#1940s masterlist

[themculibrary]

1940's Masterlist

a mother always knows (ao3) - readergirl1013 steve/bucky T, 16k

Summary: Winifred nods, a small knot of fear wending its way into her heart. He’s so…fixated on the Rogers boy. She swallows around the lump in her throat. Bucky is a good boy from an upstanding Christian family. He’s not like that. It isn’t possible - they’re raising him properly.

He’s just a confused little boy. He likes sports, and playing soldiers and cowboys with the other boys. He says all his prayers, memorized the Pater Noster, Ave Maria, and Gloria Patri, and he goes to catechism twice a week. And he’s bright, good with numbers like his father. He doesn’t try to play with his sisters’ dolls or dresses. He isn’t one of them. He can’t be.

Five times Winifred Barnes suspected her son was one of those sort, one time she knew for sure, and one more time.

a soldier and his fella (ao3) - Gbookworm1737 bucky/tony, peggy/steve M, 16k

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Bucky returns home to after nearly two years of separation from his darling fella Tony. Pleased to have his mate back in his arms and a roof over his head, Bucky is weary to discover that the remnants of war still lingers in his mind. What follows is a tumultuous few months in the harsh winters in Brooklyn and restless nights consisting of nightmares and conflict that pushes Tony and Bucky’s newfound relationship.

christmas eve (ao3) - NotEvenCloseToStraight bucky/tony, peggy/steve M, 10k

Summary: The night before he is shipped out overseas to the war, Alpha!Bucky and finds his soulmate in a night club downtown.

Omega!Tony knows the risks of falling in love with a soldier, but he gives Bucky his heart anyway, then kisses his mate goodbye the next morning with a promise to be waiting every Christmas Eve for Bucky to come home.

The war stretches long and after Bucky is hurt on a mission he returns home to the States not sure if his mate will even still want him.

But it’s Christmas Eve again and Tony has been waiting a long time for his soldier… and this year the Omega has another surprise.

Civilized Society (ao3) - kehinki steve/bucky T, 7k

Summary: Steve didn't want an alpha.

Demobilization (ao3) - 743ish steve/bucky E, 41k

Summary: When the Statue of Liberty slides into view, the whole ship roars. It’s deafening. Bucky throws his fist in the air and yells along with everyone else. His heart is in his throat. The Statue of goddamn Liberty. Bucky wants to climb up her robe and kiss her sour green face.

------

In 1945, Bucky comes home from the war.

Faith (ao3) - indiefic peggy/steve M, 7k (WIP)

Summary: Due to circumstances unknown, Peggy finds herself in a world where Schmidt never existed, Erskine was killed before the start of the war, and there was no Project Rebirth. She's convinced she's entered one of the rings of hell until she stumbles across someone with a familiar face.

His Girl (ao3) - Blondie2000 peggy/steve T, 2k

Summary: Set during Endgame. Steve chose to be with Peggy. How will she react to seeing Captain America back from the dead? And does she want to spend the rest of her life with him?

it don’t mean a thing (ao3) - Just_Bill bucky/tony M, 10k

Summary: Bucky didn’t expect much more than a good salary and a hot meal when working the Stark gala. What he found was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. Unfortunately they live in a time where love between men is dangerous and forbidden, and the world is at war.

i was made to love you, darling (ao3) - MacksDramaticShenanigans steve/bucky G, 4k

Summary: The handprint is stark against Steve’s pale, almost translucent skin. It’s big, too, all five fingerprints wrapping around the entirety of his thin upper arm. Steve twists in front of the grimy mirror, holding his arm out at an awkward angle. He bites down on his lower lip and lifts a hand to carefully brush his long fingers over the black smudges.

His skin is buzzing, but it’s not from the marks. Nothing has happened with them since he woke up, there are no new colors dancing across his skin where they were, and he doesn’t expect there to be. Steve doesn’t know if he ever expects there to be, which is part of why he’s buzzing. Too much nervous energy coursing through his veins. He may have finally reached eighteen, but that doesn’t guarantee that he’ll ever actually find his soulmate. Or that he even has one.

Look to the Past to Find Your Future (ao3) - Stuckonstuckony (adoctoraday) bucky/steve/tony E, 46k

Summary: Tony takes a detour to the 40’s after defeating Thanos thinking it’ll just be a quick stop before returning to the future. And then he runs into Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes and everything changes.

Malfunctioning Time (ao3) - Kiragirl17 steve/tony, bucky/tony T, 245k

Summary: FemiTony. Time travel. Eventual Steve/Toni. With some Bucky/Toni thrown in there

Trying to forget that today was March 15 and trying to escape the long lecture from Rogers, Toni locks herself in her lab to work on a new project; however, she never expects her unfinished device to misfire and send her back to the sexist 1940's.

Now, completely alone with no resources whatsoever, Toni finds herself struggling to survive on her own, especially when she discovers she's being followed. Unsure of who it is and what they want, she struggles to keep them at bay. To make matters worse, she finds herself on Colonel Phillips' radar. However the worst of it, she has to deal with her Egoist Father, who doesn't get the picture and won't leave her the hell alone.

What a woman to do?

of all the gin joints (ao3) - dracusfyre bucky/tony T, 3k

Summary: Bucky feels like he’s crashing and burning while Steve is soaring like a goddamn all-American bald eagle or something. But as Steve walks off with Agent Carter and leaves Bucky to drink alone, a mysterious stranger decides he wants to kiss him and make it all better.

our beginning (ao3) - ohstars steve/bucky T, 167k

Summary: Set in the twentieth century, this is the story of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. Before they became Captain America and the Winter Solider. Before the war. Before the world put all of its weight on their shoulders.

Just two kids trying to get by in the world, and falling in love along the way.

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes (ao3) - SmolderingFlame steve/bucky E, 90k

Summary: Steve Rogers is the most dangerous man in Brooklyn. Bucky Barnes is the son of an abusive drunk who needs to pay off a serious gambling debt. Just so happens Steve has a thing for pretty brunettes with feisty attitudes.

there's nothing left of you (ao3) - notallbees steve/bucky, peggy/steve, bucky/omc E, 22k

Summary: Bucky’s having a hard time reconciling Captain America with the friend he left behind in Brooklyn. It’s bad enough that every time he closes his eyes he sees the inside of a torture chamber. Now, every time he opens them again, he sees a stranger with Steve Rogers’ eyes and smile.

The Size of Perfection (ao3) - Phoenike steve/bucky E, 31k

Summary: The serum enhances Steve’s physical attributes to peak condition. All of them. Unfortunately, ‘enhanced’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘optimal’ or ‘something that a fella wishes to show the girl of his dreams on their wedding night.’

Through The Open Window (ao3) - 74days steve/bucky E, 28k

Summary: Steve Rogers gave up on joining the army and worked for Stark Industries writing policy letters by hand. It's a dull job, right up until the office across the fire escape is given to an attractive stranger with one arm and no personal boundaries.

War, What is it Good For? (ao3) - Steggy peggy/steve N/R, 3k

Summary: Agent 13 was content. She fought, she worked, she planned. She participated in the war effort to drive the Germans out of Russia. She kept her emotions and impulses in check. Until a kid from Brooklyn made her start questioning herself.

we did not make ourselves (ao3) - M_Leigh steve/bucky G, 25k

Summary: It is like steel, the determination inside of you that tells you you will achieve this, that you will find him. Nothing will stop you. You are two sides of the same coin, you and he: he cannot escape you forever. Bucky runs. Steve follows.

Yes, Captain (ao3) - marlowe_tops steve/bucky E, 23k

Summary: Starts pre-Serum, in which Bucky takes seriously terrible care of himself because he’s trying to stifle the feelings he keeps having for Steve. Steve gets so pissed that he flat out orders Bucky into eating and sleeping and they both quickly realize Bucky loves being ordered around, but their new-forged domestic bliss is quickly damaged by the encroaching war.

[imaginedreamwrite]

I’ll Get By

A/N: There are things I’m bound to get wrong about the 1940s and asylum’s, so please forgive me. There was also a lot of prejudice for people especially if they were gay, and there is a gay patient mentioned in the first chapter. If you’re uncomfortable with it please don’t read. Thank you!

Part 1: An Anomaly

1946 — St. Catherine’s Asylum

The heavy coating of stagnant rain water on the streets had nearly taken you out the moment you stepped onto the stone staircase of the building. The breath had been ripped from your lungs the moment you felt your feet slip.

You squealed in surprise and if it hadn't had been for the railing, you would have fallen on your backside. After righting yourself and fixing the starch nurse’s uniform you were deemed to wear, you unfurled your nearly broken umbrella and carried on.

You were rushing this morning, rushing into the front door of the asylum with your nurse's bag bouncing against your hip. Once you stepped through the door and shook off the umbrella twice, you had blown a curled piece of your hair out of your face.

“Close that damned thing right now!” One of the patients lingering near the door smoking—seemingly unbothered by the nurse who was supposed to be watching him—barked a demand. “Don’t you know opening an umbrella indoors is bad luck, you daft girl!”

You could have responded with ire at the man wearing faded blue pinstriped pyjamas, many other nurses had. I like other nurses, you knew he wasn’t mad, you knew he wasn’t the kind of man who lost his mind over drink or injury. He was a man who was stalwart in his sexuality and attraction to men, and for that, he was committed.

“Good morning, Mr. Samson.” You closed the umbrella and folded it up, adhering to his superstitions while offering him a small smile.

Mr. Lyle Samson was a man with streaky black hair and rather odd coloured eyes—one almost iridescent blue and the other brown—a crooked nose from it being broken, and thinly pressed lips. He was a cantankerous man, one who had grown more ire-some from the treatment he had received in the asylum. The doctors held little care for the patients, even less for men like him, and as it was, he had suffered as well at the hands of his family.

“Your lipstick is a mess, girl. Fix yourself.” He lifted the cigarette to his lips, inhaling the Camel brand smoke and exhaling from the side of his mouth. He had glanced you over, once more, before he extended his hand and clutched onto your wrist. He squeezed once then relaxed and squeezed again, a telltale signal he had used when he wanted to send a message.

“There’s someone new.” He mumbled under his breath, inching forward while staring you down with his blue and brown eyes. “A famous fella.”

“Famous?” You looked past him to the first floor nurses station, toward the nurse who was disposed to be monitoring him. “Someone famous?”

“Used to be, before the damned shit-hole government stripped him of his title.” He turned his head and spat a few inches from your feet, the aftermath of sucking back a Camel cigarette. “He’s in the men’s ward, hates the doctors.”

“Mr. Samson, smoke is over!” The haughty nurse who had been on monitoring duty for the Lyle Samson started her approach. You could hear the clack of her heels on the aged and worn wood floor, the heady stride of her feet as she rushed toward him.

You knew that atmosphere wasn’t kind to men like him, men who hadn’t wanted a traditional life that fit society’s norm’s in the 1940s. He was a man who was attracted to men, and for that, he was punished by both the authorities and his family.

“He’s fine, he was telling me about a new patient—“ you rose to his defence, vocally, and had immediately been chided by the nurse.

“He is not fine.” Her voice darkened, and her eyes narrowed explicitly toward you with a tempestuous manner. “He is finished his cigarette, and you need to head to the men’s ward.”

Your breath had hitched in your throat, your hands tightened around the handle of the umbrella. Your nails dug into the varnish of the wood, though not deep enough to leave a mark, your mind immediately racing. The men’s ward was no nurses’ top choice when doing their rounds, and there was often a lack of willing volunteers. For you to be assigned to the men’s ward, you knew it was some kind of hazing because you were the newest.

They would hand you over to the men on a silver platter, leaving you to the men, who were frequently mad and violent. While there were some who were left solely on lockdown and very rarely got to spend time in the common area, others were left to roam—within reason. You had spent time in the children’s ward, which was a close second to the least desired floor, and the least amount of time on the women’s ward.

“Me—“

“I don’t have time to argue, Nurse L/N.” She cut you off with a stern and harsh bite, directing her inability to care beyond base empathy toward you. “Now.”

Your feet carried you in a rush, moving you near the staircase that led to the men’s ward. You nearly tripped over your feet before you had even taken the first step. Your hand rest upon the wooden railing that would take you up the winding staircases. You would wander through doors that were locked every night until you got to the fourth floor, which was where the men’s ward was.

The asylum was laid out in 5 massive floors that extended through winding hallways that were dimly lit by old windows. On the main floor was the receptionist’s and the warden’s office. The doctor’s offices for the children’s and men’s ward were on the main floor, unlike on the women’s floor. The doctors themselves had no special interest in spending more time than what was necessary in those areas.

The women’s unit was on the third floor above the laundry, kitchen, medical examination and treatment rooms on the second floor. Next had come the children’s floor that was not nearly comforting enough for kids left behind or admitted. The fourth floor was dedicated to the men that were admitted and held in their own contained unit, like the children.

And then there was the fifth floor that was exclusively held and dedicated to the incurables. They were the men, women, and children who were so manic and wild, deemed impossible to fix, that they should be locked away and forgotten about. Lyle Samson was unfortunately going to be moved to the incurable’s floor after Doctor Rollins had determined his sick pleasures could not be fixed, and all attempts were feeble.

“The men’s ward…” your feet carried you slowly, every step felt as if there was an ounce of lead sewn into your flesh.

You moved through the staircases from floor to floor, starting from the main floor to the fourth. You stopped at the double set of wooden doors with frosted glass. The lettering for the men’s ward was scrawled in faux painted gold—a decorative addition to make people believe that this place wasn’t as nefarious as it actually seemed. You reached up and placed your hand upon the wood and pushed slowly, just enough to be able to slip through the door and into the ward.

The door felt heavy behind you as it shut with a bang, the force tipping you forward. All the weight of your body shifted to the front of your feet, more specifically your toes. You had nearly toppled, almost flailing entirely, until you felt a steady hand on your arm acting as a support pillar. However, you were soon to learn that it wasn’t just one hand on you but another, a large warm hand on the small of your waist that was immediately followed by a voice.

“The door always sticks,” you could only describe the voice as honey-laced whiskey, something deep and smooth but afflicted with a weariness, “you’re not the first nurse it’s nearly knocked over.”

The honey-laced whiskey voice belongs to someone you’ve never possibly imagined would be in a place like this. The man whose face was plastered across magazines—who had comic books created about him and had even starred in movies to stir the morale of the country during the war—was standing so close to you, you could see the green in his blue eyes.

His blonde hair was brushed out of his face and styled like you’d seen so many times before. There was a firmness to his jaw that allocated your attention before it was quickly drawn to the rest of him. His shoulders seemed unnaturally broad, and his chest was firm, despite the starchy grey uniforms the patients wore. You could easily detect the size of the American hero who had liberated men in Europe, and saved thousands.

The hero, who had been a beacon of light and hope, was squandered after the war. The papers called him mad with grief, a man who had seen the horrors of war and lost all sense of self. It happened after he had lost one member of the unit he led. The Howling Commandos lost Sergeant Barnes, or Bucky as he was known as, and Captain Rogers was never the same.

Although standing here now, looking at him as he held you steady after you nearly fell, you see none of the madness he was accused of. There was nothing whatsoever in his blue-green eyes to make you think he was mad enough to be here.

“Thank you…Captain Roger’s…” you spoke with hesitancy and the sound of your voice was enough to break the spell he had you under. In a moments notice, you’d been called to the nurses desk, breaking the firm yet gentle hold he had on you.

You turned your back to him and fixed your nurses cap, only recognizing his eyes on you when you felt heat starting to grow in your belly.

[bradshawsbaby]

Letters to My Love

SERIES MASTERLIST

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story!

JOIN THE TAGLIST!

Table of Contents

Part I // The Night We Met

Part II // Georgia on My Mind

Part III // Blue Moon

Part IV // Moonlight Becomes You

Part V // Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy

Part VI // May Your Days Be Merry and Bright

Part VII // Auld Lang Syne

Part VIII // We’ll Meet Again

Part IX // Dream A Little Dream Of Me

Part X // Rosie the Riveter

Part XI // COMING SOON

[taccobelle]

WELCOME TO MY BOOK CLUB 📚

First rule about The Book Club? talk about The Book Club!

Here in TaccoBelle's book club 📚 is where I will keep a collection of all my favorite recent reads and their authors, in no particular order!

I can't always help in more impactful ways, like commissions, but I can definitely share the content!

if you'd like to join my book club give send an ask! let's make a community of these awesome reads!!

Disclaimer: due to some suspicious and disgusting events happening on this site involving a minor, I feel the obligation to reinforce that most, if not all, of these stories are 18+. They contain content that is NOT suitable for minors, so please do not interact! Mature themes will/may be discussed in these stories that is definitely not appropriate for minors. I do not claim to be the author of any of these works, merely a fan

TaccoBelle's Book Club

Simmer: Jim’s Midnight Grill -line cook! Eddie Munson x Shy Fem! Reader

Author: @upsidedownwithsteve

Summary: welcome to hawkins' number one diner! where the staff don't wanna be there and the linecook is a grumpy metal head who likes to argue with his boss and ignore everyone else. but the new waitress can't hack the rude customers and the regulars can be a little... much.

What to expect: “serving up indiana heatwaves, slow burns, walk in freezer breakdowns, late night talks, shared shakes and food as a love language. order extra spice for $4.

141K, a linecook!au with eddie munson and shy fem!reader.”

My thoughts: I absolutely found this fic by chance, and boy am I glad I did! The writing for this fic is absolutely amazing, the way I feel every single emotion the author wrote was crazy! Eddie is this story is such a little grump and the contrast of the shy teacher was so adorable, my favorite moments were when she was being defiant towards him and he didn’t know how to act because no one had ever stood up against him in his kitchen 🥹 totally recommend, this is a slow burn and I thrive in slow burns, can’t wait to read more from this author!

The Breakfast Club - Eddie Munson X Cheerleader!Reader

Author: @radioactiveparker

Summary: Five high school students from different walks of life endure a Saturday detention under a power-hungry principal. Each has a chance to tell his or her story, making the others see them a little differently. And when the day ends, they question whether school will ever be the same. (A retelling of The Breakfast Club, written and directed by John Hughes.)

What to expect: Enemies to lovers / All Characters Are 18+ / Strong Language / Sex References / Mentions of Abuse (physical and emotional) / Cheating / Bad Relationships / Dysfunctional Families / Arguing / Materialism / Kleptomania / Stereotyping / Sexual Orientations / Drug Use / Mentions of Alcohol / Smoking / Pyromania and Fire / References to Demonianism and Satanism / References to Religious Beliefs / Social Alienation / Angst / Hurt-Comfort / Use of Y/N (like once or twice) / Eddie is a complete asshole

“A/N: This mini series is set in its own little world, so it does not follow the Stranger Things timeline, and I have taken some creative liberties with most characters. Yes, they are all still in high school (final year and 18+), and yes, some of the events don't match up - just forget everything you knew about Stranger Things, it's easier that way haha.”

My thoughts: I am in absolute love with this series and can’t wait for updates ! I am so obsessed with the Breaksfast Club narrative, the enemies to lovers, the popular girl x school freak. It’s so enticing and I am a sucker for it! But what the author does that I am loving is that they set themselves apart from the original movie, js the interaction of the reader with other characters, I won’t spoil it, but it’s a little heartbreaking 💔 from the little that I have read from the 3 chapters so far, it is great!

Not Very Noble

Author: @allthingsjoeq

Summary: Your kingdom is placed under threat of liquidation, the villagers crying out for help as each day they enter greater poverty. As their princess you have been chosen to amend the broken monarchy, creating a truce between the neighbouring royals, and fulfilling a marriage decided by the King. A low-ranking knight and Princess both from reverse backgrounds thrusted together against choice, they descend into a journey of Hate, Lust and Love all while caught in between a circle of lies.  

What to expect: Knight Eddie x Princess Reader Disclaimer: Enemies to Lovers, Angst, eventual fluff, light smut to come. Royal and medieval references but they may not all be 100% accurate.

My thoughts: I have a huge fascination with Medieval things, and think there isn’t nearly enough Eddie Munson Medieval themed AU’s and I think that’s a problem! This in particular is so well written, so beautifully put, it made me weep, and cry like a big baby from reading this, and it’s not even complete yet!!!!!! Y’all KNOW how much I buss down for an Enemies to Lovers trope 😩 I really hope they update this soon because I am patiently waiting 🥹

Not Wholly Evil

Author: @uglypastels

Summary: as the daughter of the Governor, there is quite a heavy prize set on your safe return home, and the captain will not let anything come between him and his bounty.

What to expect: "semi dark fic" - READ the warnings:. (gun/sword)violence. blood. minor character death. allusions to suicide. kidnapping. imprisonment. alcohol. open and deep sea. pirates are pigs: frequent mentions of non-con and allusions to assault, but it does not actually occur. malnourishment. abuse. manhandling.

My thoughts: I LOVE me some pirate au, I think it is so incredibly fitting for Eddie to be set in this role. It is still on-going so it only has 2 chapters, but that was enough to make me sign up for the tag list!! It’s is beautifully written, the descriptions are so good it makes me feel like I am IN the Hellfire ship. Super excited to see where this is take me, and I hope they update it soon because it’s my new obsession!

Turtle dove and the crow

Author: @blue-mossbird

Summary: You’ve known Edward Munson since he moved into the farm next door with his uncle - eight years old, odd, and utterly intriguing to you. For ten years, you’ve known him, and over that time, he’s become your best friend. But now, in the dreamy haze of August heat, you begin to know him in a different way. And in this process of knowing and becoming known, lives will be irrevocably changed.

What to expect: 1940s Farm AU, featuring bsf!neighbor!eddie x fem!reader18+ (minors dni). smut; true love; unexpected pregnancy; angst, angst, angst; parental issues; corporal punishment; scheming, plotting, and betrayal; hurt/comfort; period-typical stigma regarding unwed pregnancy; angst with a happy ending. oral (f!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, breeding kink.

My thoughts: holy shit my dudes, I think I found my new hyper fixation, to add to the list of stories I will check daily for updates! This is only the first episode and it already has me in a death grip 🫥 I am in love with 1940’s due to Bucky Barnes, and mixing Eddie in with that aesthetic threw me for a loop!! This is not the fic for you if you want cannon content, it is clearly set in another world, a different decade, and seems to me like it’s Eddie’s personality adapted for a 1940’s farm boy view, and I think I’m in love. Plus my fantasy of being a southern Belle (that’s my name if you didn’t know) is in an all time high with this. I can already picture all of the angst and all the crying in my bed at 2am this story will bring me, and I’m so excited 🤩

June Baby

Author: @luveline

Summary: you’re a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. queue smiley face oatmeal, grossly misused power tools, desserts on the living room floor, a haircut, and an abundance of nerd metaphors

What to expect: teen mom!reader, fem!reader, r is Junie’s birth mother, fluff, hurt/comfort, Eddie ends up being a total girl dad (<3), mutual pining, yearning, etc, tw for not having much money, general loneliness, mentions of a shitty/traumatic pregnancy, general mom struggles :(, slow-burn friends to lovers, you wash Eddie’s hair!!!! this was low-key requested by anon

My thoughts: Honest to god, this is one o the best writing I have ever read on this app. The way Jade uses her words to describe the scenes, ughhhhhhh I can't explain, but Jade writes like a scene of a movie. It does not feel like the supporting characters don't feel like they seize to exist as soon as the main characters move on to a different scene. I love how the supporting characters are all incredibly detailed, feel like real people, and have real people reactions to things; weird, I know, haha. I love how much I adore this story so much. it does not feel like a simple fic, like I would invest in a start-up for this to be published into an actual book. It is so good, so sweet. I absolutely adore this story. It makes my heart do three summersaults per second every time Jade posts a new chapter, the characters have my fucking heart 🥺

Meet The Munsons

Author: @mypoisonedvine

Summary: you were barely acquaintances in high school, but his reputation as a delinquent and freak didn't exactly endear you to him. now he's moving in. at the risk of being too literal: oh, brother.

What to expect: kind of incest, but not really? male masturbation, swearing, mentions/implications of a deceased parent, reader is a tad judgmental but that's what character development is for!

My thoughts: I have read and re-read this story about three times. If I'm not mistaken, this is the only complete one on this list. I LOVE IT SO MUCH!! it made me so giddy. a grown woman giggling and kicking my feet like a little girl. I love the evolution of the characters and the way, slowly but surely, their feelings start to slip out, and by the end, you are totally like, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, JUST HOLD HANDS, I BEG OF YOU. Not gonna lie, the "kind of incest" threw me off at first, but then you find out that they aren't actually related in no way possible; the reader's mom marries Uncle Wayne, and they are not raised together, so their not that weird situation of raised like siblings, which would make it really weird when they make out pretty heavily. Can't believe I'm defending incest.

The "Yes" Policy

Author: @pinkrelish

Summary: After a lifetime of questionable decisions, you moved from the big city to the sleepy town of Hawkins with your best friend and took the first job you saw: answering phones for the most boring auto shop in the dullest place on Earth. It wasn't exactly the adventure you wanted it to be.. but attempting to win over the jaded mechanic who insisted on ignoring your existence proved entertaining.

What to expect: slow burn, eventual smut, strangers to lovers, flirting, mutual pining, angst, drug/alcohol mention/use, depictions of poverty, sort of grumpy x sunshine, but Eddie's just tired, reader and Eddie are mid-late 20's

My thoughts: This fic singlehandedly made me fall in love with the sunshine x grumpy trope, the thought of Eddie being a girl dad makes my heart double in size. Him being a single dad, Wayne being grandpapi is too cute! them doing their best to provide the best for their little princess, and the relationship between Miss Mouse and Adrie has my heart.

To Have and To Scold

Author: @icallhimjoey

Summary: Your best friends are getting married, and who else can they ask to be their best man and maid of honour but you and Joe? It's just that... you don't really get along all that well, do you? At least, that's what you think.

What to expect: CW / disclaimer: sort of enemies to sort of lovers (very vague, im sorry, but you'll see), language, drinking, rpf, fem!reader

My thoughts: I don’t usually like reading real person fics, like when the character is actually a real life person, I much prefer a fictional character because otherwise sometimes I get weirded out. That being said, I decided to give this fic a try, and I must say that I was pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed the story. I picked it up and couldn’t put the phone down till I finished! The characters are engaging, and story is so sweet 🫶🏼

Bad Idea

Author: @lunarzstarz

Summary: Not wanting to leave for college with your virginity still intact, you turn to your last resort that you know can only end terribly…

What to expect: NSFW 18+ minors dni, drugs, first Times, oral (F receiving), fingering, protected sex, nicknames (Princess/Sweetheart), Eddie being a goof but also an asshole (Slightly proofread) Fuckboy!EddieMunson x Virgin!Fem!Reader

My thoughts: smut, plain smut. And I love it. Eddie is kind of a dickhead, not gonna lie, but then he starts to show signs of falling for the reader, regular shmegular lowkey toxic trope, but I love it!!!!

Crayons and Cassettes

Author: @comfort-writing

Summary: You are a kindergarten teacher. Eddie’s daughter, Sage, is in your class. She bonds with you instantly, and Eddie is trying not to do the same.

What to expect: his fic will be 18+ in later chapters, so minors DNI! In this chapter, it is mentioned that rumors about Eddie still linger. no use of y/n. I can think of nothing else for this chapter because it’s just an introductory one, but please let me know if I missed anything!

My thoughts: I have not finished this fic yet, but s far it is amazing!! Eddie is so nervous and so sweet, but still nerdy, and charming.

Honey I'm Home

Author: @trashmouth-richie

Summary: you were desperate for a roommate after Nancy got married and moved out. An ad in the paper goes unanswered until someone comes knocking on the door.

What to expect: enemies to lovers trope, eventual smut, language, crude behavior, Eddie is a fucking menace.

My thoughts: I honestly fell in love with this story, it is so mysterious, and so touching, funny, endearing, and most of all, a big tease. I fell in love with these characters, and their personalities, how they are together, and how the interact with one another. The idea of an older protective Eddie, that is conflicted with the thoughts of seeing Tooty as a little girl, but now she is a grown woman is mesmerizing to read, and Richie does an amazing job at writing it all so well.

Disjointed

Author: @boomhauer

Summary: Nurse!Reader is reunited with her high school crush in the emergency room. Faced with a lifetime worth of debt, she helps Eddie in the only way she can.

What to expect: Fake marriage. Friends to lovers. Medical trauma. Lemon/Smut. Angst. Slow burn. No Vecna!!

My thoughts: This a new type of fic for me, I had never read anything in the nursing realm, an amazing first! I appreciate the reality of it all, from what I understand the author has personally experienced some of these scenarios, and im guessing has been/is a nurse practitioner, so makes for an extremely believable, and amusing plot!!

