#I made this a mantra a long time ago

[ladybug1217]

Straight facts! 👏

You want some serious old fart advice? Never, ever lend your friends more money than you think you can lose permanently. I don't fucking care if they say they'll pay you back. I don't care how small the amount is. Write that shit off as gone in your mind. It will eat at you forever if you don't.

Some people say the same thing about family, but I think it applies more to friends. Family is (usually) held together by obligations the way friends aren't. And money is a huge stressor in all kinds of relationships, not just romantic.

I'm not saying this to bum you out. I'm telling you because this is not something you want to learn on your own. Because it fucking sucks to realize it's one reason you're no longer friends, whether you were necessarily aware of it or not.

[tanicus-caesareth]

guarana drama, damage control

[cressidagrey]

Holy Ground - Chapter 3

Summary:

Nobody knew that Azriel found his mate. Until she nearly died. This is the aftermath.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), Inner Circle Bashing (kinda), Referenced/Implied Sexual Assault, Referenced/Implied Domestic Violence, Discussion of Religion(?), Chronic Injury/Pain/Illness, Minor Character Death (It's probably nobody you love), Magical Work Accidents, Explosions, Injuries

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

The library was supposed to be a safe space. The priestesses were supposed to be sheltered there.

A place far away from the terrors of the world. A place where they could study and learn far from the grasp of those who would harm them.

But clearly today that peace had been destroyed, Rhys reflected weakly. 

Merrill was dead. 

Neither Cassian or Rhys had let Gwyn see the…carnage of that, Nesta and Emerie bracketing her away from…her fellow priestesses’ corpse…and Irena…

Rhys had to keep repeating the words to himself, over and over again. Like a litany, a prayer, desperately trying to make them stick. 

Irena was alive. Irena would be fine.

 She would be alright, even though she looked so, so pale, deathly pale in Azriel's arms.

Irena.

Irena, who Azriel had saved around two centuries ago…

Not from the horrors of the war but from her husband.

The daughter of a merchant, married off young, to one of the richest men in the midlands…she had been raised to run an estate…had excelled at it in fact. And her husband had excelled in killing young girls.

The things he had put her through... The things he had done... 

Azriel, who had found her and brought her to Velaris had been shocked that she'd stayed in one piece to be honest. Rhys had been shocked too.

And once she had been in the library…she had excelled once more.

Rhys had gotten long used to see her handwriting, not long suffering Clotho’s, fill out the sheets with expenditures and acquisitions.

She had cut the fat, made sure that the House of Wind was self sufficient, thanks to research requests being able to be submitted, thanks to patents and the gardens…

Irena had been a godssend. Literally. 

Rhys wasn't quite sure how they had survived before her.

But the last fucking thing he had expected was that…her and Azriel were…mates.

Rhysand had not seen that coming in a million years

But there was no question about it.

If Irena's thoughts, an utter mess of shock and pain and grief and agony...with the only thing that ran through it the whole time was her thread to Azriel wouldn't have been a dead giveaway...then it would have been Azriel's behaviour.

Azriel who had gone on his knees next to the priestess, his hands slick with her blood and had simply clung to her. He had begged her, his voice broken.

Rhys would never forget the sound of his brother's voice, the pure desperation bleeding from every single letter. Please. We haven't had enough time. I am going to be so furious with you if you die. We may have our first fight. Don't you dare. Open your eyes. Look at me, love. You can't go. Fight.

That look on Azriel's face as he had held her close, refusing to let go as he tried to will her back from death's clutches. The words he had kept murmuring like a prayer. A desperate mantra to the Mother, the Cauldron, anyone who would listen.

Azriel was never the most expressive of them. He rarely even showed a flicker of emotion for most things. To see him lose so much control, to beg. To see tears in his eyes. None of them had ever seen him like that before, had ever even considered the possibility of him acting like that.

He was always composed. Always calm, collected, in control. To see him on his knees next to Irena, begging her not to leave as he pressed kisses to her forehead and kept telling her to stay with him…

For a moment, it had felt like he had forgotten the others even existed. That nothing had mattered except her pulse, the slight rise and fall of her chest. The only thing that had mattered to him in that moment was that she was still with him, still alive.

She was important to him. There was no question about it. 

Sometime during the last few years, that Priestess had become the Shadowsinger’s whole focus. 

Sometime in the past, Irena had become Azriel's whole world.

And Rhys hadn't known. Had known nothing about this.

He could feel the guilt clawing up inside him. 

Rhys had had no fucking clue this was happening, right underneath his nose. 

That he had never noticed that Azriel's eyes lingered on Irena…had never noticed that Azriel sought her company…hadn’t known that Azriel had spent time with her… 

Rhys hadn't known. Hadn't...hadn't even thought about it.

Azriel had pulled back from them after that catastrophic solstice and Rhys had let him. Had thought that Azriel needed to lick his wounds...that maybe then he would see it Rhysand's way...but none of this happened.

Azriel had kept his anger tightly leashed, even though Rhys had gotten a taste of it every time he badgered him. But Azriel hadn’t exploded. 

Instead, he had been vicious in throwing Rhysan’ own words back into his face. 

There didn’t pass one day where Rhys didn’t regret that one sentence, because Azriel was clearly… furious about it. 

Azriel had grown distant...cold...unfeeling. And Rhys had badgered him and got on his nerves and figured that if Azriel would just get it out of his system… but he didn't. Didn't get angry. Didn't fight. Didn't scream...Rhys would have preferred it if he did.

What wouldn't he give to have that old Azriel back, the one who actually got mad? Who didn't just accept everything with a nod and a word of acknowledgment. Who talked to Rhysand, who told him when he'd done something wrong. Who fought with him if he went too far, who made his opinion known. Who told him to his face when he was being an arrogant prick, who didn't just accept his commands with a quiet nod.

But now it made sense. Azriel hadn't fucking cared what Rhys did, what any of the did, because his priorities had been rearranged completely. As long as he could get home to his priestess...he hadn't cared.

He did all the missions Rhys had for him and then went home to the House of Wind and found one quiet corner or another to romance his mate, out of the view from everybody else. 

And that was the worst part. That Rhys had been such a prick to Azriel, so wrapped up in his own worries, his own fears, that he hadn't even noticed that something had shifted so fundamentally in his brother. Had pushed him so far away.

Rhys had thought that they were simply…in a rought spot. That in a few years, Azriel would be over Elain and it would be done. But now Rhys realised that…that it wasn’t about Elain. Not really.  

Rhys had never realized how deep this was, how close to the breaking point he'd taken his brother.

Deep enough that the fact that Azriel had found his mate...that was something that Azriel didn't share with any of them. Something that happy... Azriel had just kept silent.

Azriel hadn’t trusted them with the most treasured and precious thing in his life. 

And that hurt. Hurt more than he could put into words. 

That Azriel had found the one person who he was destined for, the only one who was perfect for him in the entire world. The one person who would love and cherish him, who would complete him, who would accept him as he was, who would understand him...and he hadn't told Rhys. Hadn't told any of them.

Azriel hadn't told anyone that he had found his mate. 

Had kept that to himself for who knew how long. Just how long had it been? When had he figured out they were mated? 

“Bring her to her room,” Madja said at the moment. And Rhys watched as seemingly some colour went back into Irena's cheeks, her eyes closed, her breathing still laboured…her mind filled with Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. and Safe, Safe, Safe. 

“My room,” Azriel corrected, his voice fierce. The mating instincts must have gone completely haywire at that very moment, not soothed at all, even when he had pressed a kiss against her forehead moments before.

.“Your room?” Gwyn asked sharply, staring at Azriel, then at still, quiet Irena. She seemed to be utterly shell-shocked, not that Rhys could fault her. 

"Gwyn," Rhys said carefully. It was best if none of them...interfered right now. This was between Azriel and his mate.

"Az, how long have the two of you..." Cassian asked, clearly having come to the same conclusion, but Rhys interrupted him. *Leave him be,* he warned their brother.

*Leave him be?! I had no idea that he and Irena are...whatever the fuck they are!*

“Two years. She’s my mate,” Azriel answered, not even looking at any of them, completely concentrated on said mate. 

"Mate," Irena agreed weakly. "Mine."

"Yours," Azriel agreed, his voice hoarse, as he picked her up carefully like his mate was made out of spun glass. "Let's tuck you into bed, Love," he told her softly. 

And off his spymaster went carrying the priestess that was his mate.

Rhys could just stare after them. 

"Did you know?" Cassian demanded sharply.

"I had absolutely no fucking clue," Rhys admitted weakly.

He felt the guilt swirling inside him, deep and bitter and vicious. He should have known. He should have realized and supported Azriel.

But it had been Rhys who had pushed him so far away that he hadn't told him. That he didn't even think that he could tell Rhys that he had found his mate.

And it hurt. Gods, it hurt. To know that Azriel had kept something that he should have been so happy about to himself just so he wouldn't have to deal with Rhys's bullshit.

Cassian started barking orders...About a stretcher and about Merrill's body...It would be taken away and prepared for the last rites. 

It wasn't often that one of the priestesses died. It wasn't...They were safe here. They were supposed to be safe here...but whatever happened in this room…

“What even happened?” Rhys asked, as he turned around to surview the carnage. 

It was bad. Really bad. 

“Irena went to talk to Merill, because Merrill got…angry with one of the newer acolytes…” Gwyn said, her voice shaky. “Merrill was in a bad mood because Irena forbid her newest research project.”

Her newest research project? It was well known that Merrill was brilliant. So for Irena to…

"Why did she forbid it?" Rhys asked curiously.

"It involved some form of spell crafting. Irena wanted Merrill to have supervision from a spellcrafter, because it was a language that none of us actually understood and we didn’t eve know about what kind of spell it was…Merill didn't think that was needed," Gwyn said weakly, wiping away tears. "And now look where that got us. God, how could Merrill be this stupid?"

"It wasn't stupidity, it was probably arrogance," Cassian said with a sigh. "It's dumb luck that only...that only Irena got hurt.

Rhys couldn't but agree with Cassian's assessment. It was a miracle that Irena was alive. That she'd survived when Merrill’s body was…near unrecognisable….clearly it had been closer to whatever had blown up in their faces

Merrill had probably thought she knew what she was doing, but she didn't have the skill or training to work on advanced spell work. I

rena wasn’t the type of person who would deny research on a whim either. If she believed that Merrill needed supervision then Merrill had needed supervision.

Irena was clever. And cautious. 

Azriel's mate was a damn good judge of character after all.

Gods, Azriel's mate. What a thought…

The spymaster and the priestess. Rhys’ near silent brother and…and gentle, caring Irena, the beating heart of the library. 

Rhys would need to wrap his mind around that in private. 

“I’ll seal…this room,” Rhys said quietly. So nobody could enter. And then he would probably turn Amren loose in it, to turn around every fucking stone, so that they figured out what that spell had been that had reacted like it. The last thing they needed was for the spell to have any sort of consequences that involved Irena. 

"Clotho," he greeted the priestess as she arrived, inclining his head. 

What happened? she demanded, holding out her usual piece of paper. 

Rhys felt his stomach churn at that question.  

How the hell were they supposed to tell Clotho that not only one of the priestesses had tragically died…but one of the others was currently holed up in an Illyrian warrior's room, recovering from injuries that should have killed her, and that said Illyrian warrior was said priestess's mate, so was probably not going to leave her alone anytime soon?

And that was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to the absolute clusterfuck this whole situation was. There was nothing to do except to simply tell Clotho the truth and hope that she didn't have a breakdown.

"There was an...accident. Merrill is dead," he told her bluntly.

For a moment Clotho was just frozen in place. But he could tell that his words had hit her hard. That she was shocked, horrified, stunned beyond belief. HOW?!

And Rhys took a deep breath, trying to find a way to explain what had happened. 

To explain how one of her charges had been killed in a room where she was supposed to be safe…How her own experimentation, her own research had killed her…

And how no one had even noticed that a priestess had been mated. 

No...how the shadowsinger had mated to a Priestess and hadn't even thought to tell them because Rhys had acted like such as bastard to his brotherthat Azriel had actually thought it preferable to keep his mating bond a secret.

"Merill didn't listen when Irena turned down her research proposal," Gwyn said suddenly with a shaky voice. "Irena went to talk to her this afternoon, because Merill made Meera cry...It looks like the spell that she was taking apart went...haywire. Merill was killed in the backlash...Irena was hurt.”

Rhys just nodded. It was a reasonable explanation, even if it didn't cover everything that had gone on. At this point in time, he was almost more concerned about Clotho than anything else. The poor female looked ready to collapse.

I told Merill to keep away from that spellbook. We still don’t know what it even contained, Clotho agreed, even her handwriting looking shaky. 

He could tell that she was in shock and grief. Could imagine how she must be feeling. Clotho protected the Priestesses with all she had. They were her flock. To lose one of her charges...There was no way that Clotho would not blame herself.

She was going to blame herself for something that wasn't her fault at all. And the thought made Rhys feel sick to his stomach.

Clotho had enough weight on her shoulders already, the last thing she needed was guilt over something that was not even her fault.

IRENA?! Clotho demanded sharply.

"Alive, if just barely," Rhys informed her, trying to push down his own guilt at the thought. "Madja is with her."

In the dormitory?

"No, in Azriel's room," Cassian said bluntly. "Apparently they have been mates for... two years.”

Clotho's head snapped around, facing Cassian, her eyes wide. 

Nobody had seen that coming, not even one of Irena’s closest friends. 

It seemed like both of them had kept it quiet. Azriel must have so badly wanted to protect his mate from…from him, that…

The thought made Rhys feel sick. Azriel would rather keep his mate a secret than reveal to Rhys that he had found her. 

Than tell him that he had found his perfect match, that there was a female in this world that loved him above all others, who understood him, who supported him.

And it was all Rhys' own fault. 

He didn't have any other thought. There was no other explanation. If a friend didn't trust him enough to confide in him that he had found his mate, it was because he had done something wrong. So wrong that Azriel hadn't felt like he could tell him.

She wanted to be with him? Clotho demanded.

"From the look of it, she was barely conscious, but still claimed him as hers. And Azriel certainly seemed to think that she would want to be with him," Rhys told Clotho. 

And why wouldn't she? He was her mate. Her mate. 

"He won't do anything to her," Cassian said fiercely. "She's his mate."

Rhys agreed with that. Of all the males in existence, Azriel was by far the least likely to do anything that Irena would not like. Hell, he wouldn't do anything that might make her even feel mildly uncomfortable. And if she told him to back off, he would give her as much space as she needed.

"Mor, whatever Clotho needs," he told his cousin, who had brought Madja there, who just inclined her head, seemingly shaken. "I'll seal of this room...we'll need to...figure out what to do with it," he said softly. "Clotho, whatever form of memorial you would like to hold...take all the time you need and then let me know."

Clotho looked at him sharply before nodding weakly. She probably wouldn't need his help when it came to something like this. She knew how to handle something like this. How to give her fallen a last farewell.

"I want to check on Irena," Gwyn said, her hands shaking as she crossed her arms.

Rhys nodded. That was fair. Of course Gwyn wanted to check on her friend. And at this point all anyone could really do was wait anyway. "Let me seal the room and then we can go," he said softly. "But I need to warn you, Azriel will be...overprotective," he told her. "Chances are, he won't let you get close to her at all."

"I don't have any doubt about that," Gwyn said dryly. "But she's my friend. I should at least be allowed to check on her."

***

He cleaned the blood of her skin...The shadows procured one of Irena's nightgowns. She didn't protest when he held her up and Madja pulled the soiled, ruined dress from her body...didn't even flinch away from his touch on her naked skin.

They had never gone further than some heated...kisses...further than his hands slipping under her nightgown and pressing against her soft skin. He had never wanted to push. Azriel had been willing to give her all the time in the world. 

It had taken months until she had been ready for a hug…longer for a kiss. And he had waited. Gladly. He had gladly waited, because it was worth the wait. She was worth the wait. 

Her marriage wasn't something that she was just going to get over, and Azriel was never ever going to push her for more than she willingly offered him. 

He had never wanted to undress her under these circumstances. So he closed his eyes, and pressed a kiss to her head, not looking at all. 

Irena didn't make a sound, didn't even really respond...just stared into the distance. He wasn't even sure she really noticed what was happening to her. Wasn't sure she even noticed Madja cleaning the wounds…cleaning thin, silver lines, scars of her past, mostly hidden by her clothing, but still visible. 

This was also when they saw the rest of the wounds...and the fact that her bad leg was broken.

Madja bandaged it carefully, stuffing pillows underneath it to keep it elevated, wrapped the rest of her bruises and scrapes with a tincture.

Still, once she was clean, no more debris in her hair, her skin as clean as he could get it...and the new nightgown was fitted over her skin, he tugged her underneath the thick goose feather stuffed duvet and then the furs.

There was no resistance on Irena’s part. She just let him do as he pleased, let herself be maneuvered and tucked in with the patience of a parent settling a little girl into bed. She didn't say anything. Didn't protest at all, even when he curled his own large body around her smaller frame, even when his wings came around her, shielding her from the outside world.

But she didn't move to snuggle up to him either. Didn't reach for him, didn't try to press her body into his. Just...allowed him to pull her close and hold her as tightly as he wanted. Her body was limp and unmoving, the only emotion on her face a sort of...emptiness. A blank expression that...it was terrifying.

He wrapped his arms around her with a sigh, running a gentle hand through her hair with a sigh. He knew that she was in shock. That she had just survived something terrible, something traumatic. So it wasn't surprising that she wasn't really responsive at the moment, that her skin felt like ice to him and that she was shaking slightly, trembling…

But the instinct to comfort her, to protect her from everything that might hurt her was roaring in his chest. He couldn't pull away from her, even though he knew he should. Even though he knew he should just be thankful that he had her, that she was here, in his hands, breathing.

She felt so thin in his hands. So fragile. Like she might break if he didn't hold her close. And that feeling, the knowledge of how vulnerable his mate was, it was almost too much for him to bear.

“I have pain potions and a sleeping draught,” Madja said quietly.

Azriel felt his jaw clench at the mention of a sleeping draught. He wanted Irena to rest, needed her to sleep away some of the horrors, but there was also some instinct in him that revolted at the idea of making her vulnerable like that. That revolted at the thought of knocking his mate out when she couldn't protect herself.

“Is that alright, love?” He asked her softly.

She didn't answer. Didn't even stir. The only sign that she had heard his question at all was the way her fingers clenched more tightly in his shirt. The only outward sign that she even understood that he was there at all. That she could even hear him. "Love?" He asked again, his voice a gentle murmur. "Do you want the sleeping draught, love?"

“Sleep?” She repeated weakly. 

“Sleep.” He promised her.

She simply opened her mouth in response, letting him pour it down her throat and swallowed.

He ran gentle fingers through her hair as the potion began to take effect. As her eyelids drooped and her limbs went loose and he could almost watch the tension leaving her body. He couldn't help but press a soft, tender kiss to the crown of her head.

Azriel couldn't put into words how good it felt to have her in his arms like this. To have her safe and protected and healing.

Madja left with the promise to be back soon…and as soon as she left there was a knock at the door. He didn’t want to deal with his brothers. 

*We could bar the door, master,* the shadows offered.

Azriel considered that for a long moment. It was tempting. Really, really tempting to just let the shadows seal the door and tell everyone to fuck off. That they could deal with the rest of the world later and he could just focus on Irena for now.

He knew that he couldn't though. Knew that he couldn't keep the world away from Irena. For all that he would like to protect her from all the harm in this world and lock her away into the safety of his arms, he knew that he couldn't do that. And that Rhys would throw a fit if he didn't let them in immediately.

He sighed softly, his arms tightening around his mate. He didn't want to deal with his brothers right now. Didn't want to deal with Rhys lecturing him about his decisions. Didn't want the pity and understanding in Cassian's eyes, his careful kindness. He didn't want to have to hold up the strong facade when his brother pushed and pushed and pushed.

“Come in,” he said flatly.

Azriel sighed softly as the door was opened and his brothers entered, both looking at him with concern. There was something else in Rhys' eyes, something that he wasn't sure how to name. The High Lord had an indecipherable look on his face as he moved to come stand next to the bed.

But it was Gwyn that shouldered both Rhys and Cassian out of the way, that immediately went to Irena’s bedside.

“She’s asleep,” he warned her softly. “Madja gave her a sleeping draught.”

The Valkyrie moved in silence, but Azriel could tell that she desperately wanted to reach out and touch her friend. Could tell that there was some instinct in her to touch Irena, to comfort her, that she was fighting against. He almost felt bad for her, knowing how hard it must have been to hold back that urge to offer comfort, knowing how desperately she had to want to soothe her friend's pain.

He knew that the two of them were close. That Irena was well liked by practically every priestess…That Roslin was her very best friend, but that she also got along with seemingly everybody else, including Gwyn. 

 And he wanted to let her get close to his mate. He really did. But the need to keep his mate safe was too strong. Was something that he couldn't fight against. So he just pulled Irena more firmly into his chest.

His only saving grace was that Gwyn seemed to understand. Didn't even try to argue with him or demand to get close to his mate. She just stayed at a respectable distance and didn't protest when he pulled Irena closer to his chest.

He could tell that she recognized his possessive nature for what it was. Just a desperate instinct to hold and protect his mate from further harm. And she didn't argue with him. 

“You are the one who gets her the tea and the cookies, aren’t you?” She asked him suddenly. “I was wondering where she got them from. They were always good but the tea has definitely gotten better the last two years.” 

*See, Master?!* the shadows cooed, seemingly heaving and then coming to blanket Irena in their very presence too. *We are getting her the best tea!*

They seemed very pleased with themselves. 

Azriel knew that when he wasn’t in Velaris, some of the shadows even kept Irena company through the night, cuddling themselves beneath her blankets with her. He also knew that Irena loved it.

Knew better than anyone even his shadows that those moments of comfort, those little gestures, mattered more to his mate than any large gifts ever could. Irena had never cared about large gestures, about pricy gifts, didn’t care about gifts or public displays of  affection. 

But those little things…she loved those little things. Loved her shadows coming to spend time with her…loved it when he gave her a back rub to ease the pain in her back, or when the shadows brought her the tea that she liked or her favourite cookies.

And Azriel…he loved giving her that.  He was happy to provide each and every one of them. He would do anything for her at this point. Would bring her anything that she asked for with enthusiasm. Because he loved it when her face lit up or when she smiled when he brought her something she didn't expect to get. That was something that he would never get tired of.

Azriel would never get tired of watching her face light up with happiness at the smallest of gifts that he gave her. Would never tire of feeling those little gestures bring her even a small moment of happiness. It brought him somuch joy to see her delighted by something so small. Made something inside of him fill with warmth.

“I’ll let her sleep,” Gwyn said softly. “Tell her when she’s awake that she owes us all the gossip. None of us had a clue that the two of you were seeing each other.”

Azriel inclined his head in response, a soft grin pulling at his lips despite everything. "I'll be sure to tell her." Not that he thought that there was anything to gossip about.

Gwyn left with another smile. Which left him with his brothers. 

“Az.” Cassian said with a weary sigh. ”What the fuck.”

Azriel frowned sharply, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he looked at his brother. His arms tightened around Irena unconsciously, the protective instinct coming into play.

He knew Cassian, knew all too well that his brother liked to be a pain in his ass, liked to push him further than he wanted to be pushed. "I'm not in the mood for your bullshit, Cassian," he warned his brother in a low growl. "Say whatever it is that you feel the need to say, and then get out."

He knew that he probably looked completely insane. Knew that he looked like a madman clutching onto Irena with an iron grip and growling at anyone who dared get too close. But he couldn't help it. Couldn't help the instincts that seemed to be pulling at every muscle in his body, couldn't stop the tension that was coiling tight as a spring.

“How long has… this been going on?“ Rhys asked delicately. 

“Two years at next Starfall,“ Azriel answered flatly.

Cassian whistled softly at that. "Two years?!" He asked incredulously. "And you didn't think to tell us?"

Azriel's jaw clenched automatically at the words. 

He had thought to tell them. Numerous times. 

He had just never wanted to. 

First he had wanted to let things settle and solidify before announcing it to his family and letting them come swarming in to analyse their relationship…Later…later he just hadn’t wanted to. 

They were completely happy when nobody knew. Why change it? 

Azriel knew that he probably should have anticipated this reaction. Probably should have expected his brothers to be confused and annoyed, probably should have anticipated them wanting to know more. But he just hadn't wanted to deal with the questions and inquiries and curiosity and judgement. 

So he had kept his relationship with Irena a secret.

“It was none of your business,” he said simply.

Cassian stared at him, dark eyes pained.  “We are your brothers,” he said quietly.  

“Quite frankly, I just didn’t want to deal with whatever opinion you cook up about us,” Azriel said flatly.  His brothers were way too nosy and curious for their own good. Always had been. “We are happy. I didn’t want you to ruin that.”

They would have never respected his privacy or any boundary he had tried to set up. 

He knew that Cassianwas probably annoyed that he hadn’t told him about his relationship with Irena. Knew that he was probably feeling left out and...excluded. That he was hurt that Azriel had kept this from him. But he just couldn’t find it within himself to feel any sympathy at the moment. Not when his patience was already wearing thin. Not when he could still feel the fear of almost losing Irena thrumming under his skin.

He couldn’t deal with this right now. Couldn’t handle whatever pity or lecturing his brother would give him. Just wanted to hold his mate and try to keep the fear of losing her at bay.

That fear was already too much, already consuming him and threatening to swallow him whole. The only thing that kept him sane, the only thing that kept him from falling apart was the knowledge that his mate, his Irena, was safe in his arms. And he needed to focus on that if he wanted to keep it together.

“Azriel.” Rhys’ choice was choked.

Azriel stiffened at the sound, his attention flicking to his brother automatically. There was something in Rhys’ voice, some emotion in his eyes that Azriel couldn’t quite discern right now.

He had heard his brother choked or emotional or desperate before, but this was something else. This was emotion in his brother that he had never seen before: raw, unfiltered, and painful.

The tone of Rhys’ voice, the almost anguished look in his eyes had Azriel holding his breath for a moment. Had his heartbeat picking up speed as he waited for his brother to speak.

The tension was heavy and thick as he waited, his muscles coiled tight as he waited for Rhys to speak. His whole body tense like a tightly wound spring.

“I am sorry,” Rhys whispered quietly.

Azriel stiffened slightly at that, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly. His muscles were still tense, still ready for a fight, but the raw apology in Rhys' words, the emotion in his voice...it surprised him.

It was unexpected. He had expected the anger and the hurt and the bitterness, not the raw emotion in his brother’s voice. Not the apology.

He almost couldn’t believe his ears, almost wanted to ask his brother to repeat himself. But he just stayed quiet instead, just tensed and listened and waited for his brother to continue speaking.

He couldn't even blink as he waited, as he hung on every slight movement or small change in expression on his brothers face. The tension was so thick, so heavy he could almost taste it. But he still didn't move an inch. Just waited, every muscle still as a statue as he watched his brother with an almost desperate intensity.

“I am sorry. I didn’t…I didn’t want to hurt you,” Rhys said quietly. “I…we would have been happy for you,” Rhys promised him fiercely. 

Azriel felt his throat go dry at the words. The apology, the admission of his brother's intent to protect him, it was so unexpected that he almost couldn’t comprehend it. He felt some of the tension drain from his body, some of the tightness in his muscles loosening slightly.

Azriel's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, his heart pounding so hard in his chest that he almost couldn't hear anything else over the sound. The raw emotion in his brother's voice, the sincerity in those simple words...it was overwhelming.

“You were hurt,” Rhys said softly. “I understand. But you could have come to us any time over the last two years and told us and we would have been a happy for you,” he promised him fiercely.

"Would you have really?" Azriel asked softly. "Would you really have been happy for us and not made a problem out of nothing?"

He wanted to believe his brother, truly he did. But there was still a small part of him, the small part that had been hurt and mistreated and rejected so many times before, that was waiting for the other shoe to drop. The part of him that was looking for a catch, looking for the sign that this was just another manipulation.

He didn't want to feel this way, didn't want to look for the betrayal and rejection that had been written into his very soul. But he couldn't help it. Couldn't help the small part of him that was constantly looking for the next blow, bracing for rejection and hurt.

“We would have,” Cassian said fiercely. “You found your mate, Az.”

Azriel nodded slowly.

“How did you even hide it?” Cassian demanded, crossing his arms.

“I do know how to use a sound shield,” Azriel gave back flatly. 

Cassian let out a low chuckle at that, shaking his head as he grinned. "Well, you've always been more adept at keeping secrets than I am," he teased, a sly grin pulling at his lips. “ Since when do you sleep surrounded by furs by the way?” Cassian muttered.

“Irena gets cold,” he said simply.

“Wait, she spend the nights here with you?” Cassian suddenly realised.

"None of your business," Azriel replied flatly, not even trying to hide his annoyance with the nosy question. "Just focus on keeping your own mate happy, brother."

“How do you even sneak her up here?!”

"None of your business," Azriel repeated flatly. "My relationship with my mate is my own business, not yours."

