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disturbedbydesign · 2 years ago

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Take Me Home - Part 14

PAIRING: Dennis Baker x Reader

SUMMARY: It’s been nearly a year since your ex-boyfriend dumped you and left you with a laundry list of insecurities, and you haven’t been able to really put yourself out there since. But when Dennis shows up at the adoption fair you’re running for your job at the animal shelter, there’s just something about him that makes you feel like you’re ready to try again.

WORD COUNT: 9.9K

WARNINGS (more to come): Body Issues (Dennis and Reader), References to Past Animal Abuse, Emotionally Abusive Exes (Dennis and Reader), Mention of Past Domestic Violence (Dennis’s Evil Ex), Dry Humping/Thigh Riding, Two Idiots In Love Making Out In A Car, Explicit Sex (O&V), Titjob, Cum Play, Fingering, Sexting/Nudes/FaceTime sex, Mutual Masturbation. 18+ only, no minors.

TAGLIST: @littlelioncub43, @whatinthestyles, @filthy-gorgeous, @justile, @valhalla-kristin, @elrw24, @janaev4ns, @ysmmsy, @ronearoundblindly, @in-umbra-gratia, @vayollie, @whiskeytangofoxtrot555, @terry2227, @thornsnvultures

*Taglist is open to 18+ readers (no blank blogs) who comment, reblog, and/or chat with me via asks. If you just want to read lowkey, that’s cool and you do you, but the taglist is reserved for the lovely people who want to interact with me and my story :)

Series Masterlist

Part Fourteen

Your alarm goes off Friday morning early enough for you to catch the sunrise. You’re still buzzing from last night—from Dennis finally saying those words you’ve been longing to hear from him. It had seemed so effortless, like he wasn’t even nervous at all to say them, which made it that much easier for you to say them back. Sitting at your kitchen island, contentedly sipping your coffee, you wonder how you could have ever been afraid that this man didn’t love you.

You pack up all of Badger’s things for the long weekend at your parents’ house. You also pack a bag for yourself—for your overnight with your mom and dad and, more importantly, your overnight with Dennis. You know you’ll be staying Saturday night but you pack enough stuff for a week because it’s very early and your brain isn’t quite functional yet and you can’t decide what to wear. You like to have options, and the thought that you might end up staying with him until your parents drop Badger home Monday evening isn’t far from your mind either.

You rifle through your underwear drawer trying to decide whether or not to pack something extra sexy. Part of you feels like it’s a jinx—that if you pack the cute little pink set he likes or the burgundy one you know he’ll also like, that you’re setting yourself up for failure. Maybe it’s overkill. Maybe it will just make him more nervous than you know he already will be. You decide to pack them both. Nothing says you have to wear them, but you’d rather have the option than regret not bringing anything.

The trip to your parents' place is about 2 hours and you leave early enough to avoid most of the holiday traffic. Their housing development is decorated with red-white-and-blue everything: all very patriotic but tastefully so—the HOA doesn’t abide anything tacky. They even have rules about colored Christmas lights and the height of the residents’ grass. You couldn’t stand to live like that but it’s the type of thing your mother loves. She always has been a bit of a snob, forever trying to emulate the upper crust even though she grew up with nothing. You love your mother to death, but she’s just so judgmental sometimes—like she’s measuring you against some ideal of the perfect daughter and finding you seriously lacking.

Your parents come out to the driveway to meet you, your mom giving you double air kisses before your dad wraps you up in a big bear hug.

“Hey, Pumpkin,” he says. “How was the drive? Not too much traffic I hope.”

“A little bit towards the end,” you tell him, and you hear your mother tsk.

“I told you to leave early,” she says. “It’s a holiday weekend, darling.”

You swallow a sigh. “Yes, I’m aware of that, Mom. And I did leave early.”

“Leave her alone, Rosie,” your father says, grabbing your bag from the trunk. “Whoa, what’s in here, a dead body? I thought you were just staying the one night.”

“I… uh… I’m staying with a friend this weekend,” you tell him. “Don’t want to drink and drive, you know?”

Your mother’s ears perk up and she purses her lips. “Does this friend have a name?” she asks. “Perhaps a male name?”

Goddammit, Mom.

You’d planned on testing the waters a bit and telling your parents you’d started seeing someone, but you were not planning on telling them you’re at the sleepover stage.

“Let’s get Badger out back,” you say, dodging the question. “He’s been cooped up for hours.”

Your mother gives you that look and you know it’s not the last you’ll hear about this today but mercifully she decides to cut you a break—for now. Once the rosé starts flowing, you know she’ll be back at it with gusto.

Your mom prepares lunch in the kitchen while you and your dad toss the tennis ball with Badger in the backyard. Badger adores your dad. Until Dennis, your father was the only man he’d warmed up to fairly quickly. Of course, your dad is much smaller and much older than Dennis. You love him to pieces but a physical threat he is not nor has he ever been.

“So, Pumpkin, how’s work going?”

You wince, still thinking about poor Hope and her long road to recovery, but you try and get your face together and keep things light and breezy. Good news only: that’s been the rule of thumb with your parents for years.

“It’s pretty good,” you tell him.

“How’d your big event go?”

You smile wide at him as Badger drops the ball at your feet. “Really well, actually. We had almost 40 adoptions come out of it.”

“What about your little tripod buddy?” he asks and you smile.

“Yes! Jax finally found a home. I was so happy, Dad, I cried like an idiot at work when Dennis came to take him home.”

“Dennis?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Is this Dennis your new friend?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t you start, too.”

“I just want you to be happy, Pumpkin, but I’ll leave it alone. Can’t say the same for your mother, though.”

The both of you laugh as Badger makes his way back across the lawn with the ball in his mouth. You can tell that he’s tired and needs some water, so you and your dad head back inside.

“Lunch is almost ready!” your mom calls out. “Darling, will you do me a favor and make the salad?”

You start grabbing the salad components out of the crisper as Badger follows at your dad’s heel to the living room. Everything is washed and ready—your mother doesn’t put away dirty vegetables—so all you have to do is chop, dress, and toss. You grab the English cucumber and start to slice it when you hear that disgruntled sound come from the back of your mother’s throat.

You place the chef’s knife down and look up at her with a huff. “What?” you ask.

“You’re chopping them too big,” she says. “A bit thinner, please?”

You can feel the irritation start to gather at the back of your neck. It’s always like this with her: nothing you do is ever good enough, it’s never done “the right way,” which is usually the way she saw it done in a magazine or on TV or the way some famous lifestyle blogger says it should be done. It’s all very Emily Post with her, which is funny because your dad is the exact opposite. He’ll tuck his napkin into his collar at a 5-star restaurant, he’ll talk too loud and laugh too loud and tell a racy joke in mixed company. It’s what you love most about him: that he’s always unapologetically himself. He would never hurt a fly and he’s the most generous man you’ve ever met in your life but he doesn’t give a flying fuck what people think about him and he never has.

These peccadillos of his drive your mother crazy but, deep down, you know she finds them charming—that they are part of why she fell in love with him in the first place. Despite their many differences, your parents are more infatuated with each other today than they were when they married 33 years ago. They’re affectionate with each other (sometimes to the point of grossing you out), and they do everything together; they are the blueprint for you of what a loving relationship should be, although your ideal marriage is a bit lighter on the bickering (playful though it is).

But, give or take a few minor details, you want what they have, and you feel like you’re closer to it now than you’ve ever been.

You flash your mother a smile that barely conceals your annoyance. “OK,” you say. “Thinner cucumbers. Got it.”

“Thank you, darling,” she replies. At least she always remembers her manners.

You sit down to lunch and catch up a bit, asking how things are going with them at work and how their recent vacation was.

“We had a wonderful time,” she says, “but that rental house was a bit of a nightmare.”

Your dad rolls his eyes in that not this again way. “It was a perfectly nice house, Rose,” your father says, then turns to you. “Don’t listen to her. She just didn’t like the kitchen.”

“Bernie, the refrigerator was white.” She says it like it’s the most repulsive thing in the universe and you decide not to remind her that your refrigerator is white, too. “And that shower.”

Your mother visibly shudders and your dad starts to laugh. “The pressure wasn’t exactly the best,” he admits.

“It was filthy, Bernard.”

“A few of the tiles were cracked,” your dad tells you, “and there was a water stain on the ceiling.”

“Like I said,” your mother says, lifting her glass of wine, “nightmare. Last time I try to do something on the cheap.”

Your dad chuckles. “On the cheap, she says. If that was the cheap, I don’t want to know what the pricey is.”

“But you had fun, though?” you ask, trying to change the subject.

“Oh, yes,” your mother replies. “We went to the beach every day and the farmer’s market, and there are just such great restaurants there. Oh! And the cutest little stores, too, which reminds me, I brought something back for you. Bernie, will you go grab it? It’s on my vanity.”

You smile warmly at her as your dad rises to go get your present. She may be judgy and a little bit nuts, but you know she loves you and she’s always thinking of you. Your dad returns to the table, a small purse hooked around his elbow as he does his best model strut. Your mother rolls her eyes and you burst out laughing.

“I dunno, Pumpkin. I might keep it for myself.”

“Oh, will you stop,” your mother says, trying to hide her giggles behind her hands. “Give it to her already.”

Your father hands you a small kelly green leather hobo bag with a gold zipper. The leather feels supple and buttery as you run your fingers across it.

“I love it,” you say to your mother.

“Adorable, right? I saw it and thought of you.” You smile at her as she continues. “Now you can get rid of that big brown monstrosity you always wear and not walk around looking like a bag lady.”

There it is.

You sigh and look at your dad, who just shakes his head as he chuckles. You have to laugh, too, and you turn back to your mother.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“You’re welcome, darling.”

You spend most of the afternoon helping your dad with his pet project: restoring the 1969 Chevy Camaro he’d bought at auction. He’s always been a car guy, preferring the flashy, loud ones to the sleek, sophisticated luxury kind your mother prefers. She would have had a fit when he bought the thing except that he picked her up for their first date in an old Camaro—cherry red, with a white stripe on the hood, just like this one—and she’d told you that when he brought it home, he was just so excited to show her that she couldn’t possibly be mad.

You’re not so much helping as watching your dad and handing him things when he asks for them—generally the wrong thing because you’re hopeless with tools, much to your father’s dismay.

“Come on, Pumpkin,” he says. “You know what an Allen wrench looks like. I thought I taught you well.”

“You did your best,” you say, and it’s true; your father always tried to teach you how to fix things—how to change a tire, how to fix a leaky faucet—it just never stuck. “I’m hopeless when it comes to this stuff, Dad.”

“Well, I’m not worth a damn in the kitchen, not for lack of trying, so I suppose I can’t fault you too much. So,” he says, “while we’re on the subject of busted cars…”

“Not you too,” you say. “My car is fine.”

“It’s a piece of shit, Pumpkin,” he says, “and I don’t want you driving it. It’s not safe.”

“Now you sound like Dennis,” you say, not thinking about it until the words have already passed your lips.

Your father raises an eyebrow. “Do I now? Anything else you want to tell me about this Dennis?”

Your dad has a cheeky grin on his face and you can’t help but smile at him. “Fine,” you say. “We’re sort of dating.”

“Do I even want to know what sort of dating means these days?”

“Ew, Dad. No. Not like that. We… we are dating. He’s my boyfriend. It’s all very new. I only just met him at the adoption fair when he adopted Jax.”

Your father sets the Allen wrench down and wipes his hands on an old t-shirt repurposed as a rag before turning to you and crossing his arms.

“And he’s good to you?” he asks, watching your eyes for any sign of deception. He always knows when you’re lying so you never bother trying. “He treats you right?”

“Yeah,” you say, and then the floodgates open and you can’t stop yourself from singing Dennis’s praises. “He’s just the greatest. He’s so sweet and he’s kind and he’s generous. He’s not afraid to talk about his feelings or the future. He doesn’t play stupid mind games or any of that shit. He just loves me.”

“Love already, huh?” your father asks, looking slightly wary.

“I know it’s quick,” you say. “I know that. But it just feels like I’ve known him my whole life and I… I love him, too.”

Your father smiles kindly. “I’m happy for you, Pumpkin. After that last one…”

You give a dismissive wave of your hand. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Forget I said that. I’m just… I’m glad you found someone, and your mother will be, too.”

“Ugh, God. Do I have to tell her?”

Your dad pops his head back under the Camaro’s hood. “Yep,” he says, and you sigh. “Why, is there something about him you think she won’t approve of?”

“Are you joking?” you ask. “When has she ever approved of anyone, you and I included?”

You and your dad have a good laugh at that but you’re nervous, despite his insistence that your mother will be happy to see you happy. You know that’s partially true, but she’s not going to like that Dennis is older and she’s definitely not going to like that he’s divorced. It’s pointless to lie, though. Even if your father wouldn’t see right through it, if there’s really a future here they are going to find out eventually. Best to just rip off the Band-Aid and let her get all the judgmental comments out of her system before you actually introduce him to them.

You shudder as It occurs to you for the first time that, at some point, Dennis is going to have to meet your mother. The poor thing is going to need an extra session with Dr. Porter that week. But you’ve got time for that, you think. You haven’t even had sex yet. Meet the parents can wait a while.

***

Dennis is floating somewhere a few feet above his body as he cleans his house in preparation for the party. You love him. You really love him. And he was able to tell you that he loves you—he even said it first. It just sort of came out and he’s happy now that it did because not only did it bring you joy on one of the worst nights of your life, it came out so naturally. He’d thought he’d wanted to do a whole thing with it—some elaborate gesture to make it feel extra special to you, so you’d know he really meant it—but now he realizes that it was so much more special when spoken spontaneously, completely unplanned and from the heart. Thinking about it now, he can’t imagine it happening any other way.

And that’s one more nightmare-inducing fear he can check off the list, one less thing to worry about. There’s only one that remains, but of course it’s the deepest, darkest one: what if after all of this, he still can’t fuck you?

He’s only got one more day to get his shit together on that particular front, and it seems both like an eternity and not nearly enough time. He wants to see you again, to hold you and kiss you and touch you, but he’s torn between his need for you and his fear that, when he does see you again, he has to perform.

You’d never pressure him, of course, and he knows that if he told you he wanted to wait longer, you would be understanding and supportive. But he doesn’t want to wait any longer. He knows the only thing holding him back is his fear of inadequacy and that it’s never going to go away until he confronts it head-on.

There are so many things that could go wrong, so of course Dennis runs through all of them in his head in great detail. As he scrubs down the kitchen, getting it sparkling clean for you, he thinks about the many ways he could disappoint you. He’s not really concerned about not getting hard since his dick is drawn to you like a magnet, but what if he cums too quick and can’t get it up again? What if he cums too quick, gets it up, and then cums too quick again? What if he freaks out in the middle and loses his erection? What if he manages to keep it but whatever he’s doing doesn’t feel good to you? Would you fake it for him, thinking you’re helping? He wants you to tell him what to do, what you like, but what if you can’t? What if you’re afraid?

No, he knows you wouldn’t lie to him, that you’re comfortable with him and you’ll tell him what to do if he asks. You’re patient and you’re kind and you’ll work with him and teach him because you love him. But what if it can’t feel good? What if it really is too big and you can’t make it fit? What if he hurts you?

It makes Dennis physically ill to think about causing you any pain and he has to shake his head to try and knock those thoughts loose and send them away.

“It’ll be fine,” he says out loud to no one, but Jax is listening. He walks over and nuzzles Dennis’s thigh with his head, like he knows his dad needs a bit of soothing. “It’ll be ok, right, buddy? I can do good for mama, right?”

Jax barks twice before sitting and smiling up at Dennis.

“I hope you’re right,” Dennis says, tossing him a jerky treat from his pocket that Jax snatches out of the air. “Cause I don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do if you’re not.”

***

You’re out to dinner at your mother’s favorite restaurant: some Italian place that was featured in Food & Wine a few years back. You’ve made it through your appetizers without bringing up Dennis, but as your mains come, your dad gives you a look that says it’s time. It doesn’t go unnoticed by your mother; he wasn’t trying to be subtle.

“What?” she asks. “What do you two know that I don’t?”

You take a sip of your water—no wine tonight, thank you very much—and a deep breath and you say, “I have a new boyfriend.”

“I knew it,” she says with a little twinkle in her eyes. “Tell me everything. But wait”—she turns to your dad—”how long have you known about this?”

“Like 2 hours, Rosie. Relax. Let the kid talk.”

“Sorry,” she says, turning back to you. “Spill it. How did you meet? What does he do? I want to know everything.”

“His name is Dennis,” you begin. “We met at the adoption fair when he started the process to adopt Jax.”

“That’s the three-legged one, right?”

“Yes,” you say, slightly irritated that she feels the need to point out even Jax’s shortcomings. “We went for coffee one day when he came to the shelter to take Jax for a walk, before he officially adopted him, and we’ve been on a few dates and… I just really like him and he really likes me.”

Your father looks at you, the slightest bit of irritation in his raised eyebrow; he knows you’re holding back and minimizing things but you just can’t bring yourself to tell your mother how hard you’ve fallen and how fast. She wouldn’t understand. She wouldn’t approve. Your dad is a romantic through and through but your mother… she’s more logical and pragmatic.

“That’s wonderful, darling,” she says. “I’m so happy for you. So, how old is he? What does he look like? What does he do for a living? I need details here. Oh, do you have a picture? I want to see a picture.”

“Slow down,” your dad says. “Let the kid breathe.”

You scroll through your phone, looking for a parent-friendly picture to show them, and you choose one of you, Jax, and Dennis in his backyard. You hold it out to your father first and then your mother, but you keep a death grip on your phone. You do not need them poking around your camera roll, whether purposefully or accidentally.

Your mother leans forward and strains to see the picture, her lips forming a straight line as she examines it. “Well, he’s very handsome, darling, but he looks a bit… older than you.”

At this, your dad leans forward a bit. “How much older we talkin, Pumpkin?”

“It’s not that bad,” you say. “Just, like, 10 years.”

“You failed to mention that part earlier,” your dad says, his brow now knitted in fatherly concern. “10 years ain’t nothing. I mean, he’s not exactly robbing the cradle but-”

“Bernard!” your mother whisper-shouts. “We are in public! But your father is right,” she says to you. “That’s rather a large gap. Are you sure he’s interested in a long-term relationship?”

“Why would you even say that?” you ask.

“Just that a man that age, still single… he might not be interested in marriage or family. He might just be one of those overgrown playboy types.”

You scoff because that is about the farthest thing from Dennis you can picture. “For your information, he is very interested in marriage and family. If you must know, he was married but he’s divorced now.”

Your mother makes a high-pitched squeak when you say the D-word. “A divorcé, too. Oh, darling. You can do better than that.”

“You don’t even know him!” You can hear your volume going up and your skin start to crawl with anger and you try to rein it in. “And it wasn’t his fault. His ex-wife is a terrible person.”

“That’s what they all say,” your mother says. “It’s always the wife’s fault.”

You have no intention of telling your mother exactly how wrong she is in this particular instance—that would be a betrayal to Dennis and you don’t have to explain yourself or him to her anyway—but you can’t just let her think the worst.

“She cheated on him,” you say. “I promise you that, in this case, it was absolutely the wife’s fault.”

Your mother huffs and your dad steps in. “Alright, enough, Rosie,” he says, and he turns to you. “I’m sure he’s a good guy, Pumpkin, and you know that your mother and I just want the best for you. I just… you don’t think that maybe someone closer to your age with a little less baggage might be better? Easier?”

“Nothing that’s worth it is ever easy”—you parrot your father’s constant refrain growing up, the thing he’d say anytime you wanted to give up on something—”that was you who always said that, right, Dad?”

“Yes, but-”

“Well, you were right. It’s not easy with Dennis, but it’s worth it. Yeah, he has baggage. I have baggage, too. But we are good together and we love each other. Why can’t you ever just be happy for me? Why is it that I am always doing something wrong in your eyes? All I did was fall in love with someone who loves me back and it’s like I’ve committed some crime against humanity because he happens to be older than me and divorced.”

“We’re just concerned,” your mother says. “You don’t always make the best choices, darling.”

You hear your dad’s voice, low and cautionary. “Rose, don’t.”

“It’s ok, Dad,” you say, no longer able to keep your aggravation in. “Let her talk. Please, Mom, tell me about all of my bad choices. I would love to hear about them all, yet again.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she says.

“You know what?” You make the decision as you speak it. “I think I’m gonna go back home tonight. I have to get an early start in the morning and I just-”

“Come on, Pumpkin,” your dad pleads. “Don’t go. We’re sorry.”

“I really am sorry, sweetheart,” your mom says, and you can see in her eyes that she means it—that she knows she went way too far. “I just love you.”

You sigh and release some of the tension you’re holding. You don’t want to be mad at them. You know they have your best interest at heart, even if they aren’t always the best at expressing that.

“I forgive you,” you say. “I know you’re just looking out for me. But I think I will get going tonight—and not because I’m mad. I really do have a lot of stuff to cook for the party tomorrow.”

“You’re throwing a party?” your mother says. “Not at your apartment, surely?”

“Rosie…”

“Sorry,” she says. “It’s just small, and that kitchen… how would you even-”

You have to laugh because the woman simply cannot help herself.

“It’s at Dennis’s house,” you tell her. “He has a big, beautiful house with a big, beautiful kitchen which—you’ll be happy to know—has stainless-steel appliances.”

Your mother’s face softens a bit as she quirks an eyebrow. “So he has money, then?”

“Oh, now you’re supportive? You are such a snob, Mom.”

“You’re not one of them sugar baby gals on the Instagram, are you, Pumpkin?”

“Jesus Christ, Dad. No!” you shout, and now your mother is castigating your father for his off-color comments and he’s laughing so hard that his neck is red and all you can do is just sit there and smile because, despite how difficult things can sometimes be, you just love them so damn much it hurts.