Twenty Four Hours

Author: @ghost-proofbaby

What to expect: modern!Eddie Munson x fem!reader, uses female pronouns on occasion. strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

Summary: in which Eddie Munson and you absolutely hate each other's guts. what happens when your friends make a bet that you can't spend more than twenty-four hours consecutively together? modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader

My Thoughts: I love Enemies to Lovers trope!! This fic is full of stunning writing, amazing visual descriptions of feelings, and hot-ass characters! this made me cry on multiple occasions, in a good way! Though I am a crybaby. Eddie is such a sweetheart in this, and mean in some chapters, but it's all for the feels!!

Smoke Signals

Author: @eddies-house

What to expect: Grumpy!Eddie Munson x shy!reader, uses female pronouns on occasion, strong language, eventual smut, PTSD, trauma, talks about trauma, mentions of death, mentions of bullying, minors dni, set in a town other than Hawkings

Summary: Relocating to the small town of Knife’s Edge in hopes of leaving your old life behind and starting brand new solves all of your problems, right? Wrong. It only creates more and one of them may live right next door. Side effects may include blaring music at 3AM, a scowling neighbor, and one too many shots of tequila on several occasions. (That The Bourbon will not be comping.)

My Thoughts: I love Enemies to Lovers trope! That much isn't any news to you guys! This fic is so lovely written, I love how real the characters feel, and how immersed I was in reading this, I am so related to the character because I too am a crybaby. Eddie is such a sweetheart in this, I just want Bambi to hug and kiss him 🥹, and mean in some chapters, but it isn't in a toxic sort of way.

Begin Again

Author: @abibliophobiaa

What to expect: Eddie’s post-S4 trauma; panic attacks; nightmares; family member loss; grief; alcohol use; mild smut in later chapters, so 18+; additional warnings to be added. Eddie Munson x afab!reader, sunshine!reader x grumpy!eddie vibes

Summary: The year is 1988. After the loss of a beloved family member, you find yourself inheriting an old coffee shop. The quiet bartender at the Hideout across the street just so happens to catch your eye.

My Thoughts: you know that I love sunshine!reader x grumpy!eddie vibes! This fic is so nicely written, It has long chapters which I fiend for, I absolutely adore it when a fic has 20K words in one chapter, it only has 4 of them because it takes place as a chapter for each season, which is generous btw, wish I'd thought of this!

Beast of Burden

Author: @neonghostlights

What to expect: Fuckboy!Werewolf!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader Eddie gets called a man-whore (not by reader), mates, cussing, mention of almost hitting an animal with your car (doesn't happen but almost does), parental and grandparent death (readers whole family is dead) 18+ only, minors dni

Summary: (doesn't really have a summary, but this post the author made pretty much sums up) "I’m thinking about fuckboy!werewolf Eddie. Let’s say he’s gotten around with every girl in Hawkins because he never thought he’d have a mate. That was until you, a human, showed up and proved him wrong. Now he has to find a way to prove himself to you."

My Thoughts: yeah! fucking sue me, I like werewolf fanfictions! I can't really blame it all on Twilight, except I absolutely will blame it all on Twilight. But I swear this is really cute, and I live for it!

[thereadingfangirl]

𝟏𝟗𝟒𝟎'𝐬 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐔 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Basic by @kaunis-sielu​

Trinkets by @buckybarnesthehotshot​

[aquaticmercy]

My Own Soul’s Warning

Summary : You, an immortal being, falls in love with the very mortal Bucky Barnes. You would do anything for him, even if it meant you had to strike a deal with Death herself.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Violence, death, trauma, mentions of sex (not graphic), cursing. Rio Vidal makes an appearance. Angst with a happy ending. Fluff!!!!

Word count : 6.3k

Note : This fic was inspired by Agatha and Rio, though this has a much happier ending. Reader is the Spirit of Suffering, an immortal entity who shows herself to people in extreme physical and emotional suffering to help ease the pain. The title is inspired by the Killers song of the same name. The fic started in the 1940s and ends after FATWS. Enjoy!

The sequel to this story is out now!

Bucky x Spirit of Suffering!reader masterlist

The first time Bucky saw you, it was 1942. He was in the trenches, under the dim moonlight of Germany.

He was supposed to be Sergeant James Barnes, fighting to defend his country. But then? He was only selfishly fighting for his own life. 

The air was thick with the stench of mud, sweat, and blood. The world around him felt like a prison of haze and darkness— machine guns firing in the distance, the rumble of explosions shaking the ground underneath him. 

He knew it only took one mistake, one slip up, and this is how he would die.

He was tired beyond anything he’d ever felt before, his body crumbling after days without sleep. His body ached from wounds he hadn’t couldn’t treat— the infirmary was crowded, too crowded to even see the ‘small’ gushing cut on his forearm that didn’t feel so small right now. 

But he could take the physical pain. It was the gnawing fear that was the hardest to bear, creeping over him, curling around his ribs like a rope, tightening until it hurt to breathe.

Then, through the smoke and shadows, he saw you. 

You were just a figure at first, standing a few yards away. You were cloaked in the same darkness that had swallowed up his world. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed that you didn’t quite belong.

You were almost radiant, the flickering light from the fire catching on something otherworldly in your gaze. Bullets flew past you, going through your being as if you were only made of smoke.

You were watching him, silent and still. Your expression was carefully neutral, a warmth in your eyes that cut through the cold surrounding him.

He blinked, half-believing you were just a figment of his exhaustion.

When he opened his eyes again, you were still there, a steady presence in the middle of the chaos. Bucky felt a strange sense of peace swallow him, like the world had gone silent in the space between his heartbeat and your gaze. 

You didn’t say a word, but you didn’t need to. Just being there, in a place where everything was twisted and brutal and so fucking wrong, you felt like a sliver of peace in this nightmare that was wartime. 

Something deep in his gut told him that he wasn’t meant to understand who, or rather what, you were. And yet, he felt safer at the mere presence of you. Before he could reach out to test if you were real, you were gone— slipping away into the dark like a ghost.

—

The next time he saw you was when he was half-dead, bleeding out in the snow after the fall from the train. The pain was more than unbearable, raw and sharp and insufferable. His nerves burned, radiating from every shattered bone, every freezing inch of his numb skin. 

His vision blurred, the sky above flickering in and out of view as his mind faded in and out of consciousness. He wondered if this was going to be his death, a slow and dramatic fade to black he only ever saw in the movies Steve dragged him to.

Then he saw you again, standing in the snow.

The sight of you jolted him back to consciousness, just enough to cling to the edge of the living world. This time, there was no mistaking the look on your face— a look of concern. 

For a moment, he thought you must be an angel coming to collect him. 

You must be. 

There you were, silently watching him with that same expression of warmth he’d seen in the trenches.

He struggled to sit up to get a better look at you, every little movement sent pain shooting through him. Finally, he slumped back to the snow in defeat, breathing hard. 

“What are you doing here?” His voice was hoarse, nearly swallowed up by the howling wind.

The cold, harsh winter wasn’t a place for someone who looked as fragile as you, he thought.

You carefully took a step closer, as if unwilling to disturb him. There was a slight curve to your lips, something that could have been a smile but wasn’t quite, as you looked down at him. “I’m looking out for someone.”

He swallowed a strange lump in his throat, the sharp tang of fear and curiosity contrasting the cold bite of the freezing air. “Who?” His voice cracked, barely audible.

“You,” you said, your voice as quiet as a prayer.

It was such a simple answer, but it hit him like a wave. In the midst of all the pain, he suddenly felt relief. 

The hurt eased, the cold stung a little less.

He didn’t know if you were a dream, a ghost, or something beyond his understanding. But at that moment, he didn’t care. All that mattered was that you were there, that you had come for him. That he wasn’t alone. 

As his vision started to fade again and the darkness crept back, he realised you didn't leave any footprints in the snow. 

—

Bucky didn’t know why you kept showing up. 

Over the years, he felt your presence like his own shadow, drifting through the Hydra bases, the laboratories, the dark corners of the cell they kept him in between missions. The world around him was cold and sterile, a cage of steel where hope had no place, no right to exist.

Still, he saw you, quiet and watchful, a silhouette in the dim light. 

He would catch glimpses of you while the scientists strapped him to machines, the hum of needles piercing his flesh. You were there, watching over him, as they shocked cold electricity through his veins. Each time, his eyes would land on you, and you’d watch him from the far corner of the room, with that same calm, steady gaze.

Everytime his eyes locked on yours, the pain eased, even if only a little.

It became easier to take the torture.

It became easier to find rest.

Over time, Hydra erased his memories. 

Soon, he forgot his life. He forgot the people who used to love him, who grieved for him when he was lost. 

But he had never forgotten you. 

Maybe it was the first sign that you weren’t quite human.

One night, after a particularly brutal round of reprogramming, he saw you again, this time closer than ever before. 

You stood by his bedside, where he lay in the dark, barely clinging to sanity. He blinked, pain searing in his throat. He tried to reach for you, fingers trembling, and felt nothing.

“Where did you come from?” he whispered, his voice rough and broken, as he felt that comfort once again. 

The comfort he only had with you.

A soft smile touched your lips, something gentle and knowing. You were a light in the darkness of his fractured mind. “Far, far away from here.”

He closed his eyes, trying to etch your face to his memory, certain that if he did, he could take some small fragment of comfort back into the waking nightmare that was his brutal reality.

You knew, by the way his life was going, that you were going to see Bucky more and more.

It was the nature of your job, to look out for people like him.

After the next couple of visits, he started talking to you more and more— whenever he was left alone with his thoughts, whenever the pain or the hollow emptiness crept too close, he would search for you. 

And you’d be there, listening to the murmured secrets he’d never told another soul. 

He told himself you weren’t real, that he was just losing his grip on sanity, conjuring a kind face to stave off the horror. But that didn’t stop him from craving your presence.

—

Years later, he’d managed to break free of Hydra’s grip. He had carved out a life hiding in the far reaches of the world when he saw you again, as if you’d followed him through every corner of hell he’d tried to escape.

Romania was quiet, the kind of place where he could keep to himself. He had a run down studio apartment where the days blurred by and the silence was almost peaceful. 

Yet in that solitude, you appeared again, lingering in the shadow of an alleyway, or standing just beyond his view on quiet, empty streets. He’d catch your gaze through crowds when he was most alone, and he’d feel an overwhelming sense of calm, an unexplainable rush he could only have with you. 

It was on one of those quiet evenings, when he was washing dishes, that he saw you again, watching him from across the room. He stared, wiping his hands absently on the dish towel, still unsure if he was simply dreaming.

He called out in that soft voice of his, almost a whisper.

“Thank you for being here.” It was a simple admission, but it was true.

You tilted your head, that familiar gentleness in your eyes. “Always.” He replied.

The suffering he had recently was different— it wasnt physical as it usually was. It was an isolated sense of longing that broke the deepest parts of his heart, one that he couldn't quite heal himself.

Your warm and steady voice anchored him to the present. For the first time, he didn’t try to tell himself that you were a figment of his imagination. For just a moment, he let himself believe that you were standing there, real and alive, not just an invention of his lonely mind. 

And even as you disappeared, slipping away into the shadows, the feeling of your presence lingered, filling the emptiness around him.

—

The last rays of Wakanda’s sun slipped over the treetops, bathing everything in a warm, honeyed light that somehow reached even into the white-walled lab where Bucky was preparing himself for a long, cold sleep. 

He looked around, his gaze fixing on the distant horizon, the soft sounds of Shuri and the lab assistants moving in the background. 

He could feel his heart pounding. He was terrified, the horror clawing into him, even though he knew that this was the right decision. He knew that it was the safest thing for him to do— to go back in the ice until his trigger words could be removed.

It didn't stop the instinctive dread of being shut away again, though.

And then he saw you, standing behind a desk. He didn’t know how you’d gotten there, or if anyone else could even see you.

But there you were, just as you’d been so many times before, giving him a piece of calm he didn't quite understand.

For a long moment, he said nothing. He only looked at you. 

Somehow, you looked more real in this light, more human than he’d ever seen you before. Still, you had that hint of almost supernatural haze. He took a deep breath, feeling safer by the second, now that you were here.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” he asked, the words coming out like a whispered plea. He didn’t expect you to answer, not really.

His heart beat quicker as he waited, hoping you wouldn’t vanish as quickly this time.

You just smiled, that same soft, knowing smile you’d given him in the darkest hours of his life.

You nodded, “Only if you need me.”

The warmth of your words lingered in his mind as he took one last look at you. He felt the tension in his chest loosen, just enough to let him breathe again. He laid down, a feeling of peace settling over him. 

He closed his eyes, holding the memory of you close, feeling the faint impression of your smile stay with him as he drifted into the dark.

—

The next time he saw you, it was in the middle of another waking nightmare—the battlefield of Wakanda, chaos erupting in every direction as the forces of Thanos closed in. Bucky was fighting on pure instinct, his body moving with an instinct he’d learned in war. He drew on more and more on his Hydra training and sheer luck. 

After Thanos snapped, he saw you again. You were standing behind Steve, amongst the trees.

For the first time, your expression was not calm. You looked terrified. Your eyes, usually so steady, were wide, your face pale as you looked at him with a horror he’d never seen from you before.

Something inside him understood. He knew, even before the feeling swept over him—a strange tingling, a disintegration at the frayed edges of his body—that he was about to be turned to dust.

He tried to reach out, to touch you, to ask if he’d see you on the other side, but before he could say a word, he felt himself fade, slipping into nothingness, his best friend’s name the last thing he uttered.

—

When he returned—when the world pieced itself back together after five long years—he felt the dread of loneliness again. 

You came, though it felt like you carried a deeper sadness in your gaze than before. It was as if you had… missed him.

When Steve left, when Bucky watched his best friend walk away, disappearing into a life they’d both only dreamed of, he felt the emptiness he had left in his wake.

He stood there, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, feeling a hollow emptiness settle inside him, knowing he’d lost something irreplaceable, something that could never be returned when Steve decided to live a life he always wanted.

Then he saw you again, just a few steps next to him. He almost didn’t dare to look, afraid that you’d vanish if he did. When he finally turned, there you were, as calm as you’d always been, watching him with that familiar warmth and understanding.

“You’re not alone,” you murmured, your voice so gentle it felt like a medicine to the sickness of his soul.

He swallowed hard, nodding as he looked down. He tried to keep his composure, though he failed. 

He couldn’t bring himself to ask you who you truly were, if you truly knew the depth of what he’d lost, if you understood the kind of grief that was now carved so deeply inside him.

And you did. Grief was a human suffering, after all.

You stayed there, silent, a quiet witness to his pain as you offered a supernatural solace. 

—

Over the years that followed, you'd show up when the loneliness clawed too deep, when the nightmares took hold or when the silence of his apartment was too much to bear on his own. 

He started talking to you more than ever before.

When the silence weighed heavy on him, he’d glance into the shadows, almost expecting you to appear. And, as if by some unspoken agreement, you’d arrive just in time.

Yet, you never came too close. You stayed at a distance, as if you were made of something too fragile for this world. Bucky never minded, though. He had learned early on that pressing you for answers, for explanations, only ended with your departure. So he stopped asking them. He started accepting your presence as a gift he wasn’t meant to understand.

You were simply…there, steady and unchanging, offering comfort and warmth in a way no one else could. 

He’d tell you things he wouldn’t dare tell anyone else—confessions that clawed up from the darkest corners of his mind, memories from the days he wished he could erase. You would listen, without judgement, without a flicker of fear or revulsion. Your presence only ever brought you peace.

In those quiet, lonely moments, he came to rely on you, to look for you in the shadows. You were a silent companion in his darkest hours. And though he never stopped wondering who you truly were, he let himself believe, if only a little, that he had someone, that you were real enough to him.

—

One night, after a long silence had fallen between you, he confessed something.

“You know,” he said, his voice thick with sorrow and exhaustion, “I don’t… I don’t think you’re real.” He tried to smile, but it was faint. It was hollow. “I think to you’re just… my mind is playing tricks on me. I think I needed someone so badly that I made you up.”

He was laying himself bare. Raw. Vulnerable.

He was almost afraid to look at you, afraid that if he did, you would disappear, proving his confession true. Then, he forced himself to meet your eyes, searching for any sign of reaction.

You didn’t flinch, didn’t deny it. 

You only looked back at him with that same soft understanding.

“You’re just…” he murmured, trailing off. “You’re the most beautiful person I could imagine, someone I must have conjured to… to keep me from losing my mind.” He laughed bitterly, rubbing a hand over his face, not quite meeting your gaze. “Because no one like you would actually be here. Would actually want to be with someone as broken as me.”

He waited, his heart beating harshly. Part of him hoping you’d break the illusion, that you’d tell him he was wrong, that you were real. 

Faint sadness flickered in your eyes. “Suffering has never broken you before,” you said, “It will not break you now.” 

You didn’t confirm his fears, but you didn’t deny them either. 

That quiet, ambiguous acceptance soothed him more than any promise could have.

He let the questions go, even though they lingered in the back of his mind. 

He came to understand that perhaps it didn’t matter if you were real or not. He only needed you.

—

It was the dead of night, and Bucky was trembling.

He had woken up in cold sweat, the remnants of his nightmare gripping him like icy chains. He sat up, pressing his hands to his face, trying to push away the memories that refused to fade, the fractured images of a past that haunted him even in sleep. He swallowed, his voice rough, almost a whisper, as he murmured into the dark.

“Where are you?” he rasped, his voice thick with desperation. “Please, come back.” His heart pounded, his words barely a breath as he called for you, “Come back to me.”

He let his head fall into his hands, feeling so fucking foolish. 

He should've known.

He should’ve known that after all this time, he was still calling for a ghost, for a figment of his imagination, for someone he’d conjured out of pure, pathetic loneliness. 

As his breathing slowed, he felt something shift in the quiet corners of his room. A familiar warmth settled over him, gentle and comforting. He raised his head, and there you were, standing just a few feet away.

For a long moment, he simply stared, disbelief and wonder filling his stare. You looked more solid than he’d ever seen you before, as if reality had woven itself around you.

Light no longer passed through you. Your footsteps made thudding sounds on the ground. You tripped over a couple of the steps, as if learning how to walk with legs for the first time.

You moved closer towards him.

Seeing him so shaken, so desperately calling for you, had drawn you out in a way that felt irreversible. His cry was a pull too strong to resist. 

Gently, you reached out, your fingertips brushing his cheeks, tracing the faint stubble along his jaw, the warmth of his skin grounding you in this physical form. 

It was wrong for an immortal entity as ancient as you to take human form— you felt weaker, and your grasp on the unknown faltered. You knew, when you inevitably had to return to your ethereal form, that you would be exhausted. That it would hurt.

But after nearly a century of watching over James Buchanan Barnes, you had to know what his skin felt like.

His breath hitched at your touch. Slowly, his hands rose, trembling, to cover yours, pressing your palms to his face as if he was afraid you might disappear.

He blinked, eyes wide, searching your face. “You’re… real,” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper, an astonished relief flooding his eyes. “I can feel you.”

You nodded, letting your hands cradle his face, your thumbs softly brushing over his cheekbones. For a while, you stayed like that, letting his mind settle on the reality of you. 

“Who… who are you?” His voice was filled with awe. His gaze locked onto yours, desperate for answers.

You took a steady breath— and it felt off, like you had to learn it. 

You had never needed to breathe before. But now, you needed it as much as you needed him. 

You knew that him knowing what you were wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“I am the Spirit of Suffering,” you said quietly, your voice as soft as the night around you. “I ease the pain of those who suffer, showing myself to those who need me most. For eons, I’ve been drawn to pain, to sorrow. But… I’ve never been drawn to someone like you.”

His brow furrowed, confusion mingling with a sense of awe as he processed your words. He searched your face, as if trying to reconcile the warmth of your touch with the truth.

“You’ve been watching over me?” he murmured, struggling to fully grasp the revelation. 

You nodded, the truth spinning between you like a fragile thread. “Yes,” you admitted, your voice gentle, almost a whisper. “Every time you were in pain, it was my job to be there. The natural forces would not let me stop what happened to you, James, but I could keep you company, share the weight of your sorrow.”

He closed his eyes, his hands still covering yours. His grip on you tightened, trying to anchor himself to this moment. “So all those times I thought I was imagining you…”

“You weren’t,” you said softly, your gaze unwavering. 

He took a shaky breath.

You sat on the bed next to him, feeling the softness of bedsheets for the first time in your eternal existence.

“I’ve never met anyone like you, James.” Your hand drifted down to cover his heart, feeling its steady beat beneath your palm. “In all the lifetimes I’ve witnessed, through all the suffering I’ve felt, I’ve seen people become monsters, lose themselves to pain and suffering. But you… you never let it consume you. No matter how much they took from you, no matter how much you suffered, there’s still kindness in you.” You smiled, a flicker of admiration in your gaze. “You were the first person to show me that suffering doesn’t have to destroy.”

Bucky’s throat tightened. He reached up, his fingers brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear.

His touch was fleeting, as if he still couldn’t believe you were real. He searched your face, seeing the depth of who you truly  were. He saw your boundless compassion, the centuries, maybe millenia, of understanding that lingered in your gaze. 

You had been more than a dream, more than a figment of his imagination.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice filled with a sincere gratitude, “for helping.” 

As you looked at him, you realised just how much he needed you. And perhaps just how much you needed him.

—

Every night that he called for you, you’d be there for him, sacrificing your eternal strength just for a moment.

Just before the dawn’s first light, you’d pull away from Bucky’s life and disappear, dissolving back into the unknown.

You always lingered as long as you could, your human heart aching at the thought of leaving him alone again. But still, you slipped away, returning to your role as the silent companion of suffering, never able to stay beyond a few hours.

But Bucky kept calling for you.

Sometimes he’d wake from a nightmare, his voice rough with sleep and fear, calling you like a prayer, like you were the only thing anchoring him to this world. Sometimes he’d simply whisper into the dark, reaching out with an open hand, searching for your touch.

And each time, you answered. Despite the strain it placed on you, the unnatural weight of becoming flesh and blood for him, you would come back. You took on human form again and again, letting him feel the warmth of your hands. You told yourself that you could bear it, that his comfort was worth any mortal pain that your immortal spirit had to carry.

One night, in a moment of weakness, as you sat together on the edge of his bed, he looked at you with an intensity that made you feel as if your duties had disappeared. 

The silence stretched, and you could see what his eyes carried. The tenderness, the gratitude, the fierce need for you. He lifted a hand, gently brushing his fingers along your cheek. The softness of his touch reverberated through your flesh and blood. You were suddenly made aware that you had a beating heart as it was pounding against your fragile ribcage.

Before you could process the feeling, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was gentle, soft as a whisper, but it set something inside you alight, a sensation you’d never known before. 

You had seen humanity’s love from a distance, had watched the joy and heartbreak it could bring, but this… this was something beyond mere understanding. His lips were warm and real against yours, the taste of him grounding you in this fleeting human form in a way that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

For a moment, you were frozen, feeling his heartbeat under your fingertips, the rhythm steady, grounding. And then, almost instinctively, you kissed him back. You leaned into him, feeling the depth of his sorrow and his hope in that single, shared breath. 

Every inch of you felt alive, pulled into his gravity, the intensity of this moment overwhelming every human sense you didn't think you’d ever experience.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “I’ve waited so long to feel this,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. “To feel you like this.”

You felt a swell of emotion like a lightning strike— something so unfamiliar and impossible to ignore. You were a spirit who had known only of pain and how to relieve it, who had wandered the world in search of suffering to ease, yet this—this was something else entirely. This was desire, love—all foreign feelings that made you want to stay, to linger in his arms a little longer.

But dawn was coming, as it always did. Despite the ache in your chest, you knew you had to go. The world was waiting; and others needed you, too. 

With one last touch, your fingers brushing along his cheek, memorising the feeling of his skin.

You slipped away, dissolving back into the unseen, feeling his absence as if it were a physical wound.

—

It became a brutal cycle.

Every morning you would go, and every other night, when he called, you returned. Each time, the kiss lingered in your memory, the softness of his lips, the rush of your pulse, the racing of a heart that should not be yours to feel. It left you longing, yearning, pulling you back to him over and over, until every time you left felt like you were tearing yourself apart.

And though you slipped away at dawn, leaving Bucky alone with the shadows, you knew that a part of you stayed, lingering there beside him, just waiting for night to fall again so you could return to him.

One night, Bucky reached for you. His touch was gentle and filled with a hunger that was new to you. 

Tonight, he had a human desire for you that you had only observed in passing. His fingers entwined with yours, rough and warm, pulling you closer with a care that sent a strange warmth rushing through you. You sensed a gravity between you, one that seemed to draw every part of your physical form into his orbit, a sensation you never could have understood in your ethereal form.

As he guided you towards his bed, his gaze stayed on yours, searching and vulnerable, as though asking for permission. You felt a flicker of understanding in his silence, a human fragility and need that made your heart—this temporary, fragile, human heart—beat a little faster. 

You nodded.

When he leaned in to kiss you, the sensation was breathtaking, as it always was. 

That night, he showed you the depths of human pleasure, the way mortal love could break open walls so high so intensely that the shockwave that came after felt endless. Every caress of his hands, every whisper against your skin, seared into you like a brand.

Bucky gave you something new, grounding you in sensations you didn’t know were possible. In his arms, your physical senses were overwhelmed by the beauty and ache of human desire.

With each touch, each shared breath, he showed you parts of himself he had never shown anyone in a long, long time.

And as he moved with you, every boundary between the known and unknown seemed to dissolve, leaving only the two of you, bound in a shared, silent understanding that felt more ethereal than anything you’ve ever encountered.

When it was over, he held you close, his fingers tracing soft, slow patterns across your skin.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice filled with wonder— it was the truth. His eyes met yours, laying his heart bare for you to do whatever you pleased with it. To cherish or to break, he really didn’t care, as long as you were the one holding onto it. “I don’t know how it’s possible, but I do.”

In those words, you finally understood humanity’s deepest, truest suffering—the need to love and be loved.

For eons, you had only known suffering, solitude. The burden of easing pain without truly being seen, without knowing love in its purest form. But with Bucky, it was different.

“I love you too, James,” you whispered. It was a confession, as much a promise as it was a revelation. And you meant it. You felt a love that was boundless, stretching far beyond what this temporary human form of yours could contain.

Days passed, and each night, he would pull you close, his touch tender, his words gentle. His love was a constant that anchored you in this fragile, borrowed form. But each morning, as the first light crept over the horizon, you would pull yourself away, fading back into the shadows. 

Every time you left, you saw the ache in his eyes, a silent plea that grew more desperate with each parting.

—

One night, after holding you in silence, you felt Bucky suffered more than he ever did before.

You felt the sorrow, and even you couldn't calm him down from this desperate longing that had fragmented his heart into a million pieces— it was knowledge that you couldn’t truly be his and that he couldn’t truly be yours that had caused this pain. It was knowing that, as long as you were immortal, you couldn’t possibly belong to a mortal man.

“Please stay,” he whispered, his hands shaking as they held you. “Don’t go. I can’t… I can’t keep saying goodbye. I don’t want to only see you in fragments of stolen time.” He squeezed you. His eyes were filled with a raw, desperate longing. “I want you here— with me. Always.”

You reached out, placing a hand on his cheek. You wanted to say yes, to let yourself stay, to finally surrender to this love and the peace it offered. But you knew better than anyone of your nature. You were bound to the suffering of others, woven into the fabric of pain that had defined you for a long, long time.

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, the words breaking as you forced them out. “I want to, more than anything. But I… I’m not meant to stay. There are others who need me.”

A flash of pain crossed his face, and he closed his eyes, trying to swallow the heartache that threatened to bury him. He nodded, though you could see struggle that lingered in the lines on his face.

“Just stay a little longer tonight,” he murmured, his voice tight, a bittersweet smile forming on his lips.

And so you held him a little longer, feeling the fragility of this human connection, the knowing that you would have to let him go. You stayed with him until the stars faded from the sky, until the dawn began to creep over the horizon. And as you finally pulled away, slipping back into the shadows, you felt a piece of yourself break, a piece that would always belong to him, no matter how far you wandered.

—

One day, as Bucky’s heart prepared to stop beating, you stood by him, devastated.

You were there as a phantom, feeling his soul slip through your fingers as he lay on the concrete after a mission gone wrong. He was unconscious, his life hanging by a thread as he fought to come back from the edge. In all the centuries of comforting humanity, you had never felt such fear, such desperation. 

While you watched him, fragile and fading away, you felt something shatter deep within you.

His breath was shallow— his fate uncertain. He would only have minutes to live. 

But you couldn’t lose him. 

So you made a choice that you had once thought impossible. 

With a heavy heart, you turned and sought out the one being who held the power to intervene: Rio Vidal, Death herself.

Death came to you quietly when you summoned her to the darkness neither of you occupied. She moved with an eternal calm, her presence as vast and ancient as the stars. She looked at you, her dark eyes filled with the weight of ages that rivalled your own. Her stare was neither evil nor kind. 

You knew that she'd already understood why you called for her. 

“Don’t take him,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Not now.” You were pathetic, desperation rising in frantically— a desperation that followed you into your ethereal form, an ache that you hadn’t known could exist in your immortal heart. “For the first time, I’ve found someone… someone I love. I can’t lose him.”