He knew that he was being stubborn, that he was probably being unreasonable right now. But he couldn't help it. His emotions were too raw, too overwhelming for him to handle the intrusion into his personal life. He just wanted to focus on Irena and making sure she was okay, not on his brother's questions and prodding into the details of his relationship.

It was none of their business how he and Irena spent their time together, how they snuck around the house without being caught. That was something private, something sacred between them. And he wasn't going to share it with anyone, not even his own brothers.

He just wanted to protect that intimacy between him and his mate, wanted to keep it safely guarded from prying eyes that might not understand. He knew that his brothers cared about him, but he also knew that they could be too nosy for their own good sometimes. 

“…is she aware what these furs mean?” Cassian asked him pointedly. 

Was she aware that Azriel was laying claim to her with every single one of those furs that he hunted for her? Aware that he was following Illyrian tradition, regardless of how much…of how fucked up it was in many senses? 

“Yes,” he said simply. Kinda. A little bit. 

"So it's...serious?" Cassian asked him.

"She's my mate," he snapped back.

Cassian held up his hands in a pacifying gesture, a sheepish expression on his face.

Azriel let out a low groan, rubbing a hand over his face. "Just…leave it alone," he said tiredly. "Please. I'm not in the mood for any more questions right now."

He just wanted to be alone with Irena, wanted to hold her close and let the warmth of her body soothe his frayed nerves. He didn't want to deal with his brothers and their incessant questioning. Didn't want to talk about his relationship with Irena or how serious it was. He just wanted to be with her and that was it.

. His emotions were just too raw, too close to the surface for him to hold back. He just wanted a moment of peace, of quiet, with his mate.

He just wanted to hold her close and breathe in the scent of her skin, wanted to feel her warmth against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her protectively. He just wanted to know that she was safe, that she was still here with him. Was that really too much to ask?

He let out a long breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. He didn't want to be angry, didn't want to be frustrated. But he couldn't help it, couldn't help the surge of protective instincts that came over him every time he thought about how close he had come to losing his mate.

"If you need anything, let us know," Rhys said quietly.

Azriel stiffened at the words, his hands curling into fists at his sides automatically. He knew that Rhys was only trying to be supportive, that he was only trying to offer his help. But Azriel didn't want that. Didn't want his brother's help or sympathy. He just wanted to be left alone with his mate.

He wanted to protect her himself, to take care of her and keep her safe without his brothers' interference. He knew that Rhys only meant well, but that knowledge did nothing to calm his instincts. All he could think about was how close he had come to losing his mate, how close he had come to never seeing her again. And the thought terrified him.

It made his heart clench and his gut twist in fear and pain, his hands clenching tight as he struggled to keep his emotions under control. He didn't want to be vulnerable, didn't want to let his brothers see how much this had affected him. But he knew that it was pointless to try and hide it, that his brothers could probably see the rawness of his emotions written all over his face.

Azriel didn't try to argue with his brother, didn't try to explain himself. He just nodded.

[charliemwrites]

Okay so the poll results were for an OC captain, though it was close enough that I still hesitate to name him in the canon of the fic.

I’m also going to be taking my time fleshing out his character because it’s been a while since I made an OC. So please be patient while I add tidbits here and there to build his character.

Content: safe/sane/consensual sex, descriptions of scars, mentions of past torture

Nikto beats you and Nova twice out of three rounds — but that’s no surprise. The man moves like a machine. Even against two opponents he controls the battlefield like a chess master. Neither you nor Nova take it to heart, especially since he always gives you both advice at the end, helping you to improve.

He’s a great partner, a great teammate; you’re sure to show him your appreciation after sparring with a kiss to his nose-plate. His hands spasm on yours as he helps you unwind your wraps, gloved thumb sweeping over your bare palm.

“You did good today,” he says, voice rough and accent thick. He must be pissed about earlier still, when Ghost and Soap threw your matches with them.

“So did you,” you reply, squeezing his hand in return.

“Stay with me tonight?” He asks.

You damn near melt. Nikto has an open invitation to your room, but his is a sacred place, only for him unless otherwise specified. That he’s asking you to come to his tonight…

“Absolutely,” you reply, squeezing his hand. “I just need to see the captain first. Okay?”

He grunts in understanding, eyes flicking to the door the 141 left through earlier. He mutters something in Russian — some insult about goats and mothers you think.

“Yeah, exactly,” you reply, voice dropping with simmering irritation.

A good spar with him and Nova has helped ground you a bit, but it hasn’t helped the anger. You don’t spar any of your team with anger; they don’t deserve.

Luckily, you and your captain worked something out a while ago when you’re feeling a bit… aggressive.

“Cap?” You call, still holding Nikto’s hand. “Could I stop by for a nightcap later?”

His eyes flash, a sinful twist to the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, babygirl. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

Over his shoulder, you see Nova arch her eyebrows and Keegan grin wicked into his water bottle. Gossip fiends.

“Showers. Now,” the cap says, slapping them both on the ass. “Double time. I need to have a word with Price still.”

—

Long after the sun has gone down, you’re standing outside your captain’s door. Take a breath. Remind yourself of your mantra. He wants you, always will, and he’s going to take care of you.

Then loosen your shoulders, unboxing all the frustration and aggression you set aside earlier. Feel it burn through you, make your hands twitch in and out of fists.

One more inhale, and then you shove the door open.

“There you are,” he rumbles. “C’mere.”

You flash your teeth, “No.”

He tilts head back and forth, cracking his neck. “Alright then.”

There’s no real fight. You’re not looking to get away or actually hurt him. And he’s not looking to actually make you submit. That’s not the point of this game.

He strides across the room and shoves you back, pins your shoulder to the wall. You grip at his forearm, nails scraping, and squirming as the hot, hard length of his body squishes you flat.

“Settle,” he orders.

“Fuck you,” you snarl back, nipping his lip.

He growls, tangling a hand in your hair and tipping your head back. Leaves a searing trail of kisses down your throat, bites a bruise into your collarbone. You wriggle and fuss all the while, safely held still and supported by his hands and body.

“Brat,” he rasps in your ear.

“I’m not,” you snap.

“Oh, yes you are, babygirl,” he replies, a mean smirk on his flushed face. “But that’s alright, I like you bad.”

He pulls you from the wall, bullies you onto the bed. You try to grab at him, get him under you. He doesn’t indulge like he normally would. Pins you on your back so that you can keep fighting, yanking at your wrists in his firm grip, pushing your hips up to grind into his as if trying to flip you both.

He slots his hips between your thighs, positions just his knees under your ass so that your back is arched, shoulders on the mattress. Limits your mobility, but that doesn’t stop you from kicking at air, making half-angry, half-desperate noises in the back of your throat.

“Gonna say please like a good girl?” He teases.

“No,” you hiss back.

He has the audacity to chuckle, which just riles you up more. (It’s supposed to). You curse as he works a hand beneath your shirt, palms at your bare breasts and pinches your nipples until they ache. You gasp like a pornstar, surprised and turned on.

“Pretty noise,” he coos. “Do it again.”

When he twists, you mewl, face immediately burning up as you renew your “efforts” to get away. All it does is make the treatment rougher than if you just laid still and took it, but that’s what you want, what feels good. A little edge to the pleasure as adrenaline and energy electrify you from head to toe.

He grinds against you, cotton of your loose shorts sticking against your soaked cunt. Christ you were turned on before you even barged in. Now you’re fucking throbbing for it.

“Gimme,” you grit out, rocking against him. Gears successfully shifted from physically taking control to just ordering him around.

“Give you what, brat?” He goads, slapping your pussy. The thin fabric muffles the sting, but it sends a white-hot ache through you that makes your eyes roll. “My cock? You think you deserve it?”

Another slap. You cry out, notice the sly look on his face when he notices that you’ve soaked through your shorts.

“Yes,” you reply, all confidence and reckless arrogance.

He yanks his underwear down to mid thigh, thick cock springing up to smack lewdly against his toned stomach. Precum smears over the pale scars there, sticks in the trail of groomed hair there.

“Yeah?” He growls. “Alright then.”

He yanks the crotch of your shorts aside (you hear stitches pop) and then he’s plunging into you. It’s too much all at once and you cry as much, knees squeezing around his tattooed ribs.

“Fuck.” His voice is shredded, so rough and low you feel it more than hear it. He lets your wrists go to grip at your ass, grinding deeper. Can feel the fat head of his cock bullying at your cervix, his favorite passtime while you adjust to the thick base of him.

“How does that feel, babygirl?” He murmurs in your ear. “You needed daddy’s cock, huh? Needed it to set you right again?”

You whimper out a curse at him, gripping at his biceps. He croons mockingly, thumb slipping between your bodies to press at your clit. Not rubbing or grinding, but just pressing. Just the right amount to make you sweat and pant, start trying to squirm to get any friction at all.

He lets you — could stop you if he wanted, or pull away entirely — but he likes winding you up like this. Likes seeing all that vicious energy turned to seeking pleasure from him.

“Fucking move,” you try to snarl, but your voice breaks midway through and comes out more pleading than you’d like.

“What was that, babydoll? Are you talking to me?” He teases, rolling his hips.

Your mouth falls open, a moan ripping from your chest, deep and needy.

“Daddy, move,” you cry, voice going up in pitch.

“There’s my brat.”

He pushes one of your knees up against your chest and slams into you. You scream and he doesn’t even try to cover your mouth, whispering filth as he tilts your hips for the best angle with his other hand. Fucks into you deep and rough, grinning at the obscenely wet noises every time he plunges into you.

Can practically feel him fucking your cervix open to get just that little bit deeper. Licks his lips when he sees the little bump in your stomach. You give as good as you get, squeezing down tight, bouncing to meet him, nails scoring lines down his back and shoulders.

“Gonna ask daddy to make you cum?” He goads.

“Earn it,” you reply.

He laughs and pulls out, flips you onto your stomach while you’re still dizzy with emptiness. Hikes your hips up and sinks into you like coming home. Your knees almost give out but that’s fine by him, he’s plenty strong enough to hold you up all on his own, using you like a noisy little toy for his own benefit.

“Fuuuuck,” you whine, feeling overwhelmed, pleasured tears gathering in your eyes. Then, in a whisper, “Daddy…”

“Feel like being good yet?” He asks. A large, rough hand circles that back of your neck and pins you face down to the mattress.

“N-no,” you whine, fight gone out of you now that you’re getting exactly what you want.

Fuck it feels so, so good. Every inch bullying you wide open and loose, so wet you’re dripping down your own thighs, wetting his ball as they slap against you. You feel split open and pinned, unable to do anything but take it, tortured stupid on ecstasy. He licks a stripe up your back before pressing you down prone, ankles locked around yours to keep you open and accessible.

“S’alright, doll, don’t need to be good to be mine.”

He’s barely pulling out halfway before ramming home now. You can barely get a breath in, the weight of him pressing whatever resistance was left right out of you.

“Daddy, daddy,” you sob. “Fuck, I wan’ it.”

“Want it, huh?”

“Mhmm,” you moan, pressing your face into your arms. Cant your hips just that little bit to get him abusing that bundle of nerves.

“Oh, right there, huh?” He coos. “Did daddy find your little sweet spot?”

A series of short, ruthless thrusts right there, making incoherent, desperate noises fall from your mouth. Before you realize it, he’s wedged a hand beneath your hips and has two fingers toying with your poor, neglected clit.

“‘M gonna… f-fuck, fuck,” you whine, writhing (or at least trying to) against him. Not sure if you’re trying to urge him on or get away. Doesn’t matter, he’s in charge, has been since the beginning. “Daddy, I wanna…”

“Whenever you want, babygirl,” he replies, voice going all warm and gooey. Your chest hitches. “Squeeze around me nice and tight. Let me feel you cum on my cock.”

Didn’t realize that was what you needed, but you fucking scream as you clench down around him, stars bursting behind your closed eyes. He fucks you through it, tapping against your g-spot again and again until you dissolve into a weak, wet whimpers.

“Daddyyyy,” you whine.

And that sets him off, flooding you with heat. He loses control for a second as his hips jerk, pounding brutally into your oversensitive, swollen pussy. Makes a few tears finally slip down, soaking into the sheets along with your drool. The sound of him groaning as he cums makes you spasm around him again, a little aftershock that milks the last of his release.

“That’s it, easy,” he groans, brushing kisses over your trembling shoulders. “Easy, doll.”

He lies over you for a few minutes, letting you feel him there. Right there with you. Breathing and recovering, holding you through the endorphin rush. When you squirm a bit, he eases off you, cock slipping out. You shiver at the feeling of his cum trickling out of you, glassy eyes fluttering.

“C’mere,” he soothes, tugging you in. Lying on his side, he hitches one of your thighs up over his hip, tucks your arms between your chests and rests his stubbly chin on your temple. You splay your fingers over his peck, over the bold, dark symbol for SpecGru. Feel his heart settling back into rhythm and sigh, snuggling in.

The hormone drop is a monster on your emotions, often leaves you shivery and lonely, a little sick in your own body. First time you did this with him ended in tears, expecting him to get up and leave. He didn’t, never has, but you both learned that as much physical contact as possible in the aftermath eases the comedown away from a total crash.

“You did so well, babygirl,” he whispers, leaving kisses everywhere he can reach without dislodging you. “Such a good girl. Even if you think you’re being bad.”

You flush, hide your face against his neck. He chuckles, honeybalm on your soul. Can feel his hand start to move, then pause as he remembers that you can’t handle that stimulation right after sex. So he just squeezes, slow and gentle, helps get you back in your body.

“I still want you,” he assures, echoing your mantra back at you. “Always will. You’re mine.”

You outline a heart shape onto his forearm, not quite able to speak yet. He recognize the feeling though and gently guides your face up to place a slow, gentle kiss to your lips.

“Love you, too, babygirl. Ready to clean up?”

You nod. He eases you up, lets you cling onto his hand as he walks you to the en suite. Fills you a glass of cool water to sip on while he gets the shower running. Turns his back while you use the restroom and wash your hands, then guides you into the hot water.

You lean into him, near boneless, as he washes you, calloused palms with soap instead of a cloth. Then sits still, hands on your hips, while you return the favor. This part is one of the most important for you, getting to freely return touch.

(Simon hardly ever let you touch, especially in the aftermath. Sure, you could scratch and grip at him during sex, but during foreplay it was all part of his dom persona that you couldn’t just touch at will. And afterwards… well. It’s not like he didn’t do aftercare. He did! But the almost formulaic warm cloth wipe down, glass of water, doze for a bit before he left was not… not ideal. Not like this.)

Your captain hums, eyes half-lidded but trained on you, while you smooth your palms over the firms planes of his muscles. Fingers tracing over tattoos and scars. Squishing and patting at the healthy layer of tissue over his stomach and thighs. Lets you nuzzle and kiss his soft cock, even though it makes his fingers twitch with oversensitivity.

Squeezes when you lace fingers together to stretch his arm out, inspecting the lines your nails carved into him.

“M’okay, baby,” he says before you can ask. “Feels good.”

You similarly assure him over the bruises on your wrists and hips, smiling and leaning up to kiss his jaw.

When the shower is over, he dries you off, playfully ruffling your hair just to kiss the pout off your lips. He dresses you in one of his shirts and a spare pair of your own joggers, found in his duffel.

You sit with him for a while longer still, enjoying how he lets himself relax once he knows you’re taken care of. He lies with his head on your chest, your fingers fluffing his hair, while the two of you watch an episode of some stupid show Keegan got the rest of the team into.

Only when it’s over does he ask if you’re ready to go to Nikto’s. If you wanted to stay, you could. Nikto would understand. But you’re looking forward to a night with your quiet Russian while the other three have a little movie night.

At the door, you kiss your captain goodnight. Hug and kiss Keegan and Nova as you pass them in the hall headed to his room. Nova makes a point of kissing one of the bruises on your wrist, while Keegan whispers that he loves you.

You pad to the first door in the hall, where Nikto has stationed himself as the team guard dog. You tap gently at the door, a pre-determined pattern to let him know who it is.

The door cracks open, one startling blue eye peering from the darkness.

“Evening, Nik,” you coo.

A hand reaches out and gently yanks you inside. And then next thing you know, you’re wrapped up in thick arms devoid of any usual covering. You feel smothered, in a good way.

“Love,” he rasps in Russian into your hair.

You hum in return. Place your palms flat on his abdomen. The muscles clench, you pause as you realize his abs, impressive as they are, feel too defined. He needs water. Taking mental note, you draw your hands carefully around, feeling the raised bumps of wicked scars. Make sure he can track exactly where and how you’re touching until your arms are wrapped around him in a return hug.

“Smell good,” he murmurs.

“Yeah?” You giggle. “Showered just for you.”

He snorts, then scoops you up. You make a delighted noise, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carries you across the room. Of course his navigation is impeccable, even in pitch black. He lays you down on the bed, but before he can crawl up with you, you place a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re dehydrated.”

He makes an annoyed noise, sounds like he’s about to protest. You shush him with a quick peck to his chest.

“Get a glass please? I could use some water myself.”

Which has him instantly moving. You politely turn away as the bathroom light flicks on, the water runs. Can hear him chug two entire glasses before he fills it one final time. The light turns off again. The bed dips as he returns, presses the cool edge gently to your cheek.

“Thank you,” you murmur, sipping about a quarter of it to appease him before he sets aside for you on a bedside table.

And then he gets what he really wants, stripping you down and tucking you in like a nesting bird. Practically on top of you while you’re still reeling from how much skin you can feel. Even during intimacy, he tends to stay clothed or mostly clothed. But right now all you can feel is a pair of underwear against your bare ass. Everywhere else it’s miles of warm skin, uncovered muscle and texture of scars.

“This is nice,” you coo. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

You wiggle around until you’re chest to chest. Start with his hands. Kiss each smooth fingertip, prints flayed off. Then his palms, the divots from nails driving through. Flip them over to kiss his scarred knuckles, smile at the way he twitches, flexing them outward like he’s trying not to close his hand.

“Okay?” You ask.

“Yes.”

You kiss his wrists, his forearms, to his collarbone. You’ve peeked a blue-black tattoo there before. Stars and the start of something that might be religious. Spend a little extra time there, tongue peeking out. He shifts; you take it as a sign of discomfort and move on.

“Here next,” he says when you dip to go to his chest.

He guides your face up his neck, where you press long (but chaste) kisses until you bump his jaw. And realize that’s all skin too.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Can I…?”

“Yes.”

You feather your lips along his fresh-shaved jaw, the nicked scars on his chin. Then up, ignoring the wicked scar along his cheek. Breathe against his temple, feeling dizzy with the trust he’s showing you.

“I love you,” you whisper, continuing along to his nose, twice broken and poorly set each time. A line over one nostril where a piercing was ripped out. He makes a noise in his throat, think he might be having trouble speaking again. Don’t mind.

He lets you get down to his mouth, where a particularly twisted scar warps part of his upper lip away from his teeth. You think that if you saw it in the light, his canine would be visible. His lower lip is uneven too, like a misaligned seam.

You don’t pay any special attention to any of it, focused more on reacquainting yourself with how your mouth fits with his. He doesn’t lead, doesn’t rush or pull or press. But there’s tension all along his body, everywhere you touch. You don’t ask for more than a chaste kiss, and when you pull away, you tilt your forehead gently against his.

“Still okay?” You ask.

“Still okay.”

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[shhhsecretsideblog]

Working Late

Had this idea stuck in my head for past few days so had to write it up. Quick little oneshot, 1.6k words. Self inflicted birth denial, clothing birth, voyeurism, but soft fluffy ending. Enjoy.

You were working late again. The sun had set hours ago, the dark evening sky barely visible through the windows, the office an unusually quiet ghost town. Unfortunately the conference call with your American counterparts could not be moved and with the time difference you had to stay late, long after the rest of your company had gone home for the day. Well you weren’t entirely alone this evening; your wife, and joint business owner, also stayed late deciding to finish up some things before she went on maternity leave next week. It made sense to work the same hours and go home together.

When your meeting was finished, you packed up your things and headed down the corridor towards her office. The door was slightly ajar, you were just about to knock and enter when you heard a long quiet moaning sound.

You paused, putting an ear closer towards the crack in the door, a smile pulling at your lips realising what she was doing. The pregnancy had made her insatiably horny, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d relieved that itch here in this office. Though you were a little miffed she hadn’t invited you this time deciding to go at it solo.

“Mmmnggh- oh god!” Moaned your wife beyond the door.

The arousing sounds had an immediate effect on you, turning you on despite the late hour and the long work day. You quietly opened the door a little more, wanting to watch and catch her in the act. But instead of seeing her in her chair with one hand down her pants as you expected, she was standing, her back to the door, bracing the wooden desk and swaying her hips.

“Oooohhhh-…don’t come now…” she moaned quietly.

What on earth was she doing, you wondered. The question was soon answered when she grunted and slightly squatted in front of her desk.

Oh my god, she was in labour! Panic clenched your heart. You should rush into her office, to help and support her, but her continued moaning and grunting kept the arousal firm in your pants. You couldn’t go in there like this.

“Mmmmmffh- baby wait a bit longer please!” She panted and shifted around the room, unaware of your presence. “Your daddy is in an important m-meeting… mnnnnhh… when he’s finished he can - take us - to hospital… then you can come o-outtt… nnnnngghh”

You watched the way her hips circled in between each contraction, the way her knees dipped at every pain, the way her beautifully tight round stomach having dropped low on her hips a few days ago contracted visibly through her thin dress, the way her swollen breasts heaved with every laboured breath. The sight had you frozen, in fear and fascination and arousal, leaving you standing in the dark corridor watching her through the gap in the doorframe.

“Oooohhhh it’s so low…. Mnnnnghhh-oh god! I t-think..I need to p-push… hooohooohooohooo no! Not now… daddy isn’t here yet…”

Your labouring wife grasped the edge of her desk, moaning and whimpering. Her stance had widened, her knees were buckling, and yet you couldn’t move. Every sound escaping from her lips pumped more blood to your groin.

“Nnnnngghhhh!” She leant an elbow down on the desk, her other hand cupping the swell of her heavy stomach which just accentuated the size of her full term bump. It really was huge, you had no idea how she managed to carry the extra weight and still dress the way she did - in her staple black dress and heels. Even when heavily pregnant she was still every inch the successful corporate woman you fell in love with.

“Hooohooo- you can’t come out now baby…. Please. Oooohhhh…Don’t push… don’t push…”she panted a mantra to herself.

You were transfixed; watching her struggle and sweat and labour in the office where your baby was probably conceived.

Suddenly she grunted, a deep gravelly sound, and you nearly climaxed in your pants.

“Oh my god…was that- shit, my water just b-b-broke!” She looked past her swollen stomach to see her stiletto heels now soaked in amniotic fluid. “Ooooohhhhh… Y-you’re really coming n-now aren’t you little o-one? Hoooooo- where’s… where’s your dad?”

Rubbing her contracting stomach and raising her head, your wife looked towards the door. You had no idea why but you disappeared out of sight the second she looked up, concealing yourself behind the wooden door. You should go in, you should help her, she was having your baby. And yet, your legs didn’t move.

“Okay… okay baby. Looks like hooooo it’s just you and m-me…” You heard her say, still out of sight but well within earshot. You heard movement inside the room and took a chance peeking round the door.

She had kicked off her heels and lowered herself to the ground, kneeling beside her desk with her arms up gripping the edge. She hummed, rocking slightly back forth, clearly preparing herself for the next wave. Then suddenly she sucked in a gulp of air before letting out a long lowing sound, deep and primal, and sinking back on her heels as she pushed. Hard.

Your jaw slackened, watching fascinated from outside. This woman was incredible, absolutely beautiful, listening to her body and following her instincts, birthing your baby right here in her office. You fell more and more in love with her with every grunting sound she made.

“Mmnnnggghhhh!!!!!!!” She roared, “fuck…. The head… I can feel it coming….”

She let go of the desk, a little unsteady without the support, scrambling underneath her flowing dress. Oh my god, she was delivering your baby, right here right now.

“Oh oh oh no- I can’t…. get-them-off!!!!” She cried, and you realised she was still wearing her underwear and was struggling to get them past her hips with her widened knees.

“Hooooohoooo oh baby wait a second… need to make room… I’ve got to take them off… I’ve got to…. I’ve got to…. Oh shit I’ve gotta pushhhhhh-NNNNGGGGGH!”

Your wife growled again, bearing down with everything she had despite her underwear blocking the baby’s exit. It was the hottest sound you’d ever heard. She gasped in between pushes, trying to tug her knickers out of the way. But to no avail.

“Oohhhhhhh I can feel you…. Oh my god there’s your h-head-hoooohoooo.” Her dress was pulled up and you could see her cupping the bulge that was pushing against the fabric of her underwear.

You baby was crowning, but your wife was struggling. The fierce lioness from a moment ago, who was confidently delivering her baby unassisted, was starting to panic. The baby was coming out and she was pushing hard, but she couldn’t move to take off her underwear, the head retreating after every push by the restrictive fabric. You could see the panic gathering in her eyes as she failed to break free from her knickers and her body struggled to birth the head. Tears welled in her eyes and it broke your heart; the spell of your voyeurism vanished in a heartbeat.

You immediately threw open the door and rushed over to her.

“Oh sweetheart.” You whispered, kneeling down beside her.

“You- you made it. Hooooo The baby…. is coming….” She grasped on to your for dear life, pulling at the lapels on your suit jacket as she grunted and pushed again.

“You are doing amazing, darling.” You encouraged, supporting her weight under her arms.

“Get-my-pants-off-now!!!!” She growled against your chest.

“Okay, just hold on to me. I’ll get them off.” You assured, moving her trembling hands to your shoulders, freeing your own to help deliver this child.

The thin material stretched across her widened hips, you hooked your thumb on either side and pulled down but they would only go so far with her knees splayed.

“I need to you move a little bit-”

“Move?! Are you serious? I can’t move! Grrgghhh!”

“Just a little bit darling, I need your knees closer together so I can get these knickers off…”

“I can’t… this baby needs to come out now. Oh god I need to push!!!!! Just get them off-get them off!!!”

You tried to rip the fabric but it was stretched too tight you couldn’t break it. Frantically you looked around to see if anything else could help, and thankfully your eyes found the scissors on your wife’s desk. Grabbing them quickly, you carefully cut the fabric at one hip and they immediately fell to the floor.

“Oh thank fuck!” Your wife gasped, still clinging on to your shoulders she widened her legs and sank closer to the floor in a deep strong push. “Here it comes…. MNNNGGGHHHHH!”

Before you could react, the head popped out with another gush of fluid. Your wife eased her grip on you, panting heavily in relief.

“Hoooohoooo- oh my god… that’s our baby.” Her hand cupped the newly born head, and she looked up at you and smiled.

“You are incredible.” You kissed her sweat-dampened forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in labour?”

“I didn’t realise I was in labour, and when I did… hooooohoooo you were on your conference call. I knew it was important and I thought I had plenty of t-time… ooooohhhhhh god. I’m feeling pressure again….”

“Do you need to push? Is it time?”

“I think so… mmmnnnnh… are you ready to meet our b-baby?” You wife asked, a smile still tugging at her lips despite the rising pain.

“Of course, let’s meet our baby.”

Your wife shifted, stealing herself ready for the peak of the contraction that was building. Her hands braced against your shoulders, while your own were poised ready between her thighs.

Your beautiful wife grunted again, deep and long, as she pushed. You held her hips steady when she twitched and yelped as the shoulders stretched her wide, and a few seconds later your baby was born into your hands. A baby boy born at 8:56pm on the floor in your wife’s office at the company you’d build together.

[wtfsteveharrington]

c l o s e t o y o u | carmen berzatto x reader

we've got so much history baby

description: set months after your breakup, you and carmen navigate what it means to be separated. you're trying to move on but waves always return to the ocean.

warnings: kinda angsty but also hurt/comfort. mutual pining even tho you're both trying to pretend it isn't there. miscommunication. kinda mentions of cheating if you squint but not really. no one has cheated but what to call this vibe irdk so! also mentions of using the bathroom if that bothers you!! it's quick!

smut warnings: oral/fingering reader receiving, spanking, dirty talk, hints of dom!carmy, unprotected sex but backshots for 'safety', sexting, semi public sex, lots of hickies/bruises talk bc carmy's a lil shit, multiple mentions of masturbation for both, reader has a drunk bar make out phase post breakup. reader is afab but no major descriptors used.

word count: almost 9.2k. the longest thing i've written so far!

a/n: dare i say this might be my favorite thing i've written possibly. aiming to make this a three part series but possibly could go longer.... i hope you enjoy <3

maybe you and i were meant to be / maybe i'm crazy

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✮‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Carmen’s eyes are trained on you from the second your front door opens. His hands stalled halfway through taking off his jacket, only one shoe clattering across your entryway. 

“Where’ve you been tonight?” 

Which you have no choice but to shoot him a warning glance in response. It was late, you didn’t have the energy for a fight and that’s the complete opposite reason of why you texted him to come over. “I was on a date, Carmen.” 

He physically deflated at your answer. “Oh.”