When you get back from dinner, you spend a little quality time with Badger before taking off for home. You’re cruising along, listening to one of your favorite playlists and mentally cataloging the many tasks you have tomorrow when you see a pair of eyes flashing green. You slam on your brakes as the deer prances across the road, but they aren’t catching. You pump them once, twice, three times but nothing’s happening; you’re still barreling down the road going 40 and you’ve completely lost control. You yank the emergency break up as hard as you can and the shrieking sound of metal and the smell of burning rubber and the pounding of your heart in your ears is all there is until you skid to a stop about two feet from a tree.

You sit there for a moment in shock, just breathing heavily and shaking. But you’re ok. The deer is ok. Everything is ok except for the fact that you know your car is fucked and you absolutely cannot afford to replace the brakes. That, and you’re a woman alone at night and stranded by the side of the road a few miles outside town. You grab your phone in trembling hands and call Dennis.

“Hey!” he says. “How’s it going with the parents?”

“Dennis,” you say, and you can hear the panic in your own voice. “Can you come get me? I got in an accident.”

“Are you ok?” he says, his voice gone from sweet to deadly serious with worry. “Where are you?”

“I’m fine. The brakes went but I didn’t hit anything. I’m on the county road about 4 miles outside town.”

“I’m coming right now,” he says, and you can hear the tinkling of his belt as he puts on his pants. “Lock your doors.”

He hangs up before you can tell him you already did.

***

Dennis has never moved faster than he is right now, throwing on his clothes and grabbing his keys and rushing towards the door. He decides to take Jax with him since he’s clearly sensed how agitated Dennis is and he doesn’t want to leave him alone in the house all worked up. With Jax in the back seat, his fuzzy chin resting on Dennis’s shoulder, he drives as quickly as he can while still remaining safe and sane. He reaches you in about 10 minutes and there’s a pit in his stomach when he sees how close you came to hitting a tree.

He throws his car in park and rushes over to your driver’s side door, pulling at the handle before you’ve even unlocked it. Once he hears the click, he throws it open and grabs you, pulling you up out of the car into a tight hug. He cradles your head in one hand and rubs your back with the other.

“It’s ok, Sweetheart. I’m here.”

He can feel you relax into his arms as you hug his waist, feel your breathing slow as you bury your face in his chest.

You speak muffled into his t-shirt, “God, you smell good.”

“What happened?”

“There was a deer.” You look up at him and even in the dark your eyes sparkle. “I hit the brakes and nothing happened. Had to pull the emergency. Please don’t say I told you so.”

“I won’t,” he says. “I would never do that. I’m just happy you’re ok.”

“I’m ok and the deer’s ok but my car is… not ok.”

“We’ll get it figured out,” he tells you. “Let me call a tow.”

“I already called them,” you say. “They should be here”—headlights pierce the darkness as the tow truck crests the hill—”uh, now, I guess.”

“Good,” Dennis says, “I want to get you home.”

You look up at him. “I- I’d rather stay with you tonight,” you say, the question in your eyes even though, to Dennis, it’s a foregone conclusion.

“My home is your home,” he replies, “if you want it to be,” and your smile brightens your entire face—like your skin is its own source of light.

The tow guys don’t take long getting your car up on the flatbed, and you sit in the backseat of Dennis’s car petting Jax while he sorts out the payment. He’d insisted and you’d had no choice but to agree because he knows you don’t have much cash to spare right now. The tow guy—whose name is Benny, if his embroidered uniform is to be believed—takes Dennis’s credit card information down on his intake form and hands the card back, tossing a glance over his shoulder at your car.

“You let your girl drive around in that thing?” Benny says, shaking his head. “Goddamn deathtrap, and I can tell you right now it’s not worth it to fix it.”

“I know,” Dennis replies. “I’m handling it.”

“Listen,” Benny says, “if you’re looking for a good deal on a used car, my cousin can hook you up.” He pulls a business card from his pocket and hands it to Dennis. “Tell him Benny sent ya.”

Dennis looks at the card and back up to Benny. “I might just do that,” he says. “Thanks.”

“No problem, pal. You all have a safe night.”

Dennis pockets the business card and walks back to his car. You’ve made your way to the front seat and when Dennis gets in, you ask him with a pained expression, “How much was it?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says.

You sigh. “Thank you. I mean it. I’m gonna pay you back.”

“No, you’re absolutely not.”

“Dennis!”

“You heard me,” he says. “I’m not taking your money.”

“Well, if you won’t take money…” you say, flashing him a coy little smile. “Maybe there’s something else I can do to make it up to you.”

“Now you’re talking,” Dennis says, and he speeds you back to his place.

Dennis had never really understood what Netflix and Chill meant until tonight. One minute, he’s bringing you a cup of tea and putting on Schitt’s Creek, and the next minute he’s on top of you, dry-humping you as he slides your shirt up over your head.

“I want you,” you whisper. “Fuck. I need you.”

“I want you, too, Sweetheart. So fucking bad.”

“You can have me,” you say, your chest heaving beneath him as your eyes lock onto his, asking the question without saying it aloud, “if you want to.”

“I want to,” Dennis replies, and you smile at him softly as you run your thumb across his cheek.

“Take me to bed, Dennis.”

He snatches you up with zero hesitation. His mind is racing but his body feels ready as he carries you, giggling and kicking your feet over his shoulder, up the stairs to his bedroom. It’s better this way, he thinks. Maybe a whole, long, action-packed day of anticipation before getting to this moment was never going to work out. Maybe he just needed to wait until the time felt right instead of deciding what the right time is.

Dennis lays you gently down on his bed and you shimmy out of your jeans, leaving you in just a cute black-and-white polka-dot bra and panty set. He will never get tired of the sight of you half-naked and waiting for him as he strips down to his boxer briefs, your teeth digging into your bottom lip as you sweep your eyes up and down his body. The way you look at him—that craving in your eyes—sets fire to his skin and makes him feel things he’s never felt before: sexy, powerful, wanted.

You sit forward and reach out to palm him through his briefs but he grabs your wrist lightly. “Not yet,” he says. “You first. You remember what I said I was gonna do to you?”

You nod your head. “Mhmm.”

“Then let me.”

Dennis hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties and peels them off you slowly as you remove your bra and toss it to the side. He stands back and savors the sight of you like this: completely naked on his bed, propped up on your elbows with your legs spread, your pretty pussy glistening in anticipation of him. He’s pictured it so many times, but now you’re really here, this is real, this is happening.

“Are you ok?” you ask.

He can feel his cock throbbing, the precum leaking through the gray fabric of his boxer briefs as he stares at you. “Yeah,” he replies. “You’re just… fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

“Kiss me,” you beg.

Dennis crawls up your body and finds your lips, so warm and soft and ready for him. You reach up and thread your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck as you pull him into a deep kiss, your other hand clutching his bicep as you sweep your tongue into his mouth. Dennis doesn’t want to rush; he doesn’t want to fumble around your body like he doesn’t know what to do with it. He kisses you slow and deep and you wrap your legs around the back of his thighs, urging him closer to you until his dick is hard against your center. He can feel the heat of you through the fabric of his underwear, feel you soaking through them as you grind yourself on him from below and moan into his mouth.

Dennis pulls out of the kiss. “Need to taste you,” he says, and he kisses and licks his way down your body just like he did the first time you gave him the great honor of eating you out.

And he remembers what to do—all the tips and tricks he studied and how your body responds to them. He remembers how you like him to start with slow, rhythmic drags of his tongue, flat and wide against your entrance, not too much pressure at first—a tease, almost. He remembers how you buck your hips and fist his hair when you want more, when you need the suction of his lips around your ciit and his tongue lapping at you. He remembers the sounds you make—those sweet, beautiful cries of pleasure—when he’s bringing you close, and how you grab at his hand on your thigh when you want him to start using his fingers.

“Stretch me out,” you tell him. “Get me ready for you.”

Dennis starts with two fingers and hooks them up into your g-spot as he sucks your clit into his mouth, staring up your beautiful body as he brings you closer. You’ve got your eyes closed and your brow knitted and your mouth open in an oval, your hands clutching your tits as you moan his name, telling him how good he’s making you feel. When he slips a third finger inside you, you arch your back and cry out, “Yes, fuck, I’m so close. Don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t stop—not until you’re gripping the bedspread and digging your heels into the mattress as your toes curl, not until you’re shaking and crying out your pleasure as you soak his beard. Your body relaxes and Dennis starts to remove his fingers but you grab his wrist and hold them in place, your pussy still spasming around them.

“Not yet,” you say. “I- I’m… fuck… c- can’t stop cumming. K- keep going. P- please.”

Dennis dives back in, going hard and sloppy at your clit as your walls continue to pulse around his fingers. He hears sounds coming out of you that he’s only dreamt about and he doesn’t know if you’re still on your first orgasm or if this is a new one but it doesn’t matter because you taste so fucking good and you look so goddamn sexy when you cum. He wants it to last forever, but eventually your body goes limp and you sigh and tell him to stop with a little giggle that shoots straight to his already painfully hard dick.

“Holy shit,” you say, near breathless. “I’ve never cum like that in my life.”

Dennis can’t keep the smile off his face, soaked in you, as he looks up at you from between your thighs. “How many times did you-”

“I don’t even know. I don’t care. Come here.”

You reach down and grab at his shoulders as Dennis comes up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on him. He loses himself in the kiss for a moment until he realizes that this is it: his time has come. He can feel himself tense up under your fingertips and you pull out of the kiss, your concern written all over your face.

“Hey,” you say gently. “If you don’t want to-”

“I want to,” he says. “Believe me, it’s all that I want. I’m just… can you tell me what to do?”

You smile softly at him as you brush a piece of hair behind his ear. “Of course.”

“I, uh, I bought condoms. Th- they’re in the nightstand. And there’s, uh, you know… lube. If it doesn’t-”

“Relax.” You run your thumb across his bottom lip as you cup his face and his eyelids flutter at your touch. “It’s gonna be amazing, ok?”

He feels that familiar pinch in his tear ducts and fuck, Dennis, do not fucking cry but he can’t stop his eyes from watering a bit. “What if it’s not?”

“It will be,” you tell him, “because I love you so much and all I want is to feel you inside me, to be that close to you. I don’t care about anything else. I don’t care if I cum or not. I just want you.”

And just like that, Dennis feels a weight lift. You always know exactly what to do and exactly what to say to make him feel like everything is ok—better than ok, even. Perfect.

“I love you,” he tells you, and he means it with his whole heart.

He’s never loved anyone the way he loves you, and all he wants in the world is to be able to make love to you and show you with his body what he can’t put into words. Because there are no words strong enough or deep enough to describe the way he feels about you. I love you isn’t enough—not even close.

Dennis stands and removes his boxer briefs, his cock springing loose and slapping his stomach once it’s free. He feels a little dizzy on his feet because all his blood is in his dick and he’s watching you grab condoms out of his drawer and oh God this is really happening and now you’re giving him an amused little smile.

“Magnums, huh?”

He can feel his face go lobster red. “Yeah, uh… the other ones are too tight.”

You look at his dick and lick your lips. “I bet.”

“How do you want to-”

“Sit up against the headboard,” you tell him. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

Once Dennis is in position, you tear open one of the foil wrappers and remove the condom. Your warm palm wrapped around his dick already has it jumping in your hand, and when you roll the condom down the length of him, he lets out a moan he just can’t hold. You smile and straddle him, hovering over him for a moment as you take his face in both your hands.

“Are you ready?’ you ask him, and when he swallows deep and nods, you give him the sweetest kiss on the lips.

You reach down in between your bodies and position him at your entrance, and when he feels your pussy against the tip of his dick—warm and wet even through the latex—a jolt of electricity shoots through his entire body. You lower yourself onto him slowly and the sound that comes out of you when he enters you for the first time is something he’ll never forget as long as he lives. Dennis thinks he blacks out for a moment once you have his tip inside you, and when he comes back to himself and looks at your gorgeous face as you take more of him, he can see that you’re struggling.

“Are you ok?” he asks, and part of him wants to stop and try to reset but you feel too fucking good around him, so goddamn warm and tight.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Just need to go slow. Fuck, Dennis, you’re so fucking big.”

“We can stop,” he says, but he really really doesn’t want to.

“No,” you say. “I want it. I want all of it.”

By the time you’re halfway there, Dennis’s cock is throbbing like it has its own heartbeat and he wants, he needs, to feel all of you. You grip his shoulders tight and take a breath and then you drop all your weight down until you’ve got every inch of him inside you. You hiss and let out a wanton moan as you take all of him, and Dennis holds on to your hips for dear life—the soft flesh at your waist like velvet under his fingers as he cries out and throws his head back hard against the headboard.

“You feel like fucking heaven. Oh my God.”

Dennis thinks to himself that he’s never felt anything better than this—the way your body is opening up for him, accepting him—and then you start to move and Dennis can no longer think at all. Just a few slow rolls of your hips, your breasts swaying as you place your hands on his chest for balance, has Dennis’s balls tightening. You speed up and now you're really fucking the life out of him and he tightens his grip on your waist. Dennis can’t stop the moans that come from somewhere deep in his chest as you ride him like one of those mechanical bulls at some cheesy Western-themed restaurant. He wants to feel like this forever, but he just can’t hold on.

“Fuck, baby. You feel too good. I’m gonna cum. Fuck.”

“It’s ok,” you say, riding him even faster and harder now that he’s said out loud what you probably already knew. “I want it. I wanna watch you cum for me.”

Dennis was already on the edge, but your words and the hungry look in your eyes when you say them have him totally gone. When his hips start to stutter, he holds you in place and fucks up into you as he spills into the condom. He can feel the vice grip your pussy has on him as he cums and the proud look in your eyes as you watch him lose himself inside of you. He wraps his arms around your back and pulls you down on top of him, chest to chest as he kisses your lips and your neck, tasting the sheen of sweat on your skin.

“I told you I’d make it fit,” you say, and then you both start to laugh.

You reach back and hold the base of the condom as you slide off of him with a tiny little whine.

“I’ll deal with that,” Dennis says.

“Such a gentleman,” you say, and Dennis walks to the bathroom on shaky legs to dispose of it.

When he comes back, you’re sprawled out on his bed with a dreamy smile on your face. The sight of you steals his breath; he’s never seen anything more beautiful. “Come back to bed,” you say, and Dennis crawls in behind you and pulls you against his chest.

“I’m sorry I-”

You cut him off. “Don’t,” you say. “It was perfect. I love you.”

Dennis buries his face against your hair and breathes in the scent of you. “I love you, too, but-”

“No buts,” you say. “Unless you didn’t enjoy that…”

“Oh, I did. Too much, I think. That’s the problem.”

“There’s no problem, Dennis.” You turn in his arms to face him. “You don’t have a problem. You don’t have a ‘bad penis’ or whatever the fuck. You have a very good, very big penis that I would very much like inside of me again, and we have lots of time for that. And I’m sure pretty soon I won’t even be that exciting to you so-”

“Ok, now you’re talking crazy,” Dennis says, because there’s no universe in which getting you in bed isn’t the most exciting thing in the entire world to him no matter how many times it happens. “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are? God, Sweetheart, when you were on top of me? That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Dennis runs a hand down the curve of your body and back to your ass, giving it a squeeze. The way your flesh jiggles in his hand is enough, and he feels the blood start to pump in his dick again. You can feel it, too, and you look down and then up at him with a smile.

“You wanna go again?” you ask.

“Fuck yes.”

***

You would’ve been happy with just the one time. Finally having Dennis inside of you after wanting him for so long—your whole life, if you’re honest—was enough for you. Just the look on his face when he was buried in you fully was enough. He’d already made you cum. You knew he was never going to last very long the first time. You just wanted to feel him and make him feel good and show him that he didn’t have to be scared with you. But once wasn’t enough for Dennis. He’d had a taste and now he’s positively ravenous.

You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of the feeling of Dennis’s cock stretching you out as he enters you, and you both moan as he slides home. You want it missionary this time, want to feel the sheer heft of him on top of you, and—now that you know it fits like a glove—you want to let him use your body however he wants it. And how he wants it at first is just so painfully sweet: long, slow strokes as he takes your face in his big hands and kisses all over it and down your neck and tells you how good you feel, how much he loves you.

You’ve always hated the term “making love” but that’s what he’s doing to you and it feels better than anything you’ve ever felt—so good that you feel like a fool for ever having rolled your eyes and fake gagged at the terminology. You've had great sex before, but you’ve never felt someone’s love for you fill you up from the inside. Dennis starts to move a little faster, moan a little louder, and you wrap your legs around his waist and angle your hips up to take him deeper.

“Oh, fuuuck. Stay like that. That feels amazing,” he tells you, and you feel the gravel in his voice absolutely everywhere. “Your pussy’s so fucking perfect, baby.”

“It’s yours,” you moan. “I’m yours. Oh God, Dennis, your cock feels so fucking good. Feels like it was made for me.”

You want to tell him to fuck you but you don’t. You’re torn because part of you wants to keep going like you are, with this sweet and gentle man giving it to you so sweetly and gently. But the other part of you—the part of you that’s going cockdrunk and greedy on the big, fat dick inside you—wants to see what else he’s got. You know he wants it; he’s told you in great detail exactly how he wants to really give it to you, but you don’t want to rush him. Maybe he’s not ready for that, maybe he just wants to take it nice and slow, maybe he-

“Tell me what you want, Sweetheart,” he says, peppering kisses across your shoulder. “I wanna make you cum. Wanna feel it from the inside.”

He looks into your eyes and he just looks so earnest and sweet, but you know underneath it all there’s an animal waiting to be let loose.

“Fuck me, Dennis,” you say. “Really fuck me.”

He grunts a little before sitting back on his knees and yanking you down by your waist. The sheer strength of him takes you by surprise and you gasp a little before you giggle.

“You wanna get fucked, baby?” he asks, and now all the sweetness is gone from those ocean-blue eyes, replaced by something darker and hungrier.

“Yes,” you moan. “Please.”

Dennis grips your hips tightly and draws his cock out so that just the tip is left inside, and when he snaps his hips and fills you all the way up, your eyes roll back in your head. A few more of those slow, hard, deep strokes and he’s lost all control. He’s fucking into you with a strength and a power that you’d never seen on him before, putting his fit, muscular body to work as he uses all that core strength to give it to you good. You watch him watching you—the way your tits bounce with each thrust, the way his cock punches the breath from your lungs every time he gets up in your guts. You cry out his name, tell him how good he feels and how good he fucks you. The way your body is responding to him should be enough but you want him to know, to hear from your lips that he’s got good dick and knows what to do with it.

“You like that?” he asks, but you can tell from the look in his eyes that he knows he’s giving it to you right.

“I fucking love it. Oh, fuck. Harder, baby. I’m gonna cum.”

Dennis grabs your legs and tosses them onto his broad shoulders before bending you in half, not losing a beat with his dick still inside you. He’s so goddamn deep in this position that he’s nailing your sweet spot with each thrust. You feel your walls start to pulse and he feels it, too, and you reach around and grab two handfuls of his ass to hold on to him.

“I’m cumming,” you cry. “Oh, fuck, Dennis. I’m cumming. I fucking love you.”

“And I love you,” he says, jaw clenched tight. “Now be a good girl and cum on my cock.”

That’s when you absolutely lose it, clawing at his ass and his back as your cunt starts to flutter around him. He drops your legs and changes his pace when he feels you start to cum, going slow and deep and moaning with you as he feels you clench down on him over and over again. He moans a deep fuuuuck in your ear as he rolls his hips, and he tells you, “That’s it, baby. That’s my girl,” and a part of you feels like you’re dying because your whole body is taut and then you just let go, and the only thing you can hear, the only thing you can feel, the only thought in your head is Dennis.

“You feel fucking perfect, baby. I wanna stay like this forever, you squeezing the fuck out of my dick. Fuck, I’m gonna cum soon.”

“Flip me over,” you tell him. “I know what you want.”

He keeps a slow grind as he looks down at you. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Mhmm,” you reply.

Dennis turns you over onto your stomach and pulls you up off the bed with one hand wrapped around your waist. Your muscles are like Jell-O but you manage to push yourself up onto your elbows as you feel one hand spread across the small of your back.

“Oh, fuck, baby. I stretched your pretty pussy out good,” he says, and you moan and clench around nothing when you hear his filthy praise.

He rubs the tip of his cock up and down your entrance and you can hear how wet you are before he pushes into you. You feel impossibly full in this new position and he’s not even all the way in but you’re already addicted to him, to those spots he can reach that no one else ever could. You make a mental note to tell Mal she was right about there being no such thing as too big, and then all thoughts leave your head as he starts to fuck you from behind.

He sounds like an animal behind you and you curl your toes at the feeling of his balls slapping your clit with each thrust. It’s a sticky mess down there but you don’t care; you wish he’d make a bigger mess of you, but that’s a conversation for another day. You’re more than happy with what he’s giving you now as he fucks you hard and deep with two handfuls of ass.

“‘M gonna cum,” he says and you can’t form words to answer him; you just spread your legs wider so you don’t miss one millimeter of dick as he fucks you through his orgasm, “S- so deep,” he stutters. “So fucking deep.”

It takes all the strength left in your body to clench down on him and milk his cock as he cums but you do it because you just want to hear what kind of sinful sounds your pussy can drag out of him. He’s fucking loud this time, and when he’s winding down, you give him a particularly hard squeeze. He hisses and gives your right ass cheek a smack and you giggle.

“You’re a menace,” he says, out of breath and panting. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

He pulls out of you gently and you collapse onto your stomach, only able to hear the sound of your own heartbeat and the ragged breaths you’re taking as Dennis goes to the bathroom to dispose of condom number two. When he comes back, he slides into bed next to you and you wrap yourself around him like a koala, your head against his chest so you can hear that his heart is beating just as fast as yours. You know you have to get up and pee. You know you do, but you can’t fucking move yet and you just want to hold him and have him hold you and just be present for this moment—this beautiful, perfect moment you know you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

“That was incredible,” you say.