Rio regarded you quietly, her expression unreadable. She had seen countless souls come and go. She had met lovers, warriors, and spirits alike, each bargaining for one more breath, one more chance. But she had also never seen you — Suffering herself— here, pleading for a life. You, who had roamed the earth for centuries without attachment, a solitary being who moved through suffering like water, soothing but never bound. 

To see you now, so deeply connected, intrigued her.

Perhaps, she gave you a chance because she once felt this way, too.

“What would you give?” she asked softly, sheathing back her blade.

The answer rose in you, going again your own soul’s warning. 

“I’d give my immortality,” you replied without a second thought. “One day, you can take my soul, too. Just let me live beside him for as long as he has. Let me trade eternity for a single lifetime with him.”

Rio was silent for a long time, her gaze thoughtful, searching. 

“Do you understand what you’re offering?” she asked, her voice a blend of curiosity and pity. “To become mortal is to surrender everything you have known—the ability to exist beyond pain and beyond time itself. You would feel suffering as they do, you would face the limitations of flesh as they do.”

"I’m sure.” you nodded with nothing but conviction, “I would rather face an end, rather give up everything, than live without him for a single moment."

Rio studied you one last time, her stare as vast as the void between stars. Then, slowly, she inclined her head, a flicker of respect in her eyes. 

"When he is gone, I will come for you, too." Her voice softened just a little. "Cherish this life. It is not easily won."

When she vanished, you felt the world shift around you, felt your soul ground itself in ways it never had before. Your body solidified, your senses sharpened, and you felt, for the first time, the steady permanent rhythm of a heartbeat pulsing within your chest. 

You were no longer the Spirit of Suffering, bound to pain and sorrow. You, now permanently, were flesh and blood– human in every sense. 

And for the first time in forever, you felt real— mortal, permanently.

—

Bucky was recovering, weak but alive.

When you knocked on his door, he opened it, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw you standing there, no longer a fleeting vision that appeared in his room.

You walked all the way here, your barefoot aching from the harshness of the concrete.

You were solid, as real as he was, standing on his doorstep with tears in your eyes.

He had never seen you cry before. He wasn't even sure if you could.

"You're… you’re here," he whispered, reaching out as if to touch you, to be certain that you were truly there. His fingers brushed your cheek, feeling the warmth of your skin, and his hand lingered there, his thumb tracing along your cheekbone as if committing this moment to memory. “You feel different,” he murmured, awe in his voice. 

“I’m here to stay,” you said, voice brimming with love you could barely contain, your own hand lifting to cover his. 

He let out a shaky breath, and his eyes searched yours, filling with a warmth and disbelief so deep that it mirrored your own. He pulled you into his arms, holding you as though afraid you might vanish again.

But you didn’t. 

You were here, bathed in sunlight, and real.

You melted into his embrace, feeling the thrumming of his veins against yours, knowing that, finally, your heart would beat alongside his for as long as time allowed.

-end 

Read the sequel to this story: Symptom of Life

I would love to explore this further! Maybe Bucky helps you find a name, maybe even pulls some strings to give you a fake birth certificate and ID. Maybe he realises that time is fleeting and has a courthouse wedding with you ASAP.

Maybe Bucky introduces you to Sam as his wife, and he realises that he’s seen you before, when Riley got shot out of the sky.

Maybe Bucky introduces you to the Thunderbolts* as his wife, and they all would have seen you before, at some point in their life:

Yelena would have seen you when she stood over Nat’s memorial.

Alexei would have seen you when he got separated from his girls for the first time.

John would’ve seen you when he killed that flag smasher with Cap’s shield, grieving Lemar.

Ava would have seen you when she was a kid, phasing out in and out uncontrollably in extreme pain.

Antonia would’ve seen you when the bomb blew on her face.

Or maybe I could explore more of how it affects you. How you now have human guilt to live with, knowing there’s no one out there anymore easing human suffering. Now, you also have to deal with your own human suffering.

Maybe people keep recognising you, keep pointing you out as if they’ve seen a ghost because you once came to them in a time of need.

Maybe you keep your powers? Maybe I should explore how those powers would manifest in a human body?

Anyway, let me know if you’re interested in any of these ideas and I might write them!

[kwanisms]

Kinktober 「10:01」 — x.minghao

» seventeen menu | the8 menu | kinktober masterlist «

➮ half-dragon!Minghao × fem!Reader wc: 7.3k summary: After inheriting an estate deep in the Bavarian Alps from his maternal grandfather, Minghao arrives to find the estate has survived the war unscathed and that deep underground is a vault full of historic and old art dating back to the 8th century. He decides to hire an appraiser to inspect the collection but becomes enamored with her. genres/themes/au: angst/fluff/smut; supernatural, horror, thriller, historical; non idol au, monster idol au, historical au, post-ww2 au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, mentions of: food & alcohol consumption, supernatural & horror themes, post ww2 in Europe, allusions to the Nazi party; sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist has been moved to reblogs join my taglist! taglist for kinktober is CLOSED. Strikethrough means I cannot tag you. MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

a/n: this was a rough time to get started and i have to restart twice, once after completely redoing the plot. it was difficult but once i changed the plot, things flowed so much more naturally! but here we are baybee! kicking off Kinktober 2024 with dragon!Minghao in the 1940's post WW2! i did minimal research on this cause I'm a stickler for world building but I hope you all enjoy the first part of Kinktober. one day, 30 to go! as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), mirror sex, sex photos, unprotected sex (don’t do this lol), use of pet names (bao bei, beibei, sweetheart, etc.), oral (f receiving, m receiving), fingering (f receiving), and that should be all but let me know if I missed some! kinks: mirror sex + sex photos dialogue prompt: ❛❛ Don’t cover your mouth, I want everyone to know how good I make you feel. ❜❜

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Whether it was the scenery itselves or the dragon blood in him, Minghao loved the serenity and peace that seemed to accompany traveling through the mountains. This drive was a vaguely familiar one though he hadn’t been on this road since he was a young child.

He looked out the window as the car climbed higher, the trees on one side giving way to the view of the valley below. It was a picturesque scene, a beautiful lake at the base of the mountains surrounded by a forest of oranges, reds, yellows, and greens. He turned his gaze away as the car turned, following the curve of the road as the mountain flattened out.

The road was lined on either side with trees, providing cover from the cloudy, gray skies as the car drove along. Minghao caught a glimpse of the manor through the tunnel of trees, intrigued to see what state it was in since the hospitalization and death of his grandfather.

He hadn’t been to this estate since he was a young child, visiting with his mother until he threw a fit about going again. Since then, he had not stepped foot on the grounds, preferring to spend the holidays with his mother instead in their ancestral home.

Now he was in his late twenties and returning to the vacation home of his maternal line after being bequeathed the estate in his grandfather’s will. The car broke through the line of trees, taking a slight curve, forest on one side and a stone wall that dropped into a lower valley on the other.

The manor was just as he remembered, imposing and gray with gothic overtones and the facade made almost entirely out of stone. The angled roofs curved at the base and sharp spires at the ridges along the roofs. The majority of the stone was limestone, edged with a darker color of stone.

As the car pulled up, a light wind blew, the mix of orange gold, and brown leaves blowing across the stone, hitting the wall overlooking the valley. Minghao settled back in his seat, looking up at the imposing mansion, wondering the state of the interior. Outside, the place looked well kept but the inside could be an entirely different story.

The car pulled to a stop, the engine cutting and silence falling over the interior as the driver got out. He made to open the door himself but the driver beat him to it. Minghao got out, buttoning his coat as he looked up at the manor, thanking the driver. Up close, the estate looked almost immaculate. The windows had the curtains drawn, not allowing him to see inside the house.

The front door opened and a rather serious and proper looking man exited the house, followed by an equally serious and proper looking woman. They waited as Minghao turned to look at the driver unhooking the luggage from the back rack. Minghao walked over to greet the couple.

“Good afternoon,” the woman said, curtseying while the man bowed his head. “You must be Minghao,” the man asked to which Minghao nodded. “Yes,” he said softly. “You’ve grown quite a bit since we last saw you,” the woman spoke. “I used to attend to you when you were a child,” she continued. 

“Your bags will be brought into the red room,” the man interjected. “It’s the only renovated room.” Minghao nodded. “And you two are?” Minghao asked. “I’m Klaus,” the man introduced before gesturing to the woman. “And this is Renate.”

The woman nodded, giving Minghao a kind smile. “Please, come this way,” Renate said, gesturing to the house. They walked in silence to the house, up the steps and into the foyer. Minghao looked around, taking in his surroundings with an impressed air.

The foyer was small but spacious enough with a small coat room off to the left and to the right was the library, the door opened. “That library was your grandfather’s favorite place in the house,” Renate said, noticing Minghao’s wavering attention. “How many bedrooms does this place have?” Minghao asked, changing the subject.

“Ten,” Renate answered as the driver and one of the staff started bringing in his trunks. “Right, this way,” Klaus said, gesturing to them to follow him, leading them through the foyer and entrance hall and disappearing through an open doorway.

“Shall I give you the tour or would you like to rest?” Renate asked. Minghao looked around once more before turning to look at her. “I think a tour would be nice,” he said. “Will give me an idea of the condition and state of the house,” he continued, looking around once more. “Yes. I think a tour is in order.”

Renate took him around the house, showing him the different rooms. From what he could see, only a handful of the rooms were in need of renovations and a few could use upgrades but were not in dire need. The kitchen was functional and cozy with a large dining room attached.

Also off the kitchen and next to the dining room but not attached, was a decent sized sun room. On the opposite side of the house from these rooms was a guest suite where his things had been brought. “I had this room made up for you since it’s the only guest suite on the main floor,” Renate said as Minghao looked around. “It’s also the only one that has been renovated.”

Minghao stopped and turned to look at her. “It’s perfect,” he replied. “I think I’ll freshen up before dinner,” he continued, crossing the room to where she stood in the doorway. “If you could please produce a set of keys for me, I would appreciate it,” he added. Renate’s smile fell. “Why?” she asked.

“Because I’m the owner of the estate now,” Minghao answered. “I don’t want to have to seek you out to unlock doors in my own home.” Renate nodded, clearing her throat. “I shall see if I can’t locate the other keys. I’m sure they’re around here somewhere,” she replied. “Dinner will be in an hour.”

She left, closing the door behind her and allowing Minghao his much needed privacy. He moved over to his luggage and opened the top trunk, finding some of his clothes. He would unpack later, first he would explore the guest suite and see what he could find and if there were any secrets.

The guest suite was large, a massive four poster bed stood in the middle of the room, the headboard pushed against the outside wall. Thick, velvet drapes hung from the intricately carved wooden frame. Standing at the foot of the bed was an ornate bench carved, stained, and lacquered just like the rest of the furniture. Minghao walked over to a small seating area past two pocket doors that shut to close off the area from the bedroom.

On the opposite side of the bed from the sitting room was the entrance to a private ensuite bathroom with marble floors, two pedestal sinks sat under golden framed mirrors. A massive soaker tub with golden clawed feet stood opposite the sinks. A pipe protruded from the wall above the tub, curving downward and providing a shower head.

Minghao returned to the bedroom area and walked over to the bed, falling onto it and staring up at the drapes. Though he vaguely remembered this house from his childhood, nothing about it had seemed familiar since entering and he wondered how much had changed from when he was a child.

A knock at the door interrupted his train of thoughts and he sat up as the door opened, a young maid poking her head into the room. “Begging your pardon, sir,” she said softly. “I’ve come to unpack your luggage.” Minghao relaxed. “I see,” he said simply. He had assumed, incorrectly, that he might be allowed to unpack his own luggage but he was proven wrong again and again.

“Knock yourself out,” he replied, gesturing to the collection of trunks waiting at the end of his bed. The maid opened the door and Minghao realized it was not one but two maids. “We’ll work quickly and when we’re done, we can show you where everything is,” the first maid offered. Minghao nodded and got up as they started to get to work. “I’ll just get out of your way,” he said, walking towards the door and slinking out of the room.

He still had time before dinner would be ready so he decided to explore the first floor a bit more. As he walked past the foyer, he noticed a door with a round window and walked over, peering into the window only to see nothing but darkness. “The elevator,” a voice said, making Minghao jump. “Your grandfather lost a lot of mobility before he was hospitalized so he had this installed to make getting from the ground floor to the top floors easier.”

Minghao turned to look at the door once more. “Does it only go up?” he asked. “Sir?” Klaus asked. Minghao looked at him. “Does it go downstairs, too?” he asked. Klaus nodded, grimacing. “Indeed it does but there isn’t much down there except storage and cobwebs.” Minghao snorted and turned back to the elevator door. “Does this even work?” he asked, reaching for the door.

“Don’t!” Klaus snapped, making Minghao retract his hand quickly, almost as if he had been burned. “My apologies,” Klaus said, regaining his composure. “The elevator is turned off and very dangerous when not operated properly.” Minghao nodded, wide eyed. “Duly noted,” he said. “Is there another way downstairs then?” Minghao asked. Klaus gave him a surprised look.

“I’d like to see everything,” Minghao added. Klaus nodded. “I’m sure, sir,” he explained. “But you have more than a day to do so,” he continued. “How about you focus on relaxing today and tomorrow you can tackle the basement?” Minghao stared at Klaus but conceded. “I suppose the basement could wait,” he said softly. “Good. Dinner should be ready soon,” Klaus added, giving Minghao a nod and turning on his heel in the direction of the kitchens.

Dinner was a private affair as Minghao sat at the formal dining room alone. After eating, he returned to his room where the maids showed him exactly where they stored everything and even packed his luggage away. He thanked them and called it a night, getting ready for and settling down into the oversized bed.

Falling asleep in a new environment was always difficult no matter how comfortable things seemed and only after tossing and turning for hours did Minghao finally manage to drift into a dreamless slumber.

The following morning, he was woken by Renate. He cleaned up, dressed, and had dinner before he decided to explore the rest of the house, starting with the upper floors. He made a mental note of which rooms he wanted to renovate before finally being given a set of keys; a skeleton key for all the interior doors, a key for the exterior doors, a key to the storage sheds and garages, and a key for the attic which coincidentally also worked for the basement.

Minghao was more than pleased to be allowed to finally inspect the basement and Klaus had been right. It was a storage place for old furniture, all coated in a thick layer of dust, with cobwebs in every corner. As Minghao worked with some of the estate workers to shift the furniture aside he discovered something no one had mentioned to him. A massive vault door.

When asked, Klaus and Renate admitted they knew of the existence of the vault but that they didn’t know what was inside it. Neither also claimed to have knowledge of a combination. Minghao stood in front of the door for hours, trying to figure out the combination, trying several different ones but none of them seemed to work.

Days passed by and he grew more and more restless at not being able to open the vault. While inspecting the library for a book to occupy his time, he found a bright blue book, a copy of On Blue Water by Edmondo de Amicis. It was placed amongst a shelf of brown bindings and looked oddly out of place. Minghao walked over, inspecting the book and carefully removing it from the shelf.

He flipped through the pages, finding blue ink circling parts in the book. Starting from the first instance, he saw the number eighty-seven. The next was forty-two, followed by seven, ninety-nine, sixty-three, and finally four. He walked over to the desk, grabbing a pen from the stand and a blank piece of paper as he wrote the numbers down, taking into consideration the arrows drawn below each number.

When he was done, he returned the book to the shelf he found it and quickly made his way downstairs to the vault door. He followed the combination, hoping it would be correct and when he heard the click, he nearly cheered in relief. He lifted the handle, releasing the mechanism holding the door shut and pulled it open. Whatever he had been prepared to find beyond the metal door, it was not this.

Inside the vast vault was a collection unlike anything he’d seen. A collection of art. As he realized what he’d stumbled upon, he shut the door quickly and headed upstairs to seek out either Klaus or Renate. He needed to make a long distance call.

When you received the call from Germany, you could hardly believe it. A colleague of yours called to explain he had suggested your name to a potential client. Someone had just unearthed a rather large collection in an estate in the Bavarian Alps and needed an expert eye to evaluate and appraise the pieces. They were willing to pay handsomely as well as fund your trip from Portugal, where you currently called home.

You jumped at the chance to set your own price and also for travel to the remote location in Germany. The trip was long, arduous and by the end, you wanted nothing more than to never step foot on a train or ship again. You arrived in Innsbruck, Austria after taking train after train in Italy and that was only after taking a ship from Lisbon through the strait of Gibraltar into the mediterranean and to the Italian capital of Rome. You still had a drive from Innsbruck to the remote estate in the mountains but a car ride where you could sleep off your trip was more than welcome.

You woke up as the sun was setting, the car climbing into the mountains and you could see the valley below was bathed in shadow from the sun setting behind the crest of the mountains behind you as the car turned, following the curve in the road. A tunnel of trees lined the road, wind starting to whip violently as the car drove on and soon the forest opened up to show a massive mansion nestled in the mountains.

It was impressive with the dark storm clouds looming overhead, the light from the sun blocked by the mountain to your left yet golden rays of light hit the clouds behind the estate, making them look ever so darker as the car pulled up next to a blue Roadmaster.

You opened your door, refusing to wait any longer. A bed inside the estate was yours and you were ready to collapse into it and sleep off your travel. The driver unpacked your things, setting them down by the back of the car as the front door opened. A stern looking older woman greeted you, introducing herself as Renate. She had one of the young men from the garage carrying your things and welcomed you to the estate, guiding you inside.

The foyer was grand and dark with white tile flooring. The door to your right was open, displaying a few coats hanging up in what you surmised was the coat room. The door to your right was shut. As the door closed behind you with a loud click, you walked further into the house. “Your rooms have been drawn for you upstairs,” Renate said, guiding you towards the stairs.

You followed her up the sweeping staircase, looking overhead and taking in the details of the intricate and massive chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Once on the landing, you followed her down one of the halls to a door which she opened for you. “This will be your room for the duration of your stay,” Renate explained. “Your things will be brought up to your room and the maids will unpack your things,” she explained. “I will take you to meet the owner of the house now.”

You followed her back down the hall to the stairs as a door opened, revealing an elevator and the driver bringing your luggage upstairs. You continued down the steps to the ground floor and followed Renate through another hallway to a door where she knocked before opening it. “Sir, there’s a Miss Y/N here. She’s just arrived,” she announced, stepping aside and gesturing for you to enter.

Inside the room was a dark parlor decorated and furnished in the Victorian style. It was a cozy room, a massive fireplace with a roaring fire took up a great deal of wall space with built-in shelves on either side of the fireplace. Sitting in front of the fireplace was a seating area, two couches facing one another with a low table between them. Perched on one of the couches was a young man.

He had reddish brown hair, a slender build and was currently immersed in a book he held. At the mention of your name, he looked up and your breath caught in your throat when his gaze met yours. His eyes were red and orange, like fire. The pupils in the middle were vertical slits. “Perfect,” he said, snapping the book shut and setting it down on the table.

Renate gave a curtsey before exiting the room and shutting the door, leaving you alone with the man who now stood before you. He had his hands tucked into his pockets. He wore a simple black turtleneck under a thicker sweater with a v-neck. His trousers were a medium brown and made of what looked to be tweed. He wore simple brown plain toe derby shoes to complete the look. 

“Based on Renate’s introduction, I can assume you are Y/F/N Y/L/N?” he asked, a neutral expression on his face. You nodded slowly. “And you are?” you asked, walking forward, intent on shaking his hand. “Minghao,” he answered as you held out your hand. Xu Minghao,” he added, taking your hand and shaking it briefly. “I assume you know why you’re here?” he asked and you nodded once more.

“For my expertise,” you answered. “I doubt you’d  invite me here based on my good looks,” you joked. Minghao let out a chuckle, returning his hand to his pocket. “So,” you said, looking around the room. “Where is this collection?” Minghao smiled again, gesturing for you to take a seat on the couch across from him. You did so as he sat back down.

“Before we get into the thick of it so to speak, I’d like to set your payment, something you agree is fair and we can sign off on,” he explained. You nodded, narrowing your eyes. “My usual rate is a twenty percent cut of the collection, were you to sell it,” you explained. “Only twenty?” Minghao asked, tilting his head. “The more priceless a collection, the more money I get,” you added.

“If your collection is only worth a million, I would get two-hundred thousand. That’s a pretty fair price for evaluating and appraising the pieces. Especially with the amount of research I end up doing,” you said as Minghao nodded along. “I understand that,” he explained, leaning back against the couch. “I think what you do is worth more,” he added. “I’m willing to go up to thirty percent.”

Your brows rose, eyes widening. “Thirty percent? Goodness, you’re generous,” you said, your lips pulling back into a smirk. Minghao mirrored your expression. “So we’re in agreement?” he asked. “Thirty percent?” You nodded in response. “Sounds reasonable to me,” you answered. “Good,” Minghao replied. “Dinner should be ready,” he added. “How about you get changed and join me?”

You returned to your room, changing out of your clothes and into something more appropriate for dinner. You returned downstairs to the foyer where you were greeted by a stern looking man you had yet to meet. “I’m Klaus,” he introduced himself with a small bow. “Dinner is being served and Mr. Xu has asked me to escort you to the dining room.”

You followed him through the halls until you reached a door which he then opened and gestured for you to enter. Inside was a large dining room with a table large enough to seat 12. Sitting at the head of the table was Minghao. When you entered, he stood up quickly as Klaus exited, shutting the door behind him. “Please,” Minghao said, gesturing to the seat adjacent to him.

You walked over, thanking him and moved to sit. Minghao was quick to pull the chair for you and move it again when you sat down before returning to his chair. You thanked him as the door behind you opened and a small service staff entered, setting a few platters down on the table in front of you and Minghao. “I asked them to make something new,” he explained as they removed the lids, showing a vast array of dishes that all looked amazing.

“Something with goat,” he added as he inspected the dishes. “Please,” he continued, gesturing to the food. “Help yourself to whatever you’d like.” You thanked him, digging into the food in front of you, not realizing that you were ravenous until the food was in front of you.

Silence fell over the room as you ate, no conversation was being had until Minghao spoke up. “So you traveled from Portugal?” he asked as he cut his meat. You nodded, wiping your mouth before speaking. “Yes,” you answered. “I had an apartment just outside Lisbon.” Minghao looked up at you.

“Had?” he asked, picking up on your use of past tense. “Yes,” you answered. “I travel for work and often only rent places for as long as I’m there,” you explained. “The job in Lisbon lasted for almost a year,” you continued. “The collection I was tasked with evaluating was massive and ended up being worth a whopping eighty-seven million pounds,” you added. Minghao’s eyes widened. “Eighty-seven million pounds? Good gracious,” he said softly. “And you got twenty percent of that?”

You smiled, picking up your glass of wine. “It’s not a bad business to be in,” you explained. “It certainly isn’t,” Minghao said with a chuckle as you took a sip of wine. “My father was an appraiser,” you said suddenly. But he never made it a lucrative business like I did. We struggled a lot and he would disappear for months on end, never so much as sending a letter or calling,” you continued.

“My mother, God rest her soul, worked 12 hour shifts at the local textile factory just to make sure we had food on the table.” Minghao kept his eyes on you as you spoke. “As soon as I was able, I started working. Mainly bookkeeping and typing,” you continued. “I was able to put myself through college with a combination of working and scholarships,” you said with a smile. “I immediately made a name for myself, assessing art collections left and right in America until my first overseas assignment in London.” 

Minghao couldn’t help but smile. It was clear you took great pride in your work. Your smile, nostalgic, slowly fell as a memory came into the forefront of your mind. “That’s where I was living when the war broke out,” you said, a bitter tone in your voice. 

Minghao couldn’t help but feel a similar anger and hatred towards the war. He’d been living in China at the time, deep in a remote area and away from the cities for protection. The war hadn’t hit him but you, living in London, he could only imagine how it affected you. The destruction and danger lurking around every corner.

“I worked as an air raid warden during the first few years but in the last couple, I was promoted to evacuation officer,” you explained. “It was stressful, being in the midst of all the bombings and trying to keep my cool and help direct evacuees,” you continued. “But I learned a lot about the world and myself in those years.” Minghao took a sip of his wine. “I can only imagine what you went through,” he said softly, making you look towards him.

“I was hidden away in China,” he continued. “We didn’t see much war where we were,” he added. You smiled sadly. “China is a pretty big place,” you replied. “I’m sure places like Beijing, Shanghai, and Hong Kong saw most of the action,” you added. Minghao nodded. “I’m sure they did. I’m sorry you had to go through that. Especially so far from home.”

You shook your head. “Home is wherever I rest my head,” you replied. “My family is all gone now. It’s just me.” Minghao felt his heart sink slightly. He knew what it was like to be alone in a sense but he still had family that was alive, he was just estranged from them so it wasn’t entirely the same feeling. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied but you smiled, dismissing his apology. “It’s all right now,” you answered.

“Less to worry about,” you added as you picked up your utensils. “Dinner is delicious by the way,” you added, changing the subject. Though you maintained this calm, unbothered air, Minghao could see right through it. One of his many talents as a draconian descendant.

He wouldn’t push it though. It wasn’t his place. If you wanted to talk about it, you would.

The next couple days, Minghao showed you the house so you could familiarize yourself with the layout. On the third day, he finally took you to the basement, opening the vault and showing you the contents. As you entered, carefully examining the works with gloves, you cataloged things slowly.

“So,” you said, returning to Minghao who was standing outside the vault. “I have good news,” you said softly, lowering your clipboard. “Everything is labeled and there is a box full of documents, which I can only assume are the auction and purchase records. Whoever owned this collection took great care in keeping records which makes my job much easier,” you said with a smile.

“Lunch is almost ready,” Minghao replied. “Shall we eat first and then you can go over the records after?” You nodded, smiling at him. “Sounds superb.”

After a quick lunch of soup and sandwiches, you returned to work, pulling out the record boxes and going through them, matching the papers to the items. “This is incredible,” you breathed, pouring over the records. “Not only are the dates of purchases listed but the prices are also listed. This is an incredibly well documented collection.” Minghao smiled as you flipped through page after page.

It took a few days but you finally had a partial appraisal for the ceramics. “Two hundred thousand?” Minghao asked when you showed him your numbers. “Two hundred and forty-three thousand, six-hundred and fifty-seven to be precise,” you answered. Minghao let out a laugh. “And that’s just the ceramics?” he asked to which you nodded. “I expect that to be the lowest number of this collection,” you answered.

Your assumption was proven to be correct when you came back with the values for the other categories.

Minghao stood, reading over your numbers as you sipped whiskey from a crystal glass. “Are these numbers accurate?” Minghao asked. You nodded. “I’m nothing if not accurate,” you replied. “Are they lower than your projection?” you asked, suddenly worried about his response.

During your time at the estate, you’d taken a liking to Minghao, something you normally never allowed to happen with clients. It was easy to like him. He was handsome, charming, well-spoken, intelligent, and incredibly witty. He was good company during your meals and late at night when you were working on your estimates. You’d become very close with him, especially after he told you about his parentage and his nature as a half dragon. You’d never met someone like him before.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “They’re higher,” he added. “I expected a much lower number.” You smiled at him, setting your glass down and getting up to join him, taking the paper from him. “A great number of these items date back as far as the 8th century,” you explained. 

“Like this one,” you said, pointing to an item on the list. “A silk print from eighth century China,” you said. “Or this one. A nineteenth century watercolor. There’s only one of these in existence. And this thirteenth century oil painting? The art community thought this was lost forever.”

“A lot of these items are worth even more because of the war,” you continued, handing the paper back to him and picking up your glass, downing the rest of the amber liquid. “A lot of art was lost, destroyed by the Third Reich. The Nazi stole a lot of art and we’re still trying to recover it. Most of the stolen art may never be recovered,” you continued.

Minghao held the paper in his hands but his eyes were on you. “A lot goes into appraising,” you explained. “Condition, rarity, age, authenticity, subject matter, and size are a few of the things I look at when appraising art collections. Many of these items are unique and only a few versions of them exist,” you continued, moving to the bar cart to pour yourself another drink.

“And every single one of these artists or sculptors are dead,” you continued, popping the top off the decanter and pouring more liquid into your glass. “Which makes these even more valuable. They can never be replicated by the original artist.” You placed the lid back and turned to face Minghao, holding the glass in your hand. He was still staring at you, a look of something you couldn’t place in his eyes.

He set the paper down and stalked forward slowly to where you stood until he had you caged in against the bar cart. “You know,” he said softly, eyes dipping down to look at your lips. “You’re incredibly sexy when you talk about this,” he said, tilting his head to the side. You swallowed nervously. “When I talk about art?” you asked, feeling a heat settling in the pit of your stomach.

“No,” he replied, taking your glass and drinking it in one go before setting the empty glass on the cart. “When you talk about something you’re passionate about.” He leaned in closer, lips inches from yours. You felt a shiver run up your spine, desire mixing with the sexual tension that hung in the air.