You can’t meet his eye, can’t risk seeing his reaction. Would he be upset? Indifferent? It’s hard to decide which would be worse.

When you had broken up a few months ago the roles were clear - A case of ‘right person, wrong time’. He was busy, so endlessly busy. Working late into the night and heading in randomly during the morning or afternoon if he was needed. Which he could easily decide he was.

For as long as you could remember Carmen always took Tuesdays off to spend with you and get life in order. That way he had Monday to help the restaurant recover from the weekend and could trust them to handle what was, usually, an easier day. It was a tradition you took seriously and the two of you regularly made plans together every single Tuesday. Date nights, day trips, a mixture of adventures. It didn't matter what you were doing together so long as you had Tuesday to look forward to and help get you through the week.

Yet things started picking up. More celebrity dining requests, more magazine and tv interviews, more, more, more.

And it wasn’t that you misunderstood how important the restaurant was. Far from it. There were many nights where Carmen would come home a ball of anxiety because it took an hour longer than he anticipated and he knew it wasn’t fair to you. There would be a mess of apologies as he barreled in the door, bracing himself for a fight or to see your disappointed face. All of which you happily soothed by repeating constant mantras - The restaurant was his baby; you weren’t upset; take a deep breath; we’re okay. 

Then eventually you stopped saying you weren’t upset, stopped saying you two were okay. Eventually you stopped waiting up for him at all. At first Carmen would shower and climb into bed, confused if he should attempt to hold you or not. Your sleeping (Fine, sometimes you faked being asleep too) frame with your back turned to him. The blankets pulled tight around your body acting like a shield. 

Finally he just started sleeping on the couch. 

So yeah, the fall apart came quick. It was an avalanche neither of you could control nor did either of you want. There was still love between the two of you - But again it’s the right person, wrong time. 

You avoided each other for the following weeks. Carmen threw himself even more into work and you took a week of PTO to go visit one of your friends. He wondered if you were safe, you wondered why none of the people in the bar tasted the way he did. Your friend encouraged you with every sloppy make out conquest but it always ended there. You wanted to get Carmen out of your mind but weren’t ready for him to not be the last person who fully touched you. 

It didn’t work but does it ever?

Carmen watched your Insta far more than he should have. Risking way too many glances down at his phone during his free time to see if there were any updates about how you were doing. As if you’d post photos with long captions that mimicked a therapy session but he didn’t know where else to go. Sydney would report back what your story shows no matter how much Carm insisted he didn’t care. 

Because he didn’t, okay? He was fine. He knew it was for the best. Right? 

And then you posted a photo of yourself in a low cut top laughing in a bookstore. He zoomed in to see what titles you had in your arms as if they were clues and his eyes definitely didn’t linger on the swell of your cleavage. He didn’t think about how many nights he took for granted watching as your back arched up under him and you begged for more. He didn’t think about the way you’d crawl into bed at night and his mind would instantly rid itself of anything but you. He didn’t jack off to memories of you in the shower every morning because thinking about someone else, watching porn of other people, it didn’t feel wrong. No, that wasn’t the case at all. 

You, on the other hand, turned on Google alerts for anything relating to The Bear or Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto. Most of it was just good Yelp! ratings or fluff pieces from the local papers. He wasn’t one for posting on social media, in fact you weren’t sure he used it at all but you still posted like he was, but sometimes you’d find yourself scrolling through Sydney’s feed to see if she was giving you any crumbs. Sometimes, if you were really desperate, you’d find yourself in Richie’s feed even. It was pathetic but you can’t help it. 

One late night you came across an Instagram story post Sydney had up. Carmen leaning against a pinball machine at some gaming bar downtown. His hair was pushed back, eyes crinkled up with laughter. He looked at ease, peaceful. You wondered if anyone there felt the same… Was someone whispering to their friends and trying to build the encouragement up to go talk to him? Would he respond? 

Right, it wasn’t your place to care anymore. Yet you still cried yourself to sleep and yearned for when things felt so much easier. 

Yeah, the breakup wasn’t exactly going well. 

A few weeks ago you came across Carmen at the grocery store of all places. Both of you had gotten so used to doing the shopping Tuesday mornings and, logically, you were both comfortable going to the location just like you had been weekly for months. Your breath caught in your throat and God he looked better than you remembered. The first thing out of his mouth was, “Great sale on gouda this week.” And the only thing your brain could conjure up was, “Well that’s gouda.”

You both stayed silent for a moment before bursting out in laughter. 

Laughter turned to getting lunch around the corner. 

Lunch turned into you straddling Carmen’s waist in the car while parked in the very back corner of the parking lot and riding him until your eyes watered and you couldn’t focus long enough to keep a rhythm. He wrapped his arms, such strong arms, around your waist and fucked up into you for all that he was worth. Trying to prove himself in whatever capacity you allowed. 

If he couldn’t love you like he wanted, he could at least fuck you better than anyone else would.

Once you two broke the seal of seeing each other it was hard to stop. There was almost a forbidden aspect to your relationship now that caused a small thrill to run down your spine every time you saw him late at night. You were pretty sure no one knew you started… Seeing each other again and you were both content keeping it a secret. 

So that’s how you ended up here. Standing across from him at 11 o’clock at night on a random Wednesday. You try not to wonder if he left ‘early’ the second you reached out, instead convincing yourself that it just so happened to work out he was ready to go within minutes of you sending your ‘My place tonight?’ text during this horrific blind date your co-worker set up. 

Jonathan, 6’1, finance major turned CPA for his family’s company. He was… Fine. Just fine. You left on good terms in case you wanted to call on him for back up one lonely night. The problem was no one else was Carmen no matter how hard you tried to look for him in the people that passed by.

And there he stood across from you with hair falling into his face and his eyes looking up at you like you’re crafted from Heaven. A skirt, thin tinted tights, a shirt that exposed just enough skin but not too much. The soft shimmer across your eyelids and glossy lips from the lip balm you’ve been continuously applying since you knew he was on the way. The last time he saw you like this was when you were fighting because Carmen accidentally showed up 15 minutes past when you were supposed to leave for a birthday party at your friend’s house and that night ended with you locking him out of the bedroom while he had to pretend he couldn’t hear you crying in the next room. He really didn’t mean to be late. Sometimes the nights just got taken away from him. 

Carmen hated that you were dressed up for someone else but he pretends you just threw this on for him.

Your arms cross your chest, totally not attempting to push up your breasts, and you let out a sigh while you stare at Carmen. “This has to be the last time.” His face is stoic, a perfect poker face. The last time? Break up or not he couldn’t imagine there being a last time he saw you. Half the time he forgets, still referring to you as his partner while brushing it off and refusing to correct himself. Then there’s times where he comes home to his empty apartment and realizes you weren’t there to light the long forgotten candles on the coffee table or open up the windows to air the place out. 

He closes the space between the two of you and stares at your face. Searching for answers he’s too scared to ask for. Your resolve is breaking, cracking under the weight of having him so close. Beautiful eyes staring at you, the way he smells like the cologne you bought for your last anniversary and clean laundry. If you weren’t so drunk on the sight of him you would have put it together that Carmen kept clean clothes at the Bear to make sure he could change before he came to see you. 

You’re both silent for a moment before there’s two hands wrapping around either side of your neck and Carmen’s dragging you two together for a kiss. God, he couldn’t stand the idea of someone else kissing you. Would they even do it right? Do they know the way you moan when he licks into your mouth or the way you always grab ahold of his wrists when he cups your face? Do they know the way you forget to breathe sometimes when you’re lost in it? He’d have to pull back in order to give you a second to gasp in a rush of air. Does whoever you were with tonight know any of that? 

You pull away from Carmen with a broken out moan, silva connecting your mouths and the faint taste of cigarettes on your tongue from him. Clamping your hands on his shoulders you just faintly push the two of you apart, trying desperately to collect your thoughts. Carmen crying during the break up, sobbing in your bed, living on autopilot for weeks, the way he kisses you like he’s scared it’s the last time anymore because it very well just might be. Everything coming back to you in flashes as he stands before you once again. 

“I called you here for a reason, Carm.” His eyebrow is cocked, eyes flickering down to the bulge in his jeans that started growing the second he kissed you. “Uh - Yeah? Isn’t that what… I thought that’s what we were doing?” Carmen’s leaning in again, letting his lips connect to your neck. Warm kisses being pressed in a path up to just below your ear. “No uh, oh, remember how you let me keep the cast iron?” He hums in response, teeth nipping at your earlobe while broad hands start grabbing at your waist. “Yeah, uh huh, the cast iron skillet.” Fuck the stupid cast iron. He’s much more concerned with hooking fingers in the waistband of your skirt, attempting to pull it down while you’re fighting to stay focused. 

“Well my friends came over the other night and oh Jesus.” He’s licking a strip up your neck now, only half focused on your story. “Carm, please, they were helping me clean up and someone left it soaking in hot water overnight.” That’s finally got him freezing in place, his aroused little sounds quickly turning into a groan of annoyance. “Fuck. That ruined-… I mean, the seasoning has to be ruined. Assuming it rusted?” You nod helpless, fingers dragging along his chest while Carmen stares over your shoulder.

His eye twitches involuntarily. 

There’s a deep sigh coming from his body as he steps around you, finally kicking off his long forgotten second shoe before walking further into the apartment to head towards the kitchen. 

And listen, it wasn’t that you were necessarily concerned so much with the pan. Sure the two of you had purchased it together during the first few weeks of talking. Carmen cooked breakfast with it every Tuesday morning and showed you how to care for this damn pan. It was the closest you two came to owning a pet just… In the form of a nine inch cast iron skillet. You were more curious if he would care. A simple way of testing the waters to see if he just cared about getting laid or still cared about you. The answer should have been obvious but you still had to know.

You follow behind him and wince at the stream of expletives that easily fall from his tongue at the sight of the pan in the sink. It wasn’t horrible but wasn’t ideal. “Y’know, crazy thing is I’m pretty sure I can guess who did this. They kept trying to convince me cast iron wasn’t any different from a standard pan no matter how many times I tried convincing them that just wasn’t the case.” He’s grumbling to himself while crouching down to fish out supplies from under the sink, easily navigating your apartment from memory. The two of you had bounced between your places and talked about moving in together once his lease was up. Going as far as touring a few locations but the conversation was long forgotten once the tensions started building. 

As much as Carmen claims he didn’t see it coming, he resigned his lease almost two weeks before the break up officially happened. 

You hop up onto the counter next to the sink and watch as Carmen gets to work restoring your pan. “Think it's gonna make it through? I can't believe this is how it might end for the poor thing. All because I wanted to make your chicken piccata.” A few of his recipes had stuck with you and sometimes you find yourself making them when you’re missing him extra at night. 

“Nah, it’ll be fine. Just some surface damage s’all.” You watch as the muscles in Carmen’s arm move with the scrubbing motion, your lips itching to kiss over every exposed tattoo. Snap out of it! This is just sex between two consenting adults trying to let off some steam. That’s all. You’re both just comfortable and it would take way too much effort for someone random like Jonathan to learn what you like. 

Carmen catches you staring at him, not that you were being subtle about it, and feels heat blooming in his chest. He grabs one of your kitchen towels and gives the skillet a good pat down before sitting it upside down to dry off. It’s not perfect, not yet at least, but he’s pretty sure he’ll explode if it takes any longer to finally get his hands on you. 

“You look pretty tonight.” He’s coming to stand between your knees, reaching up to you with the hem of your skirt as you hum out a small “Thank you.” It seems like every time you see him lately you forget just how blue his eyes are. So easy to get lost in them especially from this close. Your hands come up to gently trace the features of his face. Just the ghost of a touch but Carmen’s soaking up the affection. He tilts his head in order to press a kiss to your palm. 

His hands are dragging up your thighs, feeling the material of your tights under his touch. “Know how much you hate wearing these.” Your heartbeat is picking up so much it’s making you jittery, hands wrapping around the edge of the countertop to grip it as hard as you can. Keeping yourself steady. “Help me take ‘em off?” You arch your hips up off the counter as an invitation for Carmen. He’s wasting no time grabbing ahold of the waistband and dragging them down your body, groaning to himself as inch by inch your skin gets exposed to him. 

Neither of you miss the way you press your thighs together once they’re freed, hips twitching in anticipation. The tights are getting tossed across your apartment and left to be tomorrow’s problem. Carmen falls to his knees in front of you, letting them dig into the harsh tile of your kitchen while in pursuit of making his mark on you. He’s grabbing ahold of your ankles, bringing one of your legs over his shoulder while the other is brought up to his lips. 

Your eyes fall closed as Carmen starts trailing a string of delicate kisses along the length of your calf. His lips ghosting across your knee until he reaches the fleshy part of your thigh. While your hands finally escape the countertop and find their way laced into Carmen’s hair, he wraps his lips down against your thigh to start sucking a small bruise into your skin. “Carmy,” You hiss out, “What if I see Jonathan again? How am I gonna explain these?” But you’re not pulling his head away, instead doing quite the opposite by keeping his head in place. 

Carmen practically growls against your skin, a low and guttural sound coming from the man. His grip on you tights while he mumbles against you, “Fuck Jonathan.” You scrub your fingers against his scalp as Carmen finds another patch of skin on the opposite thigh to begin sucking a bruise into. His head ducking lower and lower under your skirt, the material finally getting you to pull your hands away from him.

Against all better judgment your thighs fall more open as he works his way down your thighs. There’s a series of small moans and whimpers coming out of you with no control as he reaches the top of your thigh, his nose dragging along the cloth covering your core. “D’you wear these for him? Or did you put them on knowing you’d end up texting me.” It’s impossible to answer when you feel his tongue drag along you, your hips rocking up towards his mouth. He’s bringing his hands up under your skirt now too and grabbing handfuls of where your thighs meet your hips to hold you down in place. 

“They’re purple, aren’t they?” A color Carmen had long ago decided he liked best on you. Something about the way the color compliments your skin… In all honesty, you were pretty sure he had purchased the exact pair you were wearing. You started the night with no intention of your date getting anywhere near your bed but instead being under the frame of the man who was exactly where you wanted him. 

He guides you to scoot you closer towards the edge of the counter, making sure you’re comfortable before mouthing over you once again. Hot, open mouth kisses being pressed almost exactly where you need them. One of his hands comes around your frame to grab a handful of the fleshy part of your ass while the other hooks a finger into your underwear, pulling the material to the side to expose you. 

There’s cool air being blown against your overheated body and your hands fly back to clutch at his back, his neck, the hair that’s exposed from under your skirt. Whatever inch of him you can find is being clung to like a lifeboat. He’s kissing the skin where your thigh meets your center, lips ghosting along the outer side of your folds. It only takes a few more pathetic whimpers before he finally takes pity on you and you feel his tongue go flat at the base of your hole, dragging up long and slow all the way to your clit. 

He groans into your core and the vibrations make you start to lose your mind. “Fuck. Fuck!” Carmen’s got your clit between his lips now, bobbing his head just slightly while he goes right to sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves. If you didn’t want to be teased then he’d give you everything you wanted. One of his hands comes up under his chin now, a finger pressing into your tight entrance as his tongue works to lap at your clit, your folds, even dipping into you whenever his finger pulls all the way out.

A second finger slides into you while his attention focuses back to making out with your clit. You can’t keep track of the way he alternates between kissing and licking at you while his fingers push in as deep as he can get them. “So good, Baby.” Baby. It comes out of you by force of habit and it makes him twitch in his boxes. If you weren’t so drunk on him you probably would have started overthinking but he’s making sure your focus is on nothing else but his mouth for now. Carmen’s chin is slick with everything you’re giving him as he eats you out as if he’s a dying man and this is his last source of solace in the world.

“C’mon Honey.” He’s cooing against you, fingers crooked just how he knows you like it. There’s sloppy licks being delivered to your clit as his fingers pump in and out. His hand finally leaves it’s grip on your ass to apply a gentle pressure to the top of your mound, pressing down against the flesh to add yet another sensation. “Can feel how tight you’re getting. You wanna come for me so bad, don’t you? Be good for me.” 

Your hands fist around Carmen’s hair, hips rocking up against him and it doesn’t take long for an orgasm to wash over your body. You seize up at the feeling, thighs clamping around Carmen’s head as he licks you through it. He’s only giving you a moment to recover when you feel his fingers slide out of your sensitive body and he can’t help but go back to licking out the mess you’ve made.

“Gonna fuckin’ kill me, Carmen.”

He’s smirking against you but taking the hint. Your thighs shaking as he pulls back from under your skirt, taking a moment to appreciate the handiwork that was the bruises covering your thighs while you take a moment to recover. The way your pussy looks so pretty covered in the mixture of your arousal and his spit. Carmen can’t help himself but to swirl his thumb around your clit, your hips jolting up as you reach out to grab ahold of his wrist. “Need a minute please.” 

Carmen nods and stands up, wasting no time making work of unbuckling his belt. You collect your thoughts well enough to start unbuttoning his jeans for him, letting your fingers linger on his jean clad hardened length. “You, uh -” You won’t meet his eye, opting instead to start pulling his pants down his toned thighs. “You still okay not using a condom?” A roundabout way of saying ‘I’m clean, are you?’. Carmen nods as if it’s the most insane question in the world. Even if he’s not with you anymore, it’s still only you for him for as long as he can see coming. “No one but you.”

You can’t meet his eye, a wave of guilt washing over you concerning your earlier date with Jonanthan that quickly gets pushed away when Carmy grabs ahold of your jaw and brings you in for a haphazard kiss. Mindless, heavenly kissing. The two of you getting lost in the way your tongues know just how to navigate one another while your hand slides into his boxes and begins lazily 

“Gotta fuck you or I’m gonna cum on your hand like a fuckin’ teenager.” You giggle into his mouth but slide yourself off the counter nonetheless. Giving him one more tender kiss before turning around to bend yourself over the counter. It’s not the most gracious process but you’re tugging your shirt over your head on the way down, pitching it somewhere else to deal with later. 

He’s looking at every inch of you. Underwear still pulled to the side, the way the lace of your bra looks against your back. Memorizing every detail he possibly can just in case you wise up and stop letting him come over to defile you like this at night. 

Carmen is dragging the head of his cock through your folds, tapping it against your clit while you whine and rut back against him. The weight of his jeans and belt resting heavy against his ankles and keeping him grounded enough to not spill his load before he even makes it inside of you. You weren’t used to taking him all the time anymore, a thought Carmen can’t dwell on, so he goes inch by inch and gives you time to adjust to the girth of him. He was thicker than anyone you’d been with before and every random hookup together lately reminds you of the first time you felt him stretch you out. 

It burns in the best way possible and he’s so tender while you get adjusted. Waiting until you start fucking yourself against his length to take that as his sign you were finally ready for him. Carmen still starts slow, a teasing pace of pulling himself nearly all the way out before sinking right back in. “Pussy’s like heaven.” It makes you oddly proud to hear him call that out. To know you still have an affect on him after all this time.

“Think about fuckin’ you all the time.” He’s picking up speed now, “Think about how good you feel stretched around me. Such a good slut for me, aren’t you? Bending over and practically begging for it.” His words, once again, make your head spin. It was a common theme with Carmen. Your fingers lace in your own hair, desperate to grab ahold of something. “Always wanting you to fuck me, Carm. Dream about how good you make me feel.” Like you two were meant to fit together perfectly. 

There’s a lewd clapping noise coming from the way your ass smacks against his frame with each deep thrust. Eventually your arms give out, torso falling flat against the shockingly still cool countertop while Carmen fucks into you for all he’s worth. A firm slap is being delivered to your ass that causes you to yelp out, rolling your hips back against him at the same time as an act of encouragement. 

His mind is taken up with how good you feel. You’re perfectly stretched around him and leaking out around his base. So wet, so beautiful, so perfect. There’s a hand sliding up your back until it’s fisting around your hair, gently tugging at it and the new sensation has these pornstar worthy moans escaping you. Your loud and needy brain is completely empty as Carmen destroys you the way he knows how. 

“D’you think about me fucking you while you were sitting across from some asshole all night? Poor little pussy almost got fucked by someone who doesn’t know how to treat it.” His words are so casually spoken with just the right amount of bite that it’s causing your brain to melt. Jonathan didn’t stand a chance of getting within two feet of your panties, just another mindless date in your series of attempted ways to ‘get over Carmen’ which clearly wasn’t going well. He bottoms out in you, every inch of his length pressed as firmly as he can into your core. It’s so much, so full and he’s got you pinned in place. Unable to do anything but be used by him, just how you both know you love to be. “Or did you go just to make me jealous? Put on your slutty little panties and went to dinner knowing you’d text me to come fuck you tonight.” 

He’s grinding his hips into you on the impossible quest to get even deeper. It’s possessive, claiming, and you’d probably even be a little annoyed by his behavior if you were in a better state of mind. For now you’re bent over the counter with bruises blooming all over your thighs and enjoying an odd jealous streak coming from someone who, technically, has no right to be jealous. It’s making you feel dizzy and your heart throb and your pussy clenching around him. “You gonna keep talking or you gonna fuck me, Carm? ‘Cause if not I’ll call him to finish the job.” 

You liked riling him up. 

Another sharp smack is being dealt to your ass when Carmen starts to pick the pace back up. His hands are tight on your hips and his pace is brutal. There’s grunts coming from behind you that are making your head spin and if you were more coherent you’d be a bit more embarrassed about the drool sliding from the corner of your mouth as your boyfrie-….. Well, as Carmen takes care of you. He’s admiring the bloom of his handprint on your skin, brushing his hand along it before pressing firmly down to help soothe the buzzing sting of pain. 

He wasn’t fucking you as often, didn’t have you nearly as well trained anymore. These bi-weekly meetings are not doing nearly enough for your body. He used to be able to fuck you right through an orgasm and you’d keep going. So used to him working your oversensitive clit to his liking. Now you whine while grabbing his wrist and whimper out pleas for him to give you a few minutes. He hates not knowing your body as well as he used to even if he still knows you pretty damn well.

So when he feels you getting closer, he’s taking note. Keeping his pace exactly the same and letting his hand crash down against the tender flesh of your ass again. “You gonna give me another? C’mon, Honey. Can feel how bad you need it.” And you do. God you need every orgasm you’re lucky enough to get from him. 

Your hips buck and twitch and you let out a series of uncontrolled moans as your orgasm starts to wash over your body. If Carmen wasn’t between your legs then your thighs would have snapped shut while your toes curled and your heart started beating faster. You could practically hear it beating in your own ears. “S’good, so good. Thank you, thank you. Shit, thank you.” A mess but you couldn’t judge yourself. 

Carmen’s pulling out when he’s close after just a few more strokes, frantically jerking off his length to keep the sensation going. You’re rolling your hips back and riding out the waves of your own orgasm, glancing back over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of Carmen with his head tossed back and brows knitted together in concentration. “Come on me, Baby. Wanna feel every drip on my skin. Maybe I’ll let you take a picture of it dripping down all the pretty bruises you gave me.” 

That’s all it takes for him to come undone. Warm spurts of cum landing along your back, your thighs, some of it dripping down your folds. The feeling is pulling wanton moans from your mouth that send Carmen into orbit. God, he doesn’t want to come back down to Earth. Collecting his breath and trying to keep himself upright while the aftershocks of his orgasm wrack through his body. How was he supposed to stay away from you when it felt like this? Especially when you just kept calling him baby.

He stopped cumming inside of you since the breakup. It made sense, kinda. But you hated it. Felt like a waste even though you wouldn’t overstep and ask for him to go back to finishing inside of you. He would, by the way. Without a second thought he’d bury himself in until he couldn’t go any further and fuck his cum into you as deep as possible. 

You feel a finger swiping up some of his cum off your backside and soon enough it’s pressed to your lips. Without a second thought you take the digit into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it while licking him clean. He wants some of it inside of you one way or another. A subtle way of still putting his claim on you.

The two of you take a moment to recover after Carmen pops his finger out of your mouth. His hands are running a circuit up and down the side of your thighs and torso, still enjoying the view of your body relaxed against the counter in front of him. The tile was starting to become painful as your stomach bent over it but you couldn’t bring yourself to move just yet. You didn’t fully trust your legs to support your weight without the counter for support. 

Carmen’s rustling around behind you now. Reaching down to pull up just his boxes but kick his jeans the rest of the way off finally. He’s not ready for the stimulation of such a heavy material against his sensitive skin yet. There’s a clattering from the sink area as he retrieves another towel to get wet for you and a cup to fill with water. Your eyes feel heavy. Mind’s at ease having Carmen around again, not that you’ll admit it, and your body feeling languid after being fucked so well. 

There’s a glass of water being sat in front of you. “Drink.” So you prop yourself up on your elbows and nurse small sips of the water while the cool rag gets to work wiping down your backside from the mess he made. His fingers ghost along the tender flesh of your ass where he was spanking, “Feeling alright?” You hum into the cup, giving him a small waggle of your behind to reassure any concerns he had. 

He gets you cleaned up in silence, letting the both of you enjoy the simple moment. Carmen always prided himself on taking care of you. There’s warm hands, still damp from cleaning you up, rubbing up the sides of your torso before wrapping around the tops of your shoulders. His hips rub along your backside and you just feel so warm, so safe like this. “We gotta get you to bed.”

You just sigh and scrub your hands over your face. A beat of silence passes while you collect your thoughts. “Carm, I don’t think I can stand up.” Your legs are still slightly shaking and your mind has yet to catch up with your body. 

Laughter’s coming from behind you as he delivers a playful swat to your ass. “C’mon I’ll get you there.” This feels so simple. You find yourself questioning why the two of you even broke up to begin with when the good moments were this good. Easy, content, safe. Would you ever be able to find this again? Would he? 

He’s grabbing ahold of your waist while pulling you back into his chest. Your head falls back against his shoulder and Carmen allows his lips to once again find your exposed neck. A series of gentle kisses being placed as his arms snake tighter around your body. “Still feeling okay?” You let out a content hum and allow yourself to be held by him. “Feel better than I have all week. Thank you, Carm.” You feel him smile against your skin as he places another delicate kiss. “Always.”

The two of you stay intertwined until Carmen starts to encourage the shuffle towards your bedroom. He makes sure you get cleaned up and ready for bed. Brings you one of your sleep shirts while you brush your teeth and tries to not overthink when you offer him a toothbrush of his own because you just so happened to have an extra. Gives you privacy when you complain about needing to pee and you find it odd there’s a tug at your chest when he ducked out of the room. Part of you hated being that couple who left the door open or used the restroom while the other showered, yadda yadda. It was a sign of comfort and the door being pulled shut behind Carmen was a sign that comfort was long gone. 

Not that you cared. Totally didn’t care at all. 

He’s going to just tuck you in at first until you’re clutching at his frame and pulling him into bed next to you. Carmen never could say no when it came to you, especially when he feels his back sinking into your soft bed and your warm body curling up along his side. He should go. Get home before it’s too late and try to get some sleep. He’s already planning on getting to work early to avoid having too much free time to think about tonight in detail. 

But his clothes feel so far away and the long day is starting to finally hit him. You can practically hear him thinking over his options and your breathing starts skipping as you feel him begin to pull away. 

“Carmen.” Your grip on his chest tightens and it pulls directly at his heart. Since this whole… Situation started he never stayed the night when your meetings would run this late. Always picking his clothes up out of piles on the floor and mumbling something about needing to get home to get stuff together from work. You never asked him to stay anyway. Neither of you knew if that would make an already weird and complicated situation even worse. 

But tonight was different. 

There were hints of a storm in the distance you start telling yourself. If you focused you could hear thunder, somewhere, out there and you just wanted Carmen safe for his sake. That’s all. So you pathetically cling to him and hope you don’t kick yourself out of embarrassment in the morning. It takes just a moment of him looking down at you to understand what you can’t say and he’s giving you a little nod in response. His arms wrap around your shoulders, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of your head. Kissing every inch of you had to be one of his greatest pleasures in life.

“Remind me to season that skillet in the morning.” 

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✮‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Carmen, shockingly, sleeps through the night. The warmth of your body next to him coupled with your excellent sleeping experience. A comfortable bed with good pillows, a white noise machine in the corner of your room (the ice maker in the fridge at Carmy’s would constantly go off so you got used to sleeping with background noise to cover it up), it was the best night of rest he’s had in months.

Your sheets smell like home. 

He’s slowly waking up now and his first thought is how much he misses the weight of your breast in his hand. Second thought is how much he needs to pee but damn your bed is comfortable. 

Carmen allows his body to wake up slowly. Stretching his arms out above his head and letting out a satisfied grunt at the feeling of his well rested muscles. Blinking his eyes awake just enough to take in the sight of all the trinkets and items that covered your space. There’s some things he notices that he knows for a fact he purchased you. Bottles of perfume, books you keep telling yourself you need to read, cups you constantly forget to bring back into the kitchen until you’re fully out of them.

Did you keep any of the pictures? Photo strips from Navy Pier and the holiday market at Wrigley Field. Everything from the disposable camera you brought along on road trips and vacations. The polaroids that once littered a cork board in your living room that the two of you added pictures to so often. If he looked around enough would he find them tucked away safely in a box or did you pitch them when you knew the two of you were through. 