“I, uh, I don’t know where that came from,” he says, the usual Dennis modesty back in his voice.

You look up at him. “It came from you,” you tell him, putting your hand over his heart. “That was all you, Dennis. You’re fucking amazing and one of these days I’ll actually get you to believe it.”

“Hope so,” he says sheepishly.

“I will,” you say, “but until then, just know that I love you and I have never, ever been fucked that good in my life. Like, I need to go pee so I don’t get a fucking UTI but I literally can’t walk—that kind of good.”

“Let me help you,” he says, and before you can tell him no, he’s got you in his arms and he’s carrying you bridal-style into the bathroom and setting you down next to the toilet. “Door to door service,” he says.

“I love you so much,” you say.

“I love you, too. I’ll… uh… give you some privacy.”

“Yeah, I’m a bathroom door always closed type of person, just so you know.”

“Noted,” he says, and he kisses you on the forehead and leaves you to it.

When you come out of the bathroom, you’re slightly confused and very disappointed to see Dennis is putting clothes on, but then you realize that it’s getting very late and Jax needs his nighttime walk.

“Get in bed,” he says. “We’ll be back soon.”

“No,” you say. “I want to come, too.”

You grab a sleep shirt and sweats from your bag as Dennis gets Jax harnessed up, and the three of you take a nice little stroll around the block. Dennis’s neighborhood is so quiet at night, so peaceful, and you feel like this is it—this is what you want to do every night for the rest of your life. Dennis can’t stop smiling at you and Jax looks happy as can be that his two favorite people are walking him together. When Jax is all set, you return to the house and the three of you crawl into bed—you and Dennis wrapped up in each other with Jax curled up at the foot.

Your happy little family, you think. Finally.

PART FIFTEEN >>>

#dennis baker fanfiction #dennis baker x reader #dennis baker x you #dennis baker #chris evans #chris evans characters #take me home series

164 notes · View notes

oreomonsterhunter · 3 years ago

Text

“I’m not wearing my sexy underwear tonight”

Pairing: Johnny x reader (or OC)

Word Count: 3988

Genre: fluff, not smut but they both really wanna toe the line

Warnings: language, some sexy kisses (cover your eyes kids)

Summary: Johnny takes his best friend on their first date

A/N: this has absolutely morphed into a long term couple, because apparently Princess has taken the reins 😂 if you like this, check out the rest of their story so far on my masterlist!

You were nervous. Friends with Johnny since diapers, and somehow you were nervous to meet him in five minutes. You glanced at the time—make that four minutes.

Pacing back and forth in front of the door, you smoothed down your dress again. All Johnny had told you was to dress up. He might be a fashion king, but he wasn’t exactly the best at sharing details. You’d teetered between twenty different outfits before finally settling on a happy medium. Couldn’t show up to a museum in an evening gown. Well, you supposed you could, if you even owned one. So the little black dress at the back of your closet was the final choice. Safe enough for just about every venue, since Johnny hadn’t told you where your date would be.

You sucked in a breath, fighting against the nerves tight in your stomach. Your first date, oh my gosh. How were you supposed to date Johnny? You’d done practically everything together already, what made this different from going to the movies together last week? Aside from the obvious—last week, you didn’t know what Johnny’s lips felt like on yours.

Then you groaned at your sudden realization. Jeez, you couldn’t do anything right in this relationship with Johnny. You were about to have your first date but you’d already had a hot and heavy makeout session at an unmentionable hour of the morning. So much for “will I kiss him afterwards?” Dating for five seconds, and everything was already out of order. You wanted to scream, but before your thoughts could really start spiraling, you heard a knock at the door.

You were sweating, oh gosh. Did you need to reapply deodorant? You froze, staring at nothing. Until another knock sounded, this time accompanied by Johnny’s familiar voice, “Yo, are you ready to go?”

You sagged in relief. Nothing else would have snapped you out of the nervous cycle better than Johnny being….well, Johnny. And when you finally convinced yourself to open the door, the sight of his easy smile was enough for yours to appear, too.

“Well, uh, hi,” he stuttered, making you giggle.

You slipped on your shoes, grabbed a small purse, and locked the door behind you. Then you linked arms with Johnny, “Alright, where to, mystery man? You haven’t told me anything.”

“That’s mostly because I didn’t figure anything out until today.”

Biting your lip to hold back a giggle, you tugged him down the hallway. “No wonder you didn’t share much detail. I should’ve known.”

Johnny tightened his grip on you when you stepped out of the elevator, leading you to the car. He didn’t say much, which was a bit out of character. Frowning up at him, you tried to meet his gaze. He finally looked down at you when he opened the passenger door for you to get in. “You, uh, you look really nice tonight.”

A small smile bloomed, “Not looking so bad yourself, hot stuff.”

* * * * *

Apparently Johnny had picked out a restaurant for dinner. A fancy restaurant. You read through the list of entrees with a barely-concealed grimace. “Do you know what any of these words mean?” you asked him.

Johnny beamed at you, “Nope, that’s half the fun.”

A waiter walked by with a tray destined for another table, and you both gaped at the miniscule portion sizes. “Those look like appetizers,” Johnny said, goggling at the tiny salad. “Maybe I can order several steaks. I’d need about five of them.” He started eyeing the menu again.

“As long as you’re picking up the tab,” you joked.

“Oh, I thought you were,” he said, all wide eyed innocence. You smacked his arm with your menu, fighting a grin at his usual antics. The couple at the next table shot you a look, and you hunched back in your seat.

“Don’t worry, I’m paying. Order whatever you’d like,” Johnny said, still puzzling over the ridiculous dinner options.

You frowned, reaching for your water. But shoot, it probably cost five bucks for tap, you thought with no small amount of horror. You set it back down before you drained more of Johnny’s wallet.

After a few more minutes of torturous silence, trying not to fidget too much, you leaned forward. “Do we even have a waiter?”

Johnny jerked upright, looking over his shoulder at the man in question. “I don’t know?”

“I’ve been trying to make eye contact with the staff for five minutes and they’re all ignoring me.”

Johnny blinked at you. “Wait, are you ready to order?”

“No, I wanna ask if they charge for water.”

“No one charges for water,” he chortled.

“I bet it’s five bucks a glass,” you said, crossing your arms.

Now Johnny was really laughing, and half the restaurant was staring at your table. “Only if it’s imported from the crystal springs of Iceland,” he said, grinning.

“Wait, really?”

“Hell if I know,” Johnny said, making you snort some of your water. You shrunk down in your chair, hiding your red face while he kept laughing.

“I don’t know this man,” you said to the people at the next table. They stared at you, whispering among themselves. Pouting, you turned back to Johnny. “I can’t believe you booked a table here,” you cocked an eyebrow at him. “I thought we were burger joint people, not escargot snobs.”

“Do you really not wanna eat here?” he asked, propping his elbows on the table.

You opened your mouth to respond, but your waiter finally showed up to take your order. “Good evening, can I interest you in anything else to drink?”

“Any Icelandic sparkling water?” Now Johnny was the one snorting inelegantly.

The waiter laughed, despite not knowing the joke. “Can I interest you in a bottle of red? You seem like a red wine woman.”

You smiled politely, reaching for the wine list when he offered it to you. “Sure, I’ll take a look.”

The waiter smirked, eyes landing on you. “I’ll have to card you, miss.”

Your brows raised, but you complied, digging out your wallet. Across the table, Johnny cleared his throat, “Do I look like a red wine guy?” But the waiter barely glanced at him before his eyes were back on you.

“Your photo doesn’t do you justice,” the waiter commented, handing your ID back.

“No one looks good in those pictures,” you chuckled.

“I beg to differ,” he said, then nodded at the wine list. “What can I get you?”

You glanced over at Johnny, who was fidgeting enough to shake the table. Curious. “What do you recommend?” you asked, twirling a strand of hair around one finger.

“You might be interested in one of our finer vintages,” he began, leaning over your shoulder to point out a few wines on the list. You heard a subtle sound, and out of the corner of your eye, saw Johnny’s fingers rapping the table at a rapidly increasing pace. You bit your lip, focusing on the wines again, but not before adding a little more fuel to the fire. Time to test your theory. You crossed your legs, brushing one foot up Johnny’s calf in the process. The man jumped as if electrocuted, his knees banging into the underside of the table.

“How about this one?” you asked innocently, looking up at the waiter again.

“A lovely choice, though it is on the higher range, so I’m not sure—”

“We’ll take it,” Johnny announced, plucking the wine list from your fingers and shoving it at the waiter.

You raised an eyebrow, but the waiter simply smiled at you, apparently unbothered by growly Johnny. “I’ll bring that right out for you,” he said, taking the wine menu and leaving you to suffer over dinner options.

Johnny cleared his throat, leaning towards you again. “That waiter’s a bit weird, huh?” he asked, watching the man walk away. “He didn’t even ask what I wanted.”

You donned your best sparkly-eyed expression, “But he’s being so friendly! He really deserves a nice tip, he had some helpful suggestions.”

Johnny frowned, “He’s obviously flirting with you.”

“No way,” you laughed, waving him off.

Johnny rolled his eyes, “Trust me. He’s flirting with you more than I am, and I’m the one taking you on a date.”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table. “Maybe you should start flirting with me some more, then.”

Johnny sent you an indecipherable look. You wondered if your teasing had worked. But Johnny seemed to have calmed down some, now that the helpful waiter was out of sight.

You shrugged, sitting back in your chair. You changed the subject, giving the man a break. “Seriously, we don’t need to spend this much on dinner. I feel bad.”

“I thought you’d like this place,” Johnny said, brows furrowing.

“I will literally go anywhere with you, it doesn’t matter, I just….I dunno, I feel like I don’t fit in here.” You weren’t quite sure how to express your fear that people would call you a gold-digger or something, only dating Johnny now that he’d achieved success. Even if the two of you knew better, it still made your stomach twist. And not in the nice way it did while watching Johnny’s hands playing with his water glass. Shoot, shoot, shoot, now his fingers were wet from the condensation. You really didn’t need to know what that looked like. Had his hands always been that large? You shifted in your seat.

Johnny’s mouth twisted in a wry smile, “I don’t know if either of us really fit in with the rich old person vibe, but I heard the food is good.”

I’d rather have a bite of you, you thought to yourself, twisting the napkin in your lap. You’d never seen him in a suit before. Or at least, not in person.

Johnny coughed suddenly, staring at you with wide eyes. “What?”

Oh shit, did you say that out loud? Your cheeks burned. “Um, I’d be, uh,” you stuttered, trying to cover your mistake, all confidence extinguished. “We could get burgers, or something.”

Johnny sat back in his chair, eyes on yours. He smirked, and you wanted to disappear into a hole in the ground. Oh no, he definitely heard you.

“As long as I get to keep watching you,” Johnny said, voice low. “You really are beautiful, not just tonight. Every night.”

You opened your mouth, not sure what to say, but knowing that you wanted Johnny to keep looking at you like that. Like you were the main course. “Johnny, I—”

“Your wine, miss,” the waiter had returned. You bit back a frown, knowing he was just doing his job. But he seriously couldn’t have waited another minute?

“Thank you,” you murmured, sampling the first sip before allowing the waiter to pour both glasses.

“Can I interest you in any appetizers?” he asked, pouring Johnny’s wine.

You blinked, having forgotten the menu entirely. Across the table, Johnny pulled out the menu, but before he could point anything out, the waiter was hovering over your shoulder. “Might I recommend the cheese board? It will pair beautifully with this bottle.”

“Might I tell you my order?” Johnny said. His smile was sharper than before. You might have teased him some more, but you got a bit distracted by Johnny’s jawline as he turned to speak to the waiter. Honestly, you were having trouble tearing your eyes away from him all night. It felt like seeing him for the first time, and in a way, you supposed you were. You’d always known Johnny was attractive, since the time all boys started to look cute. You’d just never let yourself think about it too much. Best friend mental boundaries and all that.

Maybe if Johnny hadn’t said anything on that night, you wouldn’t have ever seen him like this. You wouldn’t have allowed yourself to admire the column of his neck, or his long fingers as they unbuttoned the top of his shirt. It would’ve been you and your stupid butterflies trapped in the friend zone forever.

Thoroughly distracted now, you bit your lip as you wondered what Johnny’s neck would look like with some new decorations.

“You realize they sell food here, right? You don’t have to look at me like I’m an appetizer,” Johnny whispered across the table dramatically. You startled, looking around, but the waiter had left at some point during your daydream. Oh gosh, did you drool? You pressed the back of your hand to your face discreetly, relieved to find nothing of the sort.

Then your brain caught up to Johnny, and you looked up at him with a smirk, “You’re too big to be an appetizer.”

Johnny choked on a laugh, covering his mouth to hide his smile when the other diners looked your way. When he appeared to have himself under control again, he eyed you from head to toe—or at least what he could see from across the table. He shot you a grin, “You’ll find out soon enough, won’t you?”

You watched him through your lashes, not quite sure what to make of him anymore. You’d had your fair share of fun with other guys, but never in a million years had you imagined flirting with Johnny so blatantly. Let alone in a fancy five star restaurant like this.

A sudden presence at your side startled you, and you jumped a little when the waiter reached over your shoulder to set a dish down. “Sorry for startling you,” he murmured, moving away slightly, but not before brushing your shoulder in apology. “Should I leave you with this for now, or are you ready to order?”

Johnny’s eyes flashed, and you bit back a curse at the waiter’s truly stellar ability to interrupt. “We’re fine, thank you,” you said, unable to stop watching Johnny. Or his hand, slowly tightening into a fist on top of the table.

“Would you like to hear the specials tonight?”

You donned a polite smile, nodding at the waiter to continue. While he read down the list of fancy-sounding entrées, you turned your smile on Johnny, who was vibrating in his seat again. You could’ve sworn your water glasses were shaking, and you held back a giggle. You uncrossed and recrossed your legs, extra slowly to make sure he got the message when you “accidentally” brushed his knee this time. The vibrations stopped, and his eyes burned into you.

“Thank you, we’ll keep looking over the menu,” Johnny interrupted the waiter, his voice deeper than before. Your smile only grew.

Once the waiter was out of earshot, you leaned in. “Can we leave? I can’t even kiss you here.”

“Yep, yes, absolutely,” Johnny said, standing up the second the words were out of your mouth. He nearly upended the table, making you snort. “Right now,” he nodded, striding for the exit.

You scrambled out of your chair, rushing after him. “Johnny,” you hissed, grabbing his sleeve. “We didn’t pay yet.”

He came to a halt in the hallway, and you nearly ran into his back. Then Johnny turned around, and you became very aware of the semi-secluded location as he moved closer. You squeaked out a panicked, “Not here!” You backed away until he finally reached out, one hand circling your waist to reel you in.

Johnny’s eyes moved over your shoulder, then back to yours. He smirked, leaning in close enough for you to feel his lips brushing your cheek as he murmured, “Tell the valet to get the car. I’ll grab the wine.”

You could’ve sworn you felt his hand brush down your back, lower. Your cheeks burned hotter. But when you turned, Johnny’s broad shoulders were disappearing around the corner, and the waiter was hurrying in the opposite direction.

* * * * *

You ended up ditching the car and walking around the neighborhood. You only looked slightly out of place with your high heels and makeup when you ended up at a tteokbokki joint. You’d played rock paper scissors between that and burgers, and Johnny won, as usual.

After dinner, you were reasonably close to your apartment, so Johnny offered to walk you home. It felt like another one of your late-night adventures, except you were usually in sneakers. When your feet got tired, you stopped in the middle of the block to take off the killer heels, sighing in relief. You slung the straps over your wrist, prepared to keep trudging along, when Johnny swooped in. One second, you were on the ground, the next, you were admiring the top view of Johnny’s ass from where you were dangling over his shoulder.

“Johnny, what the fuck,” you asked breathlessly, dying of laughter. And from his shoulder digging into your diaphragm.

“Are you crazy? You could cut your feet open,” he scolded you.

“At least there’s a nice view,” you sighed, reaching down to pat his butt.

Johnny put a little bounce in his next step, and you grunted at the impact. You could practically feel his smug little grin. “Hands off the merchandise.”

“How is that fair? You totally copped a feel back at the restaurant.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Bull,” you said. “You went all ‘alpha male’ with that nice waiter.”

Johnny huffed, “I wasn’t jealous.”

You grinned in victory. “I never said you were, mister offering-up-information. Now put me down, you caveman.”

Johnny’s grip on your thighs loosened, and his hands slid up to your waist, holding you tightly as he helped you back down. You froze for a second when your feet hit the ground, not expecting to be face-to-face with him so suddenly. “Wait right there,” Johnny said firmly, finally releasing your waist.

You blinked at him in confusion, watching as he slid his suit jacket off. Your eyes widened when he reached for you, but it was only to wrap the jacket around your waist, tying the sleeves into a knot to hold it in place.

“There,” Johnny said, nodding at his handiwork. Then he turned, crouching down slightly. “Alright, princess, hop on.”

You beamed at him, not that he could see it. It wouldn’t be a walk with Johnny if he didn’t end up carrying you at the end of the night, you chuckled to yourself. You were fiercely grateful to Johnny for thinking of his jacket—you weren’t quite sure how long your skirt was, now that you were wrapped around him like a koala.

“Thanks, Johnny,” you mumbled, burying your face in his neck. “You’re the bestest.” You left a smacking kiss on his cheek, and he laughed, tightening his hold on your legs.

Finally, you arrived at your apartment building. You slid your heels back on, balancing with one hand on Johnny’s arm. “I’ll walk you up,” he said once you straightened.

But when you got to your door, you hesitated, unsure what to say. Was this the part where you kissed him goodnight? You were torn, so at odds with the way the night resembled your old friend dates, only now things were different. What were you supposed to do?

“So,” Johnny drawled, leaning against the wall. “Where’s my tip?”

You stared at him, incredulous. “Your tip?” you repeated.

“Johnny’s chauffeur service isn’t free,” he said. “And if I remember correctly, you still owe me for last time.”

You cocked a hip, smirking slightly. “Any preferred payment methods?”

Johnny blew you an air kiss, and you made a show of catching it. “I take cash or card,” he informed you.

“What a shame,” you murmured, dropping your purse in front of the door. “I seem to have lost my wallet.”

He watched you carefully, barely blinking as you approached him, one slow step at a time. “Apps?”

You stopped mere inches away, “Not a single one.”

He swallowed, and your eyes tracked the movement. Your daydream from before came back with a vengeance—you bit your lip at the thought of marking him up. Then you leaned in, resting one hand on his chest. His heart pounded through the thin dress shirt.

“Will this do?” you asked, lips just barely brushing his. Nothing else touched, aside from your fingertips on his sternum, but you could’ve sworn you felt him shiver.

Oh so slowly, Johnny reached out, hands ghosting over your hips. You smiled against him, then melded your lips to his, bypassing whatever hesitations were holding you back. What was the worst that could happen?

You felt Johnny teasing at the seam of your lips and gratefully opened for him. He inhaled sharply when you inched forward, your chest brushing his. You couldn’t hear anything but your heart racing. And when his fingers dug into your hips, you fell into the kiss. He pulled you in like a magnet until every part of you aligned with him. Your limbs felt molten, burning at the contact.

Johnny pulled away, but not for long. You gasped for air as his lips traced over your jawline, making their way to the delicate skin beneath your ear. He pressed hot kisses there until your neck arched back obediently. And when he nipped at your throat, you whimpered. Thoughtlessly, your hips rocked forward. Johnny gave voice to a deep groan, so you did it again.

Growling lightly, Johnny curled an arm around your waist to pull you harder against him. All of the breath left your body at the feel of his growing hardness against your belly. You fisted your hands in his collar, tugging him away from your neck. You caught a glimpse of his kiss-swollen lips and blown out pupils, then dove back in for more.

While your mouth danced with his, your hands dragged southward. Your fingernails caught on a button or two as you traced the muscle beneath. Now Johnny’s hips were bucking into yours. You grinned savagely into the kiss. You’d just reached his belt when Johnny ripped his mouth away from yours. “Woah, woah,” he gasped. “Slow down, there.”

You panted for air, “What’s wrong?”

Both of you were breathing hard, and you were having a hard time ignoring the elephant in the room. Er, hallway. “You’re not trying to take advantage of me on the first date, are you?” Johnny asked with a breathy chuckle.

You laughed softly, tilting your chin back to get a good look at him. “Is it really taking advantage if you want it, too?” You smirked at him, rolling your hips forward to emphasize your point.

He watched you through half-lidded eyes, and you could’ve sworn you felt him throb. But Johnny, ever the gentleman, smoothed his hand down your back, resting his head back against the wall rather than picking up where you left off. “Cut me some slack, I’m not wearing my sexy underwear tonight,” he said with a crooked smile.

Oh no, now you had heart eyes for the man. You pecked his chin to hide your cheesy grin. “You let me know when you are, hmm?” you hummed, placing another kiss to the base of his throat.

“Princess, I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for you.”

You giggled, leaning back in his arms. “Am I so scary?”

Johnny sobered, meeting your gaze. “I just don’t want to mess anything up. Not with you.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” you smiled at him. “I trust you too much.”

“Oh yeah? You still haven’t told me what you wished for on your fourteenth birthday,” Johnny taunted.

You tilted your head, thinking back. “I didn’t tell you because I was hopelessly in love with you at the time,” you confessed. “Now that’s out in the open, I guess you can know.”

Johnny blinked, taken aback. “Even then?”

“Johnny, I think I’ve loved you forever,” you said, staring up at him. “So of course I wished for the same thing every year.”

“What was it?”

Your smile widened, “Well, it already came true. You said it, too.”