“I’m passionate about a lot of things,” you said, one of your hands moving up his arm to rest on his bicep. “Oh?” Minghao asked. “Like what?” He was teasing you now, the smirk on his face gave it away. He wanted to see how far he could take this. How far he could push you before you gave into him.

“Art, cuisine, fashion,” you said softly. “Photography, travel… sex.” 

The next moment, Minhao closed the distance, his lips crashing against yours as his hands moved to your waist. You kissed him back with as much hunger, hand grabbing him desperately. Your lips parted, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

You moaned into the kiss as you felt one of his hands move down, cupping your ass and squeezing. Minghao pulled back, looking into your eyes, breathless as he spoke. “Maybe we should—”

“Take this somewhere else?” you asked, hopefully finishing his sentence. He nodded, pulling you into another kiss. “Your room or mine?” you asked as he left a trail of kisses down your neck. “Mine’s closer,” he murmured, his long fingers swiftly undoing the tie at the top of your blouse..

“Lead the way,” you said, pushing him back playfully. Minghao’s fingers instead closed around your wrist, pulling you from the bar cart and dragging you from the parlor, across the foyer to a pair of double doors you’d seen and knew was probably his room. When he parted the doors, he quickly pulled you into the room before shutting the doors.

You only got a brief look around the room before he was on you, kissing you and pulling at the buckle of your skirt belt, quickly undoing it and unzipping the skirt, letting it fall to the floor in a pool at your feet. You stepped out of the mess of fabric, letting him pull your green blouse off and tossing it to the floor with your skirt leaving you in your lingerie.

You felt slightly self conscious under his gaze as his eyes wandered, taking in your figure. You slowly moved back, taking a seat on the edge of the bed still in your heels. Minghao moved over, leaning over to press a soft kiss to your cheek, lips trailing down your neck to your chest. He glanced up, meeting your gaze before he started kissing his way down your stomach as he slowly knelt down.

He worked slowly, removing your shoes, one by one. You glanced up, eyes widening as you caught sight of your reflection in a massive mirror that stood across from where you sat. “My, that’s quite a mirror,” you said softly as Minghao continued to remove your shoes, humming in response.

Once your shoes were dealt with, Minghao’s hand slid up your legs, undoing the clips of your garter belt and then sliding your stockings down your legs, dropping both of them on the floor with your shoes before he got back up, climbing onto the bed over you as you scooted back. He captured your lips in a searing kiss, hands moving to slide your garter belt off along with your panties.

You let out a gasp as you felt two of his fingers spread your lips, finding your clit and muttering softly under his breath about how wet you felt. You tried to say something, to bite back, but your words failed you as he drew his finger in a languid circle around the sensitive nub.

You whined, hips bucking as he took his time, teasing you with long, drawn out massages. He chuckled, kissing down your chest and stomach again. He settled between your thighs, moving his fingers and pushing them into you slowly as his tongue descended onto your clit, tasting you with a groan.

Your thighs tried to close on his head but he pulled back, lightly smacking the inside of your thigh with his free hand. “Keep them open,” he growled before going right back into it. You moaned loudly, unrestrained, quickly reaching up to cover your mouth. Minghao reached up, grabbing your wrist and pulled your hand from your face.

“Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t cover your mouth. I want everyone to hear how good I make you feel.” You nodded slowly, moving your hand down to the sheets and gripping them as Minghao returned his attention to your clit, his fingers moving inside you. He pumped them at a steady pace, stopping to curl them up and making your back arch as you moaned again and again.

“That’s it,” he said softly, watching as your chest rose and fell with each labored breath. “Does it feel good?” he asked. You nodded with a whimper. “Yes,” you breathed. “F-feels so good!” Minghao smirked as he continued to curl his fingers, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge. “You gonna be good and come for me, sweetheart?” he asked. Your thighs had started to tremble, the tension in your body ready to snap at any moment. You whined in response.

“I need to hear you say it, bao bei,” he murmured, drawing out his motions, making them as slow as possible. “Yes!” you cried. “M’gonna cum!” Minghao resumed the same quick pace, rubbing against your walls as he drove you over the edge and your orgasm crashed down on you. You gasped, spewing out a slew of curses mixed with his name as he helped you ride out your high.

“Good,” he said softly. “Good girl.” You attempted to push his hand away when it became too much and sensing what you were silently asking for, Minghao removed his fingers, giving you a break. He cleaned his fingers, getting up from the bed. You heard him move around the room but were too exhausted to open your eyes and see what he was doing.

He returned to the foot of the bed and when nothing else happened, you finally opened your eyes and saw him standing at the foot of the bed. He held something in his hands. “I’d like to ask your permission for something,” he started.

You looked at the item in his hands and noticed it was a camera. You looked up to meet his fiery gaze. “I’d like to photograph you,” he continued. “Like this,” he added, gesturing at your posture. You pushed yourself up. “You want to photograph me naked?” you asked, slightly amused. Minghao chuckled, lowering his gaze to his camera. “No,” he replied, shaking his head before looking back up.

“I want to photograph you in the middle of sex.”

To say you were surprised was an understatement but you weren’t entirely turned off the idea. “And these would be for your eyes only?” you asked softly. Minghao nodded as he prepared the camera. “I plan on turning one of the bedrooms into a dark room,” he explained, raising the camera to look through the viewfinder and pressing the shutter button, before lowering it and smiling at you.

You leaned back, spreading your legs. “How do you want me?” you asked playfully as he raised the camera again, snapping another picture. You laughed and sat up, moving to the edge of the bed and grabbing at his belt loops, pulling him closer to undo his pants, starting with his belt. You unzipped his pants, pulling them down enough to pull his cock free from the confines of his underwear.

You wasted no time in taking the head into your mouth, surprising him into letting out a groan, his head falling back, exposing his long neck. You took more of him in your mouth, keeping your tongue flat against the underside as you took him further. You heard the snap of the camera and pulled back until just the tip was in your mouth, tongue swirling around the head.

You heard another snap followed by the automatic wind of the camera and kept going, each time taking him further and further into your mouth as you drew him to his full length and hardness. “Fuck, just like that, sweetheart,” you heard him groan, snapping another photo. You pulled back, moving your hand up and down the shaft and looked up at him.

“You gonna fuck me already?” you asked mischievously. Minghao tossed the camera onto the bed and pulled his sweater over his head, discarding it on the floor before pulling off his shirt and adding it to the growing pile. You scooted back to the middle of the bed, removing your bra and tossing it aside as he climbed onto the bed, trailing wet kisses up your stomach, stopping to nip at the skin under your breast. His tongue brushed over your nipple, swirling around it before he continued up your chest, running his tongue over your skin.

At the junction of your neck and shoulder, he sank his teeth into your skin, making you cry out and your body jerk suddenly. He used your movement against you, moving closer and taking his cock in his hand. He guided the head to your folds, rutting against your for a moment before pushing into you, letting out a growl as your warm walls enveloped him.

He grabbed the camera from its resting spot and sat back, holding it up to snap a photograph, aiming the lens at the place where your bodies met. “Oh fuck,” you gasped as he thrusted into you, bottoming out and his cock nestling against your cervix. He snapped another picture of your nude body before tossing the camera aside once more and grabbing your hips.

He neither eased you into it or warned you but started a rough, brutal pace immediately, hips snapping forward and burying his cock into your cunt repeatedly. You cried out in both shock and pleasure at the intensity at which he started right away. Your fingers curled into the sheets, thighs spreading more as he pounded into you. “You’ll cum if you go too fast,” you mused, eyes fluttering shut as you felt him throb inside you.

He chuckled, a breathy sound as his grip on you tightened. “I have more stamina than that, beibei,” he said softly. He gave you another harsh thrust, enjoying the way your breasts bounced with each snap of his hips. The room was full of the sound of skin against skin and your moans. It almost drowned out the sound of the rain outside. Almost. 

Minghao slowed his pace before pulling out of you. You protested but he simply grabbed your hand and pulled you up as he shifted behind you, pushing you on to your hands and knees as he re-entered you from behind. You moaned, head dropping as he grabbed your hips, resuming that same merciless pace only now he was hitting even deeper.

“Look up,” he murmured in your ear. You did as he said, raising your head until you met the gaze of your own reflection. “Oh shit,” you gasped, walls clenching around him. He grabbed your chin, pressing his chest against your back as he leaned over you. “I want you to watch me fuck you,” he growled into your ear. “Watch yourself cum.” You moaned but maintained eye contact with him through the mirror. In the darkness of the room, his eyes glowed and he seemed even more dragon-like than before.

You pushed back, meeting his hips and thrusts with as much force as you could muster but you were getting weaker with each snap of his hips against your ass. His cock seemed to swell inside you or maybe it was your walls clamping down and not wanting to let go but he filled you so deliciously and with each rut, you were pushed closer and closer to your climax.

“That’s it,” Minghao said, his breath hot against your skin. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Be a good girl and let go.” His freehand moved from your hip to between your thighs, working your clit in time with his thrusts as he propelled you over the edge. You came with a scream as a loud clap of thunder shook the house and the very mountain it stood on.

Minghao fucked you through it, chasing his own high as he finally released inside you, painting your walls in his hot thick cum. There was more of it than you could initially comprehend, filling your walls and no doubt every crevice of your womb. Pregnancy was the last thing on your mind and you moaned, pushing back onto him, milking him for every bit of cum he had.

“Careful sweetheart,” Minghao purred into your ear, moving his hand to your throat and holding it firmly but not squeezing. “We have all night,” he continued.  “I’m not done with you just yet.

©️ kwanisms 2024 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me.

[theunholyvirginemilyprentiss]

BAU movie night:

MORGAN: Insists on picking the movie, chooses a cheesy ‘80s action movie, and falls asleep immediately.

PENELOPE: Knows Morgan too well so brought a stack of Disney movies. She is the designated snack dispenser, and has prepared a feast of popcorn, M&Ms, pretzels, and soda. AirPlaying the movie on the big screen from her tablet.

SPENCER: “Did you know that Walt Disney actually pioneered a groundbreaking sound system called Fantasia for the 1940 animated feature ‘Fantasia’? It was a precursor to many modern sound technologies.”

ELLE: Listens intently to Reid’s facts, splitting the blue and the red M&Ms into two piles, the blue for Spencer, the red for her.

EMILY: Annoying everyone because she can’t sit still and keeps spinning in her chair. Puts popcorn up Morgan’s nose as he sleeps and passes a handful of pretzels to JJ every few minutes.

JJ: Goes to the toilet constantly and eats all the pretzels. Keeps checking her phone.

HOTCH: Reading case files in the corner. Also eats all the pretzels.

ROSSI: “What the hell is this movie even about?”

GIDEON: “It’s about the chaotic predilections of man.”

EMILY: “It’s about Mickey Mouse.”

Check out my Masterlist for more BAU scenarios

[drewharrisonwriter]

Between the Sky & the Horizon

Status: Complete.

Pairings: No Outbreak Joel Miller x Female Reader

Summary: Set in a small Texas town during the 1940s, Joel Miller, a grieving widower, and father, is thrust into a marriage of convenience with the Reverend's pregnant daughter, Dorothy.

Word Count: 16.5k words

A/N: My ADHD brain went into overdrive and I wrote this in one sitting. No edits, not beta'd. Warnings: Main OC has an assigned gender and name. Timeline inaccuracies, this was set in the 1940s but I may have included inaccuracies in technology etc., marriage of convenience, angst and fluff, emotional hurt/comfort a bit of drama, SMUT so yes, a little explicit sexual content, pregnancy, pregnancy sex, graphic depictions of childbirth.

Read this on AO3 | Check out my Masterlist

The air was thick with the scent of freshly turned earth as Joel Miller stepped off his tractor, wiping the sweat from his brow. His fields stretched endlessly in all directions, a patchwork of gold and green under the late afternoon sun. It was the kind of quiet that had grown comfortable to him, the kind that came with long days and longer nights alone. He’d gotten used to it, even preferred it, in the years since Sarah had passed. Noise felt like an intrusion now.

He crouched down to check the soil near the newly planted rows, letting his fingers dig into the cool, damp earth. The rhythmic clucking of the chickens behind him and the distant barking of his old dog, Scout, were the only things breaking the silence. It was peaceful, or as close to it as Joel allowed himself to feel these days.

That was until the sound of a truck pulling up the long, gravel driveway caught his attention. Joel glanced over his shoulder, frowning as a black Ford truck came into view. Not many people came out here uninvited. He stood, dusting off his hands on his worn jeans, and waited as the truck rolled to a stop in front of his house.

The door creaked open, and out stepped Reverend William Hargrove. Joel’s frown deepened. He hadn’t seen the reverend since Sarah’s funeral. The man had changed since then—his once well-groomed hair had gone gray, and there were deeper lines etched into his face. But his eyes still held that same fire, a flame that had burned even hotter since he’d found God and sworn off the drink. Hargrove shut the door and walked towards him, his steps heavy with purpose.

“Joel,” the reverend greeted, tipping his hat. His voice was rough, but there was an undercurrent of something that made Joel’s gut twist.

“Reverend,” Joel replied, keeping his tone neutral. “Didn’t expect to see you out here.”

Hargrove nodded, looking around the farm before turning his gaze back to Joel. “Got a proposition for you. Something… out of the ordinary.”

Joel crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the tractor. “Go on.”

The reverend hesitated, then sighed deeply. “It’s about my daughter, Dorothy.”

Joel’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t seen Dot in years, not since she’d left town to chase a life beyond this small, dusty place. “What about her?”

“She’s come back home,” Hargrove said, his voice dropping. “And she’s pregnant.”

The words hung in the air like a curse. Joel didn’t say anything, just stared at the man in front of him, waiting for the rest of it.

“The father… he’s gone,” Hargrove continued, clearing his throat. “Naval officer. She won’t say much about him, but it doesn’t matter. She’s alone, Joel. And this town… well, you know how folks talk.”

Joel did know. This place thrived on whispers and judgment. A woman like Dot, unmarried and pregnant, would be torn apart by the gossip. But that wasn’t his problem.

“What’s this got to do with me?” Joel asked, though he already had a sinking feeling he knew the answer.

Hargrove shifted on his feet, his gaze dropping to the ground for a moment before meeting Joel’s eyes again. “I need a man to marry her. To give her and that baby a name, protection. And you need someone to take care of your home while you work this land.”

Joel pushed off the tractor, pacing a few steps away. He didn’t need this. Didn’t need someone coming into his life, stirring things up. But the reverend’s words echoed in his mind—protection. He knew what it was like to be alone, to feel like the world had turned its back on you. He’d been living that reality every day since Sarah died.

“She doesn’t know you’re here, does she?” Joel asked, turning back to face Hargrove.

The reverend shook his head. “No. But she’s desperate, Joel. I know it’s a lot to ask, but she needs help. And maybe… maybe you do too.”

Joel clenched his jaw. It wasn’t that simple, nothing ever was. But there was a part of him, buried deep under the weight of grief and loneliness, that considered it. He could offer her a place to stay, a way to survive this town’s judgment. Maybe, in return, she could offer him something too—someone to come home to, even if it was just a formality.

“How soon are you talking?” Joel asked, his voice low.

“Soon,” Hargrove replied. “Before anyone can start asking too many questions.”

Joel nodded slowly, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t know what possessed him to agree, but before he could stop himself, he said, “Alright. I’ll do it.”

The reverend let out a breath of relief, stepping forward to shake Joel’s hand. “Thank you, Joel. You’ve done a good thing today. We’ll make the arrangements quickly.”

Joel nodded again, feeling the weight of his decision settle over him like a heavy coat. As he watched the reverend get back into his truck and drive away, he couldn’t help but wonder what the hell he’d just gotten himself into.

-

Dot stood in the kitchen of her childhood home, staring out the window at the garden where her mother once grew flowers. The familiar scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air, a remnant of her father’s attempt to make things feel normal. But nothing about this moment was normal. She absently traced a finger along the edge of the counter, lost in thought.

When she heard the front door creak open, she turned, her heart skipping a beat. Her father had said Joel Miller was coming by, but she hadn’t expected him so soon. And she hadn’t expected the nerves that twisted in her stomach at the thought of seeing him again after all these years.

The heavy footsteps that followed were unmistakable. Joel had always had a presence—quiet, but solid, like the earth beneath her feet. When he walked into the kitchen, she almost forgot to breathe.

He was more handsome than she remembered. The years had etched deeper lines into his face, and his hair had more silver in it now, but there was something about him that made her pulse quicken. Maybe it was the way he filled the space with that same quiet strength, or the way his eyes—still that deep brown she remembered—looked at her with a mix of surprise and something she couldn’t quite name.

“Dot,” Joel said, his voice low and rough.

“Joel,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. She forced herself to smile, though it felt strained. “It’s been a long time.”

He nodded, stepping further into the room. “It has.”

Her father, Reverend Hargrove, appeared in the doorway a moment later, his expression unreadable. Dot’s gaze flicked between the two men, unease settling in her chest.

“What’s this all about, Dad?” Dot asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

Hargrove cleared his throat, glancing at Joel before speaking. “I’ve spoken with Joel about… your situation. He’s agreed to marry you.”

Dot blinked, the words hitting her like a punch to the gut. “He… what?”

“I thought it’d be best for everyone,” Hargrove continued, his tone cautious. “You’d have protection, and Joel… well, he could use someone to take care of the home while he’s out working.”

Dot’s eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, anger surged through her. “You can’t just—” She stopped herself, forcing the words back down. She took a deep breath, trying to regain control. Turning to Joel, she asked quietly, “Did he force you into this?”

Joel’s gaze met hers, steady and calm. “No, Dot. He didn’t force me.”

She shook her head, her voice softening. “You don’t have to do this, Joel. You don’t owe him—or anyone—a favor. This… this isn’t your problem.”

For a long moment, there was silence. Then, Hargrove cleared his throat again, sensing the tension, and murmured, “I’ll leave you two to talk,” before slipping out of the room, leaving them alone.

Dot stared after him for a moment before turning back to Joel. “You don’t have to do this,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can handle the gossip. It’s nobody’s business if I’m pregnant.”

Joel studied her, his expression unreadable. He didn’t speak right away, and for a moment, Dot wondered if he would just walk out and leave her standing there with her unanswered questions. But then, he took a step closer, his gaze never leaving hers.

“It might not be anyone’s business,” Joel said quietly, “but that won’t stop them from talking. You know how this town is, Dot. They’ll tear you apart, whether it’s their business or not.”

Dot swallowed hard, knowing he was right. The town had always thrived on gossip, and a pregnant, unmarried woman was the kind of scandal they’d feast on for months.

Joel continued, his voice steady and calm, “I’m not doin’ this because I owe anyone. I’m doin’ it because… I know what it’s like to lose everything. And I know you don’t deserve to go through this alone. We can make it work—on our terms.”

Dot searched his face, looking for any sign of hesitation, but there was none. She knew Joel wasn’t the kind of man to say something he didn’t mean. He was offering her a way out, a chance to protect herself and her baby from the town’s judgment. And in a strange way, she realized he was offering himself a chance too—a chance to have someone by his side again, even if it was just for convenience.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions inside her. “What if it doesn’t work?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joel’s gaze softened, and for a moment, she saw a flicker of something—maybe understanding, maybe hope—in his eyes. “Then we’ll figure it out. But at least we’ll be in it together.”

Dot held his gaze for a long moment before finally nodding. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay, Joel. Let’s do this.”

Joel let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and gave her a small nod in return. It wasn’t a grand declaration of love or anything close to it. But it was an agreement—one born out of necessity, maybe even mutual respect.

And in this town, that was enough.

- 

The sun was setting when they stood in the small living room of her father’s house, the last rays of daylight filtering through the lace curtains. Reverend Hargrove stood before them with his Bible in hand, his expression somber but steady. Tommy Miller and his wife, Maria, stood off to the side, witnesses to the union.

Hargrove cleared his throat and began, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony. Marriage is a sacred bond, one that requires trust, faith, and love.”

He turned to Dot first. “Dorothy Hargrove, do you take this man, Joel Miller, to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, as long as you both shall live?”

Dot swallowed hard, her pulse racing, but she nodded. “I do.”

Hargrove then turned to Joel. “Joel Miller, do you take this woman, Dorothy Hargrove, to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, as long as you both shall live?”

Joel’s voice was calm as he responded, “I do.”

Hargrove nodded, and after a pause, he opened his Bible to a passage and began to read: “Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms.”*

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Dot kept her eyes on Joel, feeling the weight of what they had just promised, even if love wasn’t the reason they stood here today.

“And now,” Hargrove said, closing the Bible, “by the power vested in me by the state of Texas, I pronounce you man and wife.”

Dot and Joel exchanged a brief, awkward glance. There was no call to kiss the bride, no fanfare. Instead, they simply nodded at each other, silently acknowledging the moment.

Tommy stepped forward with a grin, breaking the tension. “Well, looks like it’s official now,” he said, his voice warm. Maria joined him, smiling gently at Dot and Joel.

“We’re happy for you both,” Maria added, sincerity clear in her eyes. “Congratulations.”

The reverend handed them the marriage contract, and Dot signed her name with a steady hand. Joel followed suit, his signature finalizing their union. Tommy and Maria added their signatures as witnesses, making it all official.

As Dot looked up at Joel again, her heart still pounding, she realized that they had crossed a line they couldn’t step back from now. But maybe, just maybe, they could find a way to make this work.

Together.

-

The sky was painted in shades of twilight as Joel and Dot loaded the last of her belongings into the bed of Joel’s old truck. A single suitcase held all of her clothes, while a couple of boxes were filled with books, paper, and a well-worn typewriter that she had carried from place to place over the years.

Joel secured the boxes with a practiced hand, tying down the items to ensure nothing would shift on the hour-long drive to his farm.

Maria handed Dot a carefully wrapped cake, a warm smile on her face. "Here, take this with you. And there’s a casserole, too—figured you might not want to cook your first night there."

"Thank you, Maria," Dot said softly, accepting the food.

Tommy stepped forward, his grin infectious. "You two take care now, y’hear? And don’t be strangers."

Dot managed a small smile. "We’ll try not to."

Her father, Reverend Hargrove, approached, placing a gentle hand on Dot’s shoulder before leaning in to kiss her forehead. “You’ve done the right thing, Dorothy. Remember that.”

She nodded, fighting back the wave of emotions that threatened to surface. “I will, Dad.”

Joel stepped forward, offering his hand to the reverend. “Thank you, Reverend Hargrove. I’ll take care of her.”

Hargrove shook Joel’s hand firmly, his eyes carrying a mixture of gratitude and something unspoken. “I know you will, Joel.”

With everything packed, Joel opened the passenger door for Dot. She hesitated for just a moment before climbing in, and settling into the worn seat. Joel circled around to the driver’s side, sliding in behind the wheel.

As they drove out of town, the houses grew sparse, replaced by open fields that stretched endlessly into the horizon. The silence in the truck was thick, but Dot finally broke it, her voice soft.

"You’ve got quite the setup at the farm, haven’t you? My dad says you’ve got a whole team of workers."

Joel nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. "Yeah, I’ve got a few hands helping out. We grow a bit of everything—corn, wheat, some vegetables. There’s always work to be done."

Dot glanced out the window, watching the landscape blur past. "Sounds like you don’t really need me around, then, if you’ve got that many people."

Joel shook his head slightly. "They tend the fields, keep the crops goin’. But the house… it’s just me out there. Haven’t really kept up with it the way I should’ve. That’s where I could use some help."

Dot chuckled softly, more to herself than to him. "So I’m more of a housekeeper than a wife, huh?"

Joel glanced at her, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I wouldn’t put it that way. But it’s somethin’ I figured we could work out together."

The truck rumbled down the dirt road, the only sound between them the steady hum of the engine and the crunch of gravel beneath the tires. Joel glanced over at Dot occasionally, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t come out awkward or forced. It was easier when they were working, but conversation was another matter.

After a few minutes of silence, Joel cleared his throat. “You ever think about comin’ back here before all this?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the road ahead.

Dot shook her head slightly. “Not really. I mean, I’ve visited a few times over the years, but I never thought I’d be back for good. Too many memories, I guess.”

Joel nodded, understanding more than he let on. “It’s not the easiest place to come back to. But sometimes… sometimes it’s the only place that makes sense.”

Dot turned her gaze out the window, watching the fields pass by. “Yeah, I suppose. Guess I thought I’d be somewhere else by now, doing something different.”

“What’d you have in mind?” Joel asked, genuinely curious.

Dot hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know… something more than this. I wanted to see the world, write stories, maybe even publish a book someday. But life has a funny way of getting in the way of dreams, doesn’t it?”

Joel’s brow furrowed. “Writing, huh? Never knew that about you.”

Dot gave a small, wistful smile. “It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. Stories, poems… anything that came to mind. But it’s hard to find the time or the inspiration to actually finish anything. I guess I just kept waiting for the right moment, but it never really came.”

Joel considered her words, understanding that feeling all too well. “Farm life might not give you much in the way of excitement, but it’ll give you time. Quiet, too. Maybe that’s what you need.”

Dot looked over at him, surprised by the insight. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll have to see how it goes.”

Joel nodded, letting a comfortable silence fall between them. After a moment, he spoke again, changing the subject slightly. “Farm’s big, but it’s not as busy as it used to be. We got the crops to tend, and the workers handle most of that. It’s the house that’s a different story. Never been much good at keepin’ it in order.”

Dot chuckled softly, the tension easing just a bit. “So, I am a housekeeper after all, then?” She joked.

“No--Jesus, that's not what I meant." Joel chuckled, shaking his head. "Just think of it as… a partnership. You help with what I can’t manage alone, and I’ll do the same.”

Dot nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose that makes sense. And who knows, maybe I’ll find some of that inspiration out there after all.”

As the truck bumped along the dirt road leading to the farmhouse, the building came into view—a large, two-story structure with a wraparound porch and a few outbuildings scattered around. The place had seen better days, but it was sturdy, built to last.

Joel parked the truck near the porch and got out, moving to help Dot with her belongings. They carried everything inside, placing the boxes and suitcase in the foyer.

"This is it," Joel said, almost to himself. "Let me show you around."

The inside of the house was simple, with wooden floors and white walls. It had a lived-in feel, though it was clear Joel wasn’t much for decorating. He led Dot through the rooms on the first floor—a cozy living room with a fireplace, a dining room that looked rarely used, and a spacious kitchen that was surprisingly well-stocked.

"There’s a room down here," Joel said, opening a door to reveal a small bedroom with its own bathroom. "Figured it might come in handy if you ever have any guests in or too old to get up and down the stairs."

They both laughed a little at that. 

Upstairs, Joel showed her the four bedrooms. "This one’s yours," he said, stopping at a large room at the end of the hall. It had its own bathroom and a view of the fields stretching out behind the house.

Dot set her suitcase down near the bed, glancing around the room. "It’s lovely, Joel. Thank you."

He nodded, somewhat awkwardly, before motioning to the room across the hall. "I’m just over there, if you need anything. Right here is another guest room." He said, pointing to another door down the hall. 

Dot noticed one door at the end of the hallway that remained closed. Joel’s eyes flicked toward it for a brief second before looking away. She didn’t need to ask; she understood.

"That’s Sarah’s room," he said quietly, almost as if the words slipped out before he could stop them. "Built this house hopin’ to fill it with kids…"

He trailed off, clearing his throat and turning away. Dot, sensing his discomfort, smiled gently and placed a hand on his arm. "It’s a beautiful home, Joel. You did a wonderful job. How about we see what Maria packed for dinner?"

Joel looked at her, grateful for the change of subject. "Yeah… yeah, that sounds good."

Back downstairs, they unpacked the casserole and cake, setting the table in the kitchen. They ate in relative silence, the weight of the day hanging over them. When they did talk, it was mostly about other people—Tommy and Maria, Dot’s father, the workers on Joel’s farm. Neither seemed ready to delve deeper into their own stories just yet.

After dinner, they worked together to clean up, each movement deliberate and careful, as if afraid to disturb the fragile peace that had settled between them. Dot washed the dishes, and Joel dried them, the clinking of plates and cutlery the only sound in the kitchen.

When the last dish was put away, they both paused, looking at each other with a mixture of uncertainty and something close to understanding.

"Well," Joel said, breaking the silence. "Guess we should call it a night."

Dot nodded. "Yeah, I think so. Good night, Joel."

"Good night, Dot."

They lingered for a moment longer before turning to head upstairs, each retreating into their separate rooms. As Dot closed the door behind her, she took a deep breath, feeling the enormity of the day finally settling in.

She was in a new place, with a new life ahead of her—one that she hadn’t planned for, but one she was determined to make the best of.

And somewhere across the hall, Joel was likely thinking the same thing.

–

The sun rose early on the farm, the first light of dawn spilling over the horizon and casting long shadows across the fields. Joel Miller had always been an early riser, finding solace in the quiet hours of the morning before the day’s work began. But lately, those peaceful moments were tinged with a restlessness he couldn’t quite shake.