Carmen still has one. You took most of them while you packed up your things from his place and refused to let him carry any of the boxes downstairs. So stubborn, so full of hurt pride. He just spent most of the day trying to stand out of your way but always available in case you finally admitted that you needed help. Maybe a small part of him hoped that as you packed up so many memories it would trigger a ‘What are we doing?’ reaction and you’d go running into his arms. 

You never did. 

But you did take one trip down to your car with an overstuffed Ikea bag over your shoulder and balancing a box on your hip. Carmen knew he didn’t have long, and it kind of felt like stealing, but he rushed over to the box you just started packing up and rifles through the photos as fast as he possibly could. It took a moment of digging before there it was. A polaroid photo someone took of the two of you on New Year’s Eve. You’re wearing some cheesy headband and he has those tacky sunglasses on that show off the incoming year on them. His arms are wrapped low around your waist as he stands behind you, one of your hands resting on top of his while the other is reaching up and back to cup his jaw. You’re both grinning and laughing in the photos and nothing bad has happened yet. 

He hears you shuffling back up the stairs so he’s quickly throwing the box back together after sliding the photo into his pocket and rushing back to stand in the kitchen. Acting like nothing was happening. You didn’t even look over at him so it wasn’t like he had to put up much of a show anway.

It’s still safely tucked into his wallet. 

The sound of the front door opening and hushed whispers are finally pulling him from his half asleep, reflective state. It looks like this day is getting started if he wants it to or not. He’s tilting his head to press it into the pillow underneath him, allowing one last deep inhale to remind himself exactly what your scent smells like before forcing his body to be pushed out of your bed.

Carmen turns the corner in just his boxer briefs and you’re not convinced you aren’t still dreaming because fuck he looks good. His hair’s a mess from the combination of you playing with it all night and him sleeping so well. One of his hands is scratching low on his hips while he takes in the sight of you in the kitchen. 

Maybe he shouldn’t be so comfortable walking around your apartment half dressed still but God is this relationship situation getting messier since the day since the two of you reconnected.

“Ordered some breakfast from Yolk. Figured you were hungry and I’m sure you have to run off this morning but I uh-…. I just wanted to make sure you were fed.” You nod to yourself. Giving him an out as you start popping open food boxes. There was just over an hour until you had to get to work too so there were multiple excuses possible for this morning to end as early as it needed to. 

In an odd, roundabout, time to head back to therapy kind of way it almost feels like you’re dating your ex. 

“Yeah.” He nods to himself and desperately wishes he had deodorant, cologne, fuck even Axe body spray. Something to make himself smell better or feel more presentable for you. “Richie actually tried installing fuckin’ bidets to the toilets last night. Kept on running his mouth about how prestigious they are and he, obviously, doesn’t know how to install bidets. So the bathrooms are a little-“ He waves his hands through the air.

“Shitty?” 

Second questionable pun you’ve made lately. Pull it together. 

There’s a breathy little laugh coming out, “Yeah, shitty.” Carmen’s peeking over your shoulder as you plate up breakfast, sneaking a piece of bacon from under your arm before pressing a kiss to the top of your ear. “Thank you for ordering this.” 

You nod and try to pretend you didn’t stop breathing having him so close to you under the soft morning light. 

He leaves $60 tucked under a vase on your dining table to cover breakfast. 

————

11:52 am

[DO NOT ANSWER]: Richie put his foot down and we’re stuck getting the bidets 

[DO NOT ANSWER]: If you’re wondering how my day is going 

12:17 pm

Shockingly my day is much less toilet related. I hope it’s going well. 

4:39 pm 

[DO NOT ANSWER]: I know so much about bathrooms now

————

You laugh a little too loud as the alert illuminates your phone. There’s a fond tugging at your heart as the ‘normal’ conversations fills your chat history instead of the short “My place tn” or “I still can’t find my jacket. You have to have it”. Maybe saving him as do not answer seemed too harsh but having his contact show up as a photo of you two cuddled up with the Chicago skyline in the background, an innocent and horrifically cheesy “Baby Boy 💙” contact name modeled after Richie saying you baby him too much one night. Every time it flashed across your screen and Richie saw he gave you guys an endless amount of shit. It became a constant bit that none of you got tired of at the time. 

You were trying to separate yourself from your past with him as much as possible at first but now those lines just keep getting more and more blurred. 

One of your coworkers grabs your attention away from your phone thus leaving Carmen’s message on read. He tries to pretend it doesn’t bother him as he gets to work prepping for tonight’s service. Who wants to talk about bathrooms with their… Fuck buddy? Ex? God that’s still so weird to say. 

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✮‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Your mind was haunted by thoughts of Carmen Berzatto all day. 

No matter how many busy tasks you assigned yourself he always seemed to creep back in. You’d look around for him when a joke landed well at work and the group you were with erupted into laughter. Could easily picture his head thrown back as he scrubs over his face in an attempt to muffle the sound. When you were standing alone your mind wandered off to the way he treated you last night. So claiming. Expertly working your body the way only he could after so much time of getting to know it. 

The bed feels so much 

You throw the blanket away from your frame and watch as it bundles up beside you. Is this crazy? It feels crazy. You shake out the nerves, fluffing up your shorts and primping yourself for the photo. It takes one, two, seven pictures to get just the right angle. An image of your thighs against the bedding and your oversized sleep shorts bunched up all the way down your legs. Taking a deep breath you steel your spine and pull up Carmen’s contact.

————

11:28 pm 

Headed to bed 

ONE IMAGE ATTACHED

11:29 pm 

[DO NOT ANSWER]: Fuck.

11:31 pm

Goodnight Carmen <3

2:12 am

[DO NOT ANSWER]: Can’t stop thinking about you 

ONE VIDEO ATTACHED

————

The sun is warm against your skin as it slowly wakes you up. There’s an air purifier rattling in the corner that acts half as white noise while you sleep, half to soak up the smells of Chicago. Sometimes when Carmen’s especially exhausted you have to bring out the big boy and ask your Google home to play sleep sounds to mask him snoring all night. You typically didn’t mind the sound, knowing it’s a sign of just how badly he needed a good night’s rest. 

You’re fishing your phone out of the comforter in a haste to click off the horrific sound of the alarm and your eyes are barely open when you see the alert. A preview image popping up and you can just barely a blurry image of - “Holy fuck!” 

Your free hand flies up to clamp over your mouth as a mix of gasps and ‘no fucking way’ come out of you with zero control. With shaking hands you open up the video, half tempted to pinch yourself with a video of Carmen fills your screen. His hand rubbing over the bulge in his boxers and there’s a mess of shaky breathing coming from behind the phone. You can’t get the volume turned all the way up fast enough and you’re terrified to miss a single sound. 

And there he is. 

Fishing his cock out of his boxers and stroking himself for you. Illuminated by the lamp on his bedside table and his hand over lubricated to mimic how wet you get for him. He’s a mess of filthy moans, bucking hips, are you dreaming? 

The combination of the sun beating in and the way this video is making your body go hot is too much. You’re overheating, kicking the blankets away from you while your hand goes into your shorts on instinct. Toying with your clit even though you don’t have much time to spare as you watch Carmen get off for you.

————

8:04 am

HEART REACTED TO A VIDEO

Mine tonight?

Fuck you sound so good

Wish I would have been there to clean you up

Say my name more next time please

How am I supposed to go to work now 

————

No response. You aren’t surprised, he’s typically busy in the morning. 

So you go along your day and let yourself enjoy the thought of Carmen coming back over tonight to take care of you. You had thought letting him back in was a risky move but things seemed fine so far. Settling into the new version of what normal was going to look like. Maybe things would end up being some version of alright after all. 

A chirp from your phone catches your attention and you’re instantly uninvested in whatever task was at hand. It might be a little pathetic how excited you were but that is besides the point. 

————

10:32 am 

[CARMEN]: Busy tonight

————

Busy tonight? Go fuck yourself Carmen! 

You waited all morning and THAT’S the response you get? Were the multiple texts too much? Did you come off too clingy? Sure he just stayed the night, was two times in one week where he drew the line? 

So you leave him on read and take away the heart from his video. Change his name back to DO NOT ANSWER and instantly feel the urge to get off tonight leaving your body. Replaced by a subtle anger that only he can bring out of you. 

The workday seems to go by so much quicker as you have this internal argument with yourself and mentally pick a battle with Carmen. Maybe you were silly to think things would… What? Go back to the way they were? No, of course not. 

Ugh!

Carmen who, by the way, truly was slammed. Got stuck hosting an event for an old family friend that he barely knew but was convinced it’d be good for business. He’s overwhelmed by work and anxious with his relationship with you. The breakup was horrific. One of the worst things he’s had to experience so far which certainly says a lot. At the very least - It made sense. This though? Sleeping together, fucking when you have shitty dates and he’s your second choice for the night, taking pictures of dumb things he sees during the day because it made him think of you but never actually sending them, it made zero sense.

If only there was something the two of you could do to figure this whole mess out. 

But alas.

You bring home a salad that’s far healthier than anything you’ve eaten all week accompanied by some fresh pressed green juice nonsense you lie to yourself and mentally say is delicious. The boy detox starts now. 

The shower you take that night must last an hour. Every inch of your body gets scrubbed, your face and hair both get a mixture of treatments and masks. You primp and polish yourself up and convince yourself that this is all for you and not so you look better than ever and Carmen will have to regret his stupid and shitty ‘Busy tonight’ text because you were also just like so, so busy and -

Fuck Carmen Berzatto. 

You decide you could go the rest of your life without hearing from him and be just fine. It was his loss. You’re funny, beautiful, and excellent in the bedroom. There’s thousands of people out there dreaming about finding someone like you!

This internal argument keeps going. And you know what’s annoying? The second you fling yourself into bed you realize he left his scent all over your sheets still. It hasn’t gone away - Cologne mixed with Carmen. And you 100% aren’t hunting out the scent nor are you hunting out a reason to stay annoyed with him. Not at all. So you get back out of bed and grab the fabric freshener to spray your sheets back down with, giving it a minute to dry before falling face first into the mattress with an annoyed huff. 

So yeah, fuck him. You hope you never hear from him again and toss your phone on the other side of the bed. Forcing your eyes shut and making your mind go blank because otherwise you’ll stew all night thus continuing this Carmen induced spiral. 

————

1:47 am

[DO NOT ANSWER]: Hey

————

Fuck.

[buckybabesonly]

as long as we're together (does it matter where we go?)

Summary: You don't want to be a burden to Bucky, knowing he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Pairing: Bucky x Female!OC

Genre: Angst

Length: 7.8k

Two years ago

“I don’t think I want to be with you anymore.”

Bucky had expected it. Weeks of you being distant, making secret phone calls, avoiding his touches like they physically hurt you. Countless times Bucky had asked, what's wrong?, only for you to shut him down and say that everything was fine. Bucky was sick of hearing that empty, meaningless mantra, but it didn’t mean that he reveled in your confession now.

Even though it didn't come as a surprise, it still felt like a punch to the gut. It physically winded him to hear those words leave your lips.

He wondered what he did wrong. He wondered where they went wrong. They were so in love, so wonderfully content in each other's company. You were his person. Steve had once told Bucky that he would find someone unexpectedly, when Bucky made an off-hand comment about how lucky he was to have met Peggy.

“You’ll find your Peggy.”

Things had been perfect. Or maybe Bucky had just been in denial, ignoring all the problems between you because he thought that his feelings for you triumphed over everything, no matter what hardships you may have been suffering from. How could he ever face the reality that you might actually leave in pursuit of something better?

Now, Bucky’s chest was tight with an indescribable feeling, both of you stood in your shared apartment. Your belongings stuffed into a black suitcase, Bucky’s heart in pieces on the hardwood floor.

He had expected it, but it didn't stop him from wanting to die.

"Why?" It was all he could ask. He wanted to know the reason, wanted to understand. Wanted to know if he could fix it. He was desperate to make you stay.

Bucky stared at your face. You looked so...indifferent. Unattached, in contrast to the woman he had met all those years ago. Where had the softness in your eyes gone? Why couldn’t you meet his pleading gaze, even now? At what point did your feelings for him start to fade, and was there anything he could have done to salvage it?

Your face was a blank slate, emotionless, and it made Bucky feel a truly troubling combination of sadness and anger. It was as if you had already said your goodbyes to their relationship, completely ready to move on whilst Bucky was still trying to process your words. You were ready to leave him behind to mourn.

“I don’t think we’re right for each other,” you had said quietly. “I don’t think we can give each other what we need.”

"Bullshit," Bucky said, his voice cracking. You grimaced ever so slightly at his tone, still unable to meet his eyes. "How can you say that?"

He took a step forward; you matched it with a retreating step, but with wide strides he seized your wrists. He silently willed you to say something which could somehow lessen the excruciating pain.

“Will you just look at me?”

He wanted so badly for you to meet his stare, to find some source of comfort within your eyes which usually held so much love for him.

Finally, you relented and lifted your head. They did not fill Bucky with any hope. You pressed your lips together firmly as he searched your face desperately for any sign of residual affection.

"We - we're in love. How can you say after all these years that we're not right for each other? For fuck's sake, will you just tell me what happened?"

"People change, Bucky," you said softly. The look on your face - was it sadness, or apathy? "We've become too distant."

"And whose fault is that?" Bucky released you then. He was so angry, wanting to elicit some sort of reaction from you, that he wanted to punch the wall beside them. It made him feel nauseous at how stoic you were now, like a piece of unyielding rock. He knew you hated it when he took his anger out physically. You had been the one to teach him how to manage his rage more constructively, to talk things out and use his words rather than his fists.

"Are you trying to say it's mine?" Your tone was sharp, finally demonstrating some emotion. "Are you saying that all those nights waiting for you to come back home, all those evenings alone whilst you stayed at the Tower, all those hours I spent staring at the four walls of this apartment were my fault?"

"You left me!" Bucky retorted, gritting his teeth. "You left me long before today! You think I haven't noticed? You can barely stand touching me. You're always on your phone, always texting, always out seeing your 'friends'," he said, making air quotes. "I asked Wanda, she said you haven't been meeting her or your other friends for weeks. Who's this 'friend’? Who the fuck is it that's so important that you can't spare any time for me, never mind your actual friends?"

A long, pregnant pause filled the air, an indecipherable mask on your face once more. Bucky’s eyes were wet, and if he hadn't been so angry, he would've seen the way your lower lip was trembling ever so slightly, the way it did whenever you were trying not to cry. It had been the biggest telltale sign for him over the years to know when you were upset and trying your best to hide it.

He was usually so good at reading you, but he was blinded with sadness.

"Fine," you said eventually, slicing the silence with a shaky exhale. "I'm seeing someone else."

You might as well have struck Bucky across the face.

Suspecting it and hearing the words fall from your lips were two different things. He physically reeled back in anguish as he stared at you. He took in the sight of his girlfriend in front of him, swallowing the lump that was forming in his throat. This was, without a doubt, the woman he had met five years ago. The woman he spent five years loving. The woman whom he recognized no longer.

"Why?" Bucky whispered, all the fight leaving his body. He physically seemed to sag, forehead creasing at all the other questions running through his mind, visions of you being touched and fucked by some faceless, nameless man.

You were almost pitiful in the way you looked at Bucky, and he hated it.

"I care for you, Bucky. But I’m not in love with you anymore. And I'm sorry I had to do this to you. Things just got out of control."

I’m not in love with you anymore.

You offered no further information, but he had stopped listening, anyway. The finality in your voice pierced him slowly, tortuously, through the heart. He barely moved when you took your suitcase and pulled it out behind you, out of their apartment. Out of his life.

The door slammed shut.

Present day

You are cordially invited to attend the wedding of Mercedes Knight & Samuel Wilson

Sam had become Bucky’s closest confidant in the past few years, and the latter had been a close witness as Sam met Mercedes ‘Misty’ Knight, a former NYPD officer who had somehow become roped into their crazy world. It was no surprise to Bucky when they announced their engagement just six months into dating.

Bucky found himself being pulled into their wedding planning discussions far too often. He tried to keep an amused smile at bay whilst listening into Misty and Sam’s wedding talk at the Tower. They were using one of the many conference rooms - a Knight-Wilson union was official business, Misty insisted.

"Are you bringing a date?" Misty asked suddenly in the middle of everything, the question directed at Bucky.

"Of course he's bringing a date," Sam smirked. "Heard things with Sharon are going well, right?"

Bucky smiled non-committedly, shrugging. "She's great." It didn’t go unnoticed by Sam that this didn’t quite answer his question.

"You two look good together," Misty offered. She glanced at her watch and widened her eyes theatrically, grabbing Sam’s hand. "Oh crap, we need to go meet with the wedding planner."

"But it feels like we just sat down," Sam complained.

"There's no rest for the bride and groom, Sam," Misty said, pulling her fiancé out of his seat as she waved goodbye at Bucky.

As soon as they departed, the smile on Bucky’s face dimmed. He was beyond happy for his two friends, he really was - but every couple he knew was a fresh reminder of his own failed love life.

Ever since you, he hadn't been in a long term relationship. Sharon is different, he told himself, and she was. They had been friends for a long time, and of course spent a lot of time together carrying out missions and the like. Over time, somehow, they had gotten closer, and one day Sharon had just asked him, “So when are you going to ask me out, Barnes?”

At that point, Bucky was still frequently thinking about you. Sharon had never met you before, but Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if she had heard stories about you from the others, since he had been notoriously affected by the breakup. Even though he was dealing with the aftershocks of the broken relationship, he was forcing himself to get past it.

They had been dating for two months now, and it only seemed right for Sharon to be his date at the wedding.

He had moved on. He was no longer the depressed, dark wreck he was when you left.

Sometimes it’s better to lie to yourself than to face the reality.

“You invited Bucky’s ex to the wedding?” Misty asked curiously.

“Uh, yeah. She’s not just his ex,” Sam explained gently. “She’s my friend too, and I haven’t seen her since she left town.”

"You told Bucky?"

"Nope," Sam snorted, shaking his head. "I can't. I don't think he'd turn up if I did. I want them both there on the day - I'm sure they can be civil for one night."

“I wonder how Bucky will react," his future wife pondered.

Sam shrugged. Not well, probably.

"What else can I do? I can’t not invite her, I really want her to be there. You never met her, so you don’t know, but she’s been through some shit.”

“I know, I know, you told me,” Misty said. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt. Do you think she'll be okay seeing Bucky again? Especially if he'll be there with Sharon?"

"She said she can handle it. She would be happy to see that Bucky was happy. She was the one who practically begged me to encourage him to move on."

“Do you think he has?”

Sam paused, considering the question carefully.

“He has to.”

Several weeks later, Misty Knight and Sam Wilson were officially wed at the local registration office. The day was full of hugs, cacophonous laughter, friends and family, and Bucky watched with a wide beam on his face as he witnessed his friends glow. Those kinds of smiles were few and far between nowadays, but he was truly happy for once.

"They look so good together," Sharon murmured as hundreds of guests filled the hotel ballroom, the party commencing in full swing. The newlyweds were in the center of the room, Misty being twirled around wildly by a laughing Sam before his wife collapsed against his chest in fits of giggles, looking up into his eyes adoringly.

More and more people joined them on the dance floor after the conclusion of their official first dance.

"Barnes, would you like to dance?" Sharon asked suddenly with a smile, extending a hand.

Bucky chuckled, allowing her to take his hand and lead him out to the dance floor.

An hour passed, and Bucky had to truthfully say that he was enjoying himself, assisted by all the alcohol he had consumed. Sharon was draped all over him as they swayed to the music, and Bucky found himself appreciating the feel of her body against his all too much, the scent of her intoxicating. His hands felt the fabric of her silky, emerald green dress, buried his nose into Sharon's blonde hair, sighing softly as he tightened his grip on her waist.

Her perfume was strong and woodsy, like a forest. It irritated his nose ever so slightly. You had preferred a more subtle, floral perfume, one that smelt like sakura blossoms.

Sharon was more confident and seductive in the way she danced, whilst you used to always let yourself become putty in his arms, enjoying how he took the lead and managed to make you look like you knew how to dance despite your two left feet.

However, despite the differences, if Bucky closed his eyes and just tried a little harder, he think he could pretend that -

"Sorry to interrupt.”

Bucky pulled away from Sharon suddenly, and he turned to mock glare at Sam. "What do you want, Wilson?"

"Need to borrow you for a minute," Sam said, an undecipherable expression on his face. Bucky tried to see where Misty had disappeared off to, but saw no trace.

"Um, sure..." Bucky tried to read Sam’s face but gleaned nothing.

"I'll just go say hi to Natasha," Sharon said, giving Bucky’s forearm a squeeze before she disappeared.

Sam’s smile faded, and he caught Bucky’s arm in a vice grip. "I need to tell you something. Don't get mad, okay?"

"What?" Bucky scowled as Sam dragged him to the side of the room, weaving through the crowds of guests. "What good news starts with, ‘don’t get mad’? Are you gonna tell me you want to run out on Misty or something?" He joked.

Sam pulled him out through one of the open French doors which led to a pretty, outdoor stone balcony. He shut them behind him as Bucky continued to babble, a little tipsy from the champagne he'd had. "I gotta tell ya, if she asks me to kick your ass I will literally do so -”

"Bucky," Sam said, taking a deep breath. "She’s here." Meeting Bucky’s nonplussed eyes, your name rolled off Sam’s tongue in clarification.

He felt like the breath was sucked from his lungs as he stared back at Sam, who looked uncharacteristically anxious.

“What?" He asked hoarsely, instantly sobering up. “What do you mean?”

Chills were running through his body. The name he had avoided for years was suddenly causing him to feel breathless. How did you still have such an affect on him?

"She couldn't make it to the ceremony earlier today, but she just arrived."

"You - you invited her here? She’s here, now?"

"Yes," Sam replied, nodding. "I invited her.” He straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest almost defiantly.

Bucky was speechless for a moment, taking a step back and scoffing. He shook his head. “Do you remember what she did to me?”

“I'm sorry, Buck..."

Bucky suddenly laughed, startling Sam. His laugh was curt, humorless. "What are you sorry for? I'm over her, Sam. It was two years ago. I haven't seen her in two years. I don't care anymore," he said quickly. Too quickly.

"Listen -"

"Look, it's okay." Bucky raised his hands in small surrender. “You have the right to invite whoever you want. I’m not mad. But I just don’t want to be held accountable for whatever happens now.”

He turned and wrenched the French doors open with such force that the handle buckled slightly. The noise inside the ballroom spilled out to replace the painful silence on the balcony.

He disappeared inside before Sam could say anything else, and he tried to hide it, but Sam could clearly see that his hands were shaking as he marched inside.

For the next twenty minutes, Bucky found sanctuary in the restrooms. He stood inside the stall, trying to stop himself from mentally collapsing.

He didn’t know what was happening. He had never felt this overwhelming panic rush over him before, immobilizing him. Anger, sadness and yearning swirling inside a melting pot of emotions that was crippling him.

She was here. The woman he hadn't seen in two years, the woman who broke his heart, the woman who betrayed him, the woman who left him in tatters.

Your infidelity had had an unforeseen impact on him. When he first found out, he was devastated. Terrified of how you became someone he didn’t recognize - or had you always been someone capable of betraying him, just good at hiding it?

You had poisoned all the happy memories they had once shared. Bucky found himself recounting all the years you were together, micro-analyzing everything, wondering if there was a hidden lie behind it all.

That was one of the things which made him angriest. You turned all the beautiful years of your relationship into a lie. None of it was real, Bucky had told himself.

You crushed him.

Of his feelings, anger prevailed, slowly simmering to the surface, like a volcano about to erupt. How dare you walk back into his life like this? He would show you, Bucky thought with determination. He was over you. He had no reason to be angry, he thought bitterly, because you were nothing to him.

Just like Bucky was nothing to you.

When he emerged from the toilets, the first thing he did was find Sharon. She looked relieved to see him, although confusion was clear on her face as she eyed Bucky.

"Where have you been? Are you feeling okay?" She commented, brow furrowed with concern.

"I'm fine," Bucky assured her. "Have you seen Sam?"

Sharon pointed, puzzlement still painted across her face, and Bucky snapped round quickly.

And there you were.

It was as if you had never left. As if the past two years filled with Bucky trying to eradicate every memory and feeling he had for you had never happened, because as soon as Bucky’s eyes found you through the crowd, everything came collapsing back down on top of him like an avalanche. Suffocating.

You were still so beautiful, strikingly so. Like a burning beacon among the crowd, Bucky’s eyes found your face as easily as anything. For a second, he allowed himself to ignore anything except you, and how the sight of you still managed to take his breath away.

You looked thinner than he remembered, your face gaunt. Bucky frowned slightly at this acute observation and found himself wondering if you had been taking care of yourself.

"Barnes? You okay?"

Bucky registered Sharon shaking his arm, but his eyes remained fastened on yourself and Sam. Neither of you had spotted Bucky yet, who was rooted to the spot like a statue. Sam’s mouth was moving, words that Bucky couldn't hear escaping his mouth, but his expression was angry. Almost as if he was scolding you for something.

"I have to...I..." Bucky stumbled over his words, voice faint. He could feel those tendrils of anger slowly seizing him again, wisps at first, until they grew more and more potent by the second. He remembered every single thing he felt when you left him, and instead of trying to hold back the emotions, Bucky just saw red.

"Let me introduce you to someone," he said suddenly, his voice strained as he took Sharon's hand.

"You said you were better," Sam said, expression torn.

"I am," you lied, trying to put on a smile. Truth was, you were exhausted, just like how you always felt. The ballroom was so crowded and loud, and you just wanted to go back to the hotel and sleep, which you would the moment you finished congratulating Sam and Misty. And perhaps, even though you didn't want to admit it, you wanted to catch a glimpse of Bucky, too.

"Look at you, you're -"

“Sam, please don’t,” you interrupted gently. “Just drop it, please? It’s your big day, I don’t want you to worry about anything else.”

Sam opened his mouth to talk, but stopped suddenly, his eyes flitting to look behind you.

"Hey."

You froze. You knew that voice, of course. Heard it enough times, the deep, gravelly voice that had once whispered sweet pet names, proclamations of love, and plagued your dreams ever since you left him.

You had longed to hear his voice again, hear your name being spoken lovingly. His voice was your favorite sound in the world. Except tonight, hearing it for the first time in two years, you heard nothing but ice.

"Bucky?" You turned slowly, and your breath hitched. He was just the way you remembered him. Even more handsome, if possible. Clad in a sleek black tux, tall and dark and sexy, everything you had missed and dreamed of, and...

He was holding another woman’s hand.

"Bucky," Sam repeated, voice tense. Bucky could hear the underlying warning.

"It's been a while," he said stiffly, acting as neutral as he could. As if he hadn't spent months after their terrible break up being a shell of who he used to be, barely repaired even now. Bucky felt like any other venomous words from your mouth would shatter him again, but he had to take the chance. He had to talk to you, show you that he had moved on. He didn't care about you anymore, or how you so ruthlessly left him.

"Yes," you said weakly, smiling softly. God, he still thought that you looked beautiful, clad in a periwinkle blue dress, a thick coat draped around your shoulders. You were shivering, and Bucky resisted the urge to ask you what was wrong. Now that he was closer, he could see that didn’t look well at all. You had dark circles under your eyes and your collarbones were too prominent, your gaze devoid of any livelihood.

You glanced at Bucky’s fingers interlaced with a gorgeous blonde. You had seen her on the news before, you were pretty certain. Your smile forcibly stretched wider, blinking a few times, not knowing what to do with yourself.

"This is Sharon," Sam said, clearing his throat and exchanging introductions.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Sharon said politely. She was gorgeous, you thought, watching as she sent Bucky a subtle, questioning glance.

Bucky was still staring at you, unmoving. You took the initiative first.

“Bucky, can we talk for a second?"

You could see the way he was trying to control himself by the way his lips stiffened, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. He gave a curt nod. He didn’t want to cause a scene in front of Sharon and the other hundreds of wedding guests.

“Let’s leave these two to catch up,” Sam said lightly, trying to hide his discomfort as he led Sharon away.

"So now you want to talk?" Bucky asked as soon as they were out of earshot, his voice sharp. You cringed, almost folding into yourself at Bucky’s hard stare.

"Yes," was all you managed to whisper, eyes darting to the ground to avoid meeting his glare. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

You turned and walked towards the exit of the ballroom, turning back to look at Bucky. He followed after a second, his jaw set like stone as you led the way to the empty lobby outside, away from the noise.

"It's been a while, Buck.” You voice was sad as you turned to face him again.

"Yes," he said, fighting an internal battle. He was so torn. Seeing you again made him want to wrap you up in his arms like he would've done two years ago, when you were still together. And feeling like that made Bucky angry. What right did you have to make him feel this way? Who gave you the right to mess with Bucky’s heart again after so long?

"How have you been?" You asked eventually after a painfully awkward silence.