* * * * *

Masterlist

#johnny fluff #johnny imagines #johnny scenarios #johnny fanfic #johnny x reader #johnny suh fluff #johnny suh x reader #johnny suh imagines #johnny suh fanfic #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct fanfic #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 fic

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interxstitial · 2 years ago

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giventakes:

it makes sense. from the moment sara was old enough to accompany her parents to their favorite michelin restaurant, she’d had an inkling of what she wanted to do with her life. she witnessed the magic the waiter had performed in fixing her mom’s impregnably sour mood from the car ride over, turning her into an awestruck mess. —…or, well, not quite a waiter. he’d worn different… garments in the form of an undersized but wide cup around his neck than their waitress had. he’d spun stories with every bottle, too, explaining how every thread of flavor varied with the region, age, and undertones. how every italian name — that sara wished she could pronounce with the same effervescence — was formulated to capture all of that beauty and call to the right guests at the right time. and when she was old enough to drink, she’d found herself a part of those tales. the audience with a front-row seat to the wisdom that came with a good, masterfully aged bottle of wine.

time always helps things make sense, she sees. in stories and in life.

granted, such understanding is not always easy to see in the moment. after all, she’d fought tooth and nail for this position; mostly against complaints that her age didn’t quite work in the restaurant’s favor. (she remembers complaining to her new boyfriend, thomas, that her young knowledge of shitty alcohol gave her a deeper palate than her older competitors could ever dream of, but whatever. she was the one to wear their tastevin at the end of the day. no use being sour over it now, years down the line.)

(the boyfriend turned fiancé turned cheater, sure. but the job? she could never complain about that.)

simply because it allows her to share her learned (and now lived-in) magic with others; to save them from whatever woes they’re experiencing. her job is to pour wine, sure, but it’s never entirely about the bottle. there’s always something more.

except tonight, where she’s apparently poured too much for the sweet, deeply honey-eyed (and slightly familiar) guest smiling through his tears. it makes her heart ache to see him so upset after the kindness he’s shared with her throughout his meal. she kind of wants to offer to chuck said bottle at whoever’s ruined his spirit like this, really. (but little does she know the thing would boomerang right back at her face—)

she offers a patient smile in response to his question, “of course, sir. i’ll just have to take it to the kitchen and seal it for you, so there might be a bit of a wait.” she gestures towards the bottle now in her hands, holding the work firmly by the base. “i hope it was a good choice for tonight?” enough so he’d want to take it home, entirely separate from the higher price tag.

“and i hope you’re feeling alright, sir. — is there anything i can help you with?” sara’s eyes flickered from side to side as if someone might be eavesdropping on their conversation before covering the side of her mouth with one hand. you know, to avoid any potential lip-readers. “you’re the kindest guest i’ve met tonight, so i can’t let you leave here in tears. i’m sorry.”

jiwon doesn’t quite know why he’s done this to himself. maybe he thought it wouldn’t hurt as much if sara turned out to be rude, or selfish, or missing a few teeth and half her hair. if that were the case, jiwon might have been able to laugh and forget all about thomas, who broke up with him for someone objectively worse. but, well, it’s just the opposite. he left him for someone better in every way. someone prettier, smarter, and more successful than him. sara makes top dollar working at a michelin star restaurant; jiwon has to work two part-time jobs because he can’t dance long enough to do it full-time. it makes sense that thomas chose her.

jiwon can’t even be upset with sara when she’s been nothing but kind and charming and attentive all evening. things would have been so much easier if she turned out to be a first-class snob straight from an early 2000s romcom. he could have quietly gone home with his wine, or maybe he’d toss it in the bin, and rest well knowing that thomas was the one who made the mistake. instead, jiwon just feels worse than ever before, because now he knows he simply wasn’t good enough.

“you’re great, jiwon, really. but it’s just not enough.”

(you’re not enough.)

spooning the last bit of panna cotta, jiwon sniffles and smiles politely. distantly, he registers the feeling of something wet on the hand keeping his head propped up. his cheeks are warm from the wine, flushed with just the faintest tinge of red, and it contrasts nicely with the cold dessert on his tongue. dessert now finished, jiwon sets his spoon down with hardly a noise and answers,

“oh, please, don’t be sorry. it’s not your fault.” (because it really isn’t.) “but if there’s any chocolate cake hiding in the kitchen, i’d love a slice to take home, too. that would be really nice.”

a brief pause passes as jiwon sniffles again, then tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. a slice of cake isn’t really going to solve much. sure, it will taste just as magnificent as the rest of his dinner, but he’ll still be crying at home by himself.

“or better yet, if you have any recommendations where i can just.. buy a whole cake? that might be better. chocolate and wine go together, right?”

#giventakes #v: golden.#//sldkfjksd welcome to the world sara !!#i'm waiting for the shoe to drop >.>

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obeymeluv · 3 years ago

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Isnt devildom liquor weaker than human world liquor? Mc had beat Asmo in a drinking contest. How do you think it they'd act, completely hammered in the human world. I think harder liquor means stupider drunks.

Spoiler alert to the in-game MC’s “heritage” reveal. You know, the descendent/reincarnation thing. If you know, you know.

Below: Thoughts on Devildom liquor + the specific incident Nonnie is talking about with Asmo in game + THE ACTUAL ANSWER TO THE ASK. My bad, haha.

My thoughts on Devildom liquor at that point in the game:

The MC is not as affected because they are human/angel. Maybe the angel part fortifies MC and makes it harder for them to get drunk?

Maybe the HUMAN side of MC is what makes it harder for them to get drunk on Devildom liquor? Like...everything in the Devildom is made primarily for demons so maybe there are ingredients in there that specifically affect those with demon blood. Maybe humans don’t have the biology to be inebriated by those ingredients?

I am a little fuzzy on that point in the game but did Asmo pre-game? Like, a lot? Did we ever find out? I could see him being so emotionally distraught that his lovely MC is leaving that he just wants to be sloshed. Maybe he assumed MC beat him in a drinking contest because he forgot how much he already drank?

Maybe Solomon gave MC a heads up that Asmo was down for drinking and gave them a pre-game potion of their own to ward off the affects.

End hypothesis: Maybe Devildom liquor IS strong (for demons) but that potency just can’t translate in human bodies so the bros (Lucifer especially) don’t want MC drinking it because they’re not sure what it will do. They just ASSUME it will do to MC what it does to them.

Other thoughts: Because demons sprinkled little secrets to the humans over the course of history, gave them trinkets and magic and things, I’d like to think they gave humans the idea or process of alcohol-making but are TOTALLY not prepared for the end result. All the flavors, types, etc.

As far as I understand it (at the point I’m at in the game), travel between the Devildom and human world was widely discouraged until Diavolo could make a program that united the three realms and improved the overall image. So basically everyone has been separated for thousands of years.

What if demons are equally bad at holding human world liquor? I could just see a drunk Asmo being like, “What is this? Sangria? This isn’t what I told them to call it.” as he’s trying to drink and (speed) walk away from Beel, who wants the fruit out of the pitcher.

I could just see them all getting TOTALLY wasted on human world stuff just because they thought “Ahh, we taught them this 5,000 years ago! Of COURSE we can handle it! We invented it!” (spoiler alert: they cannot). Like, I’d like to think their biology works against them here. They heal quicker and probably get over stomach aches and things quicker, so they probably metabolize alcohol quicker to restore bodily equilibrium so they probably get flash-drunk off of just about anything with a decent alcohol content.

HOW THEY WOULD ACT (AKA: the real question)

The facts:

They’re all going to be like drunk kittens, big bassy purrs and wanting to cuddle you or scent you.

They’ll basically curl up in a pile together; you occasionally have to move body parts (so no one suffocates).

Do a head count every now and then, give them some crackers/carbs when needed, and put water all around them like a summoning circle because when one of them wakes up, all of them will and they’ll act like big babies

Put a bucket near Lucifer and Asmo, they’re sympathy pukers.

Levi and Belphie need total sensory deprivation when they wake up. You may only breach the darkness to bring them things to settle their stomach and anything to kill the headache

Just give Beel bread and anything like Gatorade/Pedialite. He’ll help you with the others after three loaves or so.

Asmo will be especially pitiful and demand you take care of the others first. Once they’re decently able to take care of themselves he’s near teary-eyed, demanding tummy rubs and tell him he’s still pretty even though he feels awful. Please get him a sheet mask.

Mammon’s not functional enough to help with anything major but he’s standing the next day so he rubs that in everyone’s face. He’s the one shuffling around with a half-eaten sandwich, looking for any comfort item (heating pack, cold wrap for his head). He will demon screech at you if you touch any of the lights in the house.

As Mammon comes to, he demands dim lights and acts like a grumpy mom. He’s making porridge and they better shut up and eat it. Says it’s for him but there’s a suspicious amount of bowls nearby.

Satan just swears he’ll never drink again (like always). Dutifully waits for porridge. Spends most of his time letting cold water run over his head. Can’t spend too much time hunched over because he gets nauseous. Baby him a little. Find a way to let his head float in a bit of water where he can lay down and he’s as quiet as a mouse.

Who can drink the most? (Best to worst - my opinions only)

1) Beel (body mass helps), 2) Mammon (party king), 3) Asmodeus (huuuge history with mixed drinks. Boy is READY), 4) Lucifer, 5) Satan (neck and neck with Lucifer - casual drinker only. Even wine is rare for him), 6) Leviathan, 7) Belphie (usually sleeping instead of drinking).

Lucifer:

We’ve seen little gags about how ‘Lucifer got drunk and unplugged the router’ so this guy’s either going to be super cuddly, a hot mess, or both

You know the people who fluff their hair, comb it back, undo a tie or some buttons and just get comfy as they drink? That’s Lucifer.

He’ll smile a bit more, laugh a bit more, and there will be some color to his cheeks

He’s not sloppy, just cozy.

Drunk Lucifer is not overly loud but he is honest. He won’t throw himself into groups or pester all the brothers, but he’s up for some accidentally-heartwarming one-on-one

When he’s drunk he’ll lay his head on your shoulder and let you play with his hair

Will not win any drinking games. Is actually a lightweight compared to his brothers (see best > worst drinker, above).

Mammon:

GO BIG OR GO HOME! MAMMON’S HERE TO PLAY FOR BIG MONEY! (AKA: bragging rights that he can handle more than his brothers)

He and Asmo are quick to get the drinks flowing because they want to try shots of everything.

He and Asmo are pretty good at matching brothers to drinks and tasting subtle notes, things like that

Show Mammon beer pong once and it’s done. He’s betting the brothers he can whoop them and is somehow able to pull off ping pong ball math to get Lucifer shit-faced real quick (might do it even faster if Belphie or Satan slip him some money)

The type to be like “Bet you I can hit that cup right there--third row, second from the left.” and can do it flawlessly. You have to give him head pats or $5, that’s the rules.

He’ll be one of the bros you have to chase around and make put his clothes back on. Boy will try to strip and strut

Will definitely hoard his favorite bottle (picked it on smell) and spend a majority of the time trying to drink it and avoid the bros. (”YOU CAN’T MAKE ME SHARE IF YOU CAN’T CATCH ME!”)

Leviathan

Not the best drinker. Not a frequent drinker at all.

His envy makes him drink because as he starts to go on a tangent about how��‘it’s not fair! Everyone’s having a good time!’ when he realizes it’s as easy as picking up a drink. Like...he can join in too.

Levi won’t grab himself an alcoholic drink because he’s a nervous over-thinker. Asmo or Mammon will just hand him a cup like the resident Liquor Fairy and he trusts their judgement

The first one to let his demon form out just because the liquor is a little warm in his belly and he feels like he’s flying? Also comfortable?

The excited drunk who goes on animated, slurred rants

The loud laugher

He’s honestly so adorably animated that anyone who knew him would be surprised? He seems far from a shut in

Trade off: he can’t hold his liquor well

Boy probably trips on his own tail or thinks something snagged his ankle to bring him down when, in fact, he just fell down

Sways when he sits

When he’s done, he just wants a nice comfy lap to lay in and maybe play with his hair.

Like Lucifer, liquor will make him confess all his feelings.

Watch out for the tail. It will be all over you when he starts to lose the ability to wrap it around himself.

Satan:

It’s a toss-up as to whether he gets drunk before Lucifer or vice versa. I’d like to think his tolerance is slightly higher since he might run in the same circles as Asmo, but he is a part of Lucifer so I’m sure it balances out

He’s a drink snob and this is what hurts him the most. He goes to fancy tastings and random things he’s invited to, but this is a drop in the bucket

He’s never gone hardcore before because he’s afraid he’ll be prone to anger

He’s not. He’s actually a lot like Levi. He just wants to smile and laugh and have fun.

The one who knows a lot of random/interesting stuff and has unexpectedly awesome party tricks

He and Asmo act as instigators and somehow con everyone else into getting drunk. It’s mostly because he wants blackmail material, but he enjoys the mind games

He’s the one you’re going to have to carry BUT he’s super chill when he’s having a good time. You want him to wear a lampshade? Okay, but only if you call him Enlightened One (get it?)

Makes bad jokes. Lucifer definitely laughs

The one that randomly dances with someone at the party. But it’s a fancy dance or slow dance, not something crazy

Will try to prove he’s not as drunk as he is by reading or reciting something and just breaks down into snorts and giggles

Cat Mode: Activated. He wants to be all over you. Hug him and play with his hair, please.

Asmo:

Asmo isn’t really different from his usual self.

He’s a little social butterfly, making his rounds and checking on people

He’s the silent, sneaky drunk. No one notices he’s drunk until his face starts getting red and his eyes get glassy

The quiet cuddler. Just progressively gets closer to you until he’s resting his head on your shoulder, hugging you from the side and asking you to give him his drink.

Would be the happiest person on the planet if you literally just held his drink up to his lips and let him drink it when he wanted to. You just love him so much?! You’re so thoughtful?! He wants to cry

Guilty party #2 for ‘chase him around and make him put his clothes back on’

Next in line for ‘Liquor makes me tell the truth and my darkest secrets’.

Will try any activity at the party and will dance at least once with everybody

If he gets in a fight, that’s because someone doesn’t respect what he put on the party playlist. He knows good music, okay?!

Has a personal goal to steal one drink from everyone, drink it before they realize, and hand them back the empty cup as he slips away. Something about it just amuses him.

Wants to leave lipstick/lip gloss kisses on people. Thinks they’re the cutest accessory!

The one who loses something at the party and makes everyone look for it the next day

The one who’s passed out in a random spot and no one has the heart to move them but everyone checks on them to make sure they’re safe. When everyone’s turned in for the night, he is safely moved like the precious baby he is.

Beel:

The one who takes the longest to get drunk. You don’t know if it’s because of his build or how much he ate to offset the alcohol

Unofficial baby sitter of the group. Pays special attention to everyone but Belphie, Asmo, and Levi in particular.

Not super loud. Just vibes and enjoys time with his family.

He’ll participate in the party activities because he does have that competitive streak but he’s not as invested in it as Mammon. If he wins at least once he’s proved his point and is on to something else

Surprsingly, #3 to ‘you might have to chase him and make him put his clothes on’. Drunk Beel is convinced he’ll get over the alcohol faster with less clothes because of temperature regulation and something that doesn’t really make sense because he’s slurring

Will drink more if Belphie is nearby or if he can hold onto Belphie. Taking care of Belphie and knowing he’s okay (in a tactile way) makes him a little more carefree.

Doesn’t really confess like the other bros but he’s the one no one can really hear talking because his purr takes over everything. His purrs are so loud and deep! Big boy is truly happy

Drunk Beel is affectionate as ever and this is where you learn that demons can express affection by licking people. Most of the bros end up with a Simba-style mohawk. It’s just one lick but Beel’s got a long tongue and it fucks with hair real good.

Will jump in for a song or two if karaoke is a thing at the party. A really good singer but wouldn’t do it unless he had a decent amount of alcohol in him.

He’s the type to trip over stuff trying to help clean up. If he falls down he says he’s just ‘taking a break’ and will ‘help in a minute’. Might not get up again.

Once Beel lays down, Belphie, Satan, and Levi drunk crawl/stumble/slither over to him for warmth. This is how the cuddle pile starts.

When he lays down, if you get anywhere near him, he’s begging you to lay down with him. Wants to whisper little compliments and lovely things. A big sap. Handsy but will definitely know when to lay off and will listen if you get uncomfortable.

Belphie:

Honestly, doesn’t really drink. He’s more interested in the nap.

His biggest motivation is to get the others drunk so everyone’s quiet and he can sleep. Definitely wants Lucifer blackmail.

He’ll have a few things but he prefers a lot of something mild versus a mix or a few shots of something super potent

Will try the funnel drink challenge.

The third enticer. He wants to work everyone up (Lucifer especially) and get the booze going.

Borrows off of Beel’s body mass and ability to handle alcohol here and there, but it all catches up with him eventually

The type to have really diluted drinks because he’s already sleepy by nature and doesn’t want to faceplant with a shot glass.

Will slow dance with Asmo. When Asmo starts to struggle with his weight as Belphie gets cozy and sleepy, Beel steps in and you just see the twins purring and warbling to each other as Beel just scoops him up and lets him sit on his hip like a toddler.

Another one who wants to slither into your lap and take all your attention.

The type to do random shit like boop your nose and giggle about it.

The one who doesn’t want anyone else to touch you. If he’s laying on you then the others need to leave you alone. It’s not hard to understand!

#Obey me!#Obey me! x reader #Lucifer x Reader #Mammon x Reader #Leviathan x Reader #Levi x Reader #Satan x Reader #Asmodeus x Reader #Asmo x reader #Beel x Reader #Beelzebub x Reader #Belphie x Reader #Belphegor x Reader

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hansensgirl · 4 years ago

Text

don’t feed it, it will come back.

summary. | “Don’t let me in with no intention of keeping me. Jesus Christ — don’t be kind to me. Honey, love, darling... Don’t feed me, I will come back.”

warnings. | Non/Dubcon, dark themes, drugging, sex pollen, stalking, obsession, lying, manipulation, angst, smut, fluff, Master kink, praise, degrading, dumbification, unprotected sex, blood, choking, possessive behaviour, creampie kink, stomach bulge kink, cat and mouse chase, fingering, slapping, corruption kink, yandere, grooming, kind of DDLG themes, collars, age gap, facefucking, mentions of bullying, scary stuff, anxiety, mourning, mentions of death, virginity loss, overstimulation, kidnapping, and more. +18, DARK!FIC. MORE WARNINGS AT THE BOTTOM!!

word count. | 10,601.

pairings. | Dark!Bucky Barnes x Innocent!Reader, Sam Wilson x Innocent!Reader.

a/n. | happy halloween!! i’ve changed up many things because why not. thank you so much for 5.1k!! thank you sm @barnesjamcs and @mypoisonedvine for beta-ing, ilysm!

You’re stuck. You’re stuck in that moment where you’re asleep, yet awake at the same time. Time is distorted and you can hear your grandmother faintly humming the ‘Monster Mash’ from down the hall. Childhood memories flood your mind and you blink back the tears that come up. Your eyes are bleary and you can’t tell if the thing in the corner of your room is a chair or a demon. The former seems more reasonable, but the horror stories that the people down the street used to taunt you with believe otherwise. “Sweetheart? Are you awake? You’ve slept in an extra half hour, that’s unlike you.” Your sweet grandmother croons from the other side of the door. You let out a smile and slowly get up with a sigh. “I’m awake, Nana! I guess I’m just extra tired from when I walked yesterday.” You reason, still sad that the bullies destroyed your bicycle that your grandma gave you when you turned twenty — just a mere few months ago. You don’t have the heart nor the courage to tell her, and you don’t think you ever will.

“I hope that darned Johnson gives you your bicycle back! I got a new basket, handwoven by yours truly… You can put your little treats and books in there and ride your bike all over town!” She admits, unable to hold back her secret. Your heart breaks, even more, hating that her basket will have to go towards pens and pencils that she had bought you. They won’t be able to hold your groceries or her fabrics that Mrs. Rogers would save for her. You get up from your bed and revel in the warmth that your llama pyjamas provide. You slip on some old slippers that Natasha’s mother gifted you — even though Natasha loathes you for some reason. And so does Anthony, Steve, Wanda, Thor (named after the Norse God), Clint, T’Challa, Okoye, Vis, Carol, Steven, and Loki (again, named after the Norse God). Sam (you call him Sammie, which always earns you an eye roll), Rhodey, Peter, Shuri and Pietro don’t really mind you, but they’re also not your friends. Except for Sam, who’s known you since you realized brownies are even more amazing when you add a bit of coffee to them.

They’re all older than you and you’d think they’d be around your age, but no. All are around 10 or 18 years older than you and it’s safe to say that they definitely won’t be maturing until they’ve got their pension plans secured. You giggle at the thought and smile to yourself as you remember that Sam wanted to show you some new flowers but you know it’s code for you to bring him some scones and let him rant about how he can’t wait until he makes enough money to leave town. If he leaves town then you’ll be lonely… The thought sends you spiralling and your heart drops to your stomach at the revelation. You gulp nervously and push it out of your mind. You reluctantly walk down the hallway and you’re greeted with the lovely scent of pancakes and pumpkin spice. Your mouth waters at the smell and a fresh wave of autumn-themed nostalgia hits you. Your feet parted against the wooden floors that you’ve spent ages mopping. She’s already cut the pancakes up and you can’t suppress the child-like giggle that bubbles in the air.

Cheap, silver forks that you had gotten for $2 per pack are set on the table. You can remember that sale like it’s your last name and date of birth. Summer clearance, a real jackpot to say the least. You scored quite a lot of things and you feel the almost two months old embarrassment from when you had to make two trips from the store to your home to bring everything back. You sit down but you don’t dig in yet, no. You watch your poor grandmother dance around the kitchen and it’s not the dance that one would immediately think of, not at all. She frantically moves around the kitchen and occasionally takes a peek out of the window. “Nana�� Can you sit down and eat with me? Please? Just- just like old times…” You beg quietly, your voice nothing more than a whisper. She turns around and looks at you before nodding her head, and you give her a meek smile. You both dig into your delectable breakfasts and the only things that you can hear are birds chirping and forks scraping at the plate.