He’d lie awake in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, his mind wandering through a landscape of memories he’d long tried to bury. Memories of Sarah, her green eyes so full of life, and of her mother, who had passed too soon, leaving him to raise their daughter alone. The pain of those losses had never really left him; it had just settled into a dull ache that flared up in the quiet moments.

And now, there was Dot.

Dot, with her gentle way of moving through his house, her soft humming as she went about her chores, her growing belly that served as a constant reminder of the new life she carried. It was hard to ignore the way she had changed things. The house that had once been silent and still now held a new energy, one that Joel hadn’t realized he’d been missing.

He found himself watching her more often than he liked to admit, noticing the little things she did—how she’d pause in the middle of a task to catch her breath, or the way she’d carefully arrange flowers in a vase, as if trying to bring a bit of beauty into a space that had known too much sorrow. Joel wasn’t sure what to make of these feelings, the way his chest tightened whenever he saw her, or the way he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave the house without checking on her first.

The days were long, filled with the endless tasks that came with running a farm, but it was the evenings he looked forward to most. He’d come in from the fields, the sun dipping low in the sky, and find Dot in the kitchen, a meal waiting on the table. They didn’t talk much at first, the silence between them thick with unspoken words, but over time, the quiet had become something comfortable, almost companionable.

Joel couldn’t deny that she had a way of making the house feel like a home again. He wasn’t sure how it had happened—how they’d gone from being two strangers thrown together by circumstance to something more. But as the days turned into weeks, he began to realize that he looked forward to those small moments of connection, those fleeting touches, and shared glances that hinted at something deeper.

-

It had been a few weeks since Joel and Dot had settled into their new routine on the farm, but something felt different this morning. As they prepared to head into town for Dot’s check-up, Joel noticed the way she seemed more withdrawn than usual. She moved through the house with an absentminded air, her hand frequently resting on her growing bump, gently caressing it as if to soothe the child within. Joel couldn’t help but think it was just the pregnancy making her moody and uncomfortable, the summer heat weighing on her like it did on everyone else.

“Ready, darlin’?” Joel asked as he opened the truck door for her, his tone gentle. Dot nodded, but there was a distant look in her eyes that made him pause. She climbed into the truck, her movements slow and careful, and Joel couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more on her mind.

They drove in silence for a while, the only sound the rumble of the engine and the crunch of gravel beneath the tires. Joel glanced over at Dot from time to time, noticing the way she kept her gaze fixed on the road ahead, her hand never leaving her belly. He figured she was just tired, the weight of the baby and the strain of the heat getting to her. But as they got closer to town, the tension in the air seemed to thicken, and Joel knew something was off.

When they arrived at the doctor’s office, a hush fell over the waiting area as they stepped inside. Joel moved to Dot’s side, taking her small hand in his, their fingers interlocking as they walked to their seats. Joel noticed the curious glances from the other patients, the way conversations dropped to a murmur as they sat down. Dot’s grip on his hand tightened slightly, her fingers trembling against his skin. Joel gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, offering silent support.

The doctor called them in after a few minutes, and they followed him into the small examination room. The check-up was routine, the doctor’s hands gentle as he examined Dot’s belly and listened to the baby’s heartbeat. “You’re about five months along now,” the doctor said with a reassuring smile. “Everything looks good. You and the baby are both healthy.”

Dot nodded, a small smile of relief crossing her face, but Joel could tell she was still troubled. As the doctor finished up, Joel opened the door for her, and they stepped back into the waiting area. Dot barely gave Joel a chance to catch up before she hurried toward the exit, practically dragging him behind her. Her hand cradled her bump protectively, her steps hurried and anxious.

“Dot, what’s wrong?” Joel asked as they stepped outside, the door closing behind them with a soft thud.

Dot didn’t answer at first, her eyes darting around as if she were searching for an escape. Finally, she stopped, her shoulders slumping in defeat as she turned to face him. “It’s the way they look at us,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “The way they’re already gossiping, speculating about us… about this baby. They’re judging, Joel. They’re thinking… all sorts of things.”

Joel’s expression softened as he stepped closer, his hand finding her shoulder in a comforting grip. “Darlin’, this town’s been talkin’ since the day it was built. Let ‘em talk. Ain’t nobody’s business but ours.”

Dot’s hand instinctively moved to her belly, caressing it in slow, soothing circles. “But it’s not just that… It’s the way they look at us, like they know everything about us. I hate it.”

Joel gently cupped her cheek, tilting her face up so she had to look at him. “They don’t know anything, darlin’. All they got is gossip, and that doesn’t change a thing between us. This baby is ours, and we’re gonna raise it together, no matter what they think.”

Dot searched his eyes, looking for any sign of doubt, but all she saw was the quiet determination that had drawn her to him in the first place. She nodded slowly, her fears beginning to ease in the face of his steady reassurance.

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Okay, Joel. I’ll try.”

He gave her a small, comforting smile, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had escaped down her cheek. “That’s my girl.”

They stood there for a moment, the weight of their conversation settling between them, before Joel glanced at the truck, then back at Dot. “You ever learn how to drive?”

Dot blinked, surprised by the sudden change in topic. “Not really,” she admitted. “My dad tried to teach me, but I never got the hang of it.”

Joel nodded, his smile widening just a bit. “Well, I reckon it’s time you learned. Come on, let’s get in the truck.”

Joel led Dot back to the truck, the tension from their earlier conversation slowly dissipating as they moved into the next task at hand. He opened the driver’s side door and gestured for her to get in, his smile widening as she hesitated.

“Come on, darlin’. You can’t learn if you don’t get behind the wheel,” Joel encouraged, his tone light, trying to ease her nerves.

Dot glanced at the truck, then back at Joel, a mixture of apprehension and determination in her eyes. “Alright,” she said, more to herself than to him, and she climbed into the driver’s seat, her hand instinctively resting on her bump as she adjusted herself in the seat.

Joel circled around to the passenger side and got in, closing the door with a reassuring thud. He looked over at Dot, who was gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, and he couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

“Relax, Dot. You’re not gonna break it,” he said, his voice gentle as he reached over to adjust her hands on the wheel. “Just take it easy, and listen to what I say.”

Dot nodded, exhaling a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Okay. I can do this.”

Joel pointed to the key in the ignition. “Go ahead and start her up.”

The engine roared to life, and Dot jumped slightly at the sound. Joel placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’re doin’ fine. Now, put your foot on the brake, and shift into drive.”

Dot followed his instructions, her movements cautious but deliberate. The truck rolled forward, and she felt a small surge of confidence as she navigated the empty stretch of road. Joel kept his eyes on the road ahead, but every now and then, he’d glance at her, noting the determined set of her jaw, the way she bit her lip in concentration.

“Now, ease off the brake and give it a little gas,” Joel instructed. “Not too much, just enough to get us moving.”

The truck picked up speed, and Dot’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “It feels… different,” she admitted her voice a mix of nerves and excitement. “I’ve never driven something this big before.”

Joel smiled, his voice filled with quiet pride. “You’re doin’ good, Dot. Just keep it steady.”

They drove for a while in companionable silence, the countryside rolling by in a blur of green and gold. Joel guided her through the basics, his instructions clear and patient. As they drove, Dot’s tension began to ease, and she found herself relaxing into the rhythm of the drive.

“You’re a natural,” Joel said, breaking the silence. “Once you get the hang of it, you’ll be able to drive anywhere.”

Dot glanced over at him, a shy smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Thanks, Joel. I never thought I’d be learning to drive out here… like this.”

Joel chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Figured it was about time. Besides, it’s a useful skill to have, especially out here. You never know when you’ll need to get somewhere in a hurry.”

Dot nodded, understanding the practicality of his words. But there was something more to this moment, something that felt like progress. She was doing something she never thought she’d be able to do, and Joel was right there beside her, guiding her, encouraging her.

As they neared the farm, Joel directed her to a quieter path that led around the back of the property. The road was narrower here, flanked by trees that cast dappled shadows across the ground. It felt like a different world, a peaceful escape from the worries that had weighed on her earlier.

“Let’s take it slow here,” Joel advised, his tone easy. “This part’s a bit trickier, but you’ve got it.”

Dot navigated the winding path with careful precision, her confidence growing with each turn. The truck bumped along the dirt road, and she couldn’t help but smile at the feeling of accomplishment that welled up inside her.

When they finally pulled back up to the farmhouse, Dot turned off the engine and sat back in the seat, letting out a breath of relief. Joel watched her, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You did good, darlin’,” he said, his voice full of pride. “You’re a quick learner.”

Dot’s cheeks flushed with a mixture of pride and bashfulness. “Thanks, it was a little scary though...”

Joel nodded, the moment of connection between them settling into something comfortable, something real. “Anytime, darlin’.” He whispered and leaned in hesitantly until there was only a breadth of distance between them. Joel contemplated giving her a peck on the lips, but instead, he brushed his lips on her forehead. 

“You did well.” 

They lingered in the truck for a moment longer, the weight of their earlier worries forgotten in the wake of this small victory. They shared a brief laughter of relief… It was a simple thing, learning to drive, but it felt like a step forward, a sign that they were finding their way through this new life together.

Finally, Joel opened the door and stepped out, offering Dot a hand as she carefully climbed down from the truck. “Let’s get inside. I reckon we’ve earned ourselves a break.”

Dot smiled, taking his hand as they walked toward the house, the warmth of the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the yard. It wasn’t much, but it was enough—a moment of progress, a sign that they were building something that just might last.

-

After their driving lesson, Dot and Joel fell into a routine that began to feel almost natural. The farm was vast, and the work was endless, but they found comfort in the rhythm of their days. Mornings were quiet, the only sounds the soft clucking of chickens and the distant lowing of cattle as the sun rose over the horizon. Joel was always up first, slipping out of bed before dawn to tend to the animals and check the fields. He’d return to the house as the first light of day filtered through the kitchen windows, finding Dot already awake, her hands busy with some small task.

Dot had taken to waking early as well, her body adjusting to the demands of farm life. She’d start the day by tidying up the kitchen, her hands moving in gentle, deliberate motions as she wiped down the counters and set the table for breakfast. Her belly was growing larger with each passing week, and she found herself moving more slowly, her hand often resting on her bump as she worked.

One morning, as Joel entered the kitchen, he found Dot standing at the stove, carefully stirring a pot of oatmeal. The smell of cinnamon filled the air, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her, so focused on the task at hand.

“Mornin’, darlin’,” Joel greeted her, his voice soft as he crossed the room to stand beside her.

Dot looked up, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Morning, Joel. Breakfast is almost ready.”

He nodded, reaching out to take the spoon from her hand. “Let me finish that up. You should sit down and rest.”

Dot hesitated, her hand instinctively moving to her belly as she glanced at the pot. “I’m fine, Joel. I can manage.”

Joel shook his head, his expression gentle but firm. “I know you can, but you don’t have to do it all yourself. Go on, sit down. I’ll bring it over.”

Dot finally relented, taking a seat at the table and watching as Joel finished preparing breakfast. It was a simple meal, but it felt like a shared effort, something they had both contributed to. As Joel brought the bowls to the table and set one in front of her, Dot couldn’t help but feel a warmth in her chest, a sense of belonging that she hadn’t expected.

They ate in comfortable silence, the early morning light casting a golden glow across the kitchen. Dot found herself glancing at Joel now and then, noticing the way he moved with an ease that came from years of hard work. He was a man of few words, but she had come to appreciate the way he showed his care through actions rather than speech.

After breakfast, Joel rose from the table and grabbed his hat from the hook by the door. “I’ll be out in the fields if you need me,” he said, his voice gruff but not unkind.

Dot nodded, her hand resting on her bump as she watched him go. “I might come out later, see if there’s anything I can help with.”

Joel paused, his hand on the door handle as he turned back to her. “You’re always welcome, Dot. Just don’t overdo it, alright?”

A small smile crossed her face, and she nodded again. “I won’t.”

As Joel left the house, Dot finished tidying up the kitchen, her thoughts lingering on the man who had just walked out the door. There was something comforting about the routine they had settled into, something that made her feel less alone in the world. It wasn’t what she had expected when she had agreed to this arrangement, but it was beginning to feel like something she could build on.

Later that morning, as the sun climbed higher in the sky, Dot decided to join Joel in the fields. The air was warm, and the sky was a clear, endless blue as she made her way out to where he was working. Joel was by the fence, mending a section that had come loose, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he worked.

Dot approached slowly, her hand resting on her belly as she took in the sight of him. He looked up as she neared, his expression softening as he saw her.

“Didn’t expect you out here so soon,” Joel said, a hint of surprise in his voice.

Dot smiled, her hand still resting on her bump. “Thought I’d see if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Joel straightened up, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “There’s always somethin’ to do, but I don’t want you pushin’ yourself too hard.”

“I’m not made of glass, Joel,” Dot replied, a touch of humor in her voice. “Besides, I need to keep busy. Sitting around all day isn’t good for me.”

Joel chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at her. “Alright, darlin’. How about you hand me those nails over there?”

Dot nodded and moved to retrieve the small box of nails from where they sat on a nearby post. As she handed them to him, their fingers brushed briefly, and she felt a small jolt of electricity at the contact. It was a fleeting moment, but it left her feeling oddly warm inside.

They worked together in companionable silence, with Joel giving her small tasks that wouldn’t tire her out. As they fell into a rhythm, Dot found herself enjoying the work, the sense of purpose it gave her. She asked questions about the farm, about the crops and the animals, and Joel answered them with a patience that surprised her.

“You’ve been doing this for a long time,” Dot remarked as she watched Joel hammer a nail into place. “I can tell by the way you move, like you’re part of the land.”

Joel paused, glancing over at her with a thoughtful expression. “Guess you could say that. This farm’s been in my family for generations. It’s in my blood, I suppose.”

Dot nodded, her hand absently caressing her belly as she considered his words. “Must be nice, having that kind of connection to something.”

“It is,” Joel agreed, his voice tinged with a hint of pride. “But it’s hard work too. Takes a lot to keep it goin’. Can’t do it alone.”

There was a weight to his words that Dot didn’t miss, and she looked at him with a newfound understanding. “You’re not alone, Joel,” she said softly. “I’m here now. I want to help.”

Joel looked at her, his brown eyes searching her face as if trying to gauge the sincerity of her words. After a moment, he nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I appreciate that, Dot.”

They continued working, the conversation flowing easily between them. It was as if the barriers that had once stood between them were slowly crumbling, replaced by a growing sense of trust and partnership. Joel found himself enjoying these moments with her, the quiet camaraderie that had begun to take root.

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the fields, Joel suggested they head back to the house. Dot agreed, her body feeling the fatigue that came with a day spent in the sun. They walked back together, their pace slow and unhurried, with Dot’s hand resting on her bump as they talked about the day’s work.

When they reached the porch, Joel held the door open for her, and they stepped inside. The house was cool and dim, a welcome respite from the heat outside. Dot made her way to the kitchen, intending to start dinner, but Joel stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.

“Why don’t you sit down for a bit, darlin’? I’ll take care of dinner tonight.”

Dot looked up at him, surprised. “Are you sure? I don’t mind cooking.”

Joel nodded, his expression firm. “I’m sure. You’ve done enough today. Let me handle this.”

Dot hesitated for a moment, then smiled and nodded. “Alright, but I’ll be your assistant if you need one.”

Joel chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Dot settled into a chair at the table, watching as Joel moved around the kitchen with a practiced ease. It was clear that he knew his way around a stove, and she couldn’t help but feel a sense of admiration for him. He was a man who took care of what needed to be done, no matter how big or small the task.

As Joel worked, he glanced over at Dot now and then, noting the way she seemed more relaxed, more at ease. He found himself wanting to make her feel comfortable, to take some of the burden off her shoulders. It was a new feeling for him, this desire to care for someone else, but it wasn’t unwelcome.

“Joel,” Dot said after a few minutes of quiet, her voice breaking the comfortable silence. “Do you ever think about… what it’ll be like when the baby’s here?”

Joel paused in his work, his back to her as he considered her question. “I think about it, yeah,” he admitted, his voice steady. “A lot, actually.”

Dot looked down at her hands, which were resting on her belly, gently caressing the growing bump. “It’s hard to imagine sometimes. Everything’s going to change.”

Joel turned to face her, leaning against the counter as he met her gaze. “It will, but change isn’t always a bad thing. And darlin’, a child… our child… that’s a good change. It’s a challenge, sure. Caring for a newborn is one of the hardest things you’ll ever do. There’ll be sleepless nights, lots of crying, and plenty of moments when you’ll wonder if you’re doing it all wrong.”

As he spoke, Joel crossed the room and knelt down beside her, his presence warm and comforting. He reached out and gently placed his hand on top of hers, which was resting on her bump. The touch was tender, reassuring, and Dot felt a shiver of surprise at the intimacy of the gesture. But as Joel’s hand began to caress her belly, she found herself welcoming it, loving the feeling of his large, warm hands on her skin, grounding her in the moment.

“But,” Joel continued, his voice softening as he looked up at her, “it’s also one of the most beautiful things you’ll ever experience. You’ll discover a kind of love you didn’t even know your heart was capable of. It’s a love that grows with every smile, every tiny hand that grips your finger, every moment you hold our baby close and feel them breathe.”

Dot’s eyes softened, but there was a hint of sadness that lingered in them, a shadow that Joel could see all too clearly. She looked down at their joined hands, gently caressing her belly together. “I’m scared, Joel,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared I won’t be enough. That I’ll let this baby down.”

Joel’s heart ached at her words, and he squeezed her hand gently, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “You won’t, darlin’. You’ve got a heart bigger than you know. You’re gonna be a great mother, and our baby… our baby’s lucky to have you.”

Dot looked at him, her eyes searching his for reassurance. “You really think so?”

Joel nodded, his voice steady and comforting. “I know so. And you’re not alone in this, darlin’. We’re in it together, every step of the way.”

She offered him a small, grateful smile, though the sadness in her eyes remained, a reminder of the losses she had endured, the dreams that had been left behind.

Sensing her need for something lighter, Joel cleared his throat and let a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “You know,” he began, a hint of playfulness in his tone, “there are other changes about having a baby too. Like the first time you realize that diapers don’t just get dirty—they get downright explosive.”

Dot’s eyes widened in surprise, and she let out a small, unexpected laugh. “Explosive?”

“Oh yeah,” Joel replied, chuckling along with her. “You’ll be amazed at what a little baby can do. One minute, you’re holding this sweet, peaceful bundle of joy, and the next… well, let’s just say you’ll never look at mustard the same way again.”

Dot’s laughter grew, the sound light and genuine, easing some of the tension that had been building inside her. Joel grinned, pleased to see her smiling, and continued with his lighthearted tales.

“And then there’s the time when they start talking,” Joel said, still kneeling beside her, his hands resting warmly on her belly. “You think you’re ready for it, but when that first word comes out, it’ll knock the wind right out of you. And don’t get me started on when they start walking. You’ll be chasing them all over the place, and you’ll swear they’ve got rocket fuel in those little legs.”

Dot was laughing now, her earlier sadness momentarily forgotten as she listened to Joel’s stories. There was a warmth between them, something that felt like the beginnings of a new chapter, one filled with hope and possibility.

“And then, of course, there’s the first time they spit up on you right after you’ve finally gotten them to sleep,” Joel added with a mock grimace. “You’ll think it’s the worst thing in the world, but looking back, you’ll laugh about it.”

Dot shook her head, still smiling as she wiped a tear from her eye. “It sounds like it’s going to be a wild ride.”

“It will be,” Joel agreed, his voice softening as he looked at her. “But it’s worth every second. And when you hold our baby in your arms for the first time… well, that’s a feeling you’ll never forget.”

Dot’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a look of wistfulness as she gazed at him. “You must miss it… being a father.”

Joel’s expression grew somber for a moment, the memories of Sarah flickering behind his eyes. He cleared his throat, pushing the sadness aside as he forced a smile. “I do,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “But I’m grateful for the time I had with her. And I’m looking forward to what’s ahead.”

Dot nodded, her heart heavy with empathy for the man kneeling beside her. She could see the strength in him, the resilience that had carried him through so much loss. And in that moment, she felt a deep sense of gratitude for his presence in her life, for the way he had taken her in and given her a place to belong.

Joel reached out and gently squeezed her hand, his touch warm and reassuring. “We’re gonna make this work, darlin’. You and me, and our baby. We’re gonna be just fine.”

Dot squeezed his hand back, a small smile playing on her lips. “Thank you, Joel. For everything.”

They stood there for a moment, the silence between them filled with unspoken understanding. It wasn’t just about the baby anymore—it was about the life they were starting to build together, the partnership that was slowly taking shape.

Finally, Joel cleared his throat and stood up, breaking the moment with a lighthearted grin. “Now, how about I finish this dinner before we burn the house down?”

Dot laughed, the sound a welcome release from the emotions that had been swirling inside her. “I think that’s a good idea.”

They spent the rest of the evening in a comfortable rhythm, moving around the kitchen together as they prepared and shared their meal. The conversation was light, filled with stories and laughter, and it felt like a small victory, a sign that they were finding their way through the challenges and toward something stronger.

As they cleaned up after dinner, Dot handed Joel a dish just as he reached for it, their movements synchronized in a way that spoke of growing familiarity. It was a small thing, but it felt significant—a sign that they were beginning to understand each other in ways that went beyond words.

When the dishes were done, they lingered in the kitchen for a moment, the warmth of the evening wrapping around them like a comforting blanket. Dot felt a sense of peace, a quiet contentment that she hadn’t felt in a long time. And as she looked at Joel, she realized that this, whatever it was they were building together, was worth holding on to.

“Goodnight, Joel,” she said softly, her voice filled with gratitude.

“Goodnight, darlin’,” Joel replied, his smile gentle as he watched her head toward the stairs that led to their rooms. “Sleep well.”

Dot gave him one last smile before heading up the stairs, leaving Joel standing in the quiet of the kitchen, his thoughts lingering on the woman who had come into his life and changed it in ways he hadn’t expected. He knew there were challenges ahead, but for the first time in a long time, he felt ready to face them.

–

The days had grown shorter, the crispness of fall settling over the farm as October gave way to November. Dot found herself adjusting more to life on the farm, her routines becoming familiar, comforting even. But with the baby’s due date approaching, Joel had become more insistent that she take it easy.

One morning, as the sun filtered through the kitchen windows, Dot entered the living room to find Joel standing beside a large oak desk that hadn’t been there the night before. Her books were stacked neatly on a newly installed shelf, the typewriter Joel had seen her use once or twice placed prominently on the desk. He turned to her with a small, proud smile, clearly pleased with his work.

“Morning, darlin’,” Joel greeted her, a warmth in his voice that made Dot’s heart flutter. “Thought it was about time you had a proper space for your writing.”

Dot’s eyes widened as she took in the setup, her hand instinctively resting on her bump. “Joel, this is… you did all this?”

He nodded, wiping his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder. “Made the desk myself. Thought you’d appreciate somethin’ sturdy. And I know you’ve been itchin’ to get back to your writing, so I figured now’s as good a time as any.”

Dot walked over to the desk, running her fingers over the smooth surface. The wood was polished to a rich sheen, the craftsmanship solid and precise. She couldn’t help but smile, touched by the effort Joel had put into creating this space for her.

“It’s beautiful, Joel,” she said softly, looking up at him. “Thank you.”

Joel’s smile widened, and he reached out to gently touch her arm. “You’re welcome, darlin’. I just want you to take it easy. You’ve been workin’ hard around here, and I thought maybe it’s time you did somethin’ for yourself. Read a bit, write if you feel like it.”

Dot felt a warmth spread through her chest, a mixture of gratitude and something else, something that made her heart race a little faster when Joel was near. She had noticed it more and more lately—the way her eyes would linger on him when he worked around the farm, the way her pulse quickened whenever he smiled at her. Joel was older, yes, but he was strong, his body still fit and toned from years of hard work. And despite the gruff exterior, there was a kindness in him, a gentleness that drew her in.

As she sat down at the desk, Dot looked up at Joel, her gaze lingering on the way his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. “You didn’t have to do all this, you know,” she said, her voice soft.

“I wanted to,” Joel replied simply, his eyes meeting hers. “You’ve brought a lot of life back into this house, Dot. Just tryin’ to return the favor.”

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the room seemed to grow warmer, the air between them charged with something unspoken. Dot felt her cheeks flush, and she quickly looked down at the typewriter, her fingers brushing over the keys.

“I’ll try to get back to writing,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “It’s been a while, but I miss it.”

Joel nodded, his hand resting on the back of her chair. “No rush, darlin’. Just take your time. The desk’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

Dot smiled up at him, her heart swelling with affection. “Thank you, Joel. Really.”

He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before stepping back, a quiet, thoughtful look in his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

As the days passed, Dot found herself spending more time in her new office space, occasionally writing but mostly just enjoying the comfort of the room Joel had created for her. It felt like a small sanctuary, a place where she could relax and let her mind wander. But as her belly grew, so did the aches and pains that came with carrying a child. Joel noticed it too, the way she winced when she stood up too quickly or how she shifted in her chair, trying to find a more comfortable position.

One evening, after dinner, Joel found Dot in the living room, her hand pressed to the small of her back as she stretched, trying to relieve the tension that had settled there. He watched her for a moment, concern etched in his features, before stepping forward.

“Back botherin’ you again?” he asked, his voice gentle.

Dot nodded, sighing softly as she tried to ease the pain. “Yeah, it’s been aching all day. I can’t seem to get comfortable no matter what I do.”

Without a word, Joel moved behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, gently guiding her to sit down on the edge of the couch. Dot looked up at him in surprise, but he just offered her a small, reassuring smile.

“Let me see if I can help,” he said, his voice low and soothing.

Dot hesitated for a moment, then nodded, letting herself relax as Joel’s hands moved to her back. His touch was firm but careful, his fingers kneading the muscles that had tightened from carrying the weight of the baby. Dot closed her eyes, a soft sigh escaping her lips as the tension began to melt away under his skilled hands.

“That feel better?” Joel asked, his voice close to her ear.

Dot nodded, her eyes still closed. “Much better. Thank you, Joel.”

“Anytime, darlin’,” he replied, his voice warm.

As Joel continued to massage her back, Dot couldn’t help but notice how close they were, how his breath tickled the back of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. She felt her heart begin to race again, a flutter of nervous excitement in her chest. When had she started to feel this way about him? And did he feel the same?

Joel’s hands moved lower, working out the knots that had formed along her spine, and Dot bit her lip to keep from letting out a contented sigh. She didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want to lose the warmth of his touch. But as his hands stilled, she felt a pang of disappointment.

“All done,” Joel said softly, his hands resting gently on her lower back.

Dot opened her eyes, feeling a flush of warmth in her cheeks as she turned to look at him. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice catching slightly.

Joel’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them, close enough to feel each other’s breath. Dot’s gaze flickered to his lips, wondering what it would be like to kiss him, to feel that closeness she had been craving. But before she could act on the impulse, Joel pulled back slightly, clearing his throat as he stepped away.

“Glad I could help,” he said, his voice a little rough.

Dot smiled, trying to shake off the lingering tension. “You did. I feel much better.”

Joel nodded, the warmth in his eyes still there, but tempered by something else, something cautious. “You should get some rest, darlin’. It’s been a long day.”

Dot nodded, standing up slowly, her hand resting on her bump. “I will. Goodnight, Joel.”

“Goodnight, darlin’,” Joel replied, his voice soft as he watched her head toward the stairs.

As Dot climbed the stairs to her room, she couldn’t help but wonder if Joel had felt the same pull she had, that magnetic attraction that had been growing between them. And as she lay in bed that night, her thoughts were filled with the memory of his touch, the way his hands had felt on her back, so warm and strong. She didn’t know where this was leading, but she knew one thing for certain—she was no longer afraid of it.

-

The next few days passed in a blur of routine and quiet moments, but the tension between Joel and Dot continued to build. It was in the way their hands brushed when they passed each other a tool, the way Joel’s gaze lingered on her a little too long when he thought she wasn’t looking. And Dot, for her part, found herself stealing glances at him whenever she could, admiring the way his muscles moved under his shirt as he worked, the strength and solidity of him.

One afternoon, as the sun was beginning to set, Joel found Dot sitting on the porch, her feet propped up on the railing as she watched the colors of the sky shift from blue to pink to orange. He approached quietly, his hands in his pockets, and sat down beside her.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Dot said softly, not taking her eyes off the horizon.

“Sure is,” Joel agreed, though his gaze was fixed on her. “How’re you feelin’, darlin’?”

Dot turned to him, her heart fluttering at the concern in his eyes. “I’m alright. Tired, but alright.”

Joel nodded, his hand reaching out to rest on hers. “You’ve been doin’ a lot. You should take it easy.”

Dot looked down at their joined hands, her heart skipping a beat. “I know. I just… I don’t like sitting still for too long.”

Joel chuckled softly, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand. “I can tell. But you need to rest up, especially with our baby coming soon. You’ve been workin’ hard, and I don’t want you to wear yourself out.”