He scoffed at that. "How have I been?" He repeated incredulously. He doubted you really wanted to hear about all those nights he spent in his apartment, refusing to talk to his friends, being a complete social introvert (more than he usually was) because he felt like he just couldn't live anymore. Not without you.

"Great. Fantastic," he said without a shred of sincerity.

You stared at him for the longest time, your lips pressed into a thin line. You looked so regretful that it made Bucky feel uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry," you said eventually, your voice wavering like you were struggling to breathe properly. "I'm so sorry for leaving you like that. We...we could have ended things better. You didn't deserve how I treated you."

You flinched when Bucky scoffed derisively. He dropped any remaining restraints he had previously put in place, letting all his feelings run free.

"Are you kidding me? Why? Why are you coming back here and apologizing after all this time?" He felt like he wanted to tear his hair out in frustration as he stared at you, making sure to keep his distance lest he found himself wanting to pull you closer. God, it was all so confusing. He despised you, and yet seeing you here in the flesh was everything he had ever wanted in the last few years.

He hated how you were making him feel.

"Look, it doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done," he spat through gritted teeth, all the while completely unaware of how your heart clenched painfully at Bucky’s scornful eyes. “Do you have any idea how unfair this is? You fucked up big time, disappeared off the face of the earth, then come back standing in front of me now asking how I am?”

“I know. You’re right, about everything. I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry.”

“No. You have no right to do this,” Bucky seethed. “You have no right to come back here and try to - what, settle your guilt? Make amends?”

You didn’t say anything, choosing to let him vent instead.

“I still remember the way you left. What you did. I will never forgive you for that. So don’t you dare stand in front of me today with all this bullshit and expect me to have something nice to say.”

"You really hate me, don't you?" You asked then, taking Bucky off guard. You lifted your head properly to stare at him, and the look in your eyes was unsettling.

"I hate you," Bucky confirmed unwaveringly, his voice hard. "I hate what you did to me and by extension, you."

You didn't respond. You bit your lower lip hard, trying desperately not to cry in front of him. Your heart hurt so much.

It was the worst feeling in the world, maybe, seeing the man you loved so dearly tell you that he hated you. It was excruciating, the clenching inside your chest as Bucky’s words rang in your head.

"I know my apologies will never be enough. I just wanted to see if you're happy now," you whispered.

"I'm happy," Bucky replied almost immediately. "I'm happy with Sharon. Does that bother you? Did you hope that I'd still be pining after you? I'm not that pathetic anymore." The barriers were broken, and the hurtful words were falling from Bucky’s mouth, two years worth of it.

“I never said you were pathetic,” you retorted, slightly indignant. “I’m glad that you’re happy.”

Bucky was breathing hard, unconvinced by your words.

“And how's the man you left me for?"

"He...it didn't work out," you shrugged, trying to keep your face as straight as possible.

"Good," Bucky said harshly. "Because you don't deserve happiness." If he wasn't so mad, he wouldn't say such irrational things. But he just wanted you to hurt. He wanted you to feel all the pain you caused.

Bucky pretended he didn't hear you gasp. He pretended that he didn't see your eyes gloss over at the sheer amount of hate in his voice.

"Okay," you said finally, your voice clearly shaking. "Okay," you repeated again, nodding your head. Bucky watched you take a step back, away from him.

“I -”

“I'm sorry, Bucky. Please take care," you interrupted, smiling sadly before you turned and walked away as quickly as possible.

That was not how you envisioned the reunion to go. All you wanted was to apologize, know that he was happy, so that you could go in peace.

But maybe that was the consequence of your decision. Maybe he was just always going to hate you for the rest of his life and remember you as someone awful.

You didn’t know that all Bucky wanted to do was run after you. Tell you to stop. He wanted to apologize and tell you how he didn’t mean a word of what he just said.

Rage and pride kept him shackled, and he watched your retreating back, feeling like a coward.

The last thing Bucky expected when he opened his apartment door a few days later was Sam’s dirty glare.

"You can be a mean son of a bitch, do you know that?”

"Hello to you too,” Bucky retorted.

“Why did you say all that stuff to her?” Sam asked, pushing his way past Bucky.

Bucky closed the door, knowing exactly who he was referring to.

"Why is this any of your business?"

"You acted like a dick!" Sam said furiously.

“Look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done something like that on your special day. But-”

“I want you to feel sorry to her.”

"She left me,” Bucky exclaimed. "You were there, Sam, you saw how fucked up she made me. She cheated on me! You want me to apologize to her?” His face was incredulous.

“You’re so fucking frustrating.”

“Oh, excuse me for not being the bigger person,” Bucky sneered. “But you don’t know how she made me feel, Sam, so don’t you dare try to give me a fucking lecture now.”

Sam was quiet for the longest time, looking exasperated. He stared up at the ceiling, sighing.

“Bucky, look man. She never cheated on you,” Sam said finally, an apologetic look in his eyes.

The apartment became filled with nothing but the sounds of Bucky’s heavy breathing.

“What are you talking about?” He spat, realizing now that Sam knew something he didn’t.

Sam let out a resigned sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I promised her I wouldn’t tell you. But fuck it, man, cause I think this is messed up. She’s sick, Bucky," he said solemnly. "Like, really sick."

Two years ago

"It's cancer, Sam."

You physically couldn't cry anymore. You had done enough of that the day the doctor had told you, your eyes puffy and swollen. Funnily enough, the first person you had sought out wasn’t your boyfriend, but rather his best friend.

Bucky wasn’t even in town that weekend, and you really didn’t want to tell him over the phone. In fact, you never wanted to tell him. How do you tell the man you love that you're dying?

"You can get treatment, right?" Sam asked.

"I don't know. It’s not looking good. They're doing some sort of new clinical trial in England, but even that’s a long shot. I - I’m going to try, though.”

Sam sat up straighter. “And Bucky?”

"You can't tell him," you said firmly. You had thought about it all night, and you knew you couldn't let him know. You didn't want to put him through something like this. "My father had cancer too, Sam," you said softly. "He died in so much pain, he had so much treatment but it didn't help. He was throwing up all the time, having fevers, his body was so weak, and by the end he wasn’t the same anymore. I don't want him to see me like that."

“But-”

“No buts,” you said. You had given it enough thought already. You knew that you would have to be very, very lucky to make it through this - the end was essentially inevitable. There was no way you would make Bucky bear witness to you succumbing to this illness the same way you had to watch your father.

It was the worst time of your life. You had told Bucky about it in the past, as he had never had a chance to meet your father since he passed away years before you met Bucky. Knowing what you did, you would never inflict that same experience on him.

"So what are you going to do?"

"I have to leave him.” You had been preparing yourself for what you needed to do all night. "If I go, there's a chance I might not come back, you understand that, right?"

"Don't say things like that," Sam said forcefully, clenching your hand. "Just stop. Bucky will support you all the way, you know that!"

"That’s exactly why I have to go by myself. I can't be selfish, Sam. I want him to be happy. That's all I've ever wanted. I can’t make him drop everything to make me his number one priority. Looking after me will take time and constant care. If I go to England, he will abandon everything and come. Manhattan is his home.”

Sam looked anguished and you knew that he was disagreeing with everything you had just said, but you plowed on.

"It’s not just a matter of time and effort. If he stays, he will watch me die, and I don’t want him to do that.” You began to cry, and Sam hugged you, wishing he could say something comforting.

“It’s okay," you said through the tears, even though every fiber in your body was telling you the opposite. You had been repeating these words to yourself all night, as if you would believe it if you said it enough times. "It’ll be okay."

Maybe you were being stupid, but you didn't care. You knew Bucky loved you with his body and soul, as did you. But you weren’t going to let him suffer over your illness. You wouldn't let the person you cared most about in the world see you slowly deteriorate.

You had been witness to how your father was clearly in a depressive state, and yet tried his hardest to pretend to be happy and fine around other people. You didn’t know if you had the strength or bravery to even pretend.

You began distancing yourself. Stopped trying to make conversation with Bucky, until the long, endless, random talks you used to share diminished into curt sentences. You stopped waiting for Bucky to come home, simply pretending that you didn't care. You became more secretive, furtively hiding your calls with your doctor and your mother.

There was no other man. You loved him and only him, and had been nothing but faithful. You didn't know what hurt more: having to lie to Bucky or the fact that he so easily believed you would betray him like that.

In the end, you had really regretted fabricating a story of infidelity. You should have just gone your separate ways without making him think that you had been unfaithful. But at that time, you wanted to find a quick solution that would make Bucky voluntarily detach himself from you. It seemed like a wise decision, but you really, really wish you hadn’t let him believe that you didn’t love him. It was truly the worst feeling in the world.

It was all over in a few weeks. You packed your things and left, trying not to cry with every heavy step you took towards the door of your apartment. You knew you were making the best decision for them both, surely.

Time would heal Bucky, and he would be happy again one day.

It just couldn’t be with you.

Present day

"She just didn’t want to feel like a burden to you, man," Sam said, shaking his head. "Why did you have to say all those things to her at the wedding?"

Bucky could register nothing else after Sam finished explaining everything. He was in disbelief, though he knew that there was no way Sam would fabricate a story like that.

Now, he could only think of the way he had shouted at you. The way he told you how much he hated you. The way you had left.

"Where is she?" Bucky whispered.

"She’s leaving today," Sam said tersely. "She’s going back to England. She was real sick for a long time, and she recovered a few months ago, but the cancer came back.”

He slipped a hotel business card into Bucky’s hand. “This is the address she’s staying at," Sam said.

He grasped it like a lifeline, eyes unable to see Sam standing in front of him. His vision was completely filled with images of you.

"Go," Sam said forcefully. "Go and find her.”

The tears wouldn't stop falling.

You didn't know words could hurt so much. Sure, you had expected Bucky to hate you, but you weren’t prepared for the way every single word seemed to embed themselves into your skin like splinters into your heart.

They were once so happy. They were so perfect.

You hated yourself. Hated yourself for getting ill, for ruining what you had. The logic was irrational, but the self-hatred had become second nature.

You had spent the last few days holed up in your hotel. You had planned to use the time to see a few friends before returning to England, but you no longer had the heart.

You left your room that morning only because Wanda was furious that she missed you at the wedding, and you agreed to have coffee with her. She almost cried at the sight of you, but you put on a brave face, refusing to talk about Bucky. You begged her if you could just talk about happy topics and she eventually obliged, smiling sadly when you hugged each other goodbye.

“I’ll see you again, dear,” Wanda had said, and you hoped to God she was right.

As soon as you got inside your hotel room, you felt a switch click internally.

Everything hurt. You were tired, unhappy and you really didn’t know if you would ever make it out of this emotional blackhole. You felt so weak, like you would keel over at any given moment.

Cancer really was a bitch.

You kicked off your shoes and entered the bathroom. You lay down in the bathtub, fully clothed, turning the cold water on until you were almost completely submerged, wanting to numb all the pain inside your body and mind.

You eyes were red and swollen, and you couldn't remember crying so much since that day the doctor diagnosed you. Why was life so unfair? You wanted your old life back again. The life where Bucky didn't detest you, the one where he was happily and wonderfully in love with you.

You lay back, letting the water cover you completely. You closed your eyes, your hair gently swirling around your face. You opened your mouth and screamed, bubbles erupting to the surface.

Eventually you emerged, gasping and coughing, your tears hot in contrast to your frozen face. Your body wracked with sobs, shaking uncontrollably.

You sank back down into the water, your mouth opening once more to scream in uncontrollable rage. It was cathartic, your fists clenched into balls as you willed the feelings inside you to just - disappear.

When you opened your eyes beneath the water, you nearly gasped at the sight of a blurry, warped figure above you. You didn't have time to do anything when arms were suddenly encasing themselves around you, lifting you to the surface.

You spluttered and coughed, your ears assaulted by the voice that once whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

"- the fuck are you doing? Are you okay?"

Bucky.

You blinked past the water in your eyes, bewildered at the sight of him, kneeling beside the bathtub with his hands gripping your shoulders. His bright blue eyes were scared, wide open with concern.

You were startled at his sudden appearance, unable to say anything as he scooped you out, lifting you with ease. You were clearly in shock and scared.

You collapsed against him as he sat down on the bathroom floor with you in his arms.

"What were you doing?” Bucky was appalled as he pulled you close to him, watching how you continued to weep, blinking blearily at him. Your body was ice cold, every inch of you soaked.

He whipped a towel down from the railing beside you, wrapping it around your body as you shivered uncontrollably.

"Bu - Bucky?" You asked, as if you couldn't fathom why he was here. You were almost convinced you were hallucinating.

"Fuck, we need to get you out of these clothes," Bucky said, gritting his teeth as he tried not to cry. He had so much to say to you. He wanted you to know how sorry he was, how he didn't mean anything he said, but now wasn’t the time. He had to be strong for you.

You felt like a baby as Bucky removed your soaking wet garments until you were naked, then immediately swaddled you with more towels. He picked you up completely off the floor and took you out of the bathroom.

He chose to place you down on the edge of the bed, positioning himself to kneel down in front of you.

"Bucky," you whispered, voice thick, trying to pull away from him. “I think you should just leave me alone."

He stiffened. It scared him to hear you talk like this, to see you look at Bucky with such defeat in your eyes.

“No,” he said resolutely. “I'm here now, okay? I'm here, I'm not leaving, and I need you to be with me. I need you here, talking to me.”

"I can't. I can't do this anymore. Just go, please."

Bucky looked at you then. Really looked at you. The woman he loved and misunderstood for so long was now a trembling wreck in front of him, skin paper thin and trembling like a leaf. You looked so vulnerable and sad, and it made his heart twist.

Bucky suddenly held you tight against his chest, tucking his nose against the crook of your neck, and you didn't resist.

"Do you have any idea how much I hate myself? I hate myself for letting you go through this alone. I hate myself for telling you all those lies that night. I love you, I love you, I love you," Bucky said, wishing that you would see it.

“Don’t.”

“I wish you had told me. I would have helped you. You should have told me. I can’t believe you -”

You realized now that Sam must've told him the truth, and you sighed softly.

"I'm not good for you, Bucky," you whispered. "I will only ever hurt you, put you through more pain."

"I know everything now," Bucky said firmly. "No matter what happens, I will gladly endure it as long as it means we're no longer apart."

“Don’t be so stupid,” you said, anger tearing through your voice, though the tears were still falling. “I’m broken, Buck. I can’t give you a future. Please just find someone else - stay with Sharon.”

“Sharon?” If you hadn’t mentioned her name, Bucky would never have even thought about her. “No - we’re not serious, doll. She was never going to be the one.”

“No,” you insisted. “If not her, then fine, find someone else. Just not me.”

“Why aren’t you listening?” Bucky asked furiously. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. Please don’t do this. I need you." He was desperate to make you see, to make you understand. It was you or nothing. "You don’t know how awful the past few years have been. I don’t want to be apart from you, please.” He was prepared to grovel at your feet and beg.

He hated himself for how easily he gave up two years ago. This time, he was not letting you leave him.

His beautiful blue eyes pleaded with you, and you felt your barricades crumble. Your arms finally moved to wrap around him, and he felt a wave of relief as he encircled you in his arms. You had missed this, the feeling of Bucky holding you so tenderly.

You didn’t know if you were making the right choice, but you wanted to give in so badly and just let yourself be selfish and enjoy what time you could have together. And now that Bucky had you back by his side, he was definitely not going to let you go.

Even if they were in pieces, at least they were together. And Bucky was positive that they could put those pieces back into a whole, as long as you gave it a chance.

"You're so stupid," you said through your tears.

"I don't think so," Bucky said, managing the smallest smile. "Just stupidly in love with you."

You wanted to stay like this forever, entangled in each others arms. He pulled back slowly to study your face, and leaned in to press a gentle kiss against your lips. He kissed you again, deeper this time, breathing you in.

“You owe me two years of kisses,” he mumbled.

You laughed softly, but it soon died. First, you had a lot of talking to do. You used the following hour to tell him the details about your illness, why you had left, how sorry you were for treating Bucky the way you did when you broke up with him.

"You're so dumb," Bucky had said, sounding furious for a moment. "You had no right to decide something like that for me. You know I would support you.”

"I know, Buck," you had interrupted. "That's exactly why I had to leave. I didn't want you to see me die, okay?"

You had looked like you were about to cry again, so Bucky stopped scolding you immediately. He would never make you cry again, he swore.

"You're here now," he said, kissing your temple. "We're together now. Everything feels...right again."

You swallowed, biting your lip. "I told you, my cancer is back and -"

"You'll get better again," he said, refusing to look at you. You knew that tears were in his eyes. "You'll get better, okay?" His voice wavered slightly.

"It's worse this time, Bucky," you said. "Look at me. I'm practically withering away."

"You'll get better," he said, clenching his teeth.

You didn't say anything, just nestled against Bucky’s chest, relishing the way he wrapped his arms securely around your frame as if you would disappear at any moment.

Maybe he was right. Maybe by some miracle, with Bucky by your side, you would be able to give him all the time in the world.

"I'll try to stick around," you whispered.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Delicate

Homelander x F! Reader

Summary: You and Homelander have been official for a while now, but you have yet to understand why things never went beyond a certain line.

Warnings: slight angst, slight manhandling, somnophilia, masturbation, explicit smut, praise kink, dirty talk, oral sex

A/N: not proofread as always bc I cringe at my own writing. take it or leave it

Homelander had never learned how to be gentle.

Of course he knew how to touch someone without breaking them if necessary, but there's limits to his self-restraint. Especially when it came to the intimate kind of encounter.

This sadistic side of his was an expression of his desperate need for control, an inability to truly let himself fall and be vulnerable with another person.

For decades his mantra was that normal humans only exist for supes' - and mostly his - entertainment. Your weakness was his thrill, the sheer difference in power so ridiculously high that you might as well be filthy bugs - and Homelander was like a cruel child with a magnifying glass.

Usually his mates were supes themselves and even they could barely handle his violent urges, but you are a mere human. So fragile and precious that it terrified him at times.

What if he loses control in the heat of the moment? What if he breaks you? Or even worse: What if you see him for the monster he really is and run away like everyone eventually does?

A while ago Homelander heard the story about Ice Princess' fling, some Vought employee nobody. She accidentally froze his penis off during climax. Hilarious, honestly. The first time he heard this story he had a very good laugh, and he still can't look that guy in the eye without cackling when he passes him in the hallways.

But now, being romantically involved with one of those weaklings himself, the possibility of something similar happening to you made his stomach turn...

...but of course, as Homelander always does, he chose to ignore the problem at hand instead of addressing it.

Why bother with an unpleasant conversation if he can just prolong this innocent, chaste bond for as long as possible? He'd rather have you like this than unnecessarily putting you into harm's way.

You on the other hand slowly but steadily grew impatient with your boyfriend.

At first you thought he was merely being chivalrous, but it's been three months and still nothing. He's famous, so you had involuntarily learned about his past affairs - and he's definetly not old-fashioned.

Then why is he hesitating so much?

Most of the time you don't dare talking about what's bothering you, simply because any issue of yours seemed so insignificant compared to the horrible things John's been through.

Admittedly, he once literally lasered a guy's head into mush just for throwing a can to his son's head. So while his reactions can be a bit unpredictable, John cares so deeply about the few people he loves that you want to spare him any more trouble.

Unhealthy way of handling things, admittedly.

Last week you had planned it all out: What you could only describe as the perfect date was supposed to continue in his apartment, and you could literally see all blood flow from his brain to nether regions as you entered the bedroom in finest lingerie.

Anyways, you had initiated several times up until now, and initially he'd always go along with it. However as soon as your make-out-sessions turn more heated, he'd abruptly end them and practically storm off.

Everything went so well at first, with you straddling his waist and tentatively grinding against his lap. His hands moved against his will as his resolve crumbled, finding the curves of your body and relishing in the feeling of your exposed skin under his gloves. His jaw clenched as he fought the urge to go all out, fearing dangerous consequences.

A proper dosage of pain can function as aphrodisiac, at least in your opinion. So you didn't tell him to stop, in fact your senses were too clouded by desire to even notice the way his fingers dug into the cushion of your hips.

Yet there was just the tiniest microexpression, just the fraction of a second where your heart sped up and your face contorted in pain...

...and Homelander, shocked with himself, threw you so frantically off of his lap, you landed face firsr on the floor instead of the bed.

Against all reasoning, you laughed hysterically at his not-so-subtle rejection, and god knows you'll tease him about it until forever. But also, understandably, on the inside you were as hurt and confused as never before.

Doesn't make it any better that your boyfriend had been avoiding you like you were the goddamn pest ever since.

Just like today, when Homelander comes home to you way past midnight, double checking with his x-ray-vision whether you were already fast asleep.

John was aware that this topic has been tormenting you for a while now, and while he never intended to hurt you - quite the opposite, really - he also clung to this pleasant illusion he had created with you.

Lucky at cards, unlucky in love, or so they say.

The course of his life had convinced him that all remotely good things happening to him will be taken away again. A farce prepared by destiny itself just to mock him, maybe evening out the scales since he had been blessed with too much power.

On days as shitty as this one however, nothing compares to having someone to come home to - even when he made sure that you weren't awake to confront him. He tosses his boots aside, grateful for you to be a sound sleeper as they fell to the floor with a loud thump.

Your boyfriend's heart sinks as he pulls up the blanket, being greeted by a handprint-shaped bruise on the side of your hip. Seems like it still hurts too much to sleep on that side. His fingertips run over the dark purple-ish mark, a pained groan escaping your throat when he gives in to the temptation to squeeze your ass.

He really is the worst.

Homelander freezes until he's certain you continue sleeping undisturbed, the sound of his own heart hammering against his chest drowning out all other noise. His palm is still lingering on your body, running up and down your sides and earning relieved sighs in return.

Before you'd feel his excitement too much, he manages to tear his body away from you, his erection twitching painfully as he rolled onto his back.

John really had pure intentions when he embraced you from behind, simply wanting to distract himself and fall asleep while cradling you in his arms - yet instead his already hard cock buries itself neatly between your thighs, the friction making him utter vile things.

Damn it Y/N, why the fuck do you always sleep in underwear only?! Is it to taunt him or to test his limits? Because it's working.

A breathy moan escapes his lips as he spread his legs wide, cock already leaking precum when he ran his thumb across the slid. He grabs it fiercely, pumping hard to make quick work of it, while roaming every inch of your skin he can get his other free hand on.

"Need some help with that?"

Shit.

ShitshitshitshitSHIT!

Seems like he was a little too busy with getting off - so much that even his heightened senses didn't catch you waking up to this scene. Your boyfriend had a habit of sleeping naked, so right now there was none of what he did left to the imagination.

"Heyyy sweetheart..." John tried to put on his trusty showman attitude, an awkward grin stretched across his face while trying to cover himself with the next best pillow. "Sorry babe, didn't wanna wake you up. Just go back to slee-"

"And miss out on the show?" you chuckle half-sleepily and he wants to die. He's done worse things in his life, way worse to be precize - so why is he fucking shy nowy just because you caught him? "Aww, you're blushing." He contemplates lasering your lips together to make you shut up.

"C'mon, John, I know you're holding back for some reason, but we don't have to go all out." Shuffling closer to your boyfriend, you give him those damn doe-eyes he can never say no to. "And I'd love to lend you a hand, if you know what I mean."

John instinctively closes his eyes as your face moves closer, lips eagerly awaiting yours...

...but just when you were about to touch him, he takes a hold of your wrist. "Y/N, I-" he shakes his head, trying to regain his composure. "Just- just let me go to the bathroom, okay?"

You frown. Worse, the humiliation makes tears dwell in your eyes. Pushing your partner is wrong, but without context you really start doubting yourself here.

Suddenly the stench of fear was lingering in the air, and your heart starts racing like a hummingbird. Trying to calm yourself was a fruitless attempt in front of a man that could perceive almost anything, even your pathetic strangled sobs.

So he was right: You're afraid and maybe even disgusted by his behavior, and just offered yourself to placate him.

Maybe he should just snap your neck to escape the inevitable heartbreak.

"A-Are you cheating on me?"

"Huh?" That question caught him off guard. He was prepared to hear anything, seriously all kinds of insults or accusations, but that? "Are you dense? Why the fuck would I cheat on you?"

And that's when it dawns on him: You are scared - but not of him.

To your defense, he did have a reputation of not being able to keep it in his pants. Maeve had remarked that fact more than once so you wouldn't forget. And him constantly being swarmed by the prettiest celebrities didn't do any good to your self-esteem either.

You're scared of him leaving you.

"Then what is it?" you sniveled, shrinking into yourself as you hugged your own legs. Seeing you like this and knowing he's responsible was somehow even worse than his earlier apprehensions. "You always react as if you got burned whenever we touch. Did I do something wrong, or- or am I not attractive enough?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" John scoffs in an almost irritated tone, unable to refrain from rolling his eyes. Comforting people didn't really come easy to him, even if he hated himself for not being able to let the shielding facade drop just this once. "You're gorgeous and you know that! C'mon, you women are always causing arguments out of thin air. Stop making this about yourself, would y-"

Seeing your glossy eyes turn into a glare at his ramblings made him shut up immediately, but the damage has already been done. "You know what, I'll-" For a while, you sit on the edge of the bed thinking and with every passing second of silence, Homelander's anxiety skyrockets. "I think it's better if I sleep at my own place for a while."

That's exactly what he's talking about, damn it! The line between control and insanity is a thin thread, and he is not willing to take any chances - when it comes to you at least.

"No!" he almost screams at you, jumping up from the bed and pointing a warning finger at you. "You're not going fucking anywhere!" When he sees your wary expression John's eyes soften, instantly regretting his outburst.

Why does he always fuck up? Why can he never seem to keep what makes him happy? Why can't he be what you need?

Homelander buries his face in his hands, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself just like you taught him. "Look, I-" He reluctantly put his hands on each of your shoulders and when you don't flinch away, he starts rubbing circles on your back. You always do it for him when he's upset, so he figures maybe it can help you too. "Please...I'll tell you the truth, okay? Just...don't leave."

You turn around to face him, nodding mutely as he wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb. Seeing you cry was gutwrenching, moreso when he was the reason. "I..." he helplessly gestures around, wishing there was a script to this like he was usually provided. "I tend to become...rough."

"So?" The initial hurt now turned into confusion, suspicion even about whether he was telling the truth. You defendingly cross your arms, like a barrier so you wouldn't falter before you got answers.

"I'm not made out of glass." Compared to his strenght, you might as well be. "And I can talk. If you become too wild I'll let you know."

Stubborn as always. But he loved that about you, too. "It's not that easy, Y/N." His head falls in defeat and exasperation. John's about to cry himself, and he hates you seeing him anything less than perfect. "I'll hurt you, and then you'll hate me. Or worse..."

Consciously ignoring the worse part, you cup both sides of his face, making him look up to meet your eyes. "John..."

You straddle his waist again, feeling relief now that you finally understood. Peppering kisses across his face and neck you whisper "I was so, so worried you had grown tired of me..."

"Never." Homelander wasn't someone to apologize often, let alone sincerely. The times he did ever since leaving the lab he can count on one hand.

But despite him being...well, him, John knows best what it's like to be plaqued by insecurities. He hugs you tight enough to make you feel the sincerity of his words. "I only wanted to protect you. I never wanted to make you feel this way."

"Next time talk to me from the start, okay?" You smile softly as he aggrees, and he doubts to be deserving of all your sympathy.

Your hands never leave his body, featherlight touch reassuringly calming his nerves. And yet together with the fact that the only thing currently separating your bodies was your thin panty, it was no wonder that his body reacted the way it did.

A moan disrups your conversation when his cock stiffens again, and you can't help but buck your hips against him in response. Your panties were already soaking anyway, due to the friction and his dirty little deed earlier.

The scent of your lust wipe all negative emotions from your boyfriend's mind, replacing them with something else.

"I want you, John" you breathe against his ear and he whines. "We could just take it slowly..."

"I don't know how" he admits, and you smile at his reluctant aggreement. Gently being shoved down on his back again, it feels like he melts beneathe your fingertips. "Then I'll teach you."

Goosebumps rise on his skin as your fingertips ghost over his body, and you lean over for a longdue kiss, so tender and affectionate John thinks he will fall apart.

Homelander's groan gets swallowed by your lips as you pull your panties aside, slick folds now grinding against his cock. Your name falls from his lips in meek whimpers and you refuse to believe this wonderful man could ever harm you.

"Let me take care of you." Shit, how do you always know exactly what to say?

Raking your hands through your hair as you sit up, air gets stuck in Homelander's throat at the sight, making him choke.

You look fucking magnificent.

Hell, he'd pay an artist to paint you like this so he could look at it forever. If only it didn't require another person seeing you naked...

"You know, I thought it was just my imagination..." A mischievous smile plays on your lips now that you think of it. "But my panties have been disappearing a lot lately."

Your boyfriend didn't respond anything else but a whimmer, shame washing over him at being caught. Not that he was really subtle to begin with.

"Speak up" you tease, giving his shaft a soft squeeze and he instinctively thrusts into your hand like a dog in heat. "Did you use them to get yourself off to your fantasies, huh? Naughty boy." His cock twitches in your palm at the words. "From now on, I want you to come to me for release. Always."