It’s tense. Awkwardness ready to burst at the seams yet it never seems to happen. Syrup covers your plate and you have the greatest urge to lap it all up like a kitten. “I… I remember when your mom used to do that… Always had to scold her, but she’d never learn.” Nana laughs to herself. She sounds tired, so fucking tired. You let out a dismal chuckle, breathy and full of air. You hold your hair back and indulge in an old childhood habit. Sweetness explodes in your mouth even though the syrup was slightly watered down. You pull away and sadness once again fills the air. “I can’t wait for you to become a…” The word is at the tip of her tongue but her old mind erases it. “Writer...” You fill in for her, before picking up your dishes. The walk to the kitchen isn’t far, only about three steps that you already have forgotten. She follows behind you, placing her dishes atop of yours. “Go sit down, Nana… I’ll show you a new piece I wrote!” You bargain, and she lets out a squeal. A victory, at last. Truth be told, you don’t want to show her your latest piece.

It’s sad and dismal, no happiness wavering from it and it’s a pitiful rendition of “hope.” You wash the dishes with care, passing your soapy hands over the ceramic gently. “I hear we’re getting a new neighbour, I can’t wait to meet them…” Your grandma speaks up, catching your attention. New neighbour… You grip the dishes tighter at the mention of a new neighbour. You scrub the syrup away from the plates and forks a bit harder, too. You finish off washing all the dishes and stack them away in the old wooden cupboards. “You bake him something… I’ll knit him something too! You know these brisk winds, always so brutal.” She croons, before running off as quickly as her old limbs can take her. You smile at the enthusiasm she radiates and notice a container sitting on the old burner stove. It’s covered in a dingy cloth — a makeshift one to be exact. A piece of extra cloth that couldn’t turn into anything more than a rag. You smile and walk back to your room to get ready for another autumn day that’ll be filled with sadness.

You don’t have many clothes to choose from, unlike most of the town-folk. You don’t have the privilege to go out of town and to the nearest snob-infested city just for a small sweater that’s going to be thrown away after two weeks. No, instead you buy your grandmother fabric from Mrs. Rogers and she makes you something that you’ll always end up loving. It takes you a mere two minutes to choose a huge cable knit that goes down to your knees (you had begged her to do it and even bought her a month's worth of yarn). You’re careful to dodge your grandmother, knowing that she’ll start tearing up because you look just like your mother. You can’t have that happen, not today at least. With a meal for Sam ready in your hands and a book, you’re off wandering to his home. You wave at the little kids across the street that are busy hanging up Halloween decorations and smile to yourself. You try to remember the entirety of Lana Del Rey’s cover of the infamous “Season Of The Witch” and your memory doesn’t completely fail you.

Sure, your voice can’t compare to hers but that’s not what matters. The ‘for sale’ sign that was in front of your neighbours’ house is now gone, and there’s not even a ‘sold’ sign. Hopefully, they’re nice… You think to yourself, before speed-walking to Sam’s townhouse. Your feet pitter-patter against the concrete and they carry you as fast as they can go. “Sam! Sammie!” You cry out, running to him as fast as you can. You slam into him and hug him tightly as if you haven’t seen him in years. He lets out a groan just to tease you, earning him a huff of annoyance from yourself. “How are you?” You ask, pulling away from the warm comfort of his body. You look up at him and watch as he rambles on about the stress he’s getting all thanks to those bratty adult-children. “I can’t wait to leave this town…” He sighs exasperatedly, rubbing his forehead. Your frown and try to push away the impending goodbye. You hand him the meal and his eyes light up. “Eat up, Sammie! Can’t have the smartest man in town going hungry!” You cheer, watching as he shovels pieces of syrup-covered pancakes into his mouth.

You lead him to his porch and you sit him down in the swing chair he repaired all by himself. “So… When you leave town, where are you going to go?” You question him, looking down at the ground instead of at him. Through a full mouth, he manages to speak still. ”New York, I have some family up there and many opportunities too!” He exclaims, careful to not spit at you. You let out a giggle at his enthusiasm and you can’t lie and say that you’re not excited for him to start up the life he’s always dreamed of since you were both wee things. “But… But you won’t forget me, right?” You hesitantly ask, fiddling with your cold fingers. Selfish… You’re being selfish… You know you’re being selfish but the question slips out before you can even register the words in your troubled mind. You don’t look up at him and you’re ready to retract it along with litanies of “I'm sorry, please forgive me!” “Never, Dollie, never.” He sighs, the sound settling deep in his bones. He looks at you with sincerity and reassurance — comfort in his eyes that you’ll always be weak for.

You stare at each other for a bit, a tension building in the bitter cold air that’s just ready to snap. You can swear and say that his eyes travel down to your lips — almost as if he’s ready to kiss you. You lean in as well, because why not? Until he abruptly pulls away and apologizes to you. You watch as he heads inside to wash his hands and you sob on the inside. Oh, how you wanted to kiss the syrup off his lips until yours grew numb. You curse yourself with darned words that your mother would’ve been unhappy with. The rest of the day is awkward — not that it usually isn’t. You follow him around like a lost puppy and admire him from the short distance that is between the two of you. You can’t handle the silence- well, heavy sighs and grumbles. He occasionally spares you a few glances that you hang onto for dear life. “Uhm, Sammie? Is everything alright?” You ask him, after spending minutes to find it in you to speak up after a few hours.

He sets down the screwdriver in his hand that he has been gripping for hours now. He takes his glasses off and you hold back the frown that threatens to drag your lips down. He pulls you into an abrupt hug, and usually, you’d be filled with glee. But… but the way he holds you is different. His arms that surround you are tighter than usual, and the way his chest rises and falls is irregular. “W- What’s wrong, Sammie? Talk to me, please.” You desperately whisper to him. The winds of autumn are loud, but they don’t have the power to silence you. “‘M… I’m leaving tomorrow morning…” He admits. Suddenly, the world stops spinning on its axis and your heart isn’t beating anymore. You swear that you could die just then and take him down with you, but the Reaper is ready for you yet. You look up at him and his eyes mirror yours. Glassy with tears that are ready to fall. “A- Already?” You ask incredulously. He nods and smooths one of his coarse hands over your head.

You let out a shaky breath and your throat tightens up. A sob is stuck and it’s painful, but you can’t let it out. Nodding your head, a sad smile stretches across your face. “So… New York, huh?” You joke with him, but he doesn’t smile. “Don’t do this, dove.” He warns — no, he begs. You’ve never heard him beg, but you hope that he never ends up doing it again. “Send letters, please… And take care of yourself too. I can’t wait to see you make it big, Sammie.” You say as you blink your tears away. You try to pull away from the hug but he pulls you back into his strong arms. You look down to the wooden floor and he presses a kiss to the crown of your head. He lets it linger for a few moments and then pulls away from you. You’re no longer in his arms and you no longer feel comforted. Suddenly, though, it’s as if gravity pulls him down to you and his lips are against yours. You can recall the way your Mother would lovingly kiss your Father and how you used to blanch at the sight. But now you understand it all. Your lips stay locked for a few more seconds until he pulls away.

Sam places his forehead against yours and you’re glad because you know you’ll end up with a pain in your neck by tomorrow morning. “I don’t want to go and leave you, dove.” He expresses wholeheartedly, a pang of sadness in his voice that’s usually all bright and cheery. “You have to. Go for me, go for the sake of yourself… Please.” You plead to him. You can easily be selfish and beg him to stay, but you know how much New York means to him. “I’ll drop you home, one last time?” He proposes, linking your arm with his. You nod and let out a breathy chuckle — fake happiness staining your face. You play the act all too well, but Sam knows you better than yourself. He unlocks his arm and pushes you in front of him, hugging you from behind and continuing to walk. He hums an old 50’s tune that you can’t place your finger on. You want him to walk slower; to take shorter strides. The neighbourhood is dark, even though it’s only 7:32. “You’ll write to me, right?” You ask, breaking the silence. It seems that it’s your job, and you don’t mind.

“Of course, I’ll write to you until you can get a phone.” He chuckles in your ear. You laugh with him, knowing how he loves to tease you. “And you’ll visit too?” You question, shivering as a gust of wind blows by. “Are you kidding me? That’s a no brainer, dove.” He says as he squeezes his arms a bit tighter. You revel in the feeling and savour it for however long he’ll be gone. If it was possible, you’d lock the feeling in a jar and store it away forever. You never knew that the walk from his to yours was that quick. You stand outside of your home and turn around, still in Sam’s arms. “You’ll wake me up in the morning, won’t you? Just so that I can say goodbye properly, please.” You ask him, even though you’re practically teetering on the begging side. “Of course, Dovey.” He smiles down at you, and you mirror him. Tears glaze over your eyes and they glisten in the pitch-black darkness of the October night.

He kisses your forehead and whispers a soft “good night” against your cold skin. You’re not sure if it’s the chilliness or the sadness in his voice that sends shivers throughout your body, but you try to ignore the feeling. You don’t want to go inside, no. You want to spend the whole night with him, doing the things that you both love such as baking and reading poetry. “Go get some rest, dove, I’ll see you in the morning.” He smiles, before starting to back away from you. You nod and turn to walk inside your small home, not even noticing that your grandmother was pacing inside the kitchen. You kept looking back at Sam, just like in those romance movies that you found in the attic when you were 12. He looks at you too, as he slowly inches away from the front of your home. You unlock the door and fall into your grandmother’s arms, letting your sobs reverberate around the room and your tears stream down your face.

You don’t remember falling asleep, and you certainly don’t remember changing your sweater to your llama pyjamas. You wake up and your bloodshot eyes immediately fly to your digital clock. 8:07. You shoot up from your bed and throw your sheets off of your body. The cold harshly welcomes you but you don’t care; you’re not here to stay. You run out of your room and slip on the first pair of shoes you can find, “darn it,” you groan under your breath and your foot doesn’t successfully slide into the shoe. You dart out the door after fumbling with the lock, before running down the street. The lights on the sidewalk are still on, even though it was bright. Your lungs are burning and against their will, you keep on running. “Sam!” You yell, spotting his car parked on the road. You continue to run and start to cry too. Your face and hands are numb from the cold weather. “Sam! Stop!” You yell even louder, feeling as though you’re in a dream.

As much and as quick your feet carry you, you’re still so far from him. He starts up the car and begins to drive away slowly; almost as if he’s purposely stalling for you. You miss the uneven sidewalk that has always been the cause for most of your scars that littered your legs. You fall to the ground and luckily your hands stop you from knocking your head into the concrete. You look up and let out a piercing sob that makes the pigeons fly away. You watch as Sam drives off, leaving you behind without even saying one final goodbye. Your tears fall onto the ground and are immediately soaked up. You can hear your grandmother calling your name through your cries and the distant sound of his car driving away. You’re sure that you look insane, but you don’t care. The love of your life is gone, and he’s not coming back for now.

You stay cooped up in your room for days on end. Occasionally, you help your grandmother out, but you don’t speak much. You stay in your pyjamas, switching between the llama ones and the sloth ones. You’ve convinced yourself that maybe Sam leaving is for the best. Your sadness still dwells, but you’re happy that he’s pursuing his dreams regardless of anything. “I’m so happy you’re feeling better, sweetheart. But if you ever need to talk, I’m always here for you.” Nana tells you, and you give her a sad smile. “Thank you, Nana.” You gently speak, tightening the lid on the jam jar. You give her the plate you prepared and take a seat at the table. “I heard that our new neighbour is coming today, I’m planning on knitting them a sweater and baking something.” She recounts, and you sigh playfully. She lets out a breathy chuckle and you think about your neighbour. Are they a man, or a woman? Are they nice, or rude? Are they like Sam? You ask yourself, but quickly push the third question out of your mind.

“Can I bake them cookies?” You ask her, before digging into your toast. “Of course! Maybe do macadamia ones? And regular ol’ chocolate.” She gleefully adds, the crinkles in her eyes deepening as she smiles widely. She clasps her hands together and lets out a noise of excitement. You watch her with a smile of your own, and you feel grounded. You slowly eat your food and stare out into space, letting your mind wander to the farthest places. You think back to your joyful times with Sam. Each memory makes you miss him more and more, but you keep on telling yourself that he’s in a better place. He’s happy, and that’s all you care for. You eat your food slowly until you realize that it’s half past nine. Shoveling the rest of it into your mouth, you stumble over to the sink and wash your plate as quickly as possible.

“What’s got you in such a rush?” Nana asks, adjusting one of the many sweaters she wears. “The store! It’ll take me awhile to get there, and I really want to avoid running into any of them.” You explain, changing your tone just so that she knows who you’re insinuating at. “Oh… Go on, sweetheart, dress warm!” She ushers you, grabbing your coat for you whilst you run back to your room to change into a sweater. Before, you couldn’t even bear to look at Sam’s favourite sweater of yours; but now you’ve realized that it’s best to face the music. Maroon had always been his favourite colour, and you remembered the joy on his face when you wore your maroon sweater. You smile in front of the mirror, pleased with your appearance. You grab your coat and slide your shoes on, before yelling goodbye to your Nana.

You hum some random Halloween tune under your breath and slowly walk down the street. Your eyes are trained on your hands as you fiddle with them. Suddenly, you crash into a slightly soft yet hard wall. You whine in pain, still weak as ever, something that Sam would playfully mock you about. “You should watch where you’re going, little one.” A husky voice warns playfully. You furrow your brows -- one of your many little traits that was left in your Mother’s will for you. “I’m so sorry, Sir! I didn’t mean t- to bump into you, I swear.” Litanies of apologies spill from your mouth and you don’t even look up at your victim. “Don’t worry, little one... Hopefully you’ve learned your lesson.” He lets out a breathy chuckle as he stares you down. Your eyes move from your hands to the house next to you, and you notice the abundant amount of luggage.

Embarrassment engulfs you in a tight grip and you groan softly. “You must be my sweet neighbour, hm?” He teases just like Sam would. You shyly nod and squeeze your hands together as you begin to become nervous. You hesitatingly look up at him, and your breath is taken away. You’re sure that he’s God’s favourite, because no regular man is as beautiful as he is. “Uh, yeah! Nice to meet you…” You introduce yourself and give him your name, reveling in the way it rolls off his tongue and falls past his lips. You nod your head and smile at him, your trip to the store long forgotten. “I’m James, James Buchanan Barnes.” He smirks. His accent… His accent is different. A Brooklyn drawl mixed with a few European accents. “Oh sweetheart! I thought you left!” Nana calls out, startling you and slightly annoying James.

“I uh… I bumped into our new neighbour!” You exclaim to her, stepping away from him so that she can wrap her arms around his large form. She does exactly that, and the large man — James — reciprocates. She pulls away after a few fleeting seconds and sighs, staring up at him. You watch him with wonderment and tune out your grandmother’s sweet voice. Dressed in all black, long hair, a five o’ clock shadow and a beautiful face. You find yourself in some sort of trance, eyes raking him up and down with no shame. His do the same, except he’s more careful and sly about it. “Thank you for your welcome, maybe we could get to know each other better?” He offers, raising his eyebrows and both you and your grandma. You both eagerly agree, excited to learn more about your new, elusive neighbour. “Sweetheart, how about you take our neighbour, James, with you to the store? Give him a little tour?” She proposes. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love to.” James entices.

“I… Of course!”

You and Bucky — James, but he insists on you calling him Bucky — walk slowly to the store. Every now and then, the wind picks up and sends shivers throughout your body. The cold doesn’t faze him, he tells you. “I actually prefer autumn, fall, whatever you kids call it these days, over anything else.” He jokes around, making you bubble out in giggles. He smiles down at you and watches you with careful eyes. “Shy? Your laugh is very cute, little one.” Your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets as he praises you. “Uh, yeah, uhm, thank you so much…” You gleam and preen under his gaze, and Bucky is already in love with the sight. “Hobbies?” He questions, shooting a glare at those that even dare to glance at the two of you. “Writing and baking! But mostly writing, what about you?” You ask, shoving your cold hands into your pockets.

“Hmm, I’m not sure. It depends… Perhaps watching...” He ponders out loud. “Like bird watching?” You press, looking up at him for a bit. His eyes lock with yours and you can’t seem to look away. “You’ll see, little dove.” He reassures you, still staring back at you. You shyly look away and keep quiet for the rest of the walk. A faint smile is on your face and you’re not sure why he’s the cause of it. You let it fall and keep your shy resolve. “Is that the store?” He asks you after a minute or two of silence. You nod and don’t utter a word, scared that you’ll end up rambling to him. You bit your lip as you try to hold in your glee as you notice that the supermarket has already been decked out with Halloween decorations. “Do you celebrate Halloween?” Bucky questions, grabbing a cart for the two of you. “Mhm, favourite holiday ever. I love everything about it! You?” You try to keep your reply short, but when it’s about your favourite holiday you just can’t resist.

He agrees with you, and you’re happy that he isn’t a scrooge about Halloween. You lead him through the aisles and pick up what you need, and want. Bucky pushes the cart for you and makes sure you don’t wander out of his sight. The Halloween and autumn display catches your eye and your heart fills with a type of glee that only holidays can bring. You want to pick up everything — from the Halloween cookie cutters to the small decorations that would look lovely sprinkled around your home. You don’t even hear Bucky behind you because you’re too caught up in deciding what you want. Bucky watches you with careful eyes, trying to figure out what’s going through your head. “You should get one of everything, maybe a few little ghosts, three pumpkins,” he suggests to you, “it’s Halloween, you’re not allowed to only get one thing.”

You giggle and shake your head, even though he’s right in your mind. “I wish I could, but I need to spend my money on needs and not wants.” You sadly admit, wishing that you had the type of money the other’s in town have. You walk away from the display and you don’t give it another look, before heading to the freezers for your eggs and milk. Bucky frowns deeply and watches as you slowly walk away. He picks up almost everything that’s on the display and throws it into the cart. He could never see a frown on your face ever again, knowing that his heart would break into two. He trails behind you slowly, forced to make his usually long strides shorter just for you. You turn around to place the milk and eggs in the cart and a heart gasp leaves your mouth. You look up at him in shock, which then turns into your usual confusion.

“Uh- Are you getting those?” Your voice is no more than a mere whisper, and Bucky is lucky that he can hear you. “Nope, for you.” He pops the ‘p’ and then smirks at you. You’re flabbergasted. Shock and confusion still reside in your mind and you can’t find it in you to object to him. “I’m paying for it, little dove.” He reassures you, his voice turning from gravelly and deep to soft and calm. You smile brightly at him and without thinking, you engulf him in a hug. He revels in your touch and pulls you closer to his warm body. Bucky rests his chin on your head and dips his nose down to your hair, inhaling your scent before you could pull away. You stare up at him and smile widely, letting out a squeal of happiness. “Thank you so much! Oh my- How do I repay you? That’s so much money, is there anything I can do for you?” You ramble, straining your neck to look up at him.

“Hmm… I would love to be your friend, and maybe I could come for dinner every now and then?” He ponders aloud and you immediately agree. You couldn't wait to go home and tell your grandmother, knowing that she would be the happiest woman on Earth. You both go through the aisles again and he keeps on encouraging you to pick up the things that you lay your eyes on. The cart is filled and your heart is fluttering with gratefulness. Everytime he shoots a look your way, you send one right back at him. His eyes are the colour of the sea, beautiful and bright yet dark and mysterious. Yours, on the other hand, are soft and innocent. Both are just as beautiful, though. “Once again, thank you so much, Mr. Barnes.” You say, smiling at him. He carries all of your bags and you hold a small, painted pumpkin to your chest.

“Don’t worry, little dove. Oh, and call me anything but Mr. Barnes, formalities haven’t been my thing as of now.” He speaks with eloquence and such grace that makes you think he’s from another century. You giggle before speaking, “you speak like you’re from another century…” You joke, before giggling again. Bucky’s jaw hardens and his stare goes from adoring to menacing. You stop laughing when you don’t hear him joining you with his own rupture. Swallowing thickly, you look ahead to the horizon. It has already gotten a bit cloudy, but you don’t mind. You’re careful to not trip on your own feet, wanting to avoid embarrassing yourself for the second time. “Sorry about the joke, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable…” You apologize after around five minutes of silence. You chew on the slightly dry skin on your bottom lip as you wait for him to speak.

“It’s okay, little dove.” He smiles, not even letting it drop. You look down at your ghost-painted pumpkin and smile, before giving it a kiss. Bucky snorts, making you pout at him. “Hey!” You cry out it faux offence. He only laughs harder, before biting his lip. The sight of you pouting at him sends blood rushing down south, but you’re oblivious to what you’re doing. The rest of the walk home is filled with jokes and questions about each other. During another moment of silence, you realize that you haven’t thought of Sam since this morning. You feel guilty at first, knowing that it’s wrong to forget about him so quickly. Shame eats you up like it’s starved until your mind convinces you otherwise. Sam would be so happy that you didn’t dwell on him leaving, he’d be so proud of you. You promise yourself that you won’t be sad, but you also won’t forget him. Ever.

“Do you have any other friends?” Bucky asks you as you both turn a corner. He remains closer to the road, whereas you're on the inside. “I had one, but he left to go pursue his dreams in New York.” You sadly explain to him, and he lets out an “oh.” You turn again, but this time you’ve reached your home. Your grandmother can be seen dancing around the kitchen, flour in her grey hair and an apron on top of her fuzzy sweater. “I can take them in now.” You tell Bucky, stretching your arms out to him. He lets out a breathy chuckle, what seems to be one of his many habits, and walks towards your home. You’re in shock once again, before realizing that you haven’t moved. You run behind him and frown as you see that the door was unlocked the entire time.