Dot smiled at his concern, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. “I promise I’ll try to take it easy. It’s just… I like being busy. It helps keep my mind off things.”

Joel’s gaze softened, and he shifted closer to her, their shoulders almost touching. “I get that, darlin’. But you don’t have to carry everything on your own. I’m here, remember?”

Dot looked up at him, her breath catching in her throat at the closeness of his face, the sincerity in his eyes. “I know, Joel. And I’m grateful for that. More than you know.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, the air between them thick with unspoken words. Dot’s heart raced as she looked at him, her thoughts a jumble of emotions she wasn’t sure how to express. She knew she was attracted to him, drawn to his strength, his kindness, the way he made her feel safe and cared for. But there was more to it than that—something deeper, something that scared and excited her in equal measure.

Joel’s hand tightened slightly on hers, and she saw the same uncertainty in his eyes, the same hesitance. But then, as if some unspoken agreement passed between them, he leaned in, closing the small distance between them.

The kiss was soft, tentative at first, as if they were both testing the waters. Dot’s heart pounded in her chest, her lips tingling with the warmth of his. She felt a rush of emotions—relief, excitement, and something that felt a lot like hope. She let herself lean into the kiss, her free hand coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips.

Joel responded by deepening the kiss, his hand moving to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing gently over her skin. There was a tenderness in his touch, a carefulness that made her feel cherished, wanted. Dot sighed softly against his lips, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she let herself get lost in the moment.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other as they tried to steady their racing hearts. Joel’s hand remained on her cheek, his thumb still caressing her skin, as if he couldn’t bear to break the contact.

“Dot…” Joel began, his voice husky, full of emotion he couldn’t quite put into words.

Dot opened her eyes, looking up at him with a mixture of affection and longing. “Joel, I…”

He smiled softly, his thumb brushing over her lips, silencing her. “You don’t have to say anything, darlin’. I just… I wanted you to know how I feel. How much you mean to me.”

Dot felt a tear slip down her cheek, but it wasn’t one of sadness—it was one of relief, of joy at knowing that the feelings she had been wrestling with were shared. “I care about you too, Joel. More than I ever thought I could.”

Joel’s smile widened, and he leaned in to kiss her again, this time with more confidence, more certainty. The kiss was sweeter, filled with the promise of something new, something neither of them had expected but both of them wanted.

As the kiss deepened, Dot felt a warmth spread through her, pooling in her belly and radiating out to every part of her body. She hadn’t realized how much she wanted this, needed this, until now. She let herself sink into the sensation, into the safety of Joel’s arms, feeling a sense of rightness that had been missing for so long.

When they finally pulled apart again, Joel rested his forehead against hers, his breath coming in soft, warm puffs against her skin. “Dot, I don’t want to rush you, but… I want you to know that I’m here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Dot smiled, her heart full as she looked into his eyes. “I know, Joel. And I’m not going anywhere either.”

They sat there for a moment, wrapped up in each other, the world outside the porch fading away. It was just them, and it felt like the beginning of something they both needed.

“Maybe we should head inside,” Joel suggested softly, his hand still cradling her cheek.

Dot nodded, her breath catching as she saw the unspoken question in his eyes. She knew what he was asking, what he was hoping for, and she found herself wanting it too, more than anything.

Joel stood up first, offering her his hand, and she took it without hesitation, letting him pull her to her feet. They walked into the house together, the warmth of the living room wrapping around them as they crossed the threshold.

Joel hesitated for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, glancing at her as if to make sure she was still with him. Dot smiled reassuringly, squeezing his hand, and that was all the encouragement he needed.

They climbed the stairs slowly, the anticipation building with each step, until they reached the landing where their bedrooms were. Joel paused outside her door, his hand still holding hers as he turned to face her.

“Dot… are you sure?” he asked, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

Dot nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. “I’m sure, Joel.”

That was all he needed to hear. Joel opened the door to her room and led her inside, closing it softly behind them. The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn, casting a warm, intimate glow over the space. Joel turned to her, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and desire, and she felt her breath hitch in her throat.

He stepped closer, his hands coming up to cup her face, his thumbs brushing gently over her cheeks. “I want this to be right for you, darlin’. I want you to feel safe, loved.”

Dot smiled, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I do, Joel. I’ve never felt safer.”

With that, Joel leaned in and kissed her again, his lips warm and inviting. This time, the kiss was more urgent, more passionate, and Dot found herself responding with equal fervor. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him against her.

Joel’s hands moved down her sides, gently caressing every curve of her body, lingering over the gentle swell of her belly. Dot shivered under his touch, a mixture of anticipation and desire coursing through her. The tension that had been building between them for weeks was finally coming to a head, and she could feel the heat rising between them.

Joel leaned in, pressing soft kisses along her neck, his breath warm against her skin. As his lips moved lower, he began to undo the buttons of her dress, taking his time with each one, revealing more of her skin with every soft press of his lips. Dot’s breath hitched as he bared her shoulders, the cool air contrasting with the warmth of his touch. She reached up, running her fingers through his hair, encouraging him to continue.

As her dress fell to the floor, Joel’s hands traced the curve of her belly, his touch reverent, as if he were worshiping the life growing inside her. He dropped to his knees, his lips following the path his hands had taken, pressing gentle kisses to the swell of her abdomen. Dot’s breath caught in her throat as she watched him, the sight of him on his knees before her, his hands and lips so tender, filling her with a deep, overwhelming emotion.

Joel looked up at her, his eyes dark with desire. “You’re so beautiful, Dot,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t get enough of you.”

Dot’s heart fluttered at his words, and she tugged at his shirt, needing to feel his skin against hers. Joel stood, quickly shedding his clothes, his eyes never leaving hers. As he stepped out of his breeches, his cock sprang free, thick and ready, and Dot felt a rush of heat flood her body at the sight of him.

Joel reached for her again, his hands sliding down her back to undo the last fastenings of her undergarments, letting them drop to the floor. He pulled her close, his hands running up and down her back, feeling the softness of her skin, the warmth of her body against his. Dot leaned into him, her breasts pressing against his chest, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she felt his hardness against her belly.

He guided her gently to the bed, laying her down on the soft sheets, his eyes drinking in the sight of her laid out before him. Dot’s heart raced as she watched him, her anticipation building with every second. Joel knelt beside her, his hands running along her thighs, gently spreading her legs as he settled between them. His eyes were fixed on hers as he leaned down, his mouth finding the sensitive skin just above her knee, kissing a slow path up her thigh.

Dot gasped as his lips moved higher, his breath warm against her skin, sending shivers of pleasure through her. When he finally reached the apex of her thighs, he paused, his hands gently holding her hips as he looked up at her, his eyes dark with desire.

“Joel…” Dot whispered, her voice trembling with need.

“I got you, darlin’.” 

Without another word, Joel lowered his head between her thighs, his tongue slipping between her folds, finding the sensitive bud at her center. Dot cried out, her hips jerking at the sudden surge of pleasure, but Joel held her steady, his hands firm on her hips as he continued his ministrations. His tongue moved in slow, deliberate strokes, exploring her with a skill and tenderness that left her breathless.

Dot’s hands clenched the sheets as her big belly wouldn’t let her hold on to the thick of Joel’s salt & pepper hair, her back arching as the pleasure built inside her, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Joel’s mouth was relentless, his tongue working her with a steady rhythm that drove her closer and closer to the edge. And when he added his fingers, sliding them inside her with a gentle but insistent pressure, pressing on her back wall over and over again, Dot’s control shattered. She came with a cry, her body shaking with the intensity of it, her thighs trembling as waves of pleasure washed over her.

Joel didn’t stop, didn’t let up, his mouth and fingers working her through her climax, until she was left panting and spent, her body melting into the bed. When he finally lifted his head, his lips glistening with her arousal, Dot could only look at him in dazed wonder, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Joel… that was…” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“I know… so good, darlin’... you taste so good.”

He smiled at her, a satisfied, almost smug look in his eyes as he moved up her body, capturing her lips in a deep, passionate kiss. Dot moaned into his mouth, tasting herself on his lips, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing to feel all of him against her.

As Joel positioned himself between her legs, he paused, his hand resting on her belly, his eyes searching hers. “Are you okay, darlin’? Is this okay?”

Dot nodded, her hand covering his on her belly. “Yes, Joel. I need you. Please.”

With a groan of desire, Joel pushed into her, filling her slowly, letting her adjust to the size of him. Dot gasped at the sensation, the fullness, the heat of him inside her, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper. Joel’s grip on her hips tightened as he began to move, his strokes slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving hers.

Dot’s breath hitched as he filled her again and again, her body responding to his with a need she hadn’t realized she had. The weight of him, the strength in his arms as he held her close, the way his hips moved against hers—it was all too much, and yet not enough. She needed more, needed him to take her higher, to push her over the edge again.

“Joel… please,” she begged, her voice trembling with need.

Joel’s eyes darkened with desire, and he shifted, pulling her hips up slightly so he could go deeper, his movements becoming more urgent, more insistent. Dot cried out, her hands gripping his shoulders as she felt herself being pushed closer and closer to the edge.

When she came again, it was with a cry of his name, her body tightening around him, pulling him deeper as she shattered beneath him. Joel groaned, his hips bucking as he found his own release, his cock pulsing inside her as he spilled into her, his hands holding her hips in a bruising grip.

They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies still joined, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Joel’s hand moved to her belly again, caressing the curve of it, his eyes filled with a tender, almost possessive emotion.

“Our baby,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

She smiled up at him, her hand coming to rest over his on her belly. “I love you, Joel.”

“I love you too, darlin’,” he replied, his voice rough with emotion. “More than I ever thought possible.”

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips before pulling back slightly, his eyes still fixed on hers. “You’re everything to me, Dot. Everything.”

Dot’s heart swelled with love for the man above her, the man who had become her partner, her lover, the father of her child. No questions asked. As they lay together, their bodies still entwined, she knew that this was where she belonged, with Joel, with their baby, in this home they had built together.

They fell asleep like that, wrapped up in each other, the world outside forgotten for a little while. 

- 

The weeks that followed their first night together were some of the happiest Dot had ever known. The intimacy they had discovered that night became a regular part of their lives, a natural extension of the deepening bond between them. Joel was attentive, always careful with her, mindful of her growing belly and the changes her body was going through as her pregnancy progressed.

They quickly fell into a comfortable rhythm, their days filled with the familiar routines of farm life, and their nights spent wrapped up in each other. The physical connection they had discovered only grew stronger, and it wasn’t long before they found themselves stealing moments together whenever they could—whether it was a slow morning in bed, a quick encounter in the barn, or a quiet evening in the living room after dinner.

One lazy Sunday morning, Dot woke to the feel of Joel’s hand resting on her belly, his thumb gently brushing over the swell of it. She smiled, still half-asleep, and snuggled closer to him, her back pressing against his chest.

“Mornin’, darlin’,” Joel murmured, his voice thick with sleep as he nuzzled the back of her neck.

“Morning,” Dot replied, her voice soft and content.

They had started sharing a bed shortly after their first time together, the master bedroom becoming their shared sanctuary. It was a decision that had felt natural, as if it was always meant to be this way. Joel had taken to sleeping with his hand on her belly, his touch a constant reassurance that he was there, that they were in this together.

Dot turned in his arms, facing him, and leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Sleep well?”

Joel grinned, his hand sliding down to rest on her hip. “Always do when I’m with you.”

Their kisses deepened, a slow burn igniting between them as their bodies pressed closer together. Despite the growing weight of her pregnancy, Dot found herself craving Joel more and more, and he was always eager to oblige. He was careful, always mindful of her condition, but there was no mistaking the hunger in his touch, the desire that flared between them whenever they were close.

They made love slowly, lazily, taking their time to savor each other, the morning light filtering through the curtains and casting a warm glow over their entwined bodies. Joel was gentle, his hands and lips worshiping her, his every movement careful and deliberate. Dot arched into him, her breath hitching as he filled her, the familiar sensation sending a shiver of pleasure through her.

“Joel…” she whispered, her voice trembling with need.

He responded with a low groan, his hands gripping her hips as he rocked into her, his gaze never leaving hers. Dot felt the tension building inside her, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until it finally snapped, sending her tumbling over the edge. She cried out his name, her hands clutching at his shoulders as waves of pleasure washed over her.

Joel followed soon after, his own release crashing through him as he buried his face in her neck, his breath hot and ragged against her skin. They stayed like that for a long moment, their bodies still joined, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the room.

Finally, Joel pulled back slightly, his hand gently caressing her belly as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “You okay, darlin’?”

Dot smiled up at him, her heart swelling with love for the man above her. “I’m perfect,” she whispered, her voice filled with contentment.

They spent the rest of the morning in bed, talking quietly, sharing soft kisses, and basking in the warmth of each other’s presence. It was a morning like so many others they had shared since they had decided to fully commit to each other, a morning that felt like the calm before the storm.

It was later that afternoon when the storm finally hit.

Joel was outside, repairing a fence near the barn, when he noticed the familiar truck of his father-in-law, Reverend Hargrove pulling up the long gravel driveway. Straightening up, Joel wiped the sweat from his brow and set his tools aside, watching as the reverend stepped out of the truck, holding something in his hand. There was a certain tension in the older man’s posture that immediately put Joel on edge.

“Afternoon, Reverend,” Joel greeted as he approached, his tone polite but guarded.

“Afternoon, Joel,” the reverend replied, offering a tight smile. He hesitated for a moment, glancing toward the house. “Is Dot around? I’ve got something here for her.”

Joel frowned slightly but nodded. “She’s inside. You wanna come in? Have a cup of coffee with us?”

The reverend shook his head, a look of regret passing over his face. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to take a rain check. I just wanted to drop this off. I’ll see you both this weekend for Thanksgiving.”

He handed Joel a letter, and Joel’s heart sank as he read the sender’s name on the envelope. Carson. The knot of anxiety that had been building in his chest tightened, and he felt a wave of anger begin to rise. He nodded curtly, his jaw clenched as he accepted the letter.

“Thanks for bringing this by,” Joel said, his voice strained.

The reverend gave him a concerned look, sensing the tension. “Everything alright, Joel?”

Joel forced a tight smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, everything’s fine. We’ll see you this weekend.”

The reverend nodded, though he didn’t look entirely convinced. He gave Joel a final pat on the shoulder before turning to head back to his truck. Joel watched him go, his grip on the letter tightening as the sound of the truck’s engine faded into the distance. The moment the reverend was out of sight, Joel turned and stalked back to the house, the anger simmering just below the surface.

When he stepped into the living room, he found Dot standing by her desk, arching her back and rubbing the base of her spine with one hand under her almost due belly. She looked around when she heard him enter, her expression brightening when she saw him.

“Hey, Joel,” she said, smiling softly.

“Dot,” Joel replied, his voice tight as he held up the envelope. “This came for you.”

Dot’s smile faltered as she saw the envelope, confusion knitting her brows together. “Who’s it from?”

“Carson,” Joel said, his tone clipped, barely containing his frustration.

Dot’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at the name on the envelope, her heart skipping a beat. Carson. She hadn’t thought about him in months, not since she had agreed to marry Joel and start a new life on the farm. But seeing his name now, written out in neat, familiar handwriting, brought back a flood of memories she had long since buried.

She reached out to take the envelope, her hands trembling slightly. Joel watched her closely, his jaw tight, his eyes dark with a mix of anger and something else—something more vulnerable, more afraid.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Joel spat out, his voice rising as the emotions he had been trying to suppress began to spill over. “After all this time? After everything we’ve built together, now he decides to write?”

Dot flinched at the intensity of his tone, her heart aching as she saw the pain and anger in his eyes. “Joel, I—”

“He’s the father, Dot,” Joel interrupted, his voice laced with bitterness. “He’s the real father of this baby. Maybe this is what you’ve been waiting for, huh? A way out. Maybe now you can finally go back to the big city, to the life you really wanted.”

Dot’s eyes widened in shock, tears welling up as she realized just how deeply Joel’s fear of abandonment ran. “Joel, no, that’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” Joel cut her off, his voice growing louder, more frantic. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. Your typewriter’s been gathering dust, you haven’t written a damn thing since you got here. Maybe you miss the city, maybe you miss that life. Hell, maybe you miss him.”

Dot’s hand tightened on the letter, her heart breaking as she saw the hurt and anger in Joel’s eyes, ignoring the growing pressure at the base of her belly. But she didn’t sob, didn’t let the tears fall or the pain show. Instead, she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself as she scanned the contents of the letter. As she read the words, a bitter chuckle escaped her lips, and she tossed the letter aside, shaking her head.

“Joel,” she called quietly to him, her voice trembling with both anger and sadness. 

But Joel wasn’t listening. He was too far gone, his anger and fear clouding his judgment, making it impossible for him to hear the reassurance in her words.

“Maybe you miss him…” Joel snapped, his voice harsh as he paced the room, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Maybe he’s just waiting for the right moment to swoop in and take you away, take everything we’ve built together.”

Dot shook her head, tears spilling over but still refusing to sob, refusing to let herself fall apart. “Joel, listen to me. I’m not going anywhere. I chose this life. Carson is in the past.”

But Joel was too deep in his own pain to hear her, his voice rising in desperation. “How can I believe that? How do I know you won’t just leave the moment things get tough? How do I know this isn’t what you’ve wanted all along?”

Dot’s heart ached at his words, the accusations cutting deeper than she had ever thought possible. “Because I chose you–I keep on choosing you every day, I–” But before she could say anything more, a sharp pain shot through her abdomen, doubling her over with a gasp.

“Dot?” Joel’s voice immediately shifted from anger to concern, his eyes widening as he saw the pain on her face. “What’s wrong?”

Dot’s eyes went wide as she felt a sudden rush of fluid between her legs, her heart pounding with realization. “Joel… my water just broke.”

For a moment, the room was silent, the gravity of the situation crashing down on them both. Then, in unison, they both cursed.

“Shit!”

Joel sprang into action, his anger forgotten as he rushed to Dot’s side, wrapping his arms around her to support her as she tried to steady herself.

“Alright, darlin’, it’s okay,” Joel said, his voice calm but urgent as he guided her toward the door but she wouldn’t move. “We’re gonna get you to the clinic. Just breathe, okay?”

Dot shook her head, her breath coming in shallow gasps as the pain intensified. “Joel… there’s no time. I can feel the head.”

Joel’s eyes widened in panic, but he quickly masked it, his focus shifting entirely to Dot and their baby. “Shit… okay, okay, we’ll do this here. We’ll do this right here.”

Dot nodded again, her body trembling as another contraction hit, stronger than the last. He glanced around the room, his eyes landing on the sturdy oak table he had made for her, where her typewriter now sat. Joel guided her back to her oak desk, her grip on his arm tight as she struggled to breathe through the pain. 

“Here, darlin’, hold onto the table,” Joel instructed, helping her to lean against it. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

Dot did as he said, gripping the edge of the table with one hand while the other clung to his arm. She could feel the pressure building, the baby moving lower with each contraction, and she knew there was no turning back now.

“How long?” He asked her.

“Two days,” She gasped out and he cursed out.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked her.

“I thought it was just normal… just the discomfort… but…” Dot admitted through gritted teeth, her voice strained with the effort of speaking.

Joel’s heart ached with guilt as he realized she had been in pain all this time, trying to bear it alone. “I’m sorry, Dot,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry…” 

Dot nodded, her breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps as she felt another contraction rip through her. She braced herself against the table, her knees buckling as the pain intensified, her body urging her to push.

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” Dot cried, her voice breaking as the fear and pain overwhelmed her.

“Yes, you can,” Joel said firmly, his voice filled with determination as he positioned himself behind her, his hands gently supporting her hips. “You’re the strongest woman I know, Dot. You can do this. You’re not alone. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Dot’s breath hitched at his words, and she nodded, “Joel I think I can feel the head.” 

Joel wasted no time, getting on his knees, hiking up her skirt and pulling down her underwear. She was bulging, the head heavily sat behind her folds. She could feel the baby beginning to emerge into a crow, the intense pressure and pain making it almost impossible to think, but she focused on Joel’s voice, on his steady, reassuring presence beside her.

“Alright, darlin’, you need to push,” Joel instructed, his voice calm but urgent. “You can do this. I’ve got you.”

Dot took a deep breath, bracing herself against the table as she bore down, pushing with all her might. The pain was intense, a searing, tearing sensation that left her gasping for breath, but she kept going, kept pushing, Joel’s voice in her ear, his hands steadying her as she fought to bring their baby into the world.

“That’s it, Dot,” Joel encouraged, his voice filled with awe and pride as he watched their child begin to emerge. “You’re doing so good. Just a little more, darlin’, you’re almost there. Breathe, darlin’, breathe…”

Dot’s breathing grew more erratic, her body trembling as another powerful contraction ripped through her. She clung to the edge of the table, her knuckles white, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

“Hoo… hoo… haa… haa…” Dot panted, trying to focus on her breathing, trying to stay calm even as the pain intensified. “Joel… it’s too big… I can’t… I can’t do this…”

“Yes, you can, darlin’,” Joel reassured her, his voice strong and steady as he supported her, his hands firm on her hips. “You’re doing so good. Just keep breathing, keep pushing. You’ve got this.”

Dot moaned, the pain overwhelming her as she felt the baby moving lower, the pressure almost unbearable. “It hurts… it hurts so much…”

“I know, I know, darlin’,” Joel whispered, his heart aching as he watched her struggle. “But you’re almost there. Just a little more, and our baby will be here. You’re so strong, Dot. You can do this.”

Dot nodded, tears streaming down her face as she took another deep breath, her voice trembling as she whimpered, “Hoo… hoo… Jooooeeeel!”

With a deep, primal groan, Dot bore down again, pushing with all her might, the pain searing through her like fire. “It’s too big… oh God, it’s too big…”

Joel’s hands tightened on her hips, his voice filled with awe as he saw the baby’s head emerging. “You’re doing it, Dot. I can see the head. Just one more big push, darlin’. You’re almost there.”

Dot cried out, her body shaking with the effort as she pushed again, harder this time, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The pain was excruciating, the pressure almost too much to bear, but she kept going, kept pushing, determined to bring their child into the world.

“Haa… haa… haa…” Dot panted, her voice a mix of desperation and determination as she felt the baby’s head begin to fully crown. She gritted her teeth, her entire body trembling as she bore down once more, the intensity of the pain nearly blinding her.

Finally, with one last, agonizing push, Dot felt the baby’s head slip-free, the sudden relief mingling with the lingering pain. She gasped for breath, her body shaking with exhaustion, but she didn’t stop, didn’t let herself rest.

“You’re almost there, darlin’,” Joel encouraged, his voice filled with emotion as he supported her. “Just one more push, and the shoulders will be out. You’re so close, Dot. You’re so close.”

Dot nodded, tears streaming down her face as she gathered all her strength for one final push. She bore down with everything she had, a primal scream tearing from her throat as she felt the baby’s shoulders slip free, followed by the rest of the tiny body. The overwhelming relief and release left her trembling and gasping for breath.

Joel’s hands were there, steady and sure, catching their child as the baby entered the world. He let out a shaky breath, his heart pounding with a mix of relief and awe as he cradled the tiny, squirming body in his hands. The baby let out a loud, feisty cry, its voice filling the room, a sound that brought tears to Joel’s eyes.

“You did it, Dot,” Joel whispered, his voice choked with emotion as he looked up at her, his eyes shining with love and pride. “You did it, darlin’. Our baby… our beautiful baby.”

Dot collapsed against the table, her body trembling with exhaustion, but a soft, tired smile crossed her lips as she heard the baby’s cries. She turned to look at Joel, her heart swelling with love and relief as she saw him cradling their child, his eyes filled with tears of joy.

“Hi, baby,” Dot whispered, her voice trembling with emotion as she held out her arms for the baby. “Hi there, little one. You’re finally here.”

Joel carefully wrapped the baby in the throw blanket from the couch, gently placing the tiny bundle in Dot’s arms. She looked down at their child, tears streaming down her face as she traced a finger over the baby’s soft cheek, marveling at the tiny, perfect features.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Dot cooed, her voice filled with love as she held the baby close, feeling the warmth and weight of their child in her arms. “You’re so beautiful… so perfect…”

Joel’s heart swelled with love and pride as he watched Dot cradle their baby, the sight of them together filling him with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and awe. He pressed a soft kiss to Dot’s temple, his voice thick with emotion as he whispered, “I love you, Dot. I love you so much.”

Dot smiled up at him, her eyes shining with tears as she whispered back, “I love you too, Joel. So much.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped up in each other, in the new life they had created together. The argument, the fear, and the pain of the past few hours melted away, leaving only love, only the overwhelming joy of holding their child in their arms.

As the baby continued to cry, Dot felt another wave of contractions rip through her, the pain sharp and sudden. She gasped, her body tensing as she realized what was happening. “Joel… the after birth… it’s coming…”

Joel’s eyes widened in realization, and he quickly moved to support her, his hands steadying her as she pushed once more, the placenta slipping free with a rush of fluid. Dot let out a shaky breath, her body trembling with exhaustion as she finally collapsed against the table, spent and drained.

“You did it, darlin’,” Joel whispered, his voice filled with awe as he gently cleaned her up, his hands tender as he worked. “You did so good… you’re amazing, Dot.”

Joel carried his wife into the guest bedroom next to the kitchen, laying down several blankets for Dot to lay out on as he cleaned her and the baby up. He took the scissors from the kitchen and, with trembling hands, cut the umbilical cord, severing the final connection between Dot and the baby. He couldn’t help the tears that welled up in his eyes as he looked down at their child, a feeling of overwhelming love washing over him.

“Welcome to the world, little one,” Joel whispered, his voice choked with emotion as he gently kissed the baby’s forehead. “You’re so loved… so, so loved…”

Dot watched him, her heart swelling with love and gratitude for the man who had been by her side through everything. She reached out and touched his arm, her voice soft and filled with emotion as she said, “Joel… thank you… for everything…”

Joel turned to her, his eyes filled with tears as he knelt beside her, his hand gently cupping her cheek. “Don’t thank me, darlin’. I’m the one who’s grateful… for you… for this beautiful life we’ve created together.”

Dot smiled, tears streaming down her face as she looked down at their baby, the love she felt for both of them overwhelming her. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

Joel leaned in and kissed her softly, his lips lingering on hers as he whispered, “I’m so lucky to have you, Dot. So damn lucky… Please, don’t ever leave me. Don’t take our son away from me. I can’t lose you… either of you…”

Dot’s heart broke at the vulnerability in his voice, and she shook her head, her voice filled with love and reassurance as she whispered back, “I’m not going anywhere, Joel. This is where I belong. With you… with our son… with our family…”

“But Carson…”

“Carson wrote to congratulate me. Congratulate us and our baby...”

Joel let out a shaky breath, his tears mingling with hers as he pulled her into his arms, holding her close as he whispered, “Thank you, Dot… thank you for giving me this… for giving me everything I never thought I could have again…”

Dot smiled through her tears, her heart overflowing with love for the man who had become her partner, her lover, the father of her child. “I love you, Joel… more than I can ever say…”

Joel kissed her again, his lips tender and filled with all the love he felt for her. “I love you too, Dot… so damn much… And I want more of this… more babies… more life with you…”

Dot let out a soft chuckle, her tears mingling with her laughter as she looked up at him, her eyes shining with love and joy. “More babies, huh?”

Joel grinned, his own tears spilling over as he nodded, his voice filled with hope and longing as he whispered, “Yeah… more babies… a whole house full of them…”

Dot laughed softly, her heart bursting with happiness as she leaned into him, her voice filled with love as she whispered, “I’d like that, Joel… I’d like that a lot…”

They stayed like that, holding each other, holding their son, the future stretching out before them, filled with love, hope, and the promise of more life to come.

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 26: Overstimulation - Steve Rogers

Summary: It's the 1940's, and you're a dancer on the infamous USO tour showcasing Captain America. You're due on stage in 5 minutes, but Steve's too busy with his face between your legs.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, begging, exhaustion, innocent!Steve (kinda)

masterlist 📚 

kinktober masterlist😈 

AO3 Link 

“We’re on in 5 minutes! I repeat, 5 minutes. Did you hear Mr Rogers?”

“Hmm? Yeah, 5 minutes, I heard!” Steve’s head perked up from between your legs, wetness coating his lips and chin as he shouted through the door to the stage hand.

Your body collapsed onto the desk, completely worn out. Eyes heavy, struggling to stay open, and lungs burning with how out of breath you were. “Please, I need to go and get ready; the girls will wonder where I am”.

Steve licked his lips and began to spread your thighs again, his hold hard enough to leave bruises behind as you sighed heavily, head falling back against the mirror. “Just one more; I know you can do it, then you’ll feel much better when you’re dancing baby”. His face descended to your cunt, tongue lapping at your already sensitive hole, his nose pushing and stroking against your engorged clit.