"I trust you" you add as doubt is clearly written on his face, voice firm and as unwavering as your loving eyes, driving tears into his own. You lower yourself on his cock, savouring the feeling of being filled out like this. "Mhh...you feel so good inside of me. Will you behave, John?"

"Y-Yes..." was all he managed to wring out, since it takes every ounce of strenght inside of him to not cum to your sweet affirmations right away. John clutches the bedframe so hard that it crumbles under his grip, but to his surprise you don't wince at the sound - quite the opposite, it shot a wave of heat right through your core.

"John...look at me." You guide his hands away from his eyes to cup your breasts instead, looking at him like he's the best fucking thing in the world. The intensity of your gaze causes him to shiver, makes him wanna hide.

Yes, this is too good to be true.

Whatever you see in him right now he will taint with his own hands given time.

And yet he can't stop anymore, now that he's aware of the depht your love helds for him.

You read him like a damn book, noticing his internal struggle so you silence the voices in his head with a passionate kiss. "So good for me, John" you cheer him on, moving your hips at a low pace.

Tension finally leaves his body and he dives his tongue into your mouth, groaning deeply as he moves his body alongside yours. His touch was careful yet bruising, sending pleasant tingles down your spine.

"I love you, John" you cry out as your foreheads touch, eyes never leaving his. "I love you so damn much!"

That declaration was enough to drive him over the edge.

Homelander pulls you as close as close as humanly possible when he stills momentarily, jackknive-like thrusts chasing after his high. The sounds he made as you got filled up bordered on obscene, as did the amount of cum spilling out of you.

"Shit" he speaks breathlessly against your skin, covering a bitemark he had just caused with kisses. "M'sorry..."

And yet he wasn't willing to let go off of you just yet, this amazing orgasm unable to ward off the embarassment of his poor performance.

"Never apologize for having a good time, silly" you chuckle, brushing your nose against his. "I'm flattered, if anything."

John never knew that sex could be so...satisfying, more than just physically. Filled with carefree laughter instead of expectations.

After all, he was conditioned to never wanna disappoint.

"Nah-a-ah." You yelped as he spun you around effortlessly, now him being the one howering over you, bearing his canines like a starved predator. "I refuse to let my goddess go unworshipped."

"John...I'm okay, really. Sex between lovers is not just about that..." And yet when he opens your legs, you don't resist.

He bets you taste just as fucking good as you smell, feisty little thing. Driving him crazy all those weeks. Do you have any idea how hard it was to endure this sweet torture for your sake?!

A shiver runs down your spine when he licks his lips at the sight of your leaking entrance, taking a deep inhale. There's a hunger in his eyes that no sane person could ever comprehend - but you indulged in it, craved in his twisted kind of love.

Heh, you were a goddamn freak just like him all along, isn't that right?

Homelander takes his time kissing a path down to your navel, admiring the marks he left on your body he was now able to see as the lovebites they are. He briefly looks up to assure himself of your consent, an answering smile all he needs to continue.

"Myyyy tuuuurn" he chants so cheerful, you almost thought he had put on his formal persona.

A relieving finger finally has mercy and slides into your already overstimulated sex, making you arch your back when he curls it inside. Pleads and curses falling from your lips as he enters a second one and then another, and you desperately try to move yourself deeper onto him.

"Attagirl!" Seems like his confidence has returned, at least judging by that damn smug smile his tone indicated. The frustrated pout you wore right now was so adorable, he decided to end your misery and bury his head between your legs as well.

You were still fucking yourself on his fingers while he relished the taste of himself on your pussy, before enveloping your clit with his tongue. "That's my fucking girl right there" he mouths as he ate you out, pumping his fingers keenly on your weak spot he so easily found. "Come on, I want to hear you."

When you came it felt like you were ascending to the afterlife, screaming his name at the top of your lungs before collapsing into the sheets.

Your legs had long since gave out but John put them over his shoulders, humping the mattress while his tongue still ran over your nerve endings, shooting jolts of overwhelming pleasure through your system.

"Oopsie" he coos, a predatory glint in his eyes as he crawled on top of you again, his kiss giving you a taste of your own spent. "Made me hard again."

You eyes flutter open after the last bit of your climax had ebbed out, exhausted yet invitingly batting your lashes as your limbs entangled once again.

"Seems like I found the Homelander's weakness."

[marysfics]

Submerged in Silence

"And I scream for your name and l call for you babe, but I can't be with you."

Angst, High States of Panic, Toxic Statements, Trauma, Enochlophobia, Small Mentions of Gun Shots (in reader's mind), Fluff, Happy Ending.

Note: I've deleted the series and made one long fic of it. Might be a bit over the top.

The memory crept back into your mind like it always did-slow, unwelcome, but persistent. It had been a few months ago, but the sharp sting of that day still clung to you, heavy and unshakable. You could feel the weight of the promise you'd made, even now, pressing down on your chest like a lead weight. You were sitting on the edge of your bed, the sun casting soft, golden light through the windows, illuminating the room in a way that felt almost mocking.

You remember how peaceful the morning had seemed. Alexia had already left for training, her energy buzzing with excitement for that night's match.

She'd kissed you goodbye, a quick peck on your lips before slipping out the door with her usual calm confidence, and you had smiled, telling yourself that this time would be different. This time, you'd go. This time, you'd push past the gnawing anxiety, the fear that always seemed to take root deep inside of you, and you would sit in that stadium, cheering her on like the supportive partner you so desperately wanted to be.

In your mind, you could see it clearly-thousands of people dressed in the team's colors, the roar of the crowd, the feeling of pride swelling in your chest as Alexia stepped onto the field, her name echoing across the stadium.

You imagined sitting there, your heart full, watching her in her element, knowing she could look up and see you in the stands, finally there for her. You had wanted that, more than anything.

The days leading up to the match had been a blur of nervous energy. Every time Alexia mentioned it, her face lighting up with excitement, you'd nod and smile, doing your best to ignore the cold sweat that would break out across your back.

You didn't want to disappoint her-not again. So, you told yourself you could do it, that this time you would make it through, no matter what it took. But as the day grew closer, that sense of determination began to unravel. It always did, didn't it?

The first hints of doubt crept in during the quiet moments-while you were making coffee, brushing your teeth, or folding laundry-little flashes of panic that tightened your chest and made your pulse quicken. You pushed them down, tried to force them away, but they always came back stronger.

By the morning of the match, that flicker of doubt had turned into a full-blown storm of anxiety, swirling in your chest like a hurricane. You remember sitting there, hours before you were supposed to leave, staring at the clothes you'd laid out on the bed. They were just jeans and a t-shirt something casual, something comfortable-but the sight of them made your stomach twist.

Your hands were already trembling, the familiar tightness in your throat beginning to choke the air from your lungs.

You can do this, you told yourself, again and again, like a mantra. But each repetition sounded weaker than the last.

You had even managed to text Alexia, forcing your fingers to type out a message that you hoped sounded confident. "I'm getting ready. See you soon. I can't wait." She responded almost immediately, a string of heart emojis, a "Can't wait either, mi amor," and that radiant energy she always carried.

You had stared at your phone for a long time after that, letting the words blur as you tried to imagine yourself stepping into that stadium. But every time you pictured it, something inside you recoiled.

The thought of all those people, the noise, the claustrophobia of being trapped in a crowd of strangers, your mind unable to quiet the constant hum of fear. It wasn't just anxiety. It was a visceral, physical reaction, like your body was rejecting the very idea of it.

You knew it didn't make sense. You knew that, logically, you were safe-that nothing bad would happen to you at a football match. But the panic didn't care about logic. It never had.

As the hours passed, the pressure in your chest grew worse, your breath shortening until it felt like there wasn't enough air in the room. Your heart pounded in your ears, each beat echoing louder than the last. You tried to get up, tried to move toward the clothes you'd laid out, but your legs felt like lead. Your hands were slick with sweat, your fingers trembling as you clutched the edge of the bed, willing yourself to stand.

But every time you thought about leaving the apartment, about stepping into that massive stadium full of strangers, the world around you seemed to close in. You knew what was coming before it even hit.

You had felt it building for days-the panic attack that was now bubbling to the surface, threatening to drown you in its familiar waves. The room spun, the walls felt too close, too suffocating.

You gasped for air, your heart racing so fast that it felt like it would beat right out of your chest. You pressed your palms into your thighs, trying to ground yourself, but the feeling of spiraling out of control was already overwhelming.

And that's when the tears came. Hot, angry tears of frustration, of guilt, of shame. You were supposed to be stronger than this. You were supposed to be able to push through for her-for Alexia. But here you were, once again, frozen by the weight of your own fear. You sat there, curled up on the edge of the bed, your body shaking as you let the panic run its course, helpless to stop it.

By the time the panic had finally receded, the match had already started. You didn't even have the strength to move, let alone text Alexia to tell her you weren't coming. All you could do was sit there, staring at the empty clothes on the bed, feeling the crushing disappointment settle over you like a blanket.

Hours later, when Alexia came home, the guilt was so thick in your throat that you could hardly speak. You saw the way her face fell when she walked through the door, her usual bright smile dimming as she realized you weren't at the match. She didn't say anything at first. She just stood there in the doorway, her eyes searching yours, and in that moment, you wished the ground would swallow you whole.

"I'm sorry" you whispered, your voice barely audible, your gaze fixed on the floor. Alexia nodded, her face unreadable, though the silence between you was louder than any words could have been. She sat down beside you, her hand reaching out to rest on your knee, a quiet gesture of comfort. But you could feel the disappointment radiating off her, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

"It's okay," she said softly, but you both knew it wasn't. Not really. She didn't press you for an explanation, didn't ask why you hadn't come. She knew about your anxiety, about the way crowds could suffocate you. But knowing didn't make it easier.

Understanding didn't erase the fact that, once again, you hadn't been able to follow through on your promise. And that hurt more than anything.

Later that night, as you both lay in bed, the silence stretched between you like a chasm. You had forced yourself to smile, though it felt more like a grimace, your heart racing again as you whispered the words that had been echoing in your mind all day. "I swear be I'll be there next time, you said, the words tasting like desperation on your tongue.

Alexia had smiled, a soft, tired smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She kissed your forehead gently, her touch warm and reassuring, but there was a sadness in the way her hand lingered on your cheek, as if she didn't fully believe you. "Okay" she whispered back, her voice quiet and understanding.

But in the darkness, with the weight of your failed promise still hanging between you, you knew the truth. You weren't sure you believed it, either. Because no matter how much you loved her, no matter how badly you wanted to be there for her, the fear was always waiting.

And the next time would come, just like this time had, and you weren't sure if you'd ever be able to push through it.

Back in the present, the room is a quiet testament to the echoes of promises broken.

You sit in the living room, the silence between you and Alexia stretching out like an impenetrable barrier. The apartment, once a cozy refuge, now feels like a cage, its walls closing in with every passing moment.

The space around you is eerily quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the apartment settling. The walls, once filled with the promise of warmth and love, now seem to close in on you, pressing against you with their silence. The apartment feels cold and unwelcoming, a stark contrast to the vibrant energy it once held when Alexia was around.

You glance over at her, sitting across from you on the other end of the couch. Her eyes are glued to her phone, scrolling through something you can’t see, though you can sense the frustration in the rigid set of her shoulders and the way her fingers swipe aggressively across the screen. She’s trying to pretend that it doesn’t bother her, that she’s unaffected by the fact that you missed another one of her games, but you can feel it, heavy in the air between you.

It’s not just the matches, you think, the thought cutting through the fog of your own guilt. It’s everything. I’m losing her piece by piece.

You remember the times when the apartment was filled with laughter, where every shared moment felt like a step closer to building something lasting.

Now, the laughter is scarce, replaced by the silence that stretches endlessly between you. Each missed match, each broken promise, feels like a crack in the foundation of what you had built together. The more you miss, the more the cracks widen, and you feel yourself slipping through, unable to grasp the pieces that once made you whole.

Alexia’s silence is louder than any words she could offer. It’s the way she avoids looking at you, the way her responses are curt and measured, like she’s trying to hold back a flood of emotion. You can see it in the way she sits, rigid and unyielding, her body language speaking volumes about the hurt and disappointment she’s trying so hard to conceal.

Why do I always fail? you wonder, the question echoing in the emptiness. Why can’t I be the person she needs me to be?

You think back to the last time you made the promise—the words you had spoken with such conviction, hoping against hope that this time would be different.

But as the days turned into weeks and the matches continued, your anxiety only seemed to grow stronger. The idea of being in a crowd, of facing the roar of thousands of voices, became a mountain you couldn’t climb. And now, each time you failed to live up to your promise, the guilt grew heavier, a constant reminder of your inadequacies.

Alexia finally puts down her phone, her gaze drifting toward the window, though she’s not really seeing anything outside.

The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable, and you feel the weight of it pressing down on you, suffocating. You want to reach out, to say something, to break the silence and bridge the gap that’s grown between you. But you’re paralyzed by the fear of saying the wrong thing, of making the situation worse.

The walls of the apartment seem to close in tighter, and you find yourself staring at the familiar surroundings—pictures on the wall, the cozy throw blankets, the shared books and trinkets. They’re all reminders of the life you used to share, a life that feels increasingly distant and out of reach.

I wish I could just explain, you think, feeling the tears welling up behind your eyes. I wish I could make her understand that it’s not about not supporting her. It’s about me being trapped in this fear, this suffocating panic that takes over every time I try to step out of my comfort zone.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the anxiety is still there, a constant companion.

You know Alexia is struggling, too, though she tries to hide it.

You can see it in the way her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, in the way she tenses when she thinks you’re not looking.

You wish you could find the right words, the right way to make her see that this isn’t a matter of not caring. It’s not about the love you have for her; it’s about the crippling fear that prevents you from showing it in the way she needs.

The silence continues, a living, breathing thing between you. You can feel it pressing against you, and the weight of it is almost too much to bear. You can see the way Alexia’s frustration is building, a quiet storm that threatens to break free. You want to reach out, to hold her, to tell her that you’re sorry, but the words catch in your throat.

Finally, the dam breaks. Alexia’s eyes blaze with a mixture of hurt and anger, her voice trembling with raw emotion. “Do you even want to be part of my life?” she asks, her voice breaking, the words cutting deeper than you expected. “Every time I look up at the stands, I just... I just want to see you there. I want you to be proud of me.”

The intensity of her question hits you like a physical blow, and you flinch, the weight of guilt pressing down on your chest. The vulnerability in her eyes makes your heart ache. “I am proud of you,” you say softly, tears forming in your eyes. “I’m proud of you every single day, but I’m scared. I’m scared of the crowds, the noise, the pressure. I don’t know how to be in your world without drowning.”

Alexia’s frustration morphs into a deep sadness, her shoulders slumping as if the weight of her emotions is too much to bear. “I don’t know how to help you if you keep pulling away,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m trying to understand, to find a way to make this work, but every time you retreat, it feels like I’m losing you a little more. I need you to meet me halfway. I need to know you’re fighting for us, not just fighting against your fears.”

Her words are a dagger to your heart, each one a reminder of the emotional chasm that has grown between you. You can see the pain in her eyes, the strain of trying to hold everything together while you struggle with your own limitations. The realization that your fears are pushing her away is almost too much to bear.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, your voice breaking with the weight of your emotions. “I really am. I wish I could be stronger, be braver. I don’t want to keep failing you.”

Alexia’s frustration is palpable, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I need you to try,” she says, her voice thick with tears. “I need you to find a way to be part of my world. It’s not just about the games; it’s about being present, being there for me. I feel like I’m losing you, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

The desperation in her voice, the ache of her words, cuts through your defenses. You realize that this isn’t just about you anymore—it’s about both of you, and the future you’re struggling to hold onto. The frustration and sadness are mingling in the air, a storm of emotions that neither of you know how to navigate.

But as the argument spirals, the rawness of the emotions takes over, and both of you start hurling words that can’t be taken back.

“You don’t understand what it’s like!” you shout, your voice trembling with the weight of your own fear and frustration. “You think I’m just not trying hard enough, but you have no idea how paralyzing it is. You don’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning every time you try to step out.”

“And you don’t see how your inability to even attempt it makes me feel like I’m fighting this battle alone!” Alexia retorts, her voice rising with anger. “I’m not asking you to be perfect. I’m asking you to show up, to be a part of my life, and every time you back out, it’s like you’re telling me that I’m not worth fighting for.”

The emotional gap between you feels like an ocean, wide and uncrossable. Each accusation, each defense, only widens the chasm. The words you exchange are sharp, and the air between you is heavy with the weight of what’s been said and left unsaid.

“Maybe we’re just too different,” you whisper, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, a resignation in your voice that reflects the depth of the chasm growing between you.

The silence that follows is deafening. The rain outside intensifies, the sound of it hitting the windows echoing the heavy beating of your heart. The rhythmic patter of the rain becomes a backdrop to the quiet storm inside, a harsh reminder of the distance that seems to be expanding with each passing second.

Alexia stands there, her face a mix of anger and despair, and for a moment, everything feels suspended in time.

The rain continues to drum against the windows, a relentless, unyielding force, mirroring the tumultuous emotions inside you both.

In the midst of this emotional hurricane, you finally find the words, though they come out strained and hesitant. “I’ll come to the match tomorrow,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I’ll be there to sit with you. I know you’re hurt, and I don’t want to make things worse. I’ll come, even if it’s hard for me.”

Alexia’s eyes widen slightly, a flicker of hope mingling with the pain. “You’d better come,” she says, her voice resolute though it still trembles. “Because if you don’t, I don’t know if our relationship can survive this. I need to know you’re willing to fight for us, even if it’s hard.”

You nod, tears stinging your eyes. “I’ll be there,” you promise, your voice thick with emotion. “I’ll come for you. I’ll try, even if it’s tough.”

As you both stand there, the rain outside continues to fall, a steady, soothing backdrop to the fractured silence between you. The storm may have raged, but there’s a small, fragile hope that with each step you take towards each other, the distance can start to close. For now, all you can do is hold onto that promise and hope that it will be enough to bridge the gap that has grown between you.

The evening wears on, and neither of you knows how to fix the damage.

Alexia goes to bed without saying another word, leaving you alone in the living room, staring at the raindrops streaking down the glass. Each drop seems to trace the contours of your guilt and sadness, mapping out a path that leads deeper into the abyss of your own making. The silence that fills the apartment feels like an impenetrable wall, a barrier between you and the understanding you both desperately need.

You feel like you’re drowning in your own emotions, sinking deeper and deeper into a place where reaching Alexia seems increasingly impossible. The weight of your failure, the depth of your anxiety, and the magnitude of the rift between you make it hard to see a way out.

The next morning arrives with a heavy sense of dread. The apartment is still and quiet, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling inside you. Alexia gets up, her movements mechanical and distant. She goes through her morning routine with a cold efficiency that only amplifies the silence. When it’s time for her to leave, she doesn’t kiss you goodbye. Instead, she simply puts on her coat and heads for the door, the finality of her departure a bitter reminder of the fracture in your relationship.

You watch her go, feeling a surge of panic that makes your hands tremble. You know you have to push through the overwhelming fear that has been building up inside you. It’s like trying to swim against a relentless current, but you force yourself to take each step, determined to follow through on your promise.

Your hands shake as you try to get dressed, struggling to button your shirt and tie your shoelaces. Every movement feels like an immense effort, as though you’re moving through thick molasses. You try to calm your racing heart, but the fear is relentless, making it difficult to focus.

When you finally make it to the car, your hands are slick with sweat as you fumble with the keys. Opening the door feels like a victory, a small but significant step towards facing your anxiety. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, and slip into the driver’s seat. The engine roars to life, a powerful, comforting sound amidst the storm of emotions.

The drive to the stadium feels surreal, as if you’re moving through a dream. Your hands grip the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white, as the world outside blurs by. When you pull into the stadium garage, the sight of the vast, looming structure fills you with a mixture of trepidation and resolve.

You park and take a moment to collect yourself before stepping out of the car. Your legs feel shaky beneath you, and your hands remain clammy as you grab your belongings. The distant roar of the crowd, already vibrant and loud even in the parking lot, seeps into the car and intensifies your anxiety.

Taking a deep breath, you force yourself to open the door and step out. The air in the garage is cool, a stark contrast to the heat of your nervous energy. As you close the door behind you, you spot Alexia standing by the elevator, her attention focused on her phone. The weight of the argument still lingers, an unspoken heaviness between you that neither of you has fully addressed.

You approach her, each step feeling like an enormous effort. Alexia looks up from her phone as you draw near, and for a moment, her eyes meet yours, a mix of relief and something else you can’t quite place. Her gaze lingers on your hands, which are still visibly trembling. Without saying a word, she reaches out and takes one of your hands in her own.

As you and Alexia make your way through the bustling corridors of the stadium, the roar of the crowd grows louder with each step. The noise is almost deafening, a cacophony of cheers, chants, and the rhythmic thumping of thousands of feet. Every sound feels like a physical blow, a relentless assault on your senses.

You try to keep yourself together, forcing yourself not to flinch when the crowd’s collective excitement erupts into a wave of sound. The intensity of it makes your heart race faster, each shout and cheer echoing in your chest. Moving past the sea of passionate supporters, you find yourself clutching Alexia’s hand tightly, as if it were a lifeline pulling you through the storm of sound and motion.

When you finally reach your seats, you collapse into them with a mix of relief and exhaustion. The crowd's roar continues unabated, a relentless wave of sound that seems to pulse through your body. Alexia leans in, her voice soft and soothing as she tries to offer reassurance, but the noise is so overwhelming that her words are lost in the din.

You close your eyes, focusing on breathing in deeply and exhaling slowly. You try to anchor yourself to the rhythmic rise and fall of your breath, hoping it will help calm the storm inside. For a moment, it feels like the breathing exercise is working, and the edge of your panic starts to dull.

Suddenly, you hear Alexia's voice again, cutting through the noise with a note of genuine pride and happiness. “I’m so proud of you for coming,” she says, her words filled with warmth and affection. “I know this is really hard, but I’m so grateful you’re here.”

You manage a smile, the effort of it feeling almost like a victory. It’s a small, fragile smile, but it’s genuine. You’re grateful for her presence, for her understanding, even if your anxiety still lingers at the edges of your consciousness. Alexia doesn’t notice that the smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes; she’s too focused on her own feelings of pride and happiness.

The game begins, and for a while, the atmosphere, though intense, is manageable. You keep your focus on Alexia’s comforting presence beside you, drawing strength from her closeness. The match unfolds, and despite the roars of the crowd, you manage to keep yourself together, finding solace in the fact that you’re here, supporting her.

But when Barcelona scores, the stadium erupts into an explosion of sound. The roar of the crowd is deafening, a wave of noise that seems to crash over you and pull you under. Your heart races, and the intensity of the celebration sends your anxiety spiraling out of control. The cheers and shouts blur into a chaotic din, and for a moment, the world around you feels like it’s closing in.

In the midst of the crowd’s jubilation, your senses become overwhelmed. The noise, the movement, and the sheer volume create a disorienting storm. Suddenly, you hear what you think are gunshots—sharp, jarring sounds that make your blood run cold. They’re not real, of course, but to your panicked mind, they’re all too vivid. Your breath comes in short, ragged gasps as tears stream down your face, and you feel hyper-alert, every nerve ending on edge.

Alexia notices the sudden shift in you, her gaze darting to your tear-streaked face. She can see the fear and panic in your eyes, and her own shock and guilt mirror the turmoil inside you. Her hand grips your thigh, trying to ground you, but the touch makes you flinch uncontrollably. The action catches her off guard, and she quickly realizes just how severe your distress has become.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Alexia says urgently, her voice filled with concern. She gently but firmly holds your face in her hands, trying to bring you back to the present. Her eyes search yours, filled with worry. “It’s okay, you’re safe. We’re going to go home. It’s alright.”

You can’t speak, only nod weakly as the tears continue to fall. The crowd's noise fades into the background as Alexia’s presence becomes your sole focus. She helps you to your feet, guiding you carefully through the throngs of people, her own emotions a tumultuous mix of regret and concern.

When you finally reach the parking garage, the air feels different, more contained and quieter. Alexia helps you into her car, her movements deliberate and gentle as she opens the passenger door for you. She takes a deep breath, her own anxiety evident in the tight lines of her face, but she masks it with a determined calmness.

You slip into the seat, still trembling, and Alexia quickly moves to the driver’s side. She starts the engine, the purr of the car offering a brief, comforting reprieve from the overwhelming noise of the stadium. The gentle hum of the car’s interior is a soothing contrast to the chaos of the game.

As she pulls out of the parking garage, she glances over at you, her eyes soft with concern. “We’re going home,” she says, her voice steady but filled with empathy. “Just focus on your breathing, okay? We’ll get through this.”

As the car glides smoothly out of the parking garage, the city lights begin to blur past the windows. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the soft glow of the dashboard create a cocoon of calm in contrast to the chaos you just left behind. Alexia’s hands grip the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white with the tension she’s trying to control.

You close your eyes, focusing on the slow, deep breaths Alexia encouraged you to take. The steady rise and fall of your chest, paired with the gentle motion of the car, helps you regain a sliver of composure. Every breath feels like a small victory, a way to push back against the overwhelming tide of panic.

The drive feels longer than usual, every minute stretching out in a haze of relief and residual fear. Alexia occasionally glances over at you, her gaze filled with a mix of worry and determination. Her silence speaks volumes, conveying the depth of her feelings without needing to utter a single word.

As you approach your apartment, the familiar surroundings offer a glimmer of comfort. Alexia pulls into the parking space and puts the car in park, her movements deliberate and careful. She turns off the engine and reaches over to take your hand, her touch gentle and reassuring.

“We’re here,” she says softly, her voice a soothing balm against the raw edges of your anxiety. “Let’s take it one step at a time, okay? You did so well coming here tonight, and we’ll work through this together.”

Alexia helps you inside, her hand steadying you as you move through the apartment. You feel the weight of the evening’s events pressing down on you, each step a reminder of the intense panic you experienced just hours before. You offer a small, grateful smile, though it feels shaky and incomplete.

She guides you to the bedroom, where you sink onto the bed with a sigh of relief. The familiarity of your room, the soft bedding, and the quiet atmosphere offer a small respite from the overwhelming sensations you’ve been battling. As you lay back, trying to calm your breathing, you notice Alexia moving about the apartment with a determined efficiency. She heads to the kitchen, her movements focused as she prepares to make tea.

The sound of the kettle whistling is a distant hum, almost comforting in its normalcy. Alexia’s footsteps are soft and deliberate as she moves around the kitchen, and you can hear the occasional clink of mugs and the rustle of tea bags being opened. Despite the calmness in the apartment, you can’t shake the feeling of embarrassment that lingers, a heavy weight that’s hard to ignore.

You pull the blanket around you tighter, trying to stave off the tremors that still shake your body. The evening’s events replay in your mind, each flash of panic and each tear that fell feeling like a stark reminder of your own vulnerability. You close your eyes, trying to focus on the steady rhythm of your breathing, but it’s a challenge with the remnants of your anxiety still coursing through you.

After what feels like an eternity, Alexia enters the bedroom with a steaming mug in hand. She sits beside you on the bed, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and tenderness. She places the mug on the nightstand and carefully helps you sit up, her touch gentle and reassuring. The tea’s warmth offers a small, comforting distraction from the turmoil within you.

“I made us some tea,” she says softly, her voice a soothing balm against the chaos of your thoughts. “It’s just chamomile—hopefully, it’ll help you relax a bit.”

You manage a small, grateful smile, though it feels like an effort. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. The vulnerability of the moment, combined with the lingering embarrassment, makes it hard to meet her eyes.

Alexia hands you the mug, her fingers brushing against yours with a warmth that sends a shiver down your spine. “Take your time,” she says, her gaze tender as she watches you take a cautious sip. “I’m here for you.”

The warmth of the tea soothes your trembling hands, and you close your eyes, letting the calming effects of the chamomile slowly seep into your system. Each sip helps ground you a little more, easing the last remnants of panic.

As you drink, Alexia sits beside you, her presence a steady anchor. She reaches out and strokes your hair softly, the gentle motion a quiet affirmation of her support. The silence between you is filled with an understanding that doesn’t need words—she’s here, and she’s not going anywhere.

You feel a wave of gratitude for her patience and care, despite the turmoil you’ve brought into the evening. “I’m sorry,” you say softly, your voice trembling. “For everything. I didn’t mean for it to be like this.”

Alexia shakes her head, her expression resolute. “It’s okay,” she says, her voice firm yet gentle. “We’re going to get through this together. I just want you to know that you’re not alone.”

As the evening wears on, the trembling subsides, replaced by a deeper sense of calm as you and Alexia sit together in the quiet of your bedroom. The remnants of the night’s chaos slowly give way to a fragile but hopeful peace, and you allow yourself to sink into the comfort of Alexia’s presence, finding solace in the quiet support she offers.