“Nana! Did you leave the door unlocked again?” You ask her and you hug the smaller woman. “Oh, I probably forgot to unlock it… ‘m sorry, sweetheart.” She apologizes against your forehead that she just covered in kisses. You can’t blame her, honestly. Slowly but surely, her old age had started to catch up to her. “Uhm, Mr. Barnes bought all this stuff for us, Nana! Can he stay for dinner? As a thank you?” You excitedly ask her, and she mimics your happiness with a smile that’s similar to yours.. “Of course! Thank you so much, Mr. Barnes.” She gratefully expresses and ushers Bucky further into your home. You take your shoes and jacket off and he does the same, wishing that you could shed more than that. “It’s nothing, and please, call me Bucky or James.” He assures in his Brooklyn-European drawl. He watches you with careful eyes and doesn’t tear his gaze away from you.

Dinner is lively. It’s more lively than it’s ever been since you were seven years of age. You’re all laughing, smiling and happy. Even though it’s only 5 in the evening, it’s still dark. “Where are you from, James?” Nana asks him, and he gulps thickly. “Romania, actually. But I grew up in Brooklyn.” He recounts to you, and then shoves some pasta into his mouth. The flavour of spicy marinara fills his mouth along with yours as well. Through a full mouth, he still speaks. “This is amazing!” He exclaims, covering his mouth with the utmost politeness. Your Nana thanks him and you nod in agreement. The rest of the evening is filled with compliments and questions, but also with wandering eyes and strong gazes. Six o’ clock hits, and 7, 8 and 9 does too. “Well, I should go retire now, thank you for the lovely welcome.” He sighs deeply, almost as though he is regretful. You say good night to him before running off to your room.

Bucky closes his door behind him and hastily shed his clothing off of himself. Underneath his dark black jeans is his hard cock. Dripping with pre-cum from it’s raging red tip, he throbs with want and need. He’s not sure if he should take care of it or not, but as soon as he thinks of you all plausibility flies out the window. He rushes up to his room, dark red walls and ominous lighting are all a blur to him. His room is even darker. The only bright things in it are the many photos of you that line his bedside tables and walls. He walks up to the window and pulls the purple curtains to the side. He watches you cuddle with your stuffed animals — your innocence only making him harder. His cock hangs heavily and he still has the urge to jerk off. “No, I have to be patient.” He tells himself, pulling his boxers back up. “Just one more fucking day until you’re all mine, little dove.”

You wake up earlier than you usually do. Rousing from sleep with a smile on your face, you find yourself in the same clothing from yesterday. You frown and walk into the bathroom for a quick shower. The water is as cold as the winter, and you have no choice but to bear it. Even though your teeth chatter, you tough it out as much as you can. Today… Today is Halloween. You jump with glee and joy for your favourite holiday. You don’t even bother making your bed because the decorations waiting for you are far more enticing. “Nana! I’m going to decorate the house!” You yell to hear, earning a loud “ok” from her in return. You grab your two step ladder that Shuri gave you when you were 15 and you sigh with delight. In just a mere two hours, you’re able to turn your home into the perfect Halloween.

Your stomach continues to growl, but you choose to ignore it. You play old Halloween classics in the background that you found in your father’s DVD and cassette collection. Nostalgia hits you like a truck and you recount all the memories of your childhood. You sniffle a bit as Coraline’s voice rambles on from behind you. Rubbing away the tears that threaten to spill, you continue to place fake pumpkins around the living room. You occasionally get distracted from the movies that play in the background, dragging you away from your tasks. The doorbell suddenly rings, sending a sharp shrill piercing through your calmness. You keep a hand on your heart as it beats through your chest. You rush to the door and quickly unlock it, just to see Bucky in all his great glory.

“Bucky! Hi!” You greet him, moving out of the way so that he could come in. “You’re up awfully early.” He notes, choosing to stay outside. You nod and smile at him, before remembering your manners. “Oh! Happy Halloween!” You tell him, holding out a ghost cookie for him to take. He takes it and devours it like he’s a starved man. “Happy Halloween to you too, little dove. I see you’re decorating. Is that what’s got you up so early?” He asks you, drinking in your form. Nothing else but an overly large cable knit sweater… Fucking beautiful. “Yep! Are you going to decorate?” You ask him in return, leaning on the doorframe. You notice that he’s holding a tray of desserts that make your mouth water. “No, not really. But I am baking, can you try this for me? I don’t really trust myself.” He smirks, handing the tray to you.

You gladly take it and your stomach rumbles loudly, embarrassing you. Bucky laughs but you shy away, turning your face away from him. You take a cookie from his tray and devour it because you are starved. “C- Can I have them all? They’re so amazing, Bucky!” You exclaim, nearly drooling at the amazing taste. “Go ahead, little dove.” He ushers with a wicked smirk that you pay no mind to. You shovel cookies into your mouth like no tomorrow. He watches you, tilting his head and palming himself through his jeans. His half-hard cock slightly bulges through the material, but you can’t see it. You hand him back his tray that’s covered in crumbs and a few sprinkles. Bucky stretches his hand out towards your face and grabs your chin gently. He uses his thumb to wipe the crumbs and slight drool off of your mouth. His thumb dances over your lips and you look at him with such doe eyes that he can feel himself get harder.

“Be sure to come trick or treating at my house, little dove, I have something special to give you.” He says, before smiling at you and walking away. You watch him and feel yourself start to smile brightly. You haven’t felt this way about anyone, not even Sam. Bucky… Bucky is different. He holds this elusiveness that keeps you hooked like he’s a drug. You feel your heart fluttering and butterflies flying, even though you’ve only known Bucky for almost two days. “Was that James, sweetheart?” Nana asks, just waking up. You turn around and nod, remembering the way he let you have all his cookies without even hesitating a bit. “Can I trick or treat-ing tonight? Please Nana! I’ll be safe, I promise.” You beg her, folding your hands together in a plea. “Of course, sweetheart. Just stay safe, okay? I don’t want anything bad happening to you.” She agrees, making you squeal. “Of course, Nana!”

Your stomach cramps up, but it isn’t too painful. Something… Something sticky and slick pours out of your cunt and you don’t know what it is. You don’t want to miss out on your trick or treat-ing, so you choose to keep quiet. You walk with your thighs clenched together; the only way the pain will relieve itself. You say a quick goodbye to Nana and exhale heavily as soon as you get outside. Your makeshift cat ears rest on your head perfectly and you try to keep your smile from faltering. An older choker your mom had from the 90’s is wrapped around your neck and even has a bell on it. You slowly walk to Bucky’s house, which has a single pumpkin on the doorstep and nothing more. You hold a pumpkin basket in your hands and admire the way kids run from one house to the next on their own missions. You turn back to Bucky’s house and raise your fist up to the door, but an extremely painful cramp stops you.

You double over and try to keep in a cry of pain. The door suddenly opens and Bucky looks down at you in pain. “Oh little dove, is everything okay? Do you want to come in? Here- Let me help you.” He rambles as he grabs a hold of you. He leads you into his home and you don’t even look around to admire it. You fall to the floor and sob in pain, begging for help. “Shhh, be quiet, hey, no tears now… I’m here to help.” He lifts you up with ease and reassures you at the same time. Bucky gently sets you onto his couch and takes your jacket off of you. You drop your pumpkin bucket and realize that your palms are overly sweaty. “Wh- What’s happening to me, Bucky? It hurts so b- bad!” You cry out, falling onto your back and pulling your legs up to your chest for comfort.

Bucky cooes and you and pulls you up to him. He cradles you to his chest and shushes you. Your sobs echo throughout his living room and your tears soak into his sweater. You look up at him and he flashes you a smile, fangs sparkling and sharp. You gasp through your sobs before realizing that he dressed up as a vampire for Halloween. Bucky runs his hands up and down your body, caressing you gently. He pulls the headband out of your hair and plays with the bell on your collar. His left hand — which was covered in a glove — trails it’s way between your thighs. You’re soaked, leggings damp and sticky and so are your thighs. He pulls your pants down, and you’re too out of it to even realize what’s going on. He lifts you up slightly to untangle your pants from your feet and you take the opportunity to look around his house. Through your bleary eyesight, you can see pictures of someone scattered along the crimson red walls.

You squint and try to figure out why the pictures look so fucking familiar. Bucky stands back up and blocks your view. His hands travel up to the bottom of your black sweater and he rips it into two instead of pulling it over your head. You furrow your eyebrows as you feel a sudden gust of coldness taking over your body. “W- What?” You rub your head in confusion and realize that you’re naked. “Shh, it’s okay little dove. Your Master will take care of you now…” He reassures you again, but he only makes you more confused. “Aw my dumb little baby doesn’t know what’s going on?” He mocks, before lightly slapping your face. Drool leaks out from the corner of your mouth and your eyes are glazed over. “You see, dove… You were made for me! I’ve spent centuries searching for the perfect little dove for myself, and there you were. You know, I know every little thing about you? I’ve been watching you for years, baby.” He explains, and you furrow your eyebrows.

He opens his mouth to speak and continues to tell you every little thing he has done. “All these pictures are all of you. You’re so beautiful, baby. Sam never had to leave, but he was in the way of everything. Too bad he tried to come back, now he’s at the bottom of Lake Erie. Oh and those bullies? The people that thought it was okay to make my little dove feel like shit? They’re dead too, it’s not like they magically disappeared. And since you’re so out of it, I might as well tell you. I’m a vampire.” Bucky bluntly monologues, leaving you in shock and horror. You feel the urge to throw up, but you also want to scream and cry your heart out. You feel your chest tighten and you gasp for breath. “Shh it’s okay, little dove.” He whispers in your ear, before nibbling on the skin. “Are- Are you-” You try to ask him a question, but the pain is so bad that you can’t speak properly.

He nods his head and presses a few kisses on your face. You grumble and pull away in disgust, before trying to pull away from Bucky. “Aw that’s fine, I love it when my prey has a bit of fight.” He chuckles, before pushing you away from your body. “I’m going to give you five seconds, and you’re going to try to run away. I’m going to catch you, okay little dove?” He explains, and he doesn’t even give you time to agree. “Five,” he shouts, making you jump. You try your hardest to ignore your pain and focus on escaping. You know the door isn’t a possibility, so you dash down the hallway. “Four!” He calls out in a sing-song voice. You cringe and turn on your right, going up the dark stairs. “Three! Two! One!” He yells out, before running after you. You run into a room and shut the door behind you, before realizing that your inner thighs were glistening and sticky.

You reach down to your thighs and run your finger through the slickness that drips down. You’re too distracted by it to notice that Bucky was nearing you. Suddenly, the door bursts open and you're falling onto the floor. Bucky quickly pounces on top of you and rips your bra into two. You cry out but you know that nobody will be able to hear you. “Fuck, I can’t wait to ruin you, turn you into my personal dumb little slut.” He spits, pushing your legs apart. He tears your underwear off of you and you sob loudly. Bucky smashes his lips against yours, dominating you in the kiss even though you can barely register it. He runs his thick fingers through your sopping wet folds. Your clit is swollen and sensitive and you’re leaking like no tomorrow. He rubs your clit slowly, enjoying the way you write wildly underneath him.

He shoves his tongue into your mouth and his left hand comes up to wrap itself around your throat. He squeezes the sides and you let out a throaty moan. You don’t know what any of the things you’re feeling are. He presses harder on your clit and pressure builds up in your lower abdomen. White hot flames burn inside of you with passion. Suddenly, Bucky pushes a finger into your tight, wet hole. He feels around and chuckles wickedly when he finds your special spot. You see blurry stars in your vision. “That’s my good little dove, taking her Master’s fingers so well.” He praises against your lips, before kissing you fervently. He quickly thrusts it in and out of you, watching as you go through at least fifty different emotions. Tingles erupt throughout your entire body, and you whimper against Bucky’s mouth.

His finger continues to massage against your g-spot and you cry out in pleasure. “W- What’s happening, Bucky?” You ask him in confusion and bewilderment. “Don’t think, little dove, just feel.” He shuts you up quickly and suddenly the pressure that was building up explodes. Your jaw slacks and drool leaks out of your mouth as your cunt constricts around his finger. “Look at you, going all stupid with my finger in your pretty little cunt. I bet you won’t be able to handle my big fat cock in your pussy, ruining you over and over.” He growls, grinding his hard cock against your thigh. He continues to fuck you with his finger, despite your protests and pleads for him to stop. The feeling is too much for you to handle, but that doesn’t stop him. He pulls his finger out of your cunt and the pains immediately return.

He sucks your arousal off of his finger and moans at the sweet taste. Suddenly, he gets off of you and picks you up easily. You’re still in your collar, much to Bucky’s enjoyment. “Why are you crying? Hm? I’m helping you out, little dove. This isn’t wrong or anything, okay? I would never do anything wrong, and I’m quite hurt that you think I’m a bad person.” He whispers, shaking you in his grip. “I…” You don't know what to say. He knows what’s right and what’s wrong… you don’t. “I’m just helping you out, little dove. Because you’re mine, and I love you. This is love, okay? Anything else is just bullshit.” His whisper turns into a ferocious growl, scaring you. He throws you onto his large bed and puts you on your knees. Bucky strips himself quickly, eager to feel you wrapped around his cock.

“Say ‘ah’ little dove.” He smirks, and your jaw hesitatingly slacks open. He pushes his boxers down and his leaking cock bounces up. Truly, he is big. Long and thick, a phenomenon. He grabs the base and gives himself a few strokes, rubbing the pre-cum that leaks from his tip onto your tongue. He moans softly and suddenly pushes into your mouth. Bucky’s cock hits the back of your throat and you gag loudly. Bucky shoves your head down his cock until your nose meets his pubic hair. He keeps you there for a few seconds, enjoying the way you struggle around his cock. Your gags resonate in the room and your tongue laves against the bottom of his cock. Thick veins throb and pulsate against your wet muscle. The manly, musky taste of him fills your mouth and you’re in love with it.

He growls loudly and slowly moves your head up and down for you. Your bell jingles with each movement and he fucks your face relentlessly. Your gags fill the room and fresh tears stream down your face. You try your hardest to breathe slowly, but Bucky’s cock makes it difficult for you. His swollen, heavy balls slap against your spit-soaked chin and he thrusts in and out of your mouth. He moans loudly and the need to cum grows. You struggle to breathe and easily remember all those nights of panic attacks. You hit against his thigh gently, looking up at him so that he can let you breathe. Black dots decorate your vision and you can see Bucky smiling down at you before moaning loudly. He suddenly pulls you away from his cock and trails of saliva follow. You gasp for air as though you were just drawing. Or you were thirteen and having a panic attack in the hospital as you watch the doctors cover your mother’s head with a sheet.

After a few seconds, Bucky shoves you back onto his cock and you let him. “Shit, such a good fucking girl. Look so beautiful with your face stuffed full with my cock, so good.” He praises, making you preen under him. You grab onto his thighs for support and let yourself be limp under his touch, fully trusting him. Your short nails leave crescent shaped scars that make Bucky hiss. Bucky uses your mouth like a fleshlight, chasing his orgasm without stopping. He moans loudly and you can feel more slickness leaking out of you. It comes in ten-fold but you know that he’ll take care of you. You just know it, deep down in your innocent heart. “Oh, fuck!” He shouts loudly, his metal arm whirring wildly. “Fuck, ‘m going to cum.” He moans, thrusting even harder. You feel yourself losing air, and you wonder if you’re going to pass out. Soon, Bucky pushes your head down and his hips still.

Hot, thick ropes of cum shoots from his tip and he fills your mouth up with no shame or regret. It’s so much, too much. His cum overflows and leaks from your mouth and you’re left with no choice but to swallow it all. Bucky pulls his hard cock out of your mouth and smiles at you. There’s still some left on the corners of your mouth, and a thin sheen of his covers his cock. “You looked so fucking slutty with my cock down your throat, little dove. I know you liked it.” He smiles down at you, before pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead. Bucky once again picks you up, but this time he throws you at the mountain of pillows. He climbs on top of you and kisses you passionately. You try to mimic what he’s doing, but you soon give up. He chuckles against your mouth and pushes your legs against your chest. Bucky grabs the base of his cock and he settles between your legs. Your sticky thighs touch his and he pulls away from your mouth.

“You want your Master’s cock, don’t you little dove? You’re drooling for it, and so is your cunt.” He husks, making you whimper. He slaps the tip against your clit and you jolt from the sensitivity. He rubs his cockhead through your soaking folds and teases your sopping hole. “Y- Yes, Master…” You sheepishly admit, not even knowing what either of you are saying. He curses under his breath and drops his head into the crook of your neck. He bares his teeth with a not-so quiet hiss and drags his fangs against that spot on your neck. He’s careful to avoid your collar, knowing that his sharp teeth can easily destroy the cheap lace of it. “O târfa atât de bună, atât de bună pentru stăpânul ei.” The European langue falls from his mouth beautifully and you have no idea as to what he’s saying.

Bucky feels you getting wetter as he speaks, your cunt giving away how much of a slut you are for him. The throbbing veins of his cock pulsate against your needy pussy, much like how they were throbbing in your mouth. Your wetness mixes with the extra cum and saliva that stained his cock from before. You’re a complete mess. Cunt dripping, drool leaking and you're panting like a wanton bitch in heat. Bucky moves his head up to your ear, lciking the shell of it. “O să te iau iar și iar, o să te fac o mizerie stupidă pe scula mea. Poate și degetele și gura mea, te voi umple iar și iar. Ți-ar plăcea asta, nu-i așa? Porumbelul meu... Atât de nevinovat. Abia aștept să te văd plin cu sperma mea, o să-ți distrug păsărica.” He groans in your ear, watching you become needier and needier with each fleeting moment.

“You want my cock? Beg for it, beg for it little dove. Let the whole neighbourhood hear how much of a cockslut you are.” He commands loudly, pulling his face away to see you burn up. You don’t know what to say, so you choose to remain silent. You look up at him, his eyes dark and blown out. They no longer carry that comforting look that you trust. “Aw, does my little dove need some help? That’s okay, I’m here to take care of you. You gotta repeat after me, okay? It’s okay if you hesitate or stutter, but don’t go purposefully messing it up.” He explains, before slapping you lightly. Your bell jingles and Bucky chuckles along with it. “Say that you want your Master’s cock so bad- that you need it. And beg for it too.” He elucidates, and you let out a little ‘oh.’ “I… I want you c- cock so bad, Master! I need it, please give it to me! I’ll do anything, just please give me your c- cock… Please, Master? I’ll be so good!” You plead, taking both you and Bucky by surprise.

He gets even harder than he already is and he can swear he could cum on the spot right there and then. “Fuck, little dove, you’re already my little slut and I haven’t even fucked you yet.” He remarks, before slapping the fat tip of his cock on your swollen button. One. Two. Three. You yelp and whine each time, before begging him again. “P- Please, Master…” You mewl, throwing your head back. Bucky growls at the sight of your pretty neck, all sweaty and ready for him to sink his fangs into. Suddenly, he pushes into your tight, wet cunt. His thick cock painfully stretches you out, but all he feels is pleasure. Your pain soon turns into euphoria and you feel full… A little too full. “Ngh… Master...” You whine in pain. Bucky fills you up to the brim and it’s almost like he’s never going to bottom out.

The sounds leaving your mouth make it hard for him to control himself. He wraps his metal hand around your neck and looks down to where you’re connected. Through your stomach, you could see his cock bulging through. The sight has him ready to pound you into oblivion. Bucky begins to snap his hips back and forth, hammering into you at an inhumane pace. Your mouth falls slack and your eyes roll back into your head. Your hands search to hold something for support, but you can’t find anything. “La naiba, ești atât de strâmt, porumbel mic.” He growls under his breath and you moan loudly. The sound is lewd and pornographic. Loud, wet squelching noises reverberate each time his cock drags against your sensitive walls.

“Uită-te la tine, atât de drăguță cu scula mea mare care ți-o trage. Îți distrug păsărica inocentă.” he moans, fucking you even faster. Wetness coats his cock and you’re moaning litanies of “Master” over and over. His balls slap against your ass and Bucky pounds into you relentlessly. The light from the moon shines brightly and you look like a beauty under him. Bucky squeezes the sides of your throat even harder and your tits bounce with every harsh thrust of his cock. His other hand, the flesh one, moves to your swollen and sensitive clit. He begins to rub your pearl with slow, hard ministrations. You clench around Bucky’s cock and can feel that weird fire inside you burning up again. “M- Master! That- That thing… It’s happening!” You cry out, feeling the veins of his cock throb against your walls.

Tears fall from your eyes and Bucky coles at you. “Poor little dove, can’t handle your Master’s big, fat cock.” He husks, staring at your stomach as he can so is cock driving in and out of your tight pussy. “Master!” You cry out abruptly, your back arching off of his soft bed. Your pussy convulses around his big cock, milking him for all his worth as you cum. You gush all over him, cum dripping all over your pussy and his cock. You continue to clench around him, hugging him tightly as he continues to fuck you. Bucky stops rubbing your overwrought clit and pressing down on the bulge of his cock. “Look, little dove. Look at how good your Master is filling you up, deep in your tight pussy.” he growls, making you look down. You moan even louder at the sight of his cock bulging through your stomach. “C’mon, beg for your Master to fill you up.” He demands, fucking you even harder. Through your moans and sobs, you manage to speak.

“Pl- Please fill me up, Master. Please, I ne- need it so- so badly…” You beg, before cumming again. You squeeze Bucky’s cock even tighter and soak his cock with your sticky cum. Bucky snarls like a ferocious animal as he feels you milk his cock for his cum. “F- la naiba, rahat, am de gând să cum. O să te umplu, porumbelul. Fill you up to the brim with my cock, watch it leak out of this pretty pussy ‘a yours.” He groans, his thrusts becoming more and more sloppy. “Give me one more, little dove. I know you’re sensitive, but you can do it, cum on my cock.” He growls, and on command, you come undone around him. Bucky sinks his teeth into your neck, making you cry out in agony. His hips still and his balls tighten up as he cums. Thick, hot, white streaks and ribbons of cum paint your walls and you both moan at the feeling. He keeps his cock locked inside you and laps up the crimson liquid that spills from your neck.

