and have been since you were 23 years old. 

Callie is at your legs, holding up a drawing she created of you surrounded by hearts. Her artwork has always been her favorite form of expression, and you’re so grateful for her pure, kind heart in this moment.

Holding it against your chest, you lean down to accept her hug. “Thank you so much, baby. I love it.” 

“Yay!” She rejoices and then looks up between the two of you. “Daddy and I made you breakfast!”  

Gasping, you ask, “really?” It’s only then you notice the kitchen, while cleaner than one would expect after preparing breakfast with a four-year-old, you see the counters that have food laid out on a variety of plates and tupperware. “Waffles?”

“Your favorite.” Joe reaches to kiss your temple, and lightly pats your hip. “Sit down, we’ll fix it for you.”

You open your mouth to protest when Callie takes your hand and guides you to the barstools and scampers back over to Joe who picks her up, holding her with one arm while the other fixes your breakfast for you. He allows her to point and dictate what goes on your plate and how it’s fixed.

And you sit there, allowing yourself to take in this moment. There’s so much you need to navigate and sort through. Bianca, your dad, Mariah, hell, even finally being honest with Joe about your feelings. But, all of that can wait. 

Because all that matters right now are the two people you love most in this world.