Steve had been at it for what felt like hours. You were one of the dancers on his USO tour across America, dancing and singing every night in a new city to sold-out crowds. You watched as the infamous Steve Rogers sold the bonds and punched fake Adolf Hilter in the face for the crowd's entertainment.

The tour had been going on for weeks as the war ravaged worldwide. Steve had kept to himself, appearing to be scared of any female that walked past him, let alone any of the dancers or singers on stage, even though he had hundreds of women ready to throw themselves at him.

You felt bad for him, the big superstar who sat lonely in his room every night, so you worked up the nerve to speak to him one day. He was sweet, attentive, and very innocent, and you quickly drew him out of his comfort zone. A few kisses and cuddles turned into more risque. He was a virgin when you first met him, and you were completely respectful of that, but after a few awkward fumbling, you decided to take charge and show him how to move, touch and feel, pleasuring both him and you.

The first time Steve made you cum, it was like a light bulb switched in his brain. He was obsessed. The more you taught him about your body, the more he would want to hear your sweet melodic sighs of euphoria, to the point that it was starting to interfere with your work.

Which brings you to today. You’d visited him in his little dressing room at the back of the theatre, intending to get his lunch and ended with your panties on the floor and skirt bunched around the waist and legs over his shoulders as he ate you out to perfection. Every suck and lick had your back bowing and fingers trembling to cover your mouth to stop those outside the door from hearing your multiple orgasms.

Your entire body felt like it was burning from the inside out. You were stuck between being wholly exhausted and wanting the moment never to end. Due to past experiences, you knew that Steve’s stamina was devastatingly good due to the super serum. Once, you’d fucked all night, and you couldn’t walk the following day and had to call in sick to the show, which Steve was pink-cheeked and apologetic for, forgetting just how fragile you were compared to him.

You were getting close to that point again, attempting to push against his shoulders weakly, knowing you should stop but not wanting him to because you were so close to your next orgasm. You weren’t sure how many you’d had; all you were aware of was that your pussy was plump from all the stimulation, your clit was throbbing to the point that Steve could feel your heartbeat against his tongue, and your hole ached from the number of times it had clenched and tightened.

“Just one more”, Steve had repeated so many times that you could hear him saying it in your lucid mind. Slumping back against the mirror, the pleasure built, his tongue lapping your juices and stroking your clit, plunging and twitching in your pussy as he held you down on his desk.

The waves of the orgasms throbbed through your entire body, your hands pulling at his hair to move him away from your pussy as you sat up, losing control for a second as your body tried to process the euphoria.

“You’re so beautiful, Doll. You’ve done so well for me”, Steve encouraged, his hands massaging your aching thighs as you tried to catch your breath. As the pulses in your cunt calmed, you leaned forward until your head rested against his shoulder, his arms moving around your hips as he cradled you close.

“I might need to cancel the show”, you say, trying to wiggle your toes but finding your limbs were slow in response.

Steve moved back slightly to look at your flushed face, “You know you can’t do that, Baby. You’re on your last warning. Sorry, I’ll try to stop doing this before shows; sometimes I just can’t help myself.”. He pecks your lips softly, and you lean into the touch and try to slow your breathing to calm your body.

A knock at the door disrupts the embrace, “We need you at the stage door in 1 minute!” The stagehand shouts through the door, and you refrain from groaning.

“Could you help me get dressed, please?”

“Of course!” Steve was as sweet as ever, finding your panties and shorts for your costume and helping to pull them back onto your trembling legs. When you tried to stand and straighten your skirt and top, your knees buckled, but thankfully, he caught you, holding you for a couple of seconds until you found your strength.

Looking in the mirror, you tried not to cringe at the streaks you’d left behind on the surface, and then there was your appearance, completely glazed-over expression, and hair a mess, but you didn’t have time to sort either. Rushing to the door, you cringed internally and how sensitive you felt between your legs and how uncomfortable it was to walk with your pussy slightly swollen.

Steve was behind you, opening the door to allow you to step out and rush to the curtain. Making sure no one else was around, you turned and leaned up to kiss him sweetly, “Break a leg.” you wished him luck before running to join the others, who all gave you exacerbated looks for nearly being late.

The show was nearly a disaster; your legs became heavy halfway through from exhaustion, but thankfully, Steve caught you, somehow managing to play it off as part of the play, catching the damsel before continuing with the show.

Your entire body was warm to the touch, and the bright overhead lights only worsened it. As you danced across the stage, you became increasingly more aware that your panties were drenched, your pussy still flowing with juices, to the point that you were worried it had leaked through your shorts for the audience to see.

By the end, your cheeks ached from fake smiling, and the muscles in your legs were burning to the point that you collapsed on the stairs as you exited the stage. You were exhausted, eyes hardly open as one of the girls asked if you were okay.

“Sweetheart? Are you coming down with something?” the show manager asked, but you waved everyone away.

“I’m fine; I just need to sleep”, you explained whilst thanking one of the other girls who had returned with a glass of water.

“What’s going on? Hey, are you okay?” Steve asked, pushing his way through the crowd. Your body heated even more as Steve’s eyes widened briefly before he tried to mask his reaction. It was evident in your contract that you were not allowed to form intimate relationships with the show's star, which of course was Steve, so whatever it was that you had with Steve had to stay hidden, even though you were sure everyone suspected it.

“Everything’s fine, Mr Rogers, she’s just cooling off”, the manager attempted to move his prize possession away, not wanting him to worry about any of the girls and push him back to his awaiting taxi.

“She doesn’t look fine; why don’t I take her to a doctor?” Steve suggested, lowering himself so that you were both eye to eye.

“She doesn’t need a doctor; she’s fine, aren’t you, sweetheart?” the manager tried to reassure, but you were too tired even to respond.

“Ok, let me rephrase this, I’m going to take her to a Doctor, now move out of my way”, Steve demanded, actually standing up to the manager for once as he slid one arm under your knee and the other supporting your back as he lifted you, your head rolling onto his shoulder.

You relaxed into the hold, the sway of it helping to lull you into a half-asleep state. Only when the two of you were alone in the taxi did you decide to speak finally. “I don’t need a doctor, I just need to sleep”.

“I know, baby. I just wanted to get you away from everyone. I’m sorry for going so hard earlier, and I’ll try and calm it down from now on”, Steve apologised, holding your body close to his as the taxi began to move towards the motel you were all staying at.

You grinned, tilting your face towards his, “I didn’t say you had to stop, Steve”.

His eyes flicked between your lips and eyes, a small smile forming on his handsome face. Giving you a quick kiss on your temple, the two of you relaxed into the embrace as you quietly fell asleep.

[17unfinishedprojects]

Vintage Knitting/Crochet Patterns Masterlist

Recently, I’ve been getting really into more older styles of knit and crochet, and in my search for vintage patterns I’ve come across a ton of sites and articles that have been incredibly helpful to me, so I thought I’d share them all with you. The majority of these are free, and this post is still being updated as I find more. Hope you enjoy!

(p.s. most of the places you can get crochet patterns are in the ‘Misc.’ section bc most sites have both knit and crochet patterns)

Knitting:

vintageknittingpatternarchive.com

An archive featuring a variety of patterns from the 1920s-1980s

Pros:

Completely free

You can search by bust size, colorwork, yarn weight, decade, and clothing article

Also features some crochet patterns

Cons:

The site can be hard to navigate

vam.ac.uk

An article featuring a 15 clothing patterns from the 1940s

Pros:

Completely free

Cons:

Only has instructions for one size

sunnystitcher.gumroad.com

A collection of vintage knit clothing patterns from the 1930s-1970s

Pros:

A “name your own price” site, you can choose to pay $0 if you choose

Cons:

Not a lot of patterns

aranpatternarchive.com

A collection of vintage aran knitting patterns

Pros:

Completely free

Has a wide variety of patterns

Crochet:

antiquecrochetpatterns.com

An archive featuring a variety of vintage crochet patterns

Pros:

Completely free

A lot of home décor patterns

Cons:

Most of the clothing patterns are for babies and children

A lot of the patterns are currently unavailable due to the site being updated

Misc:

thevintagepatternfiles.blogspot.com

Pros:

Completely free

Has patterns in different languages, including Dutch, Finnish, French, German, Icelandic, and Russian

Has patterns dating back to the 1800s

You can search by size, clothing article, and decade

Cons:

The site can be a hard to navigate.

marymaxim.com

A collection of vintage knit/crochet patterns

Pros:

You can filter by pattern type and yarn weight

The patterns are relatively cheap, ranging from $0.99-$4.99

Cons:

No free patterns

You can’t filter by size

trove.nla.gov.au

A blog post featuring 2 vintage knit patterns and 1 vintage crochet pattern

Pros:

Completely free

Cons:

Patterns may be hard to read because they appear as old newspaper/magazine excerpts

antiquepatternlibrary.org

An archive featuring a variety of vintage knitting, crochet, embroidery, sewing, quilting, macrame, weaving, tapestry, and many more pattens.

Pros:

Completely free

Wide variety of patterns across many crafts

Cons:

Website has an older layout and can be hard to navigate

(p.p.s I didn’t put cons on a few of them bc I honestly didn’t find any. If you encounter any problems with any of these sites let me know and I will add that to the con list.)

(p.p.p.s. if you have any other websites you use for vintage patterns please share them I’m always in need of more)

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

The Devil And An Angel

Wanda X Natasha X Reader 18+

Summary: During one of Tony's parties, both of your girlfriends tease you and try to tempt you into giving into your sinful desires.

Warnings/Tags: Smut 18+ MDNI, Threesome, Strap-ons, Fingering, Oral sex, Double Penetration, Dirty talk, Praise, Squirting, Dom Natasha/Switch Wanda/Switch Reader, Brief Aftercare.

General Masterlist

“Are you really not going to tell me?” you complain, looking between both your girlfriends with a small pout.

“You’ll find out soon enough Kotenok,” Natasha coos, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. You smiled at the action before remembering how you were supposed to be acting grumpy.

“But why can’t I know now?” they laugh at how eager you are to find out what they are going to wear. Tony had decided to throw a party tonight, every couple/relationship must dress up as something together to change it up a bit and have some fun. The problem was, your two girlfriends were reluctant to tell you what they were dressing up as and assured you that anything you wore would be fine.

“Because it’s a surprise,” Wanda says while wrapping her arms around your middle and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Now go and get ready and we’ll meet you at the party.” Grumbling, you left to go and get ready, imagining what they could have installed for you.

When you arrived at the party you had to give Tony his dues, the party looked amazing and it was a brilliant idea to have people dress up. You looked around trying to figure out what people were meant to be, smiling at how much effort everyone had put in. Steve and Bucky had dressed up as people from the 1940s, their old fashioned clothing probably from their youth. Peter and MJ were dressed as mad scientists, Peter fluffing his hair up to look crazy and constantly checking to see if it was alright, much to MJ’s amusement. Clint looked so done with the whole party despite it just starting, dressed up in a Santa costume that was from when he pretended to be the jolly man at Christmas for his children. Laura wore an elf hat and a simple dress that suited her, but she was too busy trying not to laugh at her husband. Tony and Pepper just looked incredible, their theme most likely meant to scream money and wealth.

Suddenly, you felt two people lean on your shoulders, their different perfumes invading your senses as you turned to look at them. On your left was Natasha who was dressed in a tight red dress that left little to the imagination, devil horns sticking out of her fiery red hair, black, smokey eyeshadow making her eyes pop and a sinister smirk on her face. Wanda was on your right, dressed in a white, flowy dress with a gold halo in her hair, a soft look on her face compared to Natasha. You chuckled at them, dressed as a Devil and an Angel on each of your shoulders.

“You both look beautiful,” the compliment causes them both to smile at you, the two of them having a turn to compliment your choice of clothing as well. You leaned in to give Wanda a kiss, innocent and sweet, and then turned to Natasha who had no shame in sliding her tongue into your mouth, a small moan escaping you at the action.

“Don’t be tempted by her,” Wanda whispered in your ear, her voice soft while her arm interlocked with yours. “Or there will be no reward later.” You stifled the noise that wanted to come out and just watched as Natasha winked at you before walking off.

Wanda and yourself followed behind and you had to try your hardest to not drift your gaze lower on Natasha’s back. The three of you ended up on a sofa talking with Steve and Bucky, them rambling on about a story from their past while you three nodded along. You were paying attention until Natasha moved closer, her mouth on your ear as her breath tickled the side of your face.

“Do you know how hard I want to fuck you right now?” she purred quietly, “Have you trembling with pleasure as I thrust my fingers deep inside you? Or even better, my cock.” You groan at her words, low enough that no one other than Natasha could hear, making her smirk in victory as she works you up. Her hand grips your thigh, squeezing the skin and moving up higher teasingly before drifting down to rest on your knee. “I could have you coming in my mouth right now in that bathroom,” her gaze travels to the ladies room on the other side of the room, your eyes following as they darken with lust. “Come on, let's have some fun,” she bites down on your ear while no one looks before pulling away and giving you a predatory look that sends another wave of arousal through you, your panties definitely soaked as you clench your thighs together.

After a few moments, Natasha excuses herself to the toilets, her eyes staying trained on you as she gets up and starts to walk away. You remember Wanda’s earlier words and reluctantly stay still in your seat. You know this is a test, Natasha staying true to her outfit and trying to get you to sin with her, give into her temptation and end up with a punishment equivalent to hell. That however doesn’t make it any easier as you suffer with the results of her dirty words and teasing.

You don’t realise that Steve and Bucky had left, leaving you alone with Wanda as Natasha waits out in the bathroom to see if you crack. Her touches are far more innocent that Natasha’s, her hands interlocking with yours, her thumb running over the back of your hand.

“You’re being such a good girl,” she whispers, the praise making you whine slightly. “I bet you’re so wet for us both right now,” your eyes widen at her words, not expecting her to be in on the teasing.

“I thought angels were supposed to be innocent and pure,” you say, hoping she’d stop the torment. She just lets out a low chuckle and smiles at you, making you nervous for what else was to come.

“The devil was an angel once,” she comments, her voice raspy and sultry, “Who says we can’t be tempted as well.” Her hand goes to your thigh, scratching through your clothing and even going as far as your inner thigh near your core to draw invisible patterns. Your breathing hitches and you bite your lip to stop yourself from saying anything.

Soon Natasha returns, having given up waiting for you, and takes her seat to your left again. She notices the prominent blush on your cheeks and how your hand is gripping the cushion of the sofa, knuckles almost turning white.

“So Y/n,” Natasha starts, drawing your attention away from Wanda’s hand on your leg, “Are you enjoying the party?” you go to answer her question but your breathing stops when your thoughts change.

You’re tied to the bed while Natasha roughly kisses your lips, pulling out moan after moan as her tongue explores the roof of your mouth. Her hands grope at your chest, pinching and pulling at your nipples causing sighs to leave your lips. Wanda was in between your thighs, looking up at you with an innocent look, and licked a stripe up your core, her tongue gathering the wetness that was dripping out of you.

“It’s rude to ignore people,” the spy moves closer to you, her chest pressed up against your shoulder as she talks into your ear. “I’ll ask you one more time,” You look over to Wanda who has a sly grin on her face before Natasha grabs your attention again by sucking on your neck, “Are you enjoying the party?”

“Yes,” is all you could manage out in a breathless whisper, mind clouded with arousal and desire as both women relentlessly tease you.

“Are you sure?” Wanda whispers in your other ear, the hand that was teasing your inner thighs moving to drag her fingers over your clothed pussy under your dress, the fabric soaked with your arousal. “Because I'm sure there are more exciting things we could be doing,” you stifle a moan when she starts to circle your clit through your panties and move your hand to sit on top of hers.

“I just want to be good,” your whine has them both grinning, “I’ll do anything you want me to, just please let me be good for you.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, Natasha drags you away towards the elevator to get to your shared apartment, Wanda quickly on your tail.

Once you reach the bedroom, Natasha immediately straddles you on the bed, her mouth descending onto yours as she roughly kisses you and slips her tongue into your mouth. The whole thing is hot, her hands tugging your hair to pull moans out of you, her tongue tracing the roof of your mouth while her hips grind down harshly onto yours as she uses you for her own pleasure for the moment. Instinctively, your hands go to her waist, guiding her movements as she ruts against you.

“Fuck,” she rasps out as you both pull away breathless, Wanda unzipping the spy’s dress as she climbs off your lap and passionately kisses the witch. You watch in awe as their tongues fight for dominance, hands roaming freely across each other's body as they undress each other. You can’t move, frozen on the spot as bare skin is exposed to you, Natasha’s red dress dropping to the floor while Wanda’s is pulled over her head and discarded carelessly somewhere. They wear lingerie matching their outfits, Natasha wearing a black and red lace set while Wanda has a gold and white one on.

“Enjoying the show?” Wanda teases, swaying her hips as they both crawl onto the bed to join you. Her lips crash to yours, nothing innocent about her now as her hands rid you of your clothes. Natasha is now behind you, her chest pressing into your back while she bites at your neck, littering you with purple and red marks and sighing wantonly against your ear to make you shudder. Wanda’s hands cup your breasts unceremoniously as you revel in the pleasure, her running her fingers over your hardened nipples and tugging playfully. You lean your head back onto Natasha who moves to nibble on your ear, her hand coming up to rest on your throat, a pitiful moan escaping you.

“Don’t worry Kotenok,” She purrs, “You’ll get what you want soon.” You can feel her smirking into your skin as your hips buck at the contact of her knee slotting between your legs. “But first Wanda has a question, Don’t you Wands?” Her green eyes snap over to the witch who pulls back from the sloppy kiss with you, her cheeks flushed and eyes darkening.

“How do you feel about you and Nat fucking me at the same time?” she whispers against your lips and your eyes widen at the question.

“Fuck that would be hot,” you sigh out, imagining Wanda in between you and the spy as you pound into her from both sides. “Are you sure you want that?” She bites her lip at you sultrily and nods her head before moving forwards to press her lips back to yours.

“On your back baby,” she husks out between kisses and you move away from them both to lay on your back near the top of the bed. Wanda kisses down your body, licking over the marks Natasha made soothingly before ghosting her hot breath over your nipples and then kissing your inner thighs that were slick with your desire for them. “I’m going to give you your reward for being so good for us,” Her breath fans over your core, your hips bucking at the feeling which causes her to place a strong hand on your hip to keep you still. She licks through your folds, her tongue swirling around your clit while her free hand moves to be near your entrance. Her fingers gather your wetness before she thrusts two fingers straight into you, your back arching off the bed as you let out a guttural moan. Her mouth sucks at your clit while she pumps her fingers into you, your hands fisting in her hair as she eats you out

Moans pour out of your mouth when she curls her fingers and you almost scream when you feel her moan into you loudly. Your eyes wander away from the brunette between your thighs and to the redhead behind her. You hear a click of a bottle and assume she’s used some lube to ease one of her fingers into Wanda’s tight hole and let her get used to the feeling and stretch. Wanda’s face moves to kiss at your thigh for a moment, trying to get used to the feeling of something in her ass before continuing to reward you. You softly stroke her hair and let her take her time and watch as Natasha moves to have Wanda sit on her face, her finger slowly stretching her tight hole out.

The room then fills with your moans and Wanda’s muffled ones as Natasha brings her close to coming and manages to work her up to having three fingers pumping in and out of her ass. Your legs tighten around Wanda’s face as you come with a scream, body spasming with pleasure as you ride out your high grinding against the witches mouth. She follows soon after, clenching around Natasha’s fingers and tongue as she screams into you, biting down on your inner thigh to muffle the scream. The feeling was painful but also pleasurable and you’re certain you're going to have a dark mark there later on.

Natasha moves from under her, not wanting to overstimulate her, and carefully pulls her fingers out. You pull Wanda up your body, peppering kisses over her face as she tries to steady her breathing.

“You did so well for us,” you praise, still breathless from your own mind blowing orgasm as you talk to her. She hums in response and slowly kisses you, the taste of yourself on her tongue making you moan into her mouth. “Are you still up for us both?” you whisper against her lips, your hands stroking her back as she presses her body weight onto you.

“Yeah,” she murmurs back and you see Natasha move to get the strap ons before lubing them both up so it doesn't hurt her.

“Remember your safewords?” Natasha asks while Wanda gets off you so you can put the harness on.

“Green for ok, Yellow for slow down and Red for Stop,” Natasha smiles at Wanda softly then pecks her lips and helps guide her to hover above your plastic cock. Your hands move the tip of the toy to rub against her clit teasing before letting her sink down onto it. She moans lewdly as her hips meet yours and slowly starts to rock back and forth. She braces her arms next to your head and moans into a kiss as you thrust up into her gently, her hips starting a rhythm with yours.

Natasha soon has her harness on and moves to kneel behind Wanda while her hands slow her movements down. You whisper comforting words to the brunette, checking if she’s still ok by asking her for a colour, as Natasha slowly pushes the head of the toy into her ass, a loud gasp leaving the witch as she screws her eyes shut. You’re both patient as you let Wanda adjust to the toy, Natasha soon having the whole toy inside her and letting the pain fade to pleasure.

Experimentally, Wanda moves forwards slightly then pushes back, a low groan escaping her as she enjoys the feeling of Natasha and yourself deep inside her. Natasha starts a gentle pace of thrusting in and out of her while you swallow her moans with your mouth and thrust your hips up into her. Soon Wanda starts to move in time with you both, as soon as you pull out, Natasha pushes in and vice versa and her moans become louder.

“Fuck,” she moves to lean backwards against Natasha, who wraps a firm hand around her middle to keep her upright, while your hand moves to circle her clit. “Harder,” She sighs out, the two of you listening and increasing the force at which you pump your hips into her. “Faster,” the sound of skin slapping echoes around the room as you pound into her from underneath and Natasha snaps her hips against her. Wanda’s breasts bounce with each thrust and her legs start to shake as she nears her orgasm. “Please, I’m so close, don't stop,” begs tumble out her mouth as her hips move frantically between the two of you.

With a loud scream, liquid gushes out of her around your cock as she comes, her hips stuttering as her hands grip behind her onto Natasha to stop her body from collapsing forwards. You both slow down your thrusts as she rides out her high, her legs spasming around you while her hands fall off the spy to rest on your chest while she pants for breath. Natasha kisses along her neck and back while she calms down and when you see her wince at the feeling of being so full, you motion for Natasha to slowly pull out. She whines at the motion and soon moves off your lap to lay on the bed next to you.

You quickly discard the harness while Natasha moves to the bathroom to start a bath for you three and pull the witch close to you to murmur praise to her. Her body naturally moves towards you, her face tucked into your neck as she tries to fall asleep, her body exhausted from coming so hard. When Natasha returns, you carry her to the bath and gently lower her in and climb in behind her so she can lean back into your embrace. Natasha also climbs in, helping clean Wanda off and start her aftercare before quickly washing herself from any sweat.

“Are you ready for bed milaya?” Natasha murmurs into the witch’s hair after placing a soft kiss. She nodded back sleepily and the spy helped her dry off before taking her to bed. You quickly drain the tub and dry off yourself before joining them in bed. Wanda curls her body into Natasha but when she feels your presence next to her, she moves her hand back in search of yours and she places it around her middle. You smile at her drowsy actions and kiss them both goodnight before drifting off to sleep.

[imaginedreamwrite]

I’ll Get By

A/N: There will be things that I get wrong/may not be historically accurate, please forgive me!

Part 2: The Small Things

1946 — St. Catherine’s Asylum

The fall swept in with a whirlwind and just as soon as it had approached, it felt as if it would be overshadowed by winter. There was an overlying sense of dread for the winter to come, if the 1946 Farmer’s Almanac was right. The winter was set to be cold, with heavy snow headed for NYC and the surrounding areas.

But it wasn’t the weather that you wanted to focus your time on, or your thoughts. There was something much more important bothering you, or rather someone. The news that Lyle Samson told you about the celebrity in the asylum had made you take a pause when you first heard him say it weeks ago. And in the few moments following his whispered secret, you found out it was Steve Rogers.

Captain America himself, the hero that had saved thousands of people being in the St. Catherine’s Asylum—for the feeble-minded as it was called—was as shocking as it was mystifying. There was a countless amount of heroism that was thrown aside just as he was thrown into the cursed building.

The things he had done in the war, and likely had seen, could have driven him crazy if he actually had a weak mind and yet, it seemed as if he was anything but. Aside from the lifetime guilt that would likely plague him from the loss of his friend in the war, his mind had seemed sharp.

It was intrigue that made you search for the cause behind his place in the asylum, on your days away from the cursed building. With the very few resources you had as a woman in 1946, struggling in a Brooklyn apartment that left little to be desired, you had attempted to feed your curiosity. It wasn’t just the resources that you had lacked in, it was a lack of opportunity to talk to the man himself.

The action of the nurse who had put you on the men’s ward to begin with, had been rectified by Dr. Rollins, who had removed you from that floor. It had felt as if you were in limbo between working in the direction that the lead doctor had wanted you to go in, and being hazed as the newest nurse. Those with seniority had often sent the new nurses to the men’s wards, fully knowing that their outside contact with women was limited.

It was a prospect that was anxiety inducing for the newer staff members, as you’d heard from a few other nurses working in that ward. The men were maddened by the asylum themselves or the newest treatments that Dr. Rollins had wanted to inflict on the patients.

You’d wondered if the treatments themselves weren’t the root cause for their mental state, treatments like electroshock therapy or even lobotomies if Dr. Rollins thought the case called for it. You had never bared witness to the treatments themselves, rather you had been assigned the task of giving medicine, taking blood or delivering the patients’ meals.

As it was, you had served a single shift on the men’s ward, being you were placed on the children’s floor. There was almost something more debilitating about seeing the children, young and innocent faces locked behind their doors, that ate at your insides. Those small children, those poor innocents left behind by parents or ripped from their homes by people who thought they knew better….

You hated the children’s ward more than you hated the men’s ward. There was such a lack of genuine care by some nurses, who had likened themselves to being babysitters for those little girls and boys, rather than caretakers. For weeks, you had done your best to extend all the kindness you could afford to them, while inherently feeling sickened by their treatments.

It was near the end of October when you had finally convinced Dr. Rollin’s to place you back on the men’s floor. The request itself seemed to turn his head and garner his curiosity, since most nurses would rather avoid the men’s ward at all costs. For you, for your ability to try to sleep at night, you could not be around children when the staff didn’t care about them. Your heart broke for those children, for everyone who was left abandoned in the care of those who treated them like a problem.

The children, who were most vulnerable in the entire asylum, had been treated the worst. There was a deep deposited hurt in your heart and soul that made you incapable of being able to find rest late at night. Insomnia had afflicted you in the quiet hours of night in your Brooklyn apartment, where you would toss and turn. Your mind was an impossible thing to turn off, as you thought about the patients you had come to know.

And the ones you wanted to know.

It had taken weeks for you to be placed back on the men’s ward. When you had gotten placed back on the floor, you were determined to treat them like the patients were people and not animals. The first day back on the men’s ward had started with an opportunity for enrichment for the men, a chance for them to get out of their rooms and do something with their time.

Although the task was simple—a chance to draw or sketch with charcoal pencils and cheap sketchbook paper—it was enough to occupy them. You were assigned the task, with one of the other nurses, of looking over the men as they sat in a large, somewhat airy room.

There was nothing but chairs that had faced the front of the room with sunlight streaming through dirty thin glass panel windows. The nurse assisting you with the task was as uninterested as you had imagined, choosing to take her time writing a letter to her lover, rather than care for the patients.

“They’re sketching, they won’t do anything.” She had quipped with a disinterest when saddling you with handing out the charcoal pencils and sketchbooks. She had preoccupied herself with the pen she had twirled between her fingers, and the smoke in her other hand that was lit yet not used yet. “Go!”

The temptation to speak what was on your tongue, a curse you’d wished you’d had more bravado to speak, had died quickly. Regardless of you being a nurse during the latter years of the war, the lives you had tried to save when they came to the hospital you were assigned, you felt like she was scolding you like she would a child. There was nothing you could have said currently to her, not with these men watching the two of you, and any aggressive attempt would only unsettle them.

You silenced yourself and started passing out the charcoal pencils and sketchbooks, working your way toward the back of the large room. With each passing second, you had been aware of the eyes on you, the men who were watching you. There was a level of unease around the room, a certain amount of tension from the patients, who had very obviously been aware they were outnumbering the two of you.

And yet as you approached the back of the room, the last chair and patient to receive a sketchbook, you’d felt your heart stop. Like the first time you had seen him, Steve Rogers was undeniably captivating. His blonde hair was messily brushed out of his face, and his blue-green eyes had once again made you forget how to breathe. He was a national hero, and his placement here in the asylum seemed to be completely improper for someone like him.

After everything he had done, after everything he had given up to save lives, he was thrown in here? To be forgotten and thrown aside? It seemed like such an injustice for him, to have him give everything and be locked in here.

“Thank you,” his deep voice was husky and alluring, and there was a moment when his hand brushed against yours, “nurse L/N.”