You can feel him getting even harder inside you and you moan loudly. Bucky lazily kisses you with his blood soaked mouth. You whimper as you can taste the metallic flavour of it on your tongue, but he only cooes at you like you’re a little baby. “Bu- Master? Am- Am I going to turn into a vampire?” You frightfully ask him once you’ve calmed down. “No, but you are mine. You always have and you always will be mine.” He smirks, rubbing his nose against yours. Your pains haven’t completely dissipated, and Bucky knows that. Feeling his cum spill around his cock, leaking out of you, he chuckles like usual. “Can I go back home, please?” You beg him, thinking about your poor grandmother. He shakes his head and his jaw clenches with anger. “You’re not leaving me, little dove. No matter what.” He reassures, starting to slowly thrust into you. You moan softly and close your eyes, letting sleep take you over.

“I love you, little dove. You’re mine, and there’s no way you’re escaping me.”

WARNINGS. | Dark!Vampire!Bucky, feeding, murder.

2K notes · View notes

zarnzarn · 3 years ago

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Stolitz fic rec!!

I'm going to just drop my favorite stolitz fics here.

They run at night by @wearemisfortune

Blitzo is always moving because when his body stops, his mind races. This almost always leads to a terrible fucking idea.

Tonight is no different—but the result will be.

-lovely angst, lovely climax, and it captures Blitz's line of thinking in a serious tone but in a way still feels authentic to the character. And I'm ALWAYS a sucker for the sheer unconditional trust trope.

Junctures by @sluttycrimehat

To everything, there is a season.

-I still am in complete awe of how the author managed to fit so much in such little time. The bit at the end always fucking gets me, I love it so MUCH.

The last general by @curtailed

It's in a month after, with Stolas spent and lying on his side, that Blitzo finally musters up the courage to tell him.

-Hello??? BEAUTIFUL post-harvest moon fic, wonderful vibes, love how well they know each other in this one, the trust is amazing. Love it.

You got everything that I want by @bipridemoth

Stolas can’t recall a time where “love” wasn’t synonymous with “pain” for him.

With Blitzo, it’s not love. So, there’s no pain. Stolas doesn’t let there be pain, at least not emotionally, the physical pain is something he quite enjoys. When Blitzo leaves after their monthly night together, he doesn’t allow himself to feel pain, only anticipation of the next time. He likes that there’s always a next time, even though that’s because of his active incentive more than anything else. But that’s alright, he doesn’t want Blitzo to come see him without an incentive. He deserves favors in turn for what he’s giving Stolas.

-Stolas angst!!!! The angst really is delicious in this one, with just as nice of a happy ending. Blitz is confident about the relationship, which is Wonderful to read and the "I know where this is going" segment had me in TEARS.

Between fairy tales and realities by @coloringthegreyscale

Blitzo's a complicated imp and Striker and Stolas accept that. But what happens when the two worlds he's made for himself collide together for one night? Well...

-Okay, so yes, this is striker/blitz/stolas, but it's so good. All three of them have a lovely dynamic, managing to work out somehow, with powerful Stolas, wonderful Blitz and a HILARIOUS Striker. Go read the series, it's a lot of fun and has many cute interactions that made me smile.

The look by @seireileafy

Blitz has been noticing a change in Stolas.

-It's such a CUTE drabble, I adore when one person can tell the other is pining for them, and the LAST LINE FUCKING GETS ME EVERY TIME-

Instead I made my bed with apathy by @thebooklord15

Just like every night before this one, Blitzo glared at the form next to him, already lulled into the bliss of slumber. He had never meant for things to turn out this way-he’d gotten the grimoire already, he didn’t need this man and from the way Stolas treated him it was clear he did not need the imp either.

And yet.

-Jcjdkafj this one is so GOOD I love blitz being pissed off yet too deep in to stop, and like I've said for others already THAT LAST LINE, PLEASE-

Call and response by anon

It was a love story, maybe.

-short but deliciously angsty, with some beautiful imagery, really nice dialogue, and time-doesn't-exist-in-this-motel-room vibes. Love it.

Shovel proof by @kereea

Octavia tries to give Blitzo the shovel talk. He decides to help with that.

-FUCKING cute, love the Octavia/Blitz dynamic, and it has snappy fun dialogue!! Really sweet.

Reaching out, touching me, touching you by @allmightshipserasermic

Stolas hasn’t been able to preen sufficiently in quite awhile, since Stella refuses to do it for him anymore. Blitzo offers to help.

-PREENING FIC is there anything more I have to say?

The skin you could have by @coloringthegreyscale

Stolas catches Blitzo staring and it leads to some talk, some magic, and a little bit of fun.

-Again, BEAUTIFUL dynamic between the two, lots of angsty tenderness, and lovely body imagery.

Different shapes by @sirdust

“Before the exorcist, he taketh the image and shape of a man.”

Blitz catches a glimpse of Stolas’ human form.

-okay, practically a direct opposite of the previous fic, but SO GOOD, I can't describe it. Love the imagery and their comfortable relationship.

A helluva mess by @stratumgermanitivum

It’s not like Stolas isn’t a hot piece of ass, because he is.

And it’s not like Blitzo’s blind or anything, because he isn’t.

It’s just that there’s pleasure, and then there’s business, and never the twain shall meet. (Unless he finally gets Moxx on board with that threeway, in which case, Blitzo fully intends to christen every damn surface of the office except his precious Loony’s desk.)

-AMAZING, love the pining and denial on both sides it's so great especially since you can tell both sides know that they've messed up. Again, LAST LINE!!

Eat the whole cake (it's what you deserve) by @okoyik

"His Highness is on the phone for you, sir," Moxxie says.

Blitzo makes a face. "Who?"

"Stolas," Moxxie supplies, as if that's supposed to help Blitzo understand. His expression is surely one of complete confusion as he stares at the other imp.

"Who the fuck is Stolas?" Blitzo asks slowly, racking his brain for a face to put to the name.

Blitzo's memory starts to slip, and all he knows is he needs that owl that seems to haunt his nightmares to stay away.

-HELLO it's only on one out of four chapters for now but it's already SO GOOD I can't WAIT for the rest!!!

Stand tall, but your hands are shaking by @remymorton

It’s been a month since the Harvest Moon festival. Another full moon night arrived, and after that... Blitz ... He's not well.

-wordless cute comfort, truly very sweet, I love it.

Palaces and souvenirs by @cloudysonder

So Stolas is objectively. Objectively. Attractive. Kinda soft-looking, sometimes. Pretty. Whatever. Fuckin’ whatever. That’s always been a thing. Blitzo knew that, Stolas definitely knew that-- whatever.

"This is not," Blitzo thinks, sounding a little bit desperate even to himself, "some sort of revelation."

His flicks of the lighter get a little more unstable, a little more frustrated.

A clawed hand reaches over and takes hold of the lighter, lighting Blitzo’s cigarette with practiced ease, as if he’d done the same thing a thousand times before (He has, Blitzo realizes).

“Silly Blitzy,” he giggles quietly, giving Blitzo a soft pat on the head before curling up beside him, stretching one last time before closing his eyes to sleep.

Blitzo feels warm.

"This," Blitzo tells himself, and it sounds like a command, "will not be a problem."

-I saw the start of this fic on Twitter and have been following it religiously ever since. It's really a gorgeous fic, three chapters up, with the promise of a Great slow burn, fun dialogue and Octavia & Blitz bonding. The level of denial Blitz is in even as he moves comfortably around every aspect of Stolas' life cracks me tf up.

Can't by @hazbincalifornia

Blitzo realizes he feels something something that he doesn't want to feel. This was supposed to be simple.

-feelings realization fic, wonderful, amazing, lovely, also the exact same way I realized I was gay, funnily enough (girl fell asleep in my lap and I was like oh. Oh fuck.)

Too late to stop by @malkaviancake

Stolas spends some time with his thoughts, realizing that his feelings for Blitzo aren't as one sided as he presumed.

-GORGEOUS vocab, I'm truly very obsessed with it. Like most of these stories, LAST LINE!!!!

Itchy with want, thin on sleep by me

It happens in parts- both falling in love and having his eyes opened.

-I will,, finish this one day, but for now here's a few in between moments before they have The Conversation.

Heaven in hiding by me

Their nights together are good, they always are, both of their tastes lining up to be shockingly compatible, but on the days where they end early and they get to spend some extra time cleaning up in comfortable silence or playful banter- and Blitz would rather take a bullet than admit this out loud- but those nights are pretty great too.

-AFTERCARE FIC, I had to write an aftercare fic ft. Good dom Blitz, Stolas taking care of him in return and a comfortable relationship that they both know is going to cause Problems in the future :)

Love in the bones and sinews of this curse by me

Five times Stolas and Blitz needed the grimoire to break a curse + one time they didn't.

-self explanatory. I tried to make it as funny as possible, everyone bickers a lot and Blitz brings Stolas flowers and gifts, what more could you need?

Life is a curse (love makes it worse) by me

"Alright!" Blitz says, clapping his hands together, "Weapons out, and-"

Half pull out some gun or the other, but half just look at him blankly. Blitz wishes for death.

"Save me from this family," He mutters under his breath, "Okay. Take these then." He passes out the few weapons he'd brought along with him and doesn't ask if they know how to use them because if he hears a no, he's giving up and going back home. "Stick close and talk loudly so the others can hear us. Let's go."

They move out, Blitz taking the lead and the rest forming a circle close behind him, starting up a loud conversation about the neighbour's garden. It gives him enough time to wonder exactly what the fuck he's doing here, in a nightmare world with a bunch of pretentious snobs, searching for his stupid Ars Goetia boyfriend, instead of sleeping in his nice lumpy bed back at home.

-a sequel to the previous fic!!! I had to write some Octavia and Blitz bonding, and accidentally added in a bunch of teenage imps who work for Stolas who imprint on Blitz immediately. And there's Eldritch Stolas, protective boyfriends and found family!!! The whole shebang!!!

This ended up being Much longer than I'd expected, but genuinely every fic up there is really good, go check em out!!!!

#stolitz #blitz #blitzo #stolas #helluva boss #PHEW im exhausted #stolitz fic rec #stolitz fic recs #stolitz fic #helluva boss fic rec #my fic #i mean i put some of my fics up there so #also to all my mutuals in this post ily #stolas x blitz #stolas x blitzo

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shy-little-carrie · 3 years ago

Note

Love Wifey 🤩 I have been wondering though how does Ransom react when he sees reader clearly being hit on at a party by a gorgeous man 😍

Let's just say nothing good... heh.

Warnings: public sex, Ransom is jealous - again

Wifey AU - masterlist

Wifey AU - what gonna happen if two of the most spoiled idiots in the whole Boston are forced into arranged marriage? They hate each other, they can’t stand each other and they can’t hold their hand off each other. this is a story of Ransom Drysdale and his Wifey.

I am sorry for all the mistakes, written on my phone.

taglist is open, send me an ask or DM!

Can stand as one-shot as well.

“Who the fuck is he?” Ransom elbows his friend's ribs softly, tilting his head towards you and the man talking on the bar. You laugh, take a sip and laugh again, looking at the tall man next to you with a smile. Smile that Ransom wants to have saved only to himself.

You look like you are having fun, probably too much fun, and when the man lays his hand on your hip, Ransom feels like he is about to snap. Fucking fuck!

“Am I interrupting?” he barks, standing behind the man, noticing your smile faded a bit when you saw him, realizing how jealous your husband can be. You take a step back, looking at Ransom when you shake your head.

“A little bit, man!” man says, looking at Ransom for a moment, before he turns his attention back to you, and smiles. “So, as I said..” “I wasn't talking to you!” Ransom walks past the guy, with no problem squeezing himself into a small space between you two and frowns. “I ask again my dear wife! Am I interrupting?”

“We are just having a conversation,” you roll your eyes . something that drives him crazy. It's not like he has a problem with all people rolling his eyes on him, he is used to that.. but when you do it? You look like an exalted snob who is deeply despising him. Those are the moments when he is not sure if he want to fuck your soul out of you or spank the shit out of you.

“Not anymore!” he smirks as he notices the men walking away, probably too creeped out by the way Ransom called you wife. It's not like you actually wanted to go further with the guy, but the way Ransom reacts is just so much fun, so you smirk.

“Already got his number, just gonna give him a call tomorrow,” you laugh, not having a chance to finish the sentence, Ransom grabs your wrist and pulls you into his chest. His expression is angry… feral, and you are thankful you are in the room full of people, because it has been a while since you saw him this angry.

“Bathroom! Now!” he commands and wraps his other arm around your waist, making you cling to his side, as he walks you towards the bathroom.

***

“Ransom, what the fuck? Someone can come in!” you yell at him as he kicks the door close behind you two in an empty ladies room, immediately shoving you towards the wall.

“Too late, Wifey, should have thought about it before you started flirting with that dick,” he growls into your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin in an animalistic need to mark you, to show everyone he is not willing to share.

“I am serious, someone will come in… Ransom please, we were just talking,” you beg, looking at the door to make sure it's still closed.

“He runs the tip of his tongue over the pulsing vein on your neck, he can feel how fast are you breathing, and the way your cheeks turn red he can say you won't be able to say no to anything anyway.

His huge palm cups your ass, with no problem picking you up, still locked between his boar chest and the cold wall behind you. You whimper, your hands automatically wrapped around his neck. As you gently tug by the hair on the back of his head, he moans, thrusting his hips forward. There is no more space in your head to think about the possibility of someone walking in, or about the inappropriateness of the whole situation. Only thing you can think about is the hard cock of your husband trapped in his jeans, now grinding against your inner thigh.

“God damn woman, this is probably the only time you actually did what I said,” he grunts when your dress pulls up as he picks you up, your bare pussy revealed. Indeed, he ordered you not to wear panties today, but even in his wildest dreams he wouldn't imagine you're really going to fulfill his wish.

“What are you doing?” you mewl, sudden lack of contact makes you whine in need as he takes a step back and stands you back on the floor, your desperate state making it almost impossible to hold yourself up on your heels as he drags you towards the expensive, marble washstand and bends you over. “You have such a fine ass, Wifey.” You watch yourself blush in the mirror as your husband shamelessly reveals your ass, the tiny piece of fabric you call dress making it easier for him. “Look at you, blushing, needy, you want it, don't you?” Ransom asks, as he unzips his pants and pulls out his cock, in the mirror you can see it's throbbing, you're not the only one impatient here. He strokes himself several times, giving you a little show. Your eyes watching his reflection in the mirror as he stands behind you, pulling by your hair to make sure you keep looking at him, he slides his long shift into you, needing only one firm, quick movement.

Trembling mess - that's probably the only way to describe what Ransom is able to turn your body into as he starts rocking his hips back and forth. If all feels just right for some reason, as he enters you. Your eyes meet in the mirror and you let the most sinful moan leave your throat just as the door opens.

“Fuck,” you yelp, trying to move away and over yourself, but Ransom holds you tight on your place, shameless smirk on his lips as he sees the man who was flirting with you before looking at the two of you. You are on full display in front of the mirror, giving him a perfect chance to see your amazing body writhing in pleasure while Ransom keeps pounding into you.

“Mine. She’s fucking mine!” He growls towards the man, his hips not slowing down even for a second as he slaps your ass, looking over his shoulder to see a shoved expression on the man’s face.

#ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x female reader #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale wifey au #ransom drysdale x reader #wifey AU

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iwhishtomeetinournextlife · 3 years ago

Text

An anonymous lover (part 3)

Summary : Y/N sees Sirius Black running away after a particularly rough letter from his mother. She wants to cheer him up and decide to send him a letter, anymously, she knows how much he hates her house.

Warnings : Slytherin!Reader, female!reader, Sirius and James critisizing Slytherins (and Y/N), not proof read

Word count : 1.9K

Part 1 - Part 2 - You're here - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

English is not my first language, sorry if there is any mistakes

-----------------------------------------------

Y/N had transfiguration class next, it was usually the class were she would sat down next to Lily Evans. The two young women liked each other quite well, they weren’t the closest, each having there own group of friends, but it wasn’t that rare for the two of them to study together, or to talk for hour, saying things they felt they couldn’t tell to the people they were the closest to.

That’s how Y/N found out Lily actually quite liked James Potter, and the rest of the marauders, despite being a bit hard on them. And that’s how Lily found out about some of Y/N’s little secrets, like the chocolate she hides in some classes to snack during lessons or that time she stole back one of her belonging from Finch’s office. Despite being part of his favorite house, the caretaker didn’t liked her much.

When Y/N entered the classroom and greeted her professor, she quickly spoted Lily to sat down with her, her being at their usual stop. But when she was about to put her stuff down, someone else hurried to take the spot. Y/N was about to face the intruder, but her words got stuck in her throat when she saw who it was; Sirius !

“What are doing here, Black ?”, Lily on the other hand, despite being happy to see him again, was not going to let him do what he wants. “What Evans ? Not happy to see me ?”, Sirius did an exagerate pout before throwing an arm around her, “that hurt my feelings, I thought you’d be more caring”

“The sit was already taken !”, Lily tried to push him away, with a hand on his face as he was getting dangerously close. At that, Sirius turned to you, “Oh but you don’t mind, right Y/L/N ?”. Before Y/N was even able to form a thought, McGonagall interrupt them. “If you don’t mind, Miss Y/L/N, I would like to start my class”. She got all red. “Sorry Professor”, she then looked around and sat down at the only seat left, who happen to be right next to James.

Once she was at her seat and Mrs McGonagall started her class, she looked at Sirius and Lily, the black-haired was throwing a big smile at their table, but she was unsure if it was to her as a thank you for the spot –he had stolen-, or to James. Y/N then looked at the boy next to her, a bit confused, shouldn’t it be him trying to sit down next to Lily ? James simply respond with an innocent smile before looking at the whiteboard, to try to pay a bit attention to what the professor was saying.

She looked at Sirius again for a few seconds and smiled to herself, looking at what the professor was writting. She was happy to see Sirius was doing better, was it thanks to her letter ? She blushed at the idea, no, it couldn’t be. Sirius was a strong person, always getting up, he was probably already doing better even before receiving the letter. Maybe he didn’t even got it ! She heard Sirius and Lily talked a bit during class but didn’t think of it to much, he was quite the chatty person, always something to say.

“Shit, can I look at your notes for a sec ? I missed the last bit” James was turned to her, Y/N her eyes widen a little, but then she just chuckled. “Sure” She then turn the paper for him to look; “Th-” but he stop when he looked at it, “wh- How can you read this ?!” he talked a bit too loudly and McGonagall scolded him “Mr Potter quiet !”, “Sorry Professor”.

He turned to her again and talked way more quietly this time, “How can you read this ?”, she smiled and respond with a fake wise man voice “I was there when it was written”, James rolled his eyes and she laught at that, “Here, let me help you”, Y/N told him what was written so he could catch up, he thanked her, the rest of the class went smoothly.

Contrary to what people might think when they found out Y/N loved writing letters, she didn’t actually have much of good handwritting on the daily. When she would send messages, she would take her time, appreciating the moment, but in class ? She had to be quick, write all she could with her own note taking system, if you were able to puzzle out the words it was quite helpful, but only a few people were able to do so.

Even professors had a hard time, it wasn’t as bad as her notes but still could be impossible at moment. Many times have some of them asked her to rewrite the whole essay, one even threaten her to not marked it at all and failed her. After that, she made sure to be just a tad more carring of her homework and tests.

At the end of the period, Y/N calmly put her supplies away, contrary to James who stuffed everything in his bag before joinning Sirius at the door, looking like they were waiting for something. As for Y/N, she went to Lily, they were suppose to study together as class stopped early today –poor Professor Slughorn had a burst of Gargoyle fever-.

“So, do we go to the library ?”, Lily felt a bit embarassed “I’m so sorry Y/N I can’t go today, I have to help Sirius-” she looked over and saw James was there too, she sighed, “-and James with something, is that okay ?”. Y/N’s looked soften, “Of course, there’s no problem ! We could always do that another time”, Lily had a big smile “You’re the best”, Y/N flipped her hair in a faux attempt of looking snob, “I know”, they laughted and then went their separated way after saying goodbye.

-------------------------------------

Lily, Sirius and James all went to the boy’s dorm so she could take a look at the letter, so far, it was Sirius’ best shot to know the identity of his mysterious penpal, he really hoped he will be able to find out who it was.

“Take that smug away Potter, I’m only helping Sirius because he insisted a lot”, James simply put his hand in the air in front of him in a sign of peace, “Of course Evans, don’t you put any worries in that pretty head of yours, I had nothing in mind”.

Before Lily could reply, Sirius put his arm around her shoulders, “You’re a saint Evans ! Thanks you for helping me here, you’re my only chance right now to find the one I’m destined to be with !”, Lily rolled her eyes a bit, “If it’s one of your prank I’m going to hex you so hard your kids will feel it”.

The three students entered the dorm and Sirius sat on his bed. “Yeah yeah, of course, it’s not like you had anything better to do anyway”, Lily open her mouth in disbielive “I was suppose to study with Y/N !”, James scoffed, “Yeah, a slytherin, I don’t understand how you can be friend with her !”. Lily rolled her eyes, an habit she did quite a lot around the marauders, “She’s nice, not all slytherin are death eaters”

It was Sirius’ turn to mock her, “ ’might as well be synonym”. Lily hit him with a pillow, “And what would you do if it’s a slytherin your little anonymous lover ? Or Y/N even ?”. James laughed, “With a pig like handwritting like hers, imossible !”, Lily was now red of irritation from the two young men.

“Show me that dang letter so I can be done with you two !”. Sirius growled a bit and gave it to her, while she was reading he thought of the possibility of a slytherin being the one who send the letter and his nose scrunch at the idea. It wasn’t possible, no slytherin would want to cheer someone up, especially not him, or even to say nice things to anyone.