The room is quiet the next morning, the sunlight filtering through the curtains and casting a soft glow over the bedroom. You’re still in bed, the remnants of last night’s anxiety slowly receding, replaced by a tentative calm. Alexia has already been up for a while, you can tell by the faint sounds coming from the kitchen—clinking dishes, the soft murmur of the radio.

When she finally enters the room, she carries a tray with breakfast—simple, but thoughtful. A steaming cup of coffee, a slice of toast, and a bowl of fruit. She places it gently on the nightstand and sits down beside you on the bed, her face reflecting a mix of fatigue and determination.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she says quietly, her voice carrying a heaviness that hints at the weight of her words. She meets your gaze with a vulnerability that you haven’t seen before, her eyes searching for yours as if seeking forgiveness.

“I know last night was really hard,” she begins, her voice trembling slightly. “And I know I said things that were hurtful. I was frustrated and scared, and I let that frustration come out in a way that wasn’t fair to you.”

You sit up slowly, taking in her words as your heart tightens with a mix of relief and sadness. The sincerity in her voice, the raw emotion in her eyes, it all makes your breath catch in your throat.

“I didn’t understand,” Alexia continues, her voice breaking a little. “I didn’t see how deep your fear was, and I pushed you too hard. I’m so sorry for that. I said things I’ll always regret. I never wanted to hurt you, but I did, and for that, I’m truly sorry.”

Her eyes well up with tears, and she reaches out to gently take your hand in hers, her touch tender and apologetic. “I know now that I should have been more patient, more understanding. I thought I was helping, but instead, I only made things worse. I want you to know that I regret every harsh word I spoke. I wish I could take it all back.”

You squeeze her hand, feeling the weight of her apology settle in your heart. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me,” you say softly, your voice filled with a mix of gratitude and sadness. “I understand that it was just frustration and fear on both our parts.”

Alexia nods, her tears falling freely now. “I never wanted our arguments to hurt you, and I’m so sorry for not being there for you in the way you needed. I promise to work on understanding your fears better and to be more patient. I want us to be able to face these challenges together, without adding to each other’s pain.”

The sincerity of her apology, combined with the raw emotion she’s displaying, helps to heal some of the wounds from last night. You can see the depth of her regret and the genuine desire to make things right, and it offers a glimmer of hope for moving forward.

“I appreciate that,” you say softly, your voice trembling as you try to keep your emotions in check. “I know it’s not easy for either of us, and I don’t expect everything to be perfect. But I do believe that we can work through this together.”

Alexia nods, her face reflecting a mixture of relief and gratitude. “Thank you for understanding,” she says, her voice filled with warmth. “I love you, and I want to be here for you, no matter how difficult it gets.”

You both sit in silence for a moment, holding each other’s gaze and finding comfort in the unspoken connection between you. The air in the room feels lighter, the tension of last night giving way to a more hopeful sense of reconciliation.

As the morning unfolds, you and Alexia take small, careful steps towards mending the fractures in your relationship. You share breakfast together, the simple act of being present and supportive a testament to the strength of your bond. The road ahead may still be challenging, but the commitment to understanding and patience offers a foundation for healing and growth.

In the quiet moments that follow, you hold on to the promise of better days ahead, knowing that with love, effort, and empathy, you can navigate the complexities of your relationship and emerge stronger together.

-

Note: I'm aware that this isn't my best piece, but I wanted to get it out anyway. As a process to grow with new writing styles.

[alpaca-clouds]

The history of Solarpunk

Okay, I guess this has to be said, because the people will always claim the same wrong thing: No, Solarpunk did not "start out as an aesthetic". Jesus, where the hell does this claim even come from? Like, honestly, I am asking.

Solarpunk started out as a genre, that yes, did also include design elements, but also literary elements. A vaguely defined literary genre, but a genre never the less.

And I am not even talking about those early books that we today also claim under the Solarpunk umbrella. So, no, I am not talking about Ursula K. LeGuin, even though she definitely was a big influence on the genre.

The actual history of Solarpunk goes something like that: In the late 1990s and early 2000s the term "Ecopunk" was coined, which was used to refer to books that kinda fit into the Cyberpunk genre umbrella, but were more focused on ecological themes. This was less focused on the "high tech, high life" mantra that Solarpunk ended up with, but it was SciFi stories, that were focused on people interacting with the environment. Often set to a backdrop of environmental apocalypse. Now, other than Solarpunk just a bit later, this genre never got that well defined (especially with Solarpunk kinda taking over the role). As such there is only a handful of things that ever officially called themselves Ecopunk.

At the same time, though, the same sort of thought was picked up in the Brazilian science fiction scene, where the idea was further developed. Both artistically, where it got a lot of influence from the Amazofuturism movement, but also as an ideology. In this there were the ideas from Ecopunk as the "scifi in the ecological collaps" in there, but also the idea of "scifi with technology that allows us to live within the changing world/allows us to live more in harmony with nature".

Now, we do not really know who came up with the idea of naming this "Solarpunk". From all I can find the earliest mention of the term "Solarpunk" that is still online today is in this article from the Blog Republic of Bees. But given the way the blogger talks about it, it is clear there was some vague definition of the genre before it.

These days it is kinda argued about whether that title originally arose in Brazil or in the Anglosphere. But it seems very likely that the term was coined between 2006 and 2008, coming either out of the Brazilian movement around Ecopunk or out of the English Steampunk movement (specifically the literary branch of the Steampunk genre).

In the following years it was thrown around for a bit (there is an archived Wired article from 2009, that mentions the term once, as well as one other article), but for the moment there was not a lot happening in this regard.

Until 2012, when the Brazilian Solarpunk movement really started to bloom and at the same time in Italy Commando Jugendstil made their appearance. In 2012 in Brazil the anthology "Solarpunk: Histórias ecológicas e fantásticas em um mundo sustentável" was released (that did get an English translation not too long ago) establishing some groundwork for the genre. And Commando Jugendstil, who describe themselves as both a "Communication Project" and an "Art Movement", started to work on Solarpunk in Italy. Now, Commando Jugendstil is a bit more complicated than just one or the other. As they very much were a big influence on some of the aesthetic concepts, but also were releasing short stories and did some actual punky political action within Italy.

And all of that was happening in 2012, where the term really started to take off.

And only after this, in 2014, Solarpunk became this aesthetic we know today, when a (now defuct) tumblr blog started posting photos, artworks and other aesthetical things under the caption of Solarpunk. Especially as it was the first time the term was widely used within the Anglosphere.

Undoubtedly: This was probably how most people first learned of Solarpunk... But it was not how Solarpunk started. So, please stop spreading that myth.

The reason this bothers me so much is, that it so widely ignores how this movement definitely has its roots within Latin America and specifically Brazil. Instead this myth basically tries to claim Solarpunk as a thing that fully and completely originated within the anglosphere. Which is just is not.

And yes, there was artistic aspects to that early Solarpunk movement, too. But also a literary and political aspectt. That is not something that was put onto a term that was originally an aesthetic - but rather it was something that was there from the very beginning.

Again: There has been an artistic and aesthetic aspect in Solarpunk from the very beginning, yes. But there has been a literary and political aspect in it the entire time, too. And trying to divorce Solarpunk from those things is just wrong and also... kinda misses the point.

So, please. Just stop claiming that entire "it has been an aesthetic first" thing. Solarpunk is a genre of fiction, it is a political movement, just as much as it is an artistic movement. Always has been. And there has always been punk in it. So, please, stop acting as if Solarpunk is just "pretty artistic vibes". It is not.

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk, I guess.

[wandagcre]

drive you mad (part 1) | sam carpenter 🔞

(Mob Boss!Sam Carpenter x Fem!Reader)

You’re reunited with your old friend, Samantha Loomis, and she couldn't be any more of a puzzle to you. It doesn't take long to become entangled with her once again – replacing the previously wholesome hangouts; this time you find yourself being in her sheets way more often.

WARNING: dom!mob boss! sam, sub!reader, public sex, voyeurism, mirror sex, praise, degradation, fingering, poor communication, mentions of violence, hints of stalking, sam referring to you in spanish endearments (bc why not), not proofread +18 / men & minors dni. Words: 10k+

[ PART ONE of TWO | Next ]

[ series masterlist ] | [ masterlist ]

You liked the universe and its ways of diverting you into paths you never thought to cross paths once again.

Weeks ago, attending another lousy gala was against your whole will. It didn’t seem necessary to you, finding no difference whether your presence was something that would be amiss to the buffoons dressed in suits of your multimillion dollar company. Sure, you completely detested the idea, yet you gave it a chance, as your good colleague turned into a friend – was nagging you for days before the event. She insisted it was an opportunity (a scenario eerily familiar to your college days as if it was a mere frat party) you thought that might as well maximize these so-called connections, right? So, you caved in and went dressed to kill, anyway.

Funnily enough, the said colleague was nowhere to be seen even if she was the sole reason of your presence here tonight. She claims that she had the flu and so you were forced to take in the hors-d’œuvre by yourself.

Here you were, in a fitted beige-colored pantsuit. You didn’t know whether it was your fake it ‘till you make it mantra during work, but you managed to survive (so far). Sipping in your flute of champagne and socializing with people. Your feet were starting to ache and so were your cheeks due to the endless polite smiling you have done for the night. It was draining, so to say.

Just as you were on your way to the bathroom to do some touch up, a recognizable voice made its way to you.

“Please do tell me that you went here without a date, (y/n/n).” a sultry voice uttered directly on your ears and you turned to them too fast, almost getting a whiplash.

You haven’t heard of that for a while. It was a nickname that your closest friends and family called you by.

Lo and behold – it was Samantha Loomis. 

Your eyes fluttered as she left you flabbergasted for multiple reasons. Sam had you putting your hand on your chest, beating madly as if you’ve seen a ghost. 

“Shit. Sam, you scared me, Jesus. Can’t you say hello like a normal person?”

She bodied the suit better than every man in the room. Sam stood with hands in her pocket, an aura that can easily rival anyone else’s confidence in the room, her jet black hair was fixed in a neat ponytail. She was donned in a well put navy blue suit – truly tailored to her perfect figure, emphasizing her good attributes. Damn this woman. Sam was still taller than you and insanely oozing with attractiveness.

Another thing? This woman was the one you were silently pining over during your teenage years. You were also heartbroken when she left town abruptly, leaving no trace behind.

“Finished checking me out?” she says, cocky. “Not one hi for me? you’re still easily frightened, (y/n/n).” a smile ghosts on her face as if Sam knew a secret. “So, how are you? If you’ve got a mystery date for tonight, I’d say they are doing a bad job of keeping you entertained.”

“Hi. Happy now?” You immediately blush at her blatant flood of compliments. “And I’m fine. Really, I’m just here to enjoy the drinks and all, maybe a bit of expanding in the work field too. So, it’s definitely just me – a last minute decision.”

Sam nods, eyes trailing on you. 

“I’m more than happy to hear that. ‘Cause that also means I can do this–?” she reached for your hand and pressed her lips at the back of it, making you flustered more than ever.

You weren’t used to Sam being this direct. She was affectionate, but not to this extent. She was more laid-back as you recall, not as forward and not this flirty. Women had always been your achilles’ heel but to experience this with Sam in the present time – it was a no-brainer that your old feelings were being tested.

“You always do this to the women you encounter?” you raise an eyebrow.

“Just you, (y/n/n).”

The way she kept saying your nickname felt too intimate as it was the one you were previously called back in one of the towns you used to stay in. One that Sam was a part of until she moved again – a common occurrence in her life that she mentioned in passing – albeit you were somewhat expecting it, you didn’t actually think it would hurt that much still.

You were by each other’s side all night. She blossomed into a refined and sophisticated woman, answering questions from other gentlemen and business people in the room with unshakable confidence. It was apparent too, with how they looked at her with respect. Sam even introduced you to others too, by your respective job and all, definitely buttering up your good qualities too that you haven’t even realized that this was benefiting you in your long forgotten plans of exposure. 

“I don’t think I should be with you Sam,” you whisper close to Sam who had her eyebrows furrowed at your words. “Whatever your business is, it’s definitely beyond what I do. Wouldn’t it be sketchy? Or like using you? Because that’s not–”

“Now slow down, honey. It’s no problem with me. Honestly, I was just thrilled to have you by my side tonight and you deserve the good word and all. It’s still me, (y/n/n).” she assured you as she held you softly by your shoulder. 

Exhaling the distress away, your stomach soon fluttered at Sam’s intentions.

“I’m having fun too, just so you know.” You truthfully admit, stopping a stupid smile to spread on your face. Sam gleamed at your words, evidently content as you are.

Soon you were catching up a little with life. Sam asked you how long you have been away from your hometown and what brought you to a new one. You sheepishly say that a new start was long overdue for you and interestingly, Sam returns the same sentiment, albeit there was longing in her tone but it disappeared quickly as it went. Before you could attempt to pry for more, a new set of people were catching up to the two of you, making you sigh.

Sam murmured to you after the man had left. “That man is definitely a no. He’s got a good history of attempting to shag his secretaries. Bound to be kicked from their board soon. I assumed a terrible workload and possibly environment, too.”

“Noted. Crossing that one out immediately.” You snorted at her unfiltered yet helpful tip. “He was rather creepy with how he was staring.. It’s like his first time seeing a pair of boobs during Victorian times.” you quip and laughter filled your chest.

“Did he now?” Sam squinted her eyes. “Well… you’re absolutely a sight for sore eyes, alright.” You see her eyes now surely over the valley of your chest. 

Was she really checking you out? 

Another new information for you is that Sam had apparently grown playful. You were astounded to receive her gaze, you elbowed her side. “I’m just saying! But him? oh he’s not worth your time, is all.” Sam reasoned, petulant.

“And you’re no better.”

“Excuse me, I am. I was simply admiring you.” she quipped at you very quickly and sipped her drink.

“If you say so. And hey, what about her?” you subtly point at the tall, middle-aged woman you met earlier. 

“Uh-uh, also a pass. Better CEO than him and the others, for sure, but you could do better. A bit of the same as the old man, just a woman version of him on a somewhat low profile.”

You look with much interest now. For two different reasons – one, because you didn’t expect that and two, how exactly of a big shot was Sam to know all of this insider information?

“Doesn’t sound bad to me.”

Not for me. Sam murmured as she sipped on her drink. You look at her quizzically, obviously not catching her words. 

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I said, what about that one…” Sam subtly points out another person across from you. 

She listed out the company’s stand point, what they were looking for, and you momentarily tuned out – savoring her voice that melted in your ear.

“How do you know all of this?” You blurt out.

Sam was sporting a distant tight-lipped smile. “I own a few businesses from here and there. Can’t spill them all to you in one night. I have to remain mysterious so I can be interesting for you, don’t I, honey?” she tilted her head.

For the hundredth time that night, your heart pounded and cheeks were crimson once again, all by Samantha Loomis.

:: 

This morning as you flipped through the channels, it reported the death of a wealthy CEO, stabbed in most inhumane ways and his eyes were reportedly gouged out. 

Momentarily, you felt sick to your stomach until you realized that it was the same man who was a creep from the gala. You vividly recall Sam's words; with this man's business fluctuating badly and his poor work ethics, your thoughts gradually eased and snapped yourself out of it. He did see that one coming, you suppose.

You couldn’t be any more grateful that you’re far from that circle.

::

While you were terrified, it didn't stop you from going outside by yourself. Normally, this routine of yours is done during day time. However, resting got the best of your time this weekend and so with a resigned sigh, you came prepared with a pepper spray that you blatantly held as your free hand pushed the cart. Your stock of groceries wouldn't be done by itself, after all. Were you paranoid? (The answer is yes, rightfully so).

The mundane chore was going well. 

Until you were on one aisle, on your tip-toes, barely reaching the chips that were now placed a tier higher than normal. It’s like a trick and you were being played, as coincidentally, it was the last one on the rack. You irrationally listed this as a bad sign - change wasn't to be welcomed for you in times of horror.

The lighting grew dark and it shadowed you. it triggered your fight or flight mode as this person towered you from behind, the scent strongly engulfed your senses and so did their body frame, making you gasp as their front was almost pressed against you. 

They picked up the item for you and as you turned around, it was Sam.

She hasn’t preoccupied your mind for a while and you take in her presence as a fresh breath of air.

"Hey, pretty girl, I don't want you getting hurt." She joked and dropped the chips herself on your cart. 

"Fancy seeing you here," you retort with equal amusement to the woman in front of you. You thought it was unfair that she always stunned you as you saw her casual get up. 

Sam wore a bomber jacket and a navy baseball cap. She handheld her own cart and interestingly filled it with junk food, just like yours, and a couple of cleaning disinfectants.

"Do you usually shop this late?” Sam quips gently, hearing the concern in her tone.

You sheepishly smiled, "I know. But in my defense, work kept me late unfortunately. Or maybe it was me over napping..." admitting it out loud felt silly. "I don't have much of a choice. I ran out of stash in my pantry and while it's not really a good time.. wait, I don’t mean that with you, but what I meant is that, given the circumstances happening right now - it’s horrifying to be out and about."

Sam raised an eyebrow at your rambling. She found it endearing that you had to clarify each time how you liked her company. 

"And what circumstances are we talking about?"

"You know, the whole killing thing," you hushed down low and kept walking with Sam who hummed right behind you. "Haven’t you heard it yet? It honestly had me worried. I don't want to be put in that position."

You both come across the isle of candies, you picked up a couple of them. Embarrassment soon crept in the more you confided your fear out in the open and how you revealed your unhealthy fix of snacks in the presence of Sam, the woman you're swooning about.

"I see. That explains your trusty pepper spray," Sam nodded along in understanding. "Say, do you mind if I accompany you? Sticking together could be better, after all." she lightly nudged your side with her arm and swiftly took over to push your cart by her own.

An easy smile crossed your features. You can't say no to spending more time with her.

"I'd like that very much."

::

The simple scare and business exchange was the start of your reconnection with Sam. 

It seemed that Sam was sticking for good - or near you. At least, that’s what you thought so. Her place couldn’t be that far as you happened to come across her for a few times already. 

A few days later she surprised you, sent a rather straightforward message and opened up how she misses you (you almost fainted on that message). Come the weekend, Sam called you to say that she’s sending a driver to pick you up around 6 PM. After you gave her your address, Sam notes to dress in nothing strict and formal as the gala, and you quote Sam who said in her own words: just bring your pretty self. 

It was rather bossy and forward, if you were being honest. Though your senses dulled it out of bias, being Sam’s friend in the past she hasn’t done anything to put you in harm.

Another thing that brought you to a conundrum was how it sounded like a date but you didn’t want to be that hopeful – even with her endless flirting. You simply note it as another Sam evolution; a part of her confident self. The driver who picked you up was dressed in casual business attire, no older than late 20s, gave you a polite smile. He introduced himself as Martin and referred to Sam as Ms. Loomis and as you were in a phone call with her, she immediately confirmed to you that it was indeed your ride.

Relief washed over you, feeling secured enough with the whole get up. Especially with the case of brutal murder as of recently.

Arriving at the place, the door was opened for you and he mentions that he’ll be parked at the same place. The restaurant itself was one of the places you haven’t had a chance to visit yet, mostly because you didn’t feel zealous to spend a lot of money on a glorified casual meal. The ambience striked your interest immediately, the interior was cozy, and welcoming – especially for whatever they served, the aroma made your stomach rumble. 

Looking around, it was opposed to what you expected – there was no single sight of business suits hovering in the place. They were stuffy people in casual attire, maybe.

“You made it.” Sam stood up from her seat and your eyes fluttered at her beauty once again. Her floral scent was hypnotizing and covered your senses as she went for a hug. “How was your ride?”

“It was nice. I like your car,” you timidly say as Sam pulled a chair for you. 

“And I like your outfit. You look so beautiful, (y/n/n.)” Sam’s words were earnest and crimson quickly spread on your cheeks and rose up to your ears.

The stark contrast of her in formal attire with slick ponytail was apparent, yet equally so attractive. Sam stood in plain tight polo, baggy pants and some sneakers with her hair loose. She gave you a warm smile and her eyes also did a once over to your figure; you were dressed simply in a knitted zip top that hugged your torso, some trousers, and decent platform shoes. 

“Says you. You’re absolutely charming, it’s unfair.”

“Don’t start that with me, honey. We’ll be here all night arguing about that.”

Sam grinned at how you affectionately rolled your eyes at her quip. As you settled in and looked at the menu, you noticed the familiarity. It was on par with your tastebuds. She definitely remembered your type of crowd. You hid a smile with this information.

However, your joy was temporarily cut off as you noticed the server giving Sam the heart eyes as she took note of the order, although the latter paid no mind, swiftly reiterating your orders with her polite smile, it didn’t stop you from getting irrationally bothered on the inside.

You should have seen this coming. Surely, other people were bound to find Sam attractive as much as you do.

“Have you ever been here?” Sam eagerly questioned, her doe-eyes all on you. “I was nervous to pick a decent place, to be honest. I didn’t want it to be stuffy and stiff, but not too casual – only because I wasn’t so sure with your taste now, so I relied on my (y/n) senses.”

You were quick to nod off, “No. I was interested but I never had the chance.” a slow appreciative smile spread on your lips. “Your senses were right - don’t worry, Sam. They definitely serve the type of food I like. I hope you didn’t compromise that much for me." While you liked the thoughtfulness, you wanted Sam to have a good time as well.

“Well, that’s great! It means you can enjoy it with me that way. Don’t worry, based on their menu it seems appetizing for me, too.” her eyes lit up assuring you, and it was an adorable sight. She showed you another side of her again, reminiscent of how you remember her relaxed state and wasn’t as constricted from the gala held days earlier. “I have to ask.. is this setup okay with you? In case you’re… seeing someone.”

You’re surprised at her interest at your love life. Her attention remained fixated on you and it made you blink couple of times.

“Definitely not seeing any woman right now. Nothing recently.” you hint your preference, in case Sam hasn’t picked up on it yet even before. You haven’t come out back then. 

Sam smiled at your response. “That’s a relief. Means I won’t be breaking any faces any time soon.” your eyes widen at her words. “I’m kidding, (y/n/n). Or not.”

You nod along at Sam’s words with an unsure smile, not knowing what she exactly meant by that. You shrug it off as her odd humor. 

“What about you, any lucky person yet?” you asked, it was your chance to know more about her too.

A playful smirk was written on Sam’s features. 

“Funny thing is that it's the same case for me, I haven't gotten around it for uh, for some reason.” she ended sheepishly and shuffled a bit on her seat. “I could be eyeing on someone, who knows. But I have to be mysterious to you.” Sam’s voice dropped an octave lower. If you didn’t know any better, your delusions would think that she’s implying suggestively to you.

While her vague answer didn’t provide you what her type was, it was a relief for you to know that Sam is not off the market yet.

Both of your smiles barely wore off since then. Soon you were finally eating your go-to food and Sam with her chosen pasta. You debate whether you should finally ask Sam of her sudden disappearance, but you really didn’t want to spoil the mood either.

“Are you okay? Something wrong with your meal?” Sam leaned in to you and you quickly motioned no. 

“No, no. It’s just– I want to know, why did you have to leave?” you can’t help it but the hurt dripped on your tone. “It was so sudden and I haven’t heard from you since then… and now, you’re here again.”

You felt silly because it was a long time ago. Seeing Sam in flesh again gave you a whiplash, you valued her presence as she was your confidant during your hard times. If it weren’t for the gala, maybe you’d be left wondering until now, you’ll never know.

Warmth covered your hands, surprised that Sam has taken them to intertwine with hers.

“I can’t say the full details yet. But.. I’m here to stay. Believe me, honey. What happened then - it has something to do with my father. You knew how unstable things were at home, right? And I was expected to… step up into things at a faster pace than I can ever imagine,”

You only had a slight idea – if Sam before wasn’t very talkative and open – it was a thing that definitely remained until now. Sometimes their house was rowdy, full of men that wore notable sparkly ostentatious accessories. You only knew that his father’s job was demanding and that he was uptight, didn't want Sam to be out late, she had to sneak to parties, and was harsh with his words - even in front of you. It reflected the fear that glinted in Sam’s eyes when you were caught at their house, at the same beat, Sam also seemed to respect him. It was odd and the similarity of her tone was not lost on you but you didn’t push further.

You also wondered how Sam's sister, Tara, is doing and most likely all grown up now. 

“Is it enough for you right now?” Sam meekly asked you, hopeful glint in her eyes.

You mimic her playful smirk from earlier.

“Only if we get mint ice cream right after this and I’m paying.”

Sam let out a relieved sigh, leaning back to her seat and an easy going grin gracing her features once again. 

“Alright, whatever your heart desires, (y/n/n).”

::

After a wholesome reunion (or date?) the two of you were on a weird loop. At least for you. She was bearing gifts that weren’t so little at all – packages were being sent to your house, always coming with a handwritten note that said ‘reminded me of you’ with a scribbled wink, sometimes a heart, and seeing Sam became a part of your routine. It was all you looked forward to every week – seeing Sam – that your friends even asked whether you were dating someone as you appeared more occupied than ever.  

At this point, you have visited restaurants and stores you could only imagine. Sam mentioned that having to try delicacies with you was a terrific experience, she liked your honesty and fun quips of critique. Although it shifted to something you’d say – a bit odd. While she was warm and welcoming, she never stopped by at your house.

Although you weren’t going to lie, it made you curious. Disappointed, too. Was she embarrassed enough to avoid being seen dropping by in the eyes of the public, in an intimate way? Granted, there wasn’t anything intimate going on. 

Other than that, it dawned to you how tactile Sam was with conversations. It was always knowing something new and familiar, never delving into something deeper.

For her sweet quips, you remain confused whether it was flirty and intentional, after all, you didn’t think that Sam was to take interest in you romantically speaking. So, it was a challenge for yourself to not get any less flustered. Especially when you’re crushing over her.

::

"Hey, pretty girl. Wanna eat out tonight?" Sam smoothly asks you from the other line and you snorted at her forwardness.

You peer over your window at the kitchen before shutting the blinds. You didn’t know whether it was still the lingering paranoia you felt over the gruesome murders and the irrational fear that you could be next. 

What if they were watching you?

"Dunno Sam," you scratch your nape, debating your answer as you remembered the events happening outside. "Is it safe? A brutal death happened recently. And you know, honestly, Sam – it rattled me a little more than I thought it did."

"Is this about the CEO? Honey, I've told you that he was already in deep shit. his decisions have probably caused him to dig himself into a bigger mess unimaginable."

The lack of care in Sam’s tone surprised you a little. But your mind weighed in the facts; these were billionaires who fucked up, didn’t do anything good for the others, and put themselves in the wrong crowd. You give Sam credit for that similar thought as you assume.

"Okay, but still…"

You hear Sam cooing in sympathy. "If it helps, I have my men around. We’ll be safe. You’ll be safe with me, don't worry." she promises with conviction enough for you to believe her.

You hummed as you rethink your answer. You wanted to hang out with the woman you've been crushing over (again) and having an idea of how her bodyguard's in question are built, you feel yourself leaning more to saying yes. 

"I guess that helps yeah- you just had to be so damn convincing, didn't you?" Even if this was a call, you can already see the stupid grin that Sam has now. "Alright, I'm sold with that. I'll see you later, Loomis." you playfully sing-songed to which Sam giggled as you dropped the call.

::

“Let’s try something new today.” Sam said in her low voice and to your surprise she held the car door open for you in the passenger seat and you weren’t in the backseat this time.

“Don’t we always?” you refer to your eating escapades with her. 

To your shock, Sam went to the driver’s seat. 

She was the one driving for today?

“Nuh-uh. We’re going to my house.”

“What?”

You turn your head fast to face Sam with your expectant eyes; filled with surprise and excitement. After all, your brain was racking itself with much curiosity of what is going on with your friend slash crush’s personal life. When Sam caught the glee in your expression, her own eyes crinkled at the corners and muttered something about how adorable you are.

As you parked outside, you noticed familiar vehicles that tailed the one you and Sam were in. You only saw a few of them before, the men only looked at you out of politeness – as if their eyes weren’t around to linger – and they were more pliant with Sam. It instilled an idea that your friend was this much of a respected person.

“Don’t worry, they’re with us.” Sam informs you and you were shy of how evident you were glancing at the side and at the back. 

You took tentative steps inside her home, surprisingly it was bursting with colors. It was apparent that Sam liked the idea of experimenting when it comes to style, as her interior and decorations felt straight out of magazine.

In her living space, she offered for you to sit first. She looked messy this time – not as neat after work, her hair down again instead of the usual ponytail, which seemed unnatural for someone so polished for her professional state.

“This was all of a sudden, sorry. I can’t… I’m a shit host for tonight. I’m honestly not feeling well today. I can get someone to fetch our food, whatever you like, it’s on me mi quierida.”

“You could’ve postponed this thing that we have. I mean, I don’t mind.” Okay maybe that was a complete lie – but you didn’t want Sam to feel forced.

Sam tilted her head. “And risk depriving myself of not seeing you? I do mind that. More than you can imagine. I guess you could say that I selfishly wanted you all by myself tonight, regardless.”