Electricity like you’d never felt before had passed from his hand to yours, further enticing you in a manner that felt impossible. Your tongue felt as if it was swelling inside your mouth with the inability to utter a single word, and with a stark nod, you turned on your heel and walked away.

**************************************

Your tongue had betrayed you. Your tongue and brain had both left you, faltering in a moment when you could have spoken to him. And it was a regret that you had carried with you late into the afternoon. With the inability to communicate despite your desire to ask him, even if it wasn’t your place, you thought you had squandered your opportunity.

And yet, as the medications were being handed out in the afternoon, it seemed as if a second chance was given to you. The same nurse you had spent the enrichment time with—wherein you handed out art supplies, and she did nothing—had left the room to belong to Steve Rogers with a harsh huff. The door slammed heavily behind her and her heels clacked angrily against the aged floor, the wood grain in desperate need to be sanded down and stained to look fresh.

“He wants you,” the nurse in question had slammed the clipboard down upon the nurses’ desk, her ire focused solely on you, “he won’t allow anyone else to administer his medication.”

The paper attached to the clipboard was dusted with small ink stains from her pen that had dripped from the leaking tip. On the top of the rudimentary chart was his name in black boldened letters, STEVEN GRANT ROGERS, with a complete lack of the title he had earned. There were notes on his attitude for Dr. Rollins, and perhaps people outside the asylum interested in the great America hero, however nothing new was added for today.

“Why?” You had already started rising to your feet, your hands reaching for the clipboard and your fingers curling around the thin side.

The edge dug into the creases on your palm, and your eyes had swept across the aggressive scowl of the nurse before moving toward the small rolling cart beside her. The tools needed to draw blood were set upon the metal surface, as well as the small white pills that Dr. Rollins deemed necessary. Besides the medication and the tools needed to draw blood, was a simple book—something he must’ve requested.

You could hear your heartbeat in your ears while you pushed the rolling cart toward the door of his room, the clipboard and rudimentary chart on top of the book. You only had to knock once to announce yourself and as you pushed the cart into the room, you closed it softly behind you.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about his room and he was given nothing the other patients did not have—a basic metal bed that seemed as if it was too small for him, an uncomfortable looking mattress, cheap sheets made from thin cotton, and the usual grey uniform.

In the corner of his room was a small selection of books, and to the left of the books were previous sketches he had done. Although most were landscapes that must have come from his recollection, many that you had not known yourself, the Empire State Building was the only monument that you had recognized. Its likeness was uncanny. So much detail had been captured by a simple charcoal pencil, it felt as if you could reach out and touch it.

You had been blindly captivated by the sketch, so much so that you hadn’t been able to address him. Not about the request to have you, and you alone, administer his medication, nor could you question why he was here. Your eyes were fixated on the sketch of the infamous NYC building, and then on every one after until the shift and creak of the bed had stirred you from your focus.

“Captain Rogers—“ you had begun to speak, reaching for the chart and setting it aside in favour of grabbing the needle. Your hand hovered above the tie for his arm and the vial for blood, as you took another pause that was triggered by him speaking over you.

“Steve,” he corrected you and switched positions, coming to sit on the edge of the bed with his left sleeve rolled up past his elbow, “they stripped that title from me.”

You were rendered silent again, only observing him as he was observing you. There was silence, but it wasn’t stagnant as you expected. There was a soft, lingering kind of tension as neither of you had really moved, and you were left to process the news he had given to you. You hadn’t heard anyone address him as the captain that he once was, however you had always thought it was by his choice. You hadn’t expected that it was involuntary, or an action that he had no control of.

“Oh.” It was a single syllable that you had let slip from your lips, one that had broken the silence before you had cleared your throat and shook your head.

The curls in your hair, deemed necessary as part of the uniform and the style that continued before and post-war, had hit your cheeks. Your lips were stained with the unwavering victory red that women had clutched to during the Second World War—which, along with heels and the starch white nurses’ dress, was part of your uniform—had become pursed.

“I’m sorry.” You relayed your emotional state through two words, and then you had mentally shaken yourself to do your job. You grabbed the tie that would go around his arm and lifted it from the metal rolling table, twisting it around your fingers before you straightened it out again.

You took two small steps toward the bed and cleared your throat, raising your head, only for his iridescent eyes to capture yours again. Warmth was instinctually present deep in your heart and soul, akin to an endearing glow from a flickering candle that lit up the surrounding room. You didn’t even have to speak before he extended his arm, and you were already leaning in, drawing the tie around his arm.

“I’m sorry if this hurts,” your voice was soft and there was a hint of a tremble hanging on to the edge as you preemptively apologized for the needle you hadn’t even used yet. You tied the knot to get a good vein, and then you reached behind you for the needle and vial, balancing them in your hands before you bent down to get a good glimpse at the vein.

“You’re nervous,” Steve’s voice had once again drawn your attention away from the needle, and his hand had reached toward you to steady your own. “You won’t hurt me, Y/N.”

Another jolt of electricity passed from his hand to yours, and back again. You were well aware of the lingering staleness that seemed to be ever present in the asylum, the smell of mustiness that seemed to be caked onto every surface possible. And it seemed to be less of an irritant in the room, or maybe there was more to focus on than the stench.

“Are you afraid of needles?” You took a slow deep breath to calm your racing heart and jumpy nerves, before you finally managed to push the tip of the needle beneath his skin into his vein. As you started to draw blood from him, he had answered your question with a very subtle shake of his head; however, there was something else on his mind.

“I know you want to ask why I’m here. Most of the nurses here have asked.” His eyes searched your face as if he were committing every feature, every single thing about you, to some corner of his mind. “They tell me I’m crazy.”

“You’re not crazy.” You recoiled once you had filled the vial and pushed the cap on, standing upright and replacing it on the metal tray. “I’ve seen crazy…”

You wanted to ask why he wanted you to be the one to give him his medication. You wanted to ask why he was refusing any other nurse and yet, you hadn’t been given the chance. There was sparsely a moment for you to say anything else before the door opened with a high-pitched squeak. Steve’s green-blue eyes had drifted away from you to the presence of the person behind you, and you immediately noticed the tension in his jaw.

“Nurse L/N,” Dr. Rollin's voice had hit your ears producing a tentative shudder that had run down your spine, “nurse Hattie had mentioned you were requested.”

You could count the seconds down in your mind before you felt a hand on the small of your back as Dr. Rollins approached the bed. The feel of his fingertips against the starch white material of your nurses’ uniform provided no form of comfort or even anything akin to friendliness. The touch made you want to recoil, and the warmth from his body was almost twisted and nausea-inducing. Your heart clenched, and you understood your mind was telling you to run, to get out of this space immediately.

“You cannot turn away the other nurses who intend to help you, Mr. Rogers.” The complete lack of empathy was evident in Dr. Rollin's voice, as was the blatant choice to not address him as captain. “Nurse L/N is not always available—“

“You haven’t given me my medication yet, nurse.” Steve was blatantly ignoring the doctor, choosing not to acknowledge him at all as if Dr. Rollins was no more than a ghost.

“Medication?” You turned your head, cutting yourself free from the daze that was afflicting you. Once you were freed from the tentative hold Steve had on you, you cupped the pills in your hand and held them out to him.

“Give him the pills and leave, nurse. Mr. Rogers and I need to have a conversation.” Dr. Rollins had addressed Steve with an air of superiority as well as the attempt to hold power over him.

You placed the pills in Steve’s palm, watching him dry swallow them, and then you were sharply turned on your heel. Dr. Rollins turned you away from the bed and Steve, ushering you out of the room with a heavy hand. When the door closed behind you with more force than necessitated, you took a single look over your shoulder. You took a quick glance, and then you moved back to the nurses’ desk, sitting on the wooden chair and exhaling slowly.

Only then had you noticed the feel of something in your pocket. You slipped your hand into the pocket of your nurses’ uniform, feeling sketchbook paper. Your hand recoiled with the paper in hand, and you unfolded it slowly and carefully, your eyes taking in the image you admired so much. The Empire State Building was there laid out in charcoal pencil, perfectly captured had been slipped into your pocket without you even knowing.

[mads-nixon]

so i did a thing...a thing meaning i made another side-blog. this one is purely masters of the air, so give it a follow if you want to see content from the books and of course the series as we get more information about it!!!

mads <3

hi everyone! welcome to my 'all things' masters of the air side-blog! my messages and ask box are always open, so shoot me a message anytime you feel like it.

xoxo,

mads :)

Major Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal

Major John 'Bucky' Egan

Major Gale 'Buck' Cleven

Captain John D. Brady

Teaser Trailer: Close Ups

Teaser Trailer: Long Shots

Teaser Trailer: Egan & Cleven

Official Trailer: Gale & Marge

Egan, Cleven, & Rosenthal Icons

Major John Egan Icons

100th Bombardment Group Icons

Tuskegee Airmen Icons

message or comment if you want to be added to any tag lists!! <3

[gilverrwrites]

Hi

Could you make a Sam Winchester having erotic dreams with his female best friend?

Author Note: Hello! I hope you don't mind, but I combined this request with your other request for Dean in the same scenario (and added Cas cause 😍) I'm also working on a separate fic for Dean having erotic dreams about a rival per that request. I really hope you enjoy! ❤️

Rating: M/18+

Words: 1940 (Dean 685, Sam 685, Cas 570)

Request Info | Masterlist | Ko-Fi

It's a total coincidence that Dean and Sam are both 685 each!

Please remember: To focus on the things that make you happy.

Dean Winchester

“Oooh yes Dean, yes, that’s it.” Your voice sounds hoarse and breathy. Makes sense cause you’ve been moaning like that, praising like that all night. “You like that baby?” Dean asks from beneath you, completely entranced by the bounce of your breasts and the sway of your hips as you ride him. “You like fuckin’ yourself on my dick baby?” “Yes, Dean, yes! You feel so fucking good. Make me feel so good.” You chant, and when your head rolls back in ecstasy, Dean follows. His fingers grip at your skin, forcing you against him as he ruts into you, spilling himself inside.

That was last night’s dream. The most recent in a string of dreams that left him hot and bothered every morning. The worst part was facing you. Trying to look you in the eye, discuss a case, or make a game plan without thinking about you naked and moaning on his dick.

He’d been avoiding you as much as possible, but sometimes just your name was enough to make him pop a boner, much like the one he had now. He positioned his beer bottle over his offending member and forced himself to stare out the window, averting his gaze from the sight of you, bent over the nearest pool table.

“Hey, what’s up with you?” The sound of your voice made him jump. Man, how out of it was he?

“What?” He looked up at you, hands on hips, staring down at him. The sight made his lips dry. “Oh nothin’, I think I’ve had too many. Maybe I should call it a night.”

“You’ve had like two drinks. That barely even touches the sides.” You state, and you’re not wrong. You know him too well. He can’t help clenching his jaw as you sit down across from him. When he sees how your new angle offers him a perfect shot of your cleavage, he thinks he might start grinding away his teeth. “Anyway, that’s not what I meant.”

“What do you mean then?” He leans in closer. Not to be closer, but he hopes leaning forward might help hide the bulge in his jeans.

“You’ve been acting funny, and avoiding me all wee-“

“N-“

“Don’t interrupt. Yes, you have.” You punctuate your statement by placing your drink on the table. You don’t slam, but it's hard and firm enough to communicate your point. “Don’t you try to deny it Dean Winchester! I know you too well. You’ve been avoiding me, and when you can’t get away you’re all squirrely and quiet. Now tell me what’s going on.”

He drains his beer as he thinks it over. Partly to try and return some moisture to his mouth but primarily to buy himself some time while he thinks things over. If he’s honest, he might get something out of it. A one-night stand, a fuck buddy, maybe more? Or he might lose you, which he couldn’t stand.

“I…”

“Come on Dean, whatever it is, we’ll get through it. We always do.”

Fuck it. You’re right. He gestures to the bartender for another round, takes a deep breath, and spills. And a funny thing happens: he starts to feel more relaxed as he lets it out. If you’re not into it, that’s fine. So long as it doesn’t scare you off.

When he’s done, he watches you as you process his confession. Man, he loves the way your face moves when you’re thinking.

“So…” You purse your lips and take a quick sip of your drink as you prepare your response. “What’s the problem? Do you not want to sleep with me?”

“No, I do. Obviously, you’re…” hot, incredible, the only woman I want. Unable to voice any of the thoughts in his head at that moment, he gestures to you, head to toe and back again. “I just don’t want it to cause problems between us. Our friendship”

 “Then we won’t let it.” You state matter-of-factly. “Now, are you gonna take me back to the bunker so we can fuck each other dumb or not?”

“You don’t have to ask me twice.”

Sam Winchester

His fingers are knuckle deep inside of you as you lay back, spread out across his bed. “Fuckkk… Sam!” You look up at him, eyes hazy, hair a mess, and he can feel his dick throb in response. “Sam, I’m so full.” “Poor baby.” He coos in response. “So full already, and I’ve barely even touched you.” He watches the way your expression melts at his words with pride, when he sees your lips start to form your reply, he places a direct smack to your clit. The whine you release is music to his ears. The way you wither and moan as he begins to play with your clit, fuck, you’re so hot. “Are you ready for more?” He asks. He’s pleased when you begin vigorously nodding. “Yes, Sam! Yes! Yes, please!”

Years of impersonating officials and hustling at almost every bar he stopped at had earned Sam a more than convincing poker face. But you always saw right through it.

For that reason, Sam had been bending over backwards to avoid you. He wasn’t totally sure what he was hiding, the fact that he’d dreamed about you, or the fact that he’d furiously masturbated to the memory of it upon waking up. Either way, he wasn’t ready to face you.

He’d hung back in the morning, grabbing his breakfast later than usual. Gone to the local library all day to research, citing a change of scenery when Dean questioned him, and had gone grocery shopping as an excuse to stay out later.

After unpacking the shopping, he’d hopped in the shower, making up for skipping his usual morning routine.

What he hadn’t accounted for was finding you, dressed in nothing but your panties and one of his t-shirts, in the centre of his bed. The very bed he’d vividly fantasised about pleasing you in.

It wasn’t an unusual sight. You were his best friend after all. You often hung out in each other’s rooms, and you frequently borrowed his shirts. He just really could have done without all this today.

“Hey Sam.” You greeted him with a smile, looking up from your laptop. “I missed you today.”

“Hey.” He responds awkwardly. Both hands clutching at his towel. He clears his throat before continuing. “Yeah, I was busy I guess. You too.”

“No worries.” You assure him before returning your gaze to your screen. “I could use your help with something if that’s alright?”

“Sure.” He approaches the bed. Certain close proximity will escalate his predicament he resolves to remain standing. However, looking down at you, with your head so close to his crotch, is equally stirring something within him. Reluctantly, he sits beside you. He glances at your computer briefly but quickly becomes preoccupied with adjusting and readjusting his towel, determined to cover the growing erection beneath.

“So, I’ve been looking into the apple of Sodom for Claire but…” he swears he meant to listen, but he’d never noticed how good you smell before, or how your skin glows even under the dingy light of his room. “Sam? Sam are you even listening?”

“Yeah, of course.” He finally tunes back in. “Apple of Sodom, Claire… hand of God?”

He looks into your eyes to judge his improv, but you’re staring, wide-eyed, right at the thing he’s been trying to hide.

“Is that- are you…” You look at his face, and he can feel the heat spreading across his cheeks. “For- because of me?”

“I’m sorry!” He stands, pausing to compose his words before continuing his apology. “I just, I had this dream last night about you, and it’s all I’ve been able to think about all day. I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s wrong.”

“Why is it wrong?”

“Because you’re my friend. My best friend.”

“Right.” You always saw right through him, but fortunately, that was a two-way skill, and right now, he could hear, he could feel the disappointment you were radiating.

“Unless…” he cocks a brow at you, and your body immediately perks up. You look up at him, eyes hazy, identical to his dream. “Do you want this too?”

Castiel

You’re a vision on your knees before him, eyes watering, cheeks puffed out, hair tangled between his fingers. He stares intently, relishing in all the subtle movements of your faces as he lazily pumps his penis between your lips.  His grip grows tighter every time he feels the back of your throat against his tip. Your muffled pants and moans are music to his ears. The way your lips glisten beneath the sheen of your own saliva is erotic, and he worries the sight of you alone will be enough to make him finish before he’s really begun.

It’s that vision he’s thinking of now as he watches you on your hands and knees, scrubbing a chalk pentagram off the floor.

He’s brought out of his chain of thoughts by the sound of your voice. “Is there something on my face?”

“No.” He squints at your face; he is confident it looks fine, more than fine, beautiful in fact, but he examines it in more depth, nonetheless. “There is nothing on your face. In fact, your face is quite adequate.”

“Quite adequate, I’ll take that as high praise.” You laugh. He’s not certain what’s so funny, but the sound is exquisite, and only further fuels the unfamiliar fiery feeling he’s experiencing. “But seriously, why are you staring at me?”

Your line of questioning makes sense to him now. He briefly considers lying to you, but on the spot he cannot think of anything convincing. “I slept last night.”

“I didn’t know Angels did that.” It’s not a question, but he has learned many human cues during his time on Earth. You’re digging for more information.

“We can, but we do not need to, so typically we don’t. I thought I might trial it to see if it would help in replenishing my grace.” He answers.

“Did it help?” Your inquisitiveness is ceaseless. It is something he has always liked about you.

“No.” He replies, he enjoys the brief frown of disappointment you give in response. “I did however, dream of you.”

“Ahh, and what did me and my quite adequate face do in your dream?” You’re smiling again as you scrub at a particularly stubborn stain. He notices the unintentionally alluring way you chew at your bottom lip and is immediately reminded of the way you had looked in his dream, as you waited in anticipation for him to expose his genitals.

He allows himself to wonder how you will react to his next statement; he hopes you’ll be as excited and pliable as you had been in his fantasy.  “You were nude, on your knees, performing fellatio on my, well, my vessels penis.”

“Oh!” You respond in a tone that he believes to be humorous and a little surprised. Until you look down at your knees, considering your precarious position. “Oooooh.”

You don’t say anything else, nor do you look back up at him. He begins to worry that he may have said something inappropriate, or that you thought he had disliked the experience.

“It was an enjoyable dream, if that is your concern.” He attempts to offer comfort.

“Well, I suppose that’s good news.” You nod to yourself; your tone gives nothing away. “I wonder if my real-life skills are as enjoyable as your fantasies.”

“I wouldn’t know, we have never…” His line of speech, his thoughts are interrupted by the enticing sight of you crawling towards him. “Oh.”

[georgiapeach30513]

I Can See You

Summary:  Steve was new to this modern world.  And trying to figure out the technology and all he wanted was home.  Looking up 1940s women, he wasn’t prepared for what he sees.  You. Feeding into his every fantasy, and then some. It becomes an obsession a need to see you everyday. To have you everyday. To keep you. Every. Day. In his bed. Just where you belong

Pairings:  Steve Rogers X Cam Girl!Reader

Rating:  Explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, online sex work, cam girl, masturbation, toy play, butt plug, squirting, licking, kidnapping, obsession, dark, 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  2K 

Steve Rogers Masterlist

“You should date,” Steve turns to look towards Natasha, glowering at her.  “What?  Dating is normal.  What do you have against dating?”

“Dating is different now than it was when…never mind you wouldn’t understand,” he goes to stand, but Natasha pulls at his arm, “What?”

“I get it.  The women now aren’t like the women in the 1940s, but is that a bad thing?  Look, Google is your friend.  I’m sure there’s someone out there who believes in your weird standards for women.  Guess what, Steve?  Some even wear the clothes, too.  Google is your friend.”

Google is your friend.  A sentiment that was running through Steve’s mind the rest of the day.  Google is a friend.  Was a friend?  How could a search engine be a friend?  How could he find anything that was remotely close to the 1940s in modern times.  How could he ever find someone that held his values, and how would he know?

Settling in at home, his eyes scan over the stupid phone.  Who needed a phone that could do anything more than call people.  But there was a Google on there.  Women of today weren’t hideous creatures, but there was something in the ones that he had met.  They weren’t…exactly what he was looking for.  Too eager and leaving nothing to the imagination.

Google is your friend, but it was just a stupid machine.  Nothing ever made sense in this time.  People had taken something simple and made it nonsensically more difficult.  And for what reason?  But there the phone sits, and if Google was a friend, how could it help Steve?

What could a machine possibly do for Steve? How could it help his need to get out some frustrations? Things weren’t the same, and they definitely didn’t look the same. But he was told Google had archived photos. And videos…

Reaching quickly to the phone, but only because he was bored, and everyone needed to get off from time to time. His fingers search for the buttons he’s looking for before he hits search. Anticipating it would take much longer than the instant gratification of women upon women, and then a short clip.  Legs that were covered in hosiery, and a quick squat of the woman.  Her skirt flares up, exposing her bum to Steve.

He watches that clip way too many times before clicking on it.  Taking him straight to your website.  Pictures of you dressed in the most beautiful 1940s frocks, and posing with the prettiest smile and brightest red lips.  Unfairly there are some photos with strategically placed blocks over your body.  A button demands him to click it, and there’s even more photos.

Still these photos are annoyingly blocked out, but adding a credit card he would have access to remove them.  Steve sets his phone down, taking a deep breath.  His cock was pressing hard against his pants at just the tease of your body.  He knew what he was going to get.  You.  Every part of you.  Playing into his every fantasy while you whimpered his name.

Standing up, he awkwardly paces his living room.  He wants to see it all.  It was like you catered to just him.  What could thirty dollars a month hurt.  He would get to wake up to see you.  Go to bed stroking his cock.  It wouldn’t hurt.  It wouldn't be a distraction.  This is what he needed.

He doesn’t hesitate to put in his credit card information, and he hears the sound of your voice, “Welcome, Soldier,” why did that sound so sexy?  Not even knowing what some of the buttons mean, he just wants to look at you.  You are a dirty girl.  Showing every part of yourself, and watching you ride a red dildo while your tits bounce around has him quaking where he sits.

A ping in the corner of his phone makes him lose focus, ‘Thanks for the payment.  What would you like me to call you?’

He couldn’t let people know that America’s golden boy was watching fetish porn, and a very specific fetish of a 1940s housewife.  ‘Captain.’

‘Hey, Captain, are you new around here?’

‘Yes.  Brand new.’

‘Aww, for new subscribers I always give them a private video.  What would you like to see, Captain?  Whatever it is you want.  For your eyes only.’

‘How often do I get private videos?’

‘First one is free.’

‘I want one every morning and evening.’

‘Oh, Captain, you are a naughty boy,’ Steve’s cock trembles at your words.  He just wishes he could hear your voice.  ‘I tell you what Captain, let me do the first one, and you can decide after if you want to continue our private little conversations.  How does that sound, big boy?’

‘Yeah, okay.’

‘Are you hard right now?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you want to see my pussy?  I can show you what toys I have.’

‘Okay,’ he takes a deep breath as his chat turns into a live video feed, and there your pretty face was.  Giving him a quick wave before turning the camera to your treasure trove of toys.

“Which will it be, Captain?  Can I turn your mic on so I can hear you?  I get off to men with pretty sounds?” Responding with a yes, you turn on his mic, letting him look at every toy.  They were all shapes, but one particularly caught his eyes.  

“That one,” it wasn’t a genius to figure out which one he was talking about.  The red white and blue one.  With a name like Captain, he seemed to have a bit of a Captain America kink.

“I have something else that matches,” you sweetly tell him.  Moving over to something Steve had early heard about.  A pretty little butt plug with his shield on the end.  “You want to see me stuffed fully, Captain?”

“I would like that,” his voice cracks, and you realize just how innocent he is to this brand of porn.

“Is it because you like sharing your dames?” Steve groans out yes as you position the phone on a tripod.  “Who would you share me with?”

“A friend.  He…he’d get your ass.”

“Oh, yeah?” You ask as you stuff the plug into your ass.  You were sure he’d love seeing you ready for him.  Coming back into frame, you place the dildo on the floor, and turn to look at him.  “What would you like your doll to do, Captain?” Finger in your mouth, you playfully tease him.  

He would love to take his time and watch you more carefully, but his cock is angry and in desperate need of release.  “I want to see…see you…I want,” the sweet boy was struggling with what he wanted to view.  Stuttering, and unable to vocalize exactly what it was he needed.

“You want me to slowly,” you undo each button carefully.  Steve didn’t want slow.  Steve wanted to fuck you.  This would work for now.  But…

“No.  Not slow.  Put…I want to see the shield.”

“Of course you do, Captain,” it was like the angels parted the clouds, and there was heaven right in your tits.  Taking off your bra, you give your nipples a little pinch before walking over to the toy.  

“Don’t wait,” he mutters as you move to your knees.  He tries to pretend it's his cock you’re grabbing as you sink over the cock.  It wasn’t the perfect view, but he sees that red, white, and blue cock split you open.  A little glimpse of that shield in your ass.  

Hands in front of you, you lean forward, and there it was.  That shield in your ass.  “Fuck yourself.  And turn back to look at me,” peeking over your shoulder you give him a sly grin.  Moving over the toy.

“I hear you, Captain.  How good does my pussy feel?”

“So good,” he grunts out, pumping his fist around his cock.  Why had he neglected to do this for so long.  “My pussy.”

“Yes, Captain.  This pussy is all yours.”

“Mine.”

“It’s so warm, and wet, and…how tight is your pussy?”

It’d be tighter once he had someone to stuff your ass.  Get to watch you come over two cocks, while you beg for him to pet you.  “Oh, Captain, you feel so good.”

He’d feel better if that was his actual cock.  “Captain, you’re so deep.”

That cock was nothing to Steve’s size.  He would make you have tears in your eyes as you took every bit of his length and girth.  “Captain, I love the way you feel when you’re in my stomach. You’re so deep,” you give a smirk to the camera as your juices spill onto the floor.

“Oops,” giggling.  The giggles.  The mess.  “I made such a mess for you, Captain.  You got me so wet.”

“Yeah.  Go harder.  Make your Captain proud,” your ass cheeks recoil as you bounce fast.  Stretched out so pretty, and still spurting your mess into the floor.  He’d have to spank you for being such a sloppy little slut.  Make you watch Bucky’s tongue lap up all your mess.  

Your cream coats that dildo, and he knows you are capable of so much more.  “Captain!”

“Don’t you dare stop,” he growls, choking on his cock.  He was almost there.  Could practically feel your walls clench around him.

“Captain!”

“I know.  Be a good girl, and come,” you scream out as euphoria shoots down to your nether regions.  Wishing that he could choke you in that moment.  There weren't too many things you hadn’t experienced in this line of work.  But there was this demanding quality to this Captain.  

“Now, be good for Captain, and clean up your mess.  With your tongue,” you want to scream.  That is the hottest shit you have ever heard.  Demanding that you clean up your own mess.  “I’d have someone help you.”

“You want someone to come play with me?”

“Yeah, but they’ll leave.  You have to let your Captain take care of you.”

“And Captain always takes the best care with his pussy, too.”

“Mine,” he lets the word roll off his tongue, while you licks up your arousal.  His.  All.  His.

——

Opening up your apartment door, you stand at the entrance for far too long.  There were roses on the table.  A dozen roses from the looks of it.  Steve was becoming steadily more needy.  Wanting to monopolize your time so you couldn’t find new clients.  It was fine at first, until he became too obsessive.

Playful possession had turned into something he in fact demanded.  You look down the hallway of your complex, unsure if you wanted to go in.  This was a job that was for extra money, and Steve had made it clear he demanded you and wanted you when he wanted it.  And now the roses.

Of course those roses could be from anyone, but you knew they weren’t. They were in your fucking apartment.  They were only from one person.  Him.  Captain.  The hall was too quiet.  Just as quiet as your home.  It was like you were the only one in the room.  In the building.

“Steve?” You ask, taking a step back into the hall.  An unfamiliar smell is surrounding you.  Clean.  Fresh.  It was him.  

“Steve?” You tremble.  Ready to bolt.  Anywhere but here.  You had to cut him off.  The money wasn’t even that good.  He had lost his mind.

“Steve?” Yelping when arms wrap around your waist, but his hand covers your mouth gently.  Pressing his nose to your neck, he inhales deeply.  

“Honey, I’m home.  And I expect you to say my name properly.  I can’t have you available to any other men.  Your site has been taken down.  Your apartment will be swept.  All those toys trashed, because you have the real Captain now.  It’ll be like you never existed.  Your new life starts today.  And I’ll make sure you are the perfect housewife for me.  Bear my children, and live to serve me.  Now, be a good girl, and thank your Captain for rescuing you.”

His hand is now wet from the tears that spill onto him, and you try and shake your head no.  “Say, thank you, my Captain.”

“Thank you, my Captain,” you sound like a scared mouse.  And he knows it.  With one  maniacal chuckle he starts dragging you down the hallway.  No one will ever remember you.  No one will ever rescue you.  You are now his.  And he has no intention of letting you go.

Now…thank him.

Masterlist

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