Then he thought of Y/N. Sure, she never did anything wrong to him, she even was nice enough to listen to him rembled with his anecdotes, she even looked like she was actually listening to him, and she was cute, and she smelled like parchment and roses, and her li-... No, that’s not possible. They barely talk together, never would have she known enough of him to write all those nice words, it was purely a polite relationship.

When Lily finished reading she pinched her nose and then sighed, “I’m sorry Sirius, but I don’t know who send you this”

The boy who was previously abstracedly playing with the “kiss”, jumped out of his bed in one motion to her friend. “What do you mean you don’t know ?? You’re their friend !”. Lily put a hand on his shoulder, “Listen, I didn’t recognize the handwriting, I don’t know anyone who can make drawing moves and the things said are not a secret to any of my friends, I’m sorry”.

Sirius let out a loud growl, throwing his head back, James sympathetically tapping his shoulder. He had such a pityful puppy face, Lily felt bad. This letter was full of love, no denying that, and clearly Sirius wanted to find the one who sended it. “Look, I can give you a list of the friends I talked to the most, that might help narrow it down and I would try to get information, alright ?”

Sirius’ face lighted up and he took Lily and James in a big bear hugs, “Thanks Evans, you really are a saint !”, Lily laught a bit “You already said that”. Sirius winked at her, “We should start with those who write with colored ink maybe ? There shoudn’t be that much people”. James shook his head, ”You don’t remember ? It’s actually very popular, so much, Minnie had to precise light colored ink were prohibited to use on tests and homeworks because some idiots started to use yellow ink”. Sirius had a bit grin on his face, “Then I guess we better get started, Prongs”

And that’s how mission “Anonymous lover” started, the marauders would try to gather information on Lily’s friends, on who might have or might have not write the letter, but they quickly found out none of her close friend had anything to do with it.

----------------------------------------------

The rumors of Sirius searching for a mysterious penpal didn’t took long to reached Y/N. She was a bit shocked, why would he wants to meet her ? She didn’t thought he would tried to find her, she didn’t know what to do, she didn’t want him to be desappointed to found out it’s her. She had talked of it to noone, and she hoped that for now, there were no way to find her, she wanted to think about it for a bit on her own.

After debating with herself for a few day, she decided to have a bit of fun with it, watching Sirius looking for her at the complete wrong place was quite entertaining, and she wanted to try to have a chance to have Sirius to get to know her without the prejudice of her house on the way.

That night, she decided to write, and before classes the next day, she gave the letter to an owl, who would send it at lunch with the other owls. She couldn’t wait to see his face.

-----------------------------

taglist : @blackpinkdolan

#sirius black x reader #marauders x reader #an anonymous lover #sirius x reader

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iam93percentstardust · 3 years ago

Note

hey alle, so for the prompts i'd love some cute and funny winteriron with bucky wanting to impress tony with his cooking, but tony being a very picky eater. which leads to a lot of frustration on bucky's side, and obliviousness on what is even going on from tony's. if you feel like it. thank you! <3

Here it is! The long-awaited His Girl FRIDAY remix! I hope you love this as much as I do!

As always, everything I write is on ao3 too

The first time Bucky left food in Tony’s workshop and come back to find it untouched, he’d figured it was a fluke. Tony had probably been caught up in a zone—like Steve had warned him about when Bucky had decided he was going to woo Tony with food—and hadn’t noticed the food was even there.

The second time, he made sure to catch Tony’s attention as he was dropping off the plate—lasagna because Natalia had said Tony’s mother was Italian and Bucky made a pretty decent lasagna if he did say so. Tony had glanced at him and then at the plate before turning away with a slightly bewildered frown. Bucky had taken the frown to mean that no one else had ever bothered before to take care of Tony, which was a fact that had just about broken his heart, and left the plate there. He’d gone back later that night to find the lasagna untouched. That had been a little harder to explain away, but he’d eventually decided that maybe Tony was one of those food snobs who only liked Italian food made by actual Italians.

The third time he made oatmeal with a little bit of honey and cream, perfect for someone with as much of a sweet tooth as Tony had, and brought it into the workshop for Tony, who had spent the entire night working on new arrows for Clint.

“Tony?” he called softly, not wanting to startle him. Tony was uncomfortable enough with all the new people moving into the tower after everything with SHIELD and Hydra; being Hydra’s pet assassin, he didn’t want to make it worse by sneaking up on him. “I brought you some breakfast.”

Tony popped up from underneath a table, visibly brightening. “Oh good,” he said cheerfully, making grabby hands at the bowl. “I was just starting to get hungry.” His hair was mussed, two perfect rings of black smeared around his eyes, likely where the goggles currently perched on top of his head had been resting earlier.

Bucky smiled at the adorable display and held out the bowl. Tony eagerly grabbed it, only to blink at it as soon as he saw what was in it.

“Oatmeal?” he asked delicately.

“I thought you’d appreciate having something a little more delicate after not eating for a while,” Bucky explained.

“…Oh.” After another awkward moment, Tony said carefully, “Thanks.”

Satisfied, Bucky left him to his work. This time—this time—Tony would eat it all and then he’d see what an amazing cook Bucky was and how he would absolutely be able to provide for Tony and then he’d swoon into Bucky’s arms and demand that Bucky take him right there.

Okay maybe not right there—the workshop didn’t seem like the best location for amorous activities—but that was why they called it a fantasy, right?

Too bad Tony punctured that fantasy like a balloon.

Bucky went back downstairs long to pick up the bowl after Tony had come up to the common areas, yawning widely and telling everyone he was heading to bed for the next twenty-four hours so don’t bother him unless New York was on fire. It had been a bit of a disappointment that he’d just nodded at Bucky without saying anything about the breakfast or about his everlasting feelings for him, but not nearly as much of a disappointment to walk into the workshop to find the bowl as untouched as all the other meals he’d so painstakingly prepared.

“I don’t get it,” he whined to Sam later that day. “I’m a good cook.”

Sam gave him an unimpressed look. “Are you sure? It’s been, what, seventy years since the last time you made anything. Maybe you’re not as good as you used to be.”

Bucky gasped dramatically. “You take that back!”

“No. You promised me you’d offer dating advice with Natasha and instead you’re sitting here mooning over Tony’s ass again so I’ll say whatever I like about your cooking.”

“Sorry,” he muttered guiltily. Sam was right. He had promised that. Or, rather, Steve had promised advice and Bucky had taken one look at him still pining over Peggy and feeling weird about his current interest being Peggy’s niece (a valid way to feel) and declared him hopeless before telling Sam that he would help him out instead. After all, he remembered Natalia from the years she’d spent training with him during her childhood. Who else would be more qualified to teach Sam how to woo her? Well, besides Clint obviously, but he was taking some personal time away from the team.

“She likes the ballet,” he said. “She wanted to be a ballerina when she was younger, said they were as graceful as any Widow only they didn’t have to kill.”

“And you’re sure that won’t just make her sad?” Sam asked dubiously.

Bucky glared at him. “I might not like you very much—” Sam rolled his eyes—"But I like Natalia a whole lot. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. Take her to the ballet and take Steve and Sharon while you’re at it. A double date will help her feel less trapped and maybe Steve will stop moping and ask Sharon out.”

“It’s a little weird, you know.”

“Sure, but he kissed Peggy once and it’s not like he’s ever gonna go back to the war and live out the rest of his time there, so he might as well move on.”

Sam laughed. “Guess that’s true.” He sighed, smile fading away. “I don’t know why Tony’s ignoring your meals. Sorry about that though. It sucks.”

“If I may,” JARVIS cut in. Both of them jumped, though Bucky would deny to his dying day that he yelped. Sam, on the other hand, shrieked like a kid and Bucky reminded himself to go back and access the audio footage so he would have blackmail.

“Sorry, JARVIS,” he apologized. “Keep forgetting you’re up there. Didn’t exactly have AI back during the war.”

“Or even in other houses,” Sam added.

“My apologies,” JARVIS said, and he’ll be damned if JARVIS didn’t sound extremely apologetic. It was incredible, really, how much life Tony imbued in his creations. “I only wanted to offer my advice about Sergeant Barnes’ attempts at wooing Sir.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky asked. “Go right ahead. Can’t be any worse than any of the other advice I’ve gotten.” Seriously, Clint had even suggested truth serum, like that wasn’t the worst idea ever suggested.

“Sir is an extremely picky eater,” JARVIS explained. “He does not enjoy cooked tomatoes, ricotta cheese, or the texture of oatmeal.”

…All of which had been in at least one of the meals he’d prepared for Tony.

“Fuck.”

JARVIS wryly said, “Indeed.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

“You requested that I remain inactive on your floor while you were recovering. But you’re in Sergeant Wilson’s quarters at the moment so I may share my expertise.”

He had said that, hadn’t he? It had been in the early days when he was still having trouble remembering what he’d said moments earlier, but he had a vague recollection of being overwhelmed by the idea of constant monitoring and asking if JARVIS could be turned off.

“Wow, way to go, Barnes,” Sam commented, hiding a grin behind his hand.

“Fuck,” he said again, more emphatically. “Best tool at my disposal and I’m not even using it. JARVIS, I bet you could tell me all sorts of things about Tony.”

He got the impression that if the AI could sniff, he would have. “I would not dare to air Sir’s ‘dirty laundry’ so to speak.”

“No, no,” Bucky said, waving his metal hand. The hand made a concerning grinding sound and he frowned. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d probably need to ask someone to take a look at it. Sam was capable of performing basic maintenance, and Bucky trusted him not to sabotage the arm, but anything worse and he’d have to go ask Tony about it.

“Not what I meant,” he continued. “Just that you could tell me what Tony likes and doesn’t like. Uh, how do I turn you back on in my floor?”

“Your request is sufficient,” JARVIS said.

“Great. I’ll meet you up there in a bit. We’re gonna make something so incredible Tony will have to fall in love with me.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Sam said, kicking his feet up onto the newly vacated spot on the couch now that Bucky was standing. “I’m going to see if I can find reasonably priced tickets to the ballet.”

Bucky blinked. “I think you’re gonna have worse luck than me.”

Sam threw a shoe at him.

On JARVIS’ advice, he baked blueberry muffins because those were apparently Tony’s favorite fruit. Bucky didn’t really understand it. Frankly, he thought blueberries were almost as bad as bananas—nasty, taste-changing fruit that they were—but if Tony loved them, then he would be willing to have them in his kitchen for as long as it took to bake the muffins. Fortunately, he was just as good a baker as he was a cook, so it was a breeze to whip up a delicious batch that had him grateful he couldn’t get salmonella from the mix.

Unfortunately, Tony hated the muffins. Or that’s what Bucky gathered when he went to pick the plate up, hoping that it would be empty for the first time, and found it just as untouched as everything else had been.

“What the fuck, JARVIS?” he complained. “You said he liked blueberries.”

“I don’t know, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS said, sounding as baffled as Bucky felt. “Sir has always appreciated them.”

That, Bucky reflected later that night, was possibly to be expected. For all that JARVIS had the inhuman ability to remember literally everything he’d ever seen or heard, he was still just a program. He couldn’t necessarily extrapolate about preferences or tastes. For all either of them knew, Tony did like blueberries but didn’t like muffins or something. It didn’t really explain why JARVIS knew that Tony didn’t like cooked tomatoes, but maybe that could be explained by Tony mentioning it out loud and the other stuff, JARVIS had had to figure out on his own.

He sat up in bed, thinking about it. Maybe that was it: Tony didn’t like muffins. But there had to be other recipes out there that used blueberries that Tony would like. In fact, he was pretty sure he’d come across a blueberry cupcake with brown butter frosting recipe earlier that day. And Bucky didn’t know anyone who could say no to his brown butter. He was incredible at it, and that was being modest. Just the other day, Thor had declared the brown butter sauce he’d made for their chicken to be worthy of an Asgardian feast. Thor was a god. He probably knew things like that.

“JARVIS, you up?” he asked into the dark room.

“Always, Sergeant Barnes.”

“You don’t gotta keep callin’ me that. Bucky’s my name. I’d rather answer to that.”

“Very well, Bucky.”

“Could you pull up some other recipes with blueberries in the flavor profile please? Filter out anything that has something Tony doesn’t like and recipes similar enough to each other that they could be repeats, uh, let’s say anything with a higher than 85% similarity.”

When JARVIS was finished compiling his list, there was a lot less than what Bucky had hoped for, but it was still something he could work with. He looked through the list: cupcakes, pancakes, cookies, more than a few salads, something called a Panzanella. He starred the ones he thought would catch Tony’s interest the most, putting the others aside to possibly try later down the road. Content with his plan, he laid back down, falling asleep within seconds of his head hitting the pillow.

None of it worked. Despite his supposed love for blueberries, Tony continued to turn away everything Bucky made for him. So he branched out, trying other foods that JARVIS said Tony was fond of. Nothing came back with more than a couple bites taken out of it and Tony had taken to giving him worried looks every time he appeared at the workshop door with another plate. Bucky was starting to lose hope that he was ever going to woo Tony with food and that was… not great.

Traditional dates were pretty close to impossible. Despite his rapid recovery in the tower, going outside was still too frightening with the crowds of New York, the inability to pick out threats around him, and the lack of sightlines all driving Bucky back inside and to the highest floors of the tower where he could look out over everything.

And as for anything else, well, Bucky was an ex-brainwashed assassin with no money to his name and only half the social skills he used to have (Sam said he had more than he thought but arguing with Sam wasn’t like trying to get someone to like him). He didn’t have much else to offer other than making food and giving Tony a project to work on. The first wasn’t going well and the second made Bucky feel too much like he was taking advantage of Tony to use more than once or twice.

Disheartened, he made his way up to Natalia’s floor to ask her for advice. She and Tony got along almost as well as she got along with Clint. Maybe she would have insights that JARVIS wasn’t able to offer. As he neared her room, though, he realized that she wasn’t alone.

“—to kill me,” someone—Tony, Bucky realized almost immediately—was saying. He stiffened. Who was trying to kill Tony? Bucky would kill them first! Was murder a good way to woo Tony?

“котенок,” Natalia said patiently, “he’s not trying to kill you.”

“You don’t know that!” Tony exclaimed wildly. He sounded like he was pacing. “He could be! He keeps bringing me things everyone knows I won’t eat.”

And now Natalia sounded amused as she said, “Antoshka, I don’t think he’d be trying to feed you if he wanted to kill you. It’s more likely an honest mistake.”

“It could be poison.”

“It’s not poison.”

“You don’t know that. You haven’t tried any of it.”

“It’s not poison because that’s more my style than it is James’.”

Oh, they were talking about him. Tony thought Bucky was trying to kill him. “Fuck,” he said mournfully, leaning up against the wall. No wonder Tony wouldn’t touch any of the food he made for him.

“Well, I don’t see why else he’s bringing me food!” Tony said.

“Really? Not a single reason?”

“It’s food I won’t eat! He clearly doesn’t like me or he’d be bringing me actual food I like.”

“Does he know why you won’t eat it?”

“No, but why does that matter?”

“Tony, darling, have you ever once informed him that you have a sensory processing disorder and you won’t eat a lot of cooked foods because you can’t handle the texture?”

Bucky straightened back up. Tony has a what? He’d never even heard of that before. Why didn’t JARVIS say something? He thought back to when he’d been building the list of blueberry foods and how he’d wondered if JARVIS didn’t necessarily know about the pattern for Tony’s likes and dislikes in his food. Maybe JARVIS hadn’t known about Tony’s disorder, so he hadn’t known to tell Bucky about it. That made the most amount of sense to him though he couldn’t imagine why Tony had never told his AI about his disorder.

“Why would I tell him that?” Tony asks, sounding confused.

He could just picture Natalia shaking her head as she said, “Oh, Antoshka.”

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Armed with his new knowledge, Bucky crept away from the door, already planning out new meals to bring to Tony.

That very night, he went downstairs with a bowl of salad. It had nuts to provide a small amount of protein, though he’d also put some baked chicken in a Tupperware as well, in case that was something Tony could eat. Tony’s music was playing at a manageable volume by the time he got to the workshop, likely because he was drafting plans for some sort of irrigation system, rather than any sort of consideration for Bucky.

Tony caught sight of him before he got the doors open. Bucky watched as his face fell for a moment before he plastered on a bright, fake smile. Hydra’s programming was still too ingrained in him to do anything as obvious as wince, but he still felt a twinge of shame. Why hadn’t he thought to ask Tony what he would like to eat instead of relying on his own preferences?

“Uh,” he said, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. In his other hand, he held up the Tupperware with the salad bowl on top of it. “I brought you some dinner. It’s just a salad, but I included some baked chicken on the side if you want that. I hope it’s something you like.”

Tony blinked at him. “What?”

“I—okay, I’m just gonna come right out and say it. I overheard you and Natalia earlier. I didn’t know you couldn’t eat anything I was making for you. I wasn’t trying to poison you or anything, just thought you might like some food since you’re down here all the time. Sorry for, you know, eavesdropping and making you think I didn’t like you.”

A cautious smile spread across Tony’s face. “You could have asked JARVIS,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, I did, but I guess he didn’t know you don’t like cooked foods.”

“What?” Tony cocked his head to the side. “No, he should know that.” He spun around in his chair, waving the glowing blue drafts of the irrigation system aside in favor of pulling up JARVIS’ bright golden code. It was a beautiful display, and Bucky found himself moving closer, mesmerized by the sight. He had no idea JARVIS’ code was so complex.

“J, buddy, what happened to your code?” Tony murmured. He reached out a hand, groping for Bucky’s shirt to tug him closer. “Gimme food.”

“So you like salad?” Bucky asked, relieved that he’d finally found something.

“And baked chicken,” Tony added. “But it has to be baked. Otherwise, the texture’s too rubbery for me.”

“I can do that,” he promised. “Do you like breading or marinade with the baked chicken?”

“Marinade, yes. Breading, no.”

“Okay. I’ll remember that.”

Tony paused in tearing through JARVIS’ code to give him a small, genuine smile that made Bucky’s heart light up. He returned the smile, which grew bigger when Tony’s gaze darted down to his lips, snagging there as though caught by the sight. He knew he had a nice mouth; he’d been told that plenty of times back in the forties.

“I have another confession to make,” he said once Tony’s attention returned to the code.

“Uh-huh,” Tony said distractedly.

“I was—”

“There you are!” Tony exclaimed. “J, who made those changes to lines 894 through 1036 in your code?”

JARVIS immediately said, “The last time those lines were accessed was in 2008 by Obadiah Stane.”

Tony’s face fell. “Oh.”

It took Bucky a moment remember who Obadiah Stane was. He’d appeared in one of Bucky’s mission files as the Winter Soldier. Back during the nineties, following Tony’s parents deaths, Tony had been planning on shutting down SI’s weapons manufacturing division. Hydra, who’d been buying black market weapons from Stane for years by that time, had ordered the Winter Soldier to assassinate Tony to give Stane complete control of the company. But before he’d been able to complete his mission, Stane had convinced Tony to see “reason” and Bucky had been put back in cryo. That unfulfilled mission had been one of the reasons he’d been so hesitant to move into the tower before his programming had been completely removed. Steve had tried to push for the move anyway, but before either of them could successfully argue the point, Tony had put out a call to the world’s top experts on brainwashing and three whirlwind weeks later, Bucky’s mind was programming-free. And just like that, without even meeting the guy, Bucky had developed a crush on one Tony Stark.

“Sorry, doll,” he said, dropping a hand to Tony’s shoulder and squeezing it gently.

Tony sighed frustratedly. “Every time I think I’ve taken care of everything Obie fucked up, I find something else he’s done. He was probably hoping I’d starve to death or something without anyone making food to my exacting specifications, that asshole.”

“He sounds pretty terrible,” Bucky agreed.

“J, are you able to access the last backup on those lines to restore them?” Tony asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, let’s get those fixed, and uh—”

“And we’ll go out for dinner,” Bucky interrupted.

“Huh?” Tony asked, turning to look at him.

“Seems I owe you an apology and I figure taking you out for dinner is a little nicer than a salad. ‘Sides, if I take you out, I’ll have a better understanding of what you like to eat.”

“Careful there, Buckaroo, or I’ll start thinking this is supposed to be a date.”

Bucky would probably never know what possessed him to firmly say, “Yeah, that’s exactly what it’s supposed to be.” He certainly hadn’t planned to. He really had been planning on their dinner being a way to figure out what Tony liked so he could make it himself and continue with his wooing process from there, hopefully slowly easing Tony into believing that Bucky really did like him and wasn’t trying to poison him.

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “That wasn’t supposed to come out like that.”

Tony stared at him, then abruptly said, “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“That this is supposed to be a date.”

He could deny it and go back to his original plan. He’d probably even be able to pull off a lie like that. But there was a hopeful look in Tony’s eyes that stopped him from denying anything.

“You didn’t even know that I liked you until five minutes ago,” he pointed out cautiously.

Tony scoffed. “What, like you’ve never liked someone who hated you.”

“Uh, no. I’ve never done that.”

“Really?”

“Never.”

“Huh.”

“Are you… are you saying that you do like me?” Bucky asked.

“Well, yeah. You never mind that half of my engineering babble goes over your head and you bring me food even if you didn’t know it wasn’t something I could eat and you’re really fucking gorgeous when you’ve showered and your hair isn’t falling in greasy clumps around your face.”

“Look who’s talking,” Bucky said amusedly, reaching out to run his fingers through Tony’s hair, matted down with machine oil. Even filthy, he could feel how soft it would be when it was clean. Tony leaned into his hand, humming happily.

“So is that a yes on this being a date, Bucky babe?” Tony asked. “Cause I’ll be honest, I’m not usually left hanging.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, nodding. “It’s a date.”

Tony grinned and turned his head just enough to kiss the inside of Bucky’s wrist, making Bucky shiver. “Let me get cleaned up.”

“You want me to join you?”

Tony winked at him. “Next time, honey.”

#winteriron #alle writes #alle answers #if you like please reblog

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