You feel somersaults in your stomach – making you squirm at your seat. Before you can process her words further, your attention panned to Sam’s hands and grew alarmed as you saw a faint view of her knuckles were red, you figure it'll be bruising the next day. She tried to hide it a lot as soon as decent lighting was present. Sam discarded her silver watch and then removed the champagne from the bucket near her to submerged her closed fist as it contained ice. It clinked against the metal, and as seeing her face, her chestnut eyes kept fleeting over you – observing.

"What exactly were you doing anyway?" Amusement was in your tone, although concern crept in quickly. You didn't want Sam to be hurt in some fight club. Or any way, for that matter.

Sam beckons you, "Come here." she softly uttered. as you did, her free hand rested on your lower back. "I ran into a small inconvenience. I guess you can say that I handled it well." 

You snorted at her poor joke. A boyish smile spread on her pretty face.

"If you're joking with that shitty pun… I'll take your word for it, Loomis." You slid an arm around her neck, patting her shoulder affectionately. 

It was truly a gesture meant to be playful but it appeared that it became a cause to shift things between you two. The proximity made you hyper aware with your heartbeat pounding loudly by the minute. You can’t even look Sam in the eye, remaining frozen.

"Uh-huh. You should trust me with it, mi quierida. You know I always mean well.”

Sam smirked, as though she knew something you didn't. She was difficult to decipher at most times but you shrug it off, noting it as a part of her charm. It was her thing thenand apparently, until now. 

Case in point: her sneakily trailing her hand lower as they were, now resting on the slope of your ass. She grabbed you by its underside, feeling her fingers digging into the flesh. Knees growing weak at the contact, you barely stifle a gasp. It was surprising yet very welcomed and better than you imagined.

She rubbed her calloused hand back and forth on your back soothingly. "Stay... stay the night with me.'' Sam whispered as she nosed the crook of your neck, her breath against your skin spreading goosebumps.

It was an all-too familiar scene, however, Sam was bolder.

“Let me give you your present for tonight,” Sam husked out, her face moved to bite on your earlobe – her hands needy all over your body. “or… just say the word and I’ll stop,”

You were pulled in, moaning as you finally cracked through the tension. Both of you no longer teetering in friendly boundaries. It was hard not to – not when it was Sam you adored for a great chunk of your life and how her siren eyes were pierced onto yours. As Sam was nervous, you were simply stunned and returned the same feeling as you did.

"Okay,” you responded shakily yet you moved with an ounce of bravery, finally affirming your answer by grabbing Sam by the nape and lips crashing with much need, electrifying you.

Sam devoured you in her satin sheets until you were swollen, frazzled, and dripping. 

::

The next day, you discover that another case of murder has happened in your town. This was an odd occurrence, as while death is inevitable, it was surprising to hear more of them happening in a short period. More so, it was unusual to hear of a brutal case in your normally nonchaotic town.

Fear began to creep into you as your colleague mentioned it was another CEO yet, this time it was the woman whom you've also met from the gala – being there, meeting these people and hearing them as nothing but reported deaths now felt like a bad omen. It created quite the buzz in your workplace, after all it was one of your company's competitors, too.

Shiver ran down your spine; you couldn't be next, right? 

If you were to follow the pattern, it only suggests isolated killings of wealthy figures and you couldn't be any farther from that. You were another normal person who’s only trying to get by.

Then you remember Sam and the extra security she provides to you. All this time she had kept you safe and away from harm. You found solace over the thought, so you exhale and tried your best to let go of your worries.

::

In all honesty you were only expecting to pull connections that can land you higher positions that promised bits of grandiose escapades in between – all tied to your work during that gala – and you’re surprised that you landed in Sam instead, though in a much more compromising position that ignited your whole body for days. Sometimes you can’t even move due to soreness. More often, you burned and yearned for Sam’s touch. 

It’s like the woman imprinted on you.

Sam finally brought you to her actual place which was a good breaking point. As soon as you saw past the soaring entrance and the modern architecture that greeted your wide eyes. So far, it appeared that she was indeed the only one based on your frequent stays – only men in between casual and formal attires, some being her bodyguards and maids as well were around the area. 

You were surrounded by a lavish wardrobe that you can only dream of. You were amused that you share similar skin-care products as her when you first used her personal bathroom. It was a good coincidence, it made your stay-ins much more comfortable and efficient.

The spacious place felt intimidating to your bones as you walked around halls and doors after one another, although you’ve handled much more terrifying things that were specifically this she-devil.

It was a surprise to you how she can swoon you with her gentleness and barely any of that remains in the bedroom activities. She was absolutely rough and domineering.

She continues to take you to different places you’ve never been to before. Though, now they were private and more high-end properties. Today, Sam took you today to where you wouldn't normally get your sexy undergarments. 

It was sultry and inviting to the ladies. The assisting ladies were polite, kept a minimal distance, and didn’t blatantly stare unless their attention was called to. You and Sam came by fairly early, hence the lack of people, you assume. You were fascinated with the quality of the garters and fabrics that felt different on your fingertips. 

One of her men, Martin, stood by inside the store. Sam assured you that everything was fine, it’s only a precaution and more of a just-in-case business thing. She kissed you before you could ask anything else, effectively distracting you.

Finally having both of your picks, you were welcomed by another part of the area where the sconce's recessed light only added to the thrill that was covering the lavender hall of the boutique. It certainly made the atmosphere downright sinful and erotic. For a minute, you thought that maybe you can handle being Sam’s dirty secret. You felt so dizzy. Feverish. Needy.

Sam placed a final kiss to the side of your neck before she was gently ushering you to go, seeing the familiar look of hunger in her eyes as if she was controlling herself - it made you shiver with the same desire - then you went in to fit.

You nervously stood in front of the mirror, doing final touches on the laces. Sam insisted that she prefers seeing you fit the lingeries instead of her dropping them on your face out of nowhere – something you appreciated.

Slipping yourself into the intricate laces of the lingerie, you were unable to stop nitpicking on the blemishes and stretch marks that were on your skin and how apparent they were beyond this flimsy material that attempted to cover your intimate parts.

“Don’t forget to show them to me, alright?” Sam hollered from the other end.

You try to suck it up, being snapped out of your insecurities. “Wanna come in here?”

“No, come out here.”

In disbelief, you shook your head no even if Sam couldn’t see it. What did she mean by that?

“Are you crazy? There’s… there could be people out. Just come here,” you whisper-yell to Sam.

“There’s no one. We arrived early and just – trust me. It’s only me out here, seated, completely alone.”

You hesitantly move the curtain in the fitting room and step out. Indeed it was silent and no one was there just as Sam reassured. It helped that the room was actually just for the two of you. As you stood there, you felt so naked and raunchy, being were dressed in nothing but lingerie.

“What’s the verdict for this?”

Sam was manspreading on the emerald upholstered chair and you stood in between her legs, inquisitive. 

“Oh, baby.”

“How is it…?” you fiddle with the laces, not meeting her eyes.

Sam looks at you with her mouth agape. She didn't say much but surprise was written on her face. You cannot help but overthink still, as your skin wasn’t flawless nor ridiculously skinny like any other models that Sam surely had been entwined with at one point… or even now. 

“Hey, are you feeling okay, (y/n/n)?” Sam questions and taps on her thigh. “You aren’t comfortable with this one, are you?” she worriedly asks, her hands on your side, rubbing to soothe you. “Because you look so stunning to me, god,”

You refuse to meet Sam’s eyes, “I- I don’t think I look flattering at these. I’m no model, Sam. Surely you had better.” the distaste on your tone didn’t go unnoticed by the woman who frowned at your words.

Your insecurities began to gnaw in rapidly; what if Sam had other women on days you weren’t available? It made you sick to your stomach.

“What makes you think that? Oh, baby this is the best I’ve ever had.” Sam tugs you by your forearm and while you are teary eyed, she places a gentle kiss at the back of your hand. “I’m sorry if you felt forced to do this. You can take it off now if you want. If I’m being honest, I only thought of wanting to see you strip for me."

The explanation had put your mind at ease. It definitely gave you a sense of comfort that to some extent, you do matter to Sam.

“We could have thought of something else. I.. I’m just not feeling this, Sam, it doesn’t fit me. I’m sorry.”

Sam's heart sank at your words. You weren’t to blame at all. Soon, you felt her fingertips subtly tugging down your skimpy underwear to which you put your hand above hers, halting her movements.

"What – Sam, someone might see us," nervousness washes over your expression, you don't want to get caught in such a vulnerable state.

Sam only looked at you with her dilated eyes. "As if I'd let them see this. Trust me, we just have to be quick, princesa, because I can’t wait much longer.." her fingers smoothly went to hook her fingers under the garter of your underwear and moved to grab the base of the fabric. “Let me apologize to you in this way.” She gave it a pulling tug, your moan vibrating in the small space as it deliciously cupped your pussy lips. “You look so beautiful right now, (y/n/n).”

You barely stifle a moan from erupting out of your mouth and feel yourself drip with wetness.

“My pretty girl is getting turned on with a fucking wedgie? You’re just as turned on as I am, aren’t you?” Sam moistens her lips, “So pretty and all for me. You can’t be loud in here baby, I need you to stay quiet. Don’t want others to hear you moan.”

“Thought- there was no others,” you whimper at Sam who only smirked.

“But the assistants are outside. Can’t have them knowing you’re such a whore for me, hm? Now turn your back to me and look at your pretty reflection.”

Nodding your head profusely, you swallow the lump in your throat. It made Sam chuckle in delight, her eyes gleaming. She pulls up the fabric once again, you’re sure that a wet patch is now evidently staining it. She pokes it with the pad of her two fingers and brushes them back and forth, the friction bringing you pleasure.

She interrupts your reverie by halting her motions, unclasping the bra off you and the intricate straps – one your eyes lingered to – only you didn’t realize that Sam saw the dismay on your face, as though it didn’t fit you. It would be an understatement for Sam to say that she abhors seeing you treat yourself this way.

You observe her hooded eyes now full of desire as she looks up to you – it’s undeniable with how it matches her actions, feeling Sam’s thumb pressed then on your back muscle, letting go to run over her hands all over your torso. It’s soothing although given your position, you feel the want and her touch intoxicating you.

“Sam, please.” you begged, ass pushed to her direction with your posture bent over. 

She merely laughs and smacks her hand hard on your ass. The sound echoes in the dressing room. You hissed at how it stings.

Sam had always found your curious look so endearing. You always looked so ready for her to take, attentive, always so curious and beautiful.

She moves her hands agonizingly slow and sensual to your hip bones – brushing her thumb against them – to the skin right under the curve of your ass. You shriek out loud with eyes rolling back to your head, temporarily forgetting that you’re in a public place as Sam notches it up by squeezing you tenderly. 

Repeatedly.

“Look at the mirror, (y/n)” Sam sternly orders. You shudder with eyes wide, still not moving. “My little bunny is not dumb, aren’t you, my sweet thing? Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You gulped audibly and a string of moans were pulled out of you as Sam kneaded your supple breasts pleasingly. Being bare while Sam was fully clothed made you uneasy. Looking at the mirror didn’t feel right - seeing yourself become this needy and you meet Sam’s eyes in the reflection. What was her point in doing this? You don’t know either how it intimidates you yet a tinge of excitement is unmistakably laced underneath your impression. While you weren’t new to her roughness, this was particularly still felt exhilarating to you. 

Lost in a haze of lust, the ambience changed within the store – it felt as though you were trapped in a heating chamber. It’s charged and so electrifying to be in a compromising position with Sam – while it was a secluded and high-end one that provided privacy, you hoped that no one barged in soon.

Sam left a kiss on your lower back and feeling her hot breath brush on your skin made you shiver run down your spine, snapping you out of your worries. 

“I’m going to need you to sit between my legs, (y/n/n). And I’m gonna fuck you with my fingers until you understand in your pretty head that you’re beautiful, hm?” Sam’s words echoed titillatingly on your whole body, your breath hitched and bothered.

Soon as you sat hesitantly onto the couch between her legs, Sam gripped it and opened it wide for you as she saw you squirming and shakily closing your legs. You saw yourself in the reflection - how bare you were. And all you can think about is Sam and how you’re about to soil the velvety seat. She tuts at your shyness and manoeuvres her hand, wrist curling as she glides one finger over your soaked slit, gasping at how you were already so wet – teasing you.

You sharply inhaled, chasing more of Sam’s touch. “Told you that I’m gonna fuck you in front of this mirror, baby. So don’t hide yourself. I’d like to keep you like this, so gorgeous and ready for me.”

Sam did it for you – adjusted her own thighs to accommodate your legs, placed them on top of hers and spread them for you to see how exactly you were dripping. The wetness trickled down the expanse of your inner thighs out of your folds. Sam had a wolfish grin, what you’d describe as predatory and hungry for you. Lolling your head back to Sam’s shoulder, you hear her grunt as she glides her fingers now directly to your folds, eventually entering inside of you.

The sloppy sounds of your wetness echoed in the room. It didn’t help that you felt Sam pressed the base of her palm against your pelvis as her curled fingers rammed madly inside of you. You were pouring out your arousal.

“Oh Sam, oh fuck– fuck, fuck!” heat rose on your belly, coming in waves. Sam responded by pressing kisses on your now sweaty face.

“Mm yeah? More?”

“Yes, yes… Please, Sam!”

You were lost in the haze of lust, driving you dizzy, as your pussy kept pounding with Sam’s rapid thrusts. A slew of guttural moans were out of your mouth – not even minding how loud you are now. You feel how your own core clenched and sucked the entirety of Sam’s fingers, taking a peek in the mirror proved it enough – it was a terrible decision for you.

“Open your eyes, come on now, my good girl. Don’t want you to miss out on how beautiful my sight is.”

Your teeth caught your bottom lip, you comply for Sam’s sake. She called you a good girl, after all. You kept bouncing on her slender and now thoroughly soaked fingers, your slick all over her pants and you saw how it trickled down to damp and darkened the very upholstered chair. Seeing yourself blushing and so fucking used, your pussy squeezed once again over Sam’s fingers and to both of your delight, her thumb pried and did circular motions to your clit.

The pleasure shot you straight in waves over your body and vibrated so deliciously. 

You meet Sam’s thrusts and as you bounced, you also saw how intently focused she was on your reflection.

“God, look at these tits,” Sam roughly squeezed the flesh, making them aggressively jiggle. “I fucking love having you like this baby. Aren’t you my good girl?” she hotly whispered to your reddened ear, giving your earlobe a bite.

Her other hand that supported you by the waist, crawled up to grab the very breasts that she verbally appreciated. 

“Come on, say it.” Sam gave it another squeeze – plenty that made you mewl – and tugged your perk nipple harshly. “and look at me as you do.”

“Yes, yes, yes! I’m.. I’m your good girl!”

“Mine only,” Sam growled and you felt her teeth sinking in the skin of your neck, biting and nipping. “Oh how I wanted you for so long, like this for me…”

You moan as you turn your head, not minding the awkward angle, not in this needy state of yours you did mind. Neither did Sam, who was visibly appeased with her pearly grin as you do – even more when you shifted your gaze to the mirror and this time, you actually stared at it. 

“Such a pretty thing, aren’t you?”

Your hand slithered to Sam’s nape, who was almost as breathless as you. You tried to keep a firm grip on her as you feel more lost in the pleasure.

“Yes, Oh… oh! Sam!”

You nod instantaneously making the woman smile even wider. Soon, Sam’s fingers were sloppy wet and rapidly applying pleasure on her pad and focused on your very clit. You couldn’t do anything but elicit more expressive moans and squelching noises that bounced through the room as Sam fucked you dumb. The coil in your stomach finally untangled, leaving you breathless.

You meekly look at your figure in the reflection once again. Your cum trickled down continuously, leaking out of your pulsating hole. Sam panted lowly in your ear and inserted her hand again, making you grab her inner wrist as you felt the oversensitivity. She hushed you to calm down and she was gently pumping. 

It was indeed a pretty sight.

The thick slick of your arousal and cum soon was on your lips, Sam prying it open. It wasn’t up for discussion – you didn’t hesitate either. You taste the bittersweetness coating your tongue and mixed with your saliva, eagerly sucking out of Sam’s fingers. She moaned at your enthusiasm, encouraged by this you sucked more of your remains out of it, your teeth grazing along and Sam pushed it deeper until you felt her slender fingers slightly poking at your throat. 

Once she was satisfied, she handled you differently by flipping your position so now you straddled her leg and faced Sam instead of the mirror. Her lips quickly made its way to give you open mouthed kisses to your sternum, to your neck, finally your mouth.

“You did so well, mi amor. And you were so pretty.” You shyly nodded at Sam’s praise. “Remember that, hm? Regardless of dressing like this – lingerie or not – I’ll look and appreciate you the same way.”

“Mm-hmm,” you lazily nodded and met Sam’s gaze.

After Sam helped you dress your clothes. While being fucked the lights out earlier was heavenly, the walking out of the fitting room was not pleasant at all. Your legs feel like jelly, you can barely walk properly without Sam’s tight support on your waist (you refused her offer of carrying you not wanting to be further embarrassed) but it helped that there weren’t any side glances from the assistants. 

Oh, heavens. You forgot that Martin was also waiting inside the boutique. Even if he remained mum, you couldn’t be any more humiliated today.

Sam pushed back her slightly tousled hair and you helped her smoothen the back of her clothing. As for her trousers, the damage has been done and it’s currently stained with your wetness. An odd sense of pride came at you because you did that.

Sam held the undergarments – even the one she destroyed and fucked you into and personally offered to place it inside of the provided bag and then handed her black card. 

“We’ll take the seat too, the green one in the fitting room. I’ll send someone to pick it up today.” she uttered in what you recognize as her professional voice, the lady simply smiled, replying with Yes, Ms. Loomis, as she agreed with no hesitation.

You hid your face in the crook of Sam’s neck and your cheeks burned. Sam only giggled at your shy reaction. She wrapped an arm around you and brushed your hair gently as she leaned closer to you.

::

“Come back ‘ere.” Sam lazily mutters, voice still raspy. She was still in bed which was such a miraculous sight. Not only because her godly body was exposed but the fact that she stayed in. Her arms were reaching out to you, caressing your bare lower back and eyes barely open. “It’s so cold, you know.”

You gave her a wistful smile. “And you do know that I’m out of clothes here, right? I also happen to have a place of my own, Sam.”

“You can always–”

“–borrow yours, yeah. I know, Sam. But I have to go. My work stuff isn’t here either.”

She sits up fully. “Okay, baby.” Sam replied dejectedly. You shake your head at how she’s acting like a kicked puppy and barely the same as an insatiable sex god from last night. “How about I drive you home? This is an inarguable offer, by the way.”

Sam gave you a pointed look and you can’t help but think if she’s tricking you – seducing you, almost. She’s unashamed with her nakedness and the way she crossed her arms, further made her biceps prominent, the mysterious scar across them, and her supple breasts gave you a mouthwatering view. You chose to ignore how your stomach fluttered at her use of endearment. The more time you spend with Sam, the more they slip out.

“Don’t talk business to me, Sam. You’re so annoying.” You turn back fully facing her with an impish disbelief, grasping at the sheets to cover yourself. 

Sam looked at you with childish glee on her face. “Excuse me, you were the one who brought up work. I’m simply reminding you of what you are absolutely missing while I’m on leave for today, mi princesa.”

“Fine, fine. It's not my fault that I’m a corporate slave.”

“That’s why being with me is a good idea.” Sam insists with a kiss on your jugular notch. “Come on, I was planning to make your favorite dish. Maybe you can do it with me, what do you think?” 

“Very professional.” You sigh at Sam’s silliness unfolding in front of you. “You just know all the right words to say…”

She crawled her way to you, shutting you up by capturing your lips with soft ones. It was chaste and you felt her smile in between. Moments like this only tugged at your heartstrings. It deluded you that it was somehow coming home to your girlfriend, only to be shaken to the reality of you knowing it was an unlabeled limbo with an old friend. So you shift, initiating with much force this time, getting rough with how you were kissing Sam as though it was your last time. 

“Am I still annoying if I do… this?” You feel Sam’s calloused fingers smoothly trailing on your inner thighs, making you shiver. You throw your head back as you reeled to her touch. The familiar wetness reemerged on your core once again.

Before she could do anything else, her phone rang. Sam immediately went for it and barely a trace of her sweet disposition remained as she excused herself.

You blinked at her reaction, paying not much mind to it. Instead, you let your body relax in the softest mattress you’ve ever laid on and quickly, you’re pulled by the thoughts of Sam again, missing her already as you sprawl onto the bed, smelling the distinct coconut shampoo and addicting lotion that she uses and how it clung to the space you laid in. 

Half an hour had passed. Getting up, you look around where she could have been, only to find her out in one out of two living rooms, absorbed with the phone call she's in. It wasn’t your plan to eavesdrop but your heart sank soon as the words became much clearer to your ears. 

"Yes, I'm dropping by the strip club tonight... of course." 

Strip club… tonight? Her words came out in a hush, obviously Sam didn’t want to be heard or rather, caught. No wonder she has been insistent on you to stay this morning. 

You simply weren't Sam's fix for this evening.

With cautious steps, you retreat back to Sam's bedroom and with the disgust that brewed in, bile rising in your throat, you start dressing up.

"I thought we agreed that you're staying?" Sam raised her hands in confusion.

"Work couldn't wait, sorry. It’s bugging me the more I ignore it.”

Sam’s face fell immediately at your sudden change of mind. Your heart twinged a little, almost believing that it was genuine.

"Alright. Let me drive you home, (y/n/n)."

Your smile twitched as you hummed in agreement. Suspicion and confrontation will rise if you didn’t, and given what you just found out, you truly didn’t feel up for it.

"I'm bummed that you won't be cooking with me, just so you know. I'll make it alone - don't worry, it will be filled with love and care, a perfect fix as you get your reports done." Sam enthusiastically clasped her hands to you and it only made harder for you to stop the tears that were threatening to pour.

The way Sam took you in her grasp, arms loosely clung around your neck and the mesmerizing gaze she held was doing the opposite reaction. You felt repelled, uneasiness continued to flow through your mind. You've just heard her in the same beat a few minutes ago planning to go to not only a mere club to drink for fun - but a strip joint? Her intentions became even more confusing to you.

Your resolve was crumbling and it was becoming apparent when Sam leaned in for a hopeful kiss and you dodged it, her puckered lips hit the corner of your mouth instead. If she was baffled and had finally picked up your sour mood, you didn't see it as you continued to avoid her gaze.

The car ride was silent. It didn't even occur to you that Sam actually drove you home, but instead of filling the space with laughter and bickering over your taste in music, the two of you were met with an odd silence. You peer at the window throughout the ride, the silent turmoil grew inside of you at the backseat as the car drove on your way home. Eyes fluttering rapidly, you feel the waterworks coming in. Of course this was only a matter of time before it was confirmed to you that you weren’t only the one being fucked by Sam. 

You felt gross. The inkling worry that filled you previously turned out to be right. You just hated yourself for blindly trusting her and giving further meaning to her mistaken gentleness. 

::

Honestly, you did plan that to be your last time to see Sam.

At least temporarily, you wanted to avoid her. You kept making excuses about how you had a lot of work to do. You knew it was unrealistic to actually avoid her forever, not when you literally were tangled with her on her sheets for a couple of months already. Unless you were to flee the country, of course. The idea is slightly tempting. You consider it, albeit impractical, it’s one of your last resort of choices. 

You were used to her scent from her bedsheets to her clothes and to her sleepy self arguing that she is very much awake during your random movie nights, her voice – everything revolves around Sam now and you hated it.

It felt like you were a teenager again with a hopeless crush on the girl you’ve liked from afar for years.

Even as you pulled away from Sam, your brain was racking through heaps of what-if thoughts – were you ever enough? Why did she have to make you feel so special, leading you into this domestic bliss? She always made time. Besides the good, you witnessed her downs, the aggressiveness, how her indistinguishable job took a toll on her. All because she let you in. You wondered why she even thought of you as worthy as such, yet made you feel of being less than that, at the same time?

However, if there is a light to all of this domesticity you shared with Sam that gave you warmth, there were also a lot of questionable actions that she specifically kept on doing. She appeared hesitant with dropping you off to your house and insists that one of her drivers will do the honors instead – with the sex on the table, it made you feel disposable and cheap – or how sometimes hours after sex; you get a sleepy glimpse of Sam sneaking onto the balcony. The faint noises of her raised voice in her phone, doing god knows what – you were there, unaware if it was a conversation with another woman and maybe, just maybe, Samantha Loomis wasn't as heartfelt as you naively believed her to be.

As you expected she didn’t drop by at your house. Her little gifts and take outs from restaurants that you liked and visited with her continued to be sent every weekend. You didn’t know whether it was out of pity or a proper goodbye in her own terms, making your stomach churn uncomfortably at the thought.

Your friends weren’t any less worried even with your now constant appearances for hangouts and karaoke nights, they gently explained that your mind often fled elsewhere and your gloomy disposition was noticeable. It’s not that they were annoyed, your friends were concerned more than anything. So, you finally open up but not too much. You retell you were in this Friends with benefits recently and it ruined your sanity, for better or worse, all in vague descriptions. After all, you were sure that now Sam was more likely ashamed of being seen by you and wanted to keep her bachelorette status.

The chorus of oh sweetie in an understanding tone immediately came and when they hugged you, it worsened the longing you felt for Sam and how you have been entangled with her this whole time.

“It sucks how you can get roped into that so suddenly.” Jane, your friend, empathised. “does that count as a situationship – or whatever it is they call it nowadays?”

“Let’s call it friends with benefits for the sake of simplicity.” Margo, the colleague who ironically was one of the main reasons why you got into the gala and met Sam, nodded her head with no hesitation. “I don’t understand why it is that hard to communicate something simple as that. And getting her fix of pleasure in another place, too, Jesus Christ.”

“Feels a bit of a power trip to me. Based on what you’ve said, how she’s got a sexy mysterious vibe going on and while that sounds sexy in other ways, I can only imagine how it must’ve taken a toll on you, (y/n).” Jane adds with a forlorn expression on her face.

They were expressive with their opinions - you liked how your friends were very protective of you. They felt betrayed almost as much as you do soon as you mentioned that Sam was a friend of yours way back.

Although, you hated how there’s a lump in your throat and a part of you was ready to jump in Sam’s defense. Before you drown more in the thoughts of her, you decided to pour another shot. 

“Fuck that. Let’s drink to this,” your words come out slurred and your friends only follow suit.

Sam didn’t stop spamming you with messages. It was expected considering that she’s the most insistent person you have met yet. Still, you shrug her off, saying that you work overtime these days and you don’t feel like being a booty call for a while – or ever for her. But Sam’s resolve proved to be unwavering as she updated you about her thoughts and invites of coming back home; her words, not yours.

::

“You know, if you’re up for it, you should totally meet this girl. Most blunt person I’ve met yet, so.” Margo indiscreetly implies that it shouldn’t be as troublesome as your previous limbo was. “She’s also really hot. And just down for either something casual or serious, depends how you talk about it.”

“Margo, you know I don’t think–” you shake your head. Besides being full of what-ifs and considering that you might have a good time, your thoughts keep bouncing back to a specific Latina in your mind.

Your mind swirls, not knowing why it feels like a betrayal deep down.

“Just give it a chance.” Margo interrupts, firm with her stand. “One date. It’s also been almost two weeks since you’ve been moping. You know we don’t mind that but- I just wanted to tell you that the dating pool is full of choices. 

What’s the worst thing that can happen?”

do not repost/translate on other sites. © wandagcre

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Migraine Ministrations

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by @wasteofatoolbox

Synopsis: you get a migraine during a hunt, and things go wrong.

Not now not now not now, please not now.

The mantra played over and over in your mind, as if you could wish away the pain that was beginning behind your eyes—wouldn’t that be nice.

Instead, the pain got worse as the Impala roared down the side road; which of course was full of potholes.

“Road’s gonna ruin my tires,” Dean grumbled, oblivious to the way you cringed at every jolt and jump. Or at least, he was oblivious so far. You’d have to hide it better before the three of you arrived at your destination, or Dean would make you sit out on the hunt.

He’d only decided a few months ago that you were old enough to start hunting, and since then he’d been very picky about what hunts you were allowed on. It had been weeks of “too dangerous” hunts since you’d been invited to come, and you were itching to join in.

But if Dean found out you were getting a migraine, he definitely wouldn’t let you go. Once you coughed too many times last month, and Dean made you sit out the hunt because you “sounded like you’re getting sick.”

You didn’t notice the Impala pulling to a stop until Dean was turning in his seat to check on you.

“Grab your machete, and don’t forget the—hey, you ok?”

You looked up, forcing your face into a neutral expression; you didn’t want to look pained, but smiling would be too far.

“Yeah, I’m great. You sure you’re ready, old man?”

Dean’s concern dropped immediately, a prideful smirk on his face.

“Oh, it’s on newbie.”

…

You were cornered, but not worried. One vamp had taken it upon himself to go after the smallest human, and you let him back you into a corner—now he had no choice but to get close to you, and all you’d have to do was swing.

You were adjusting your grip on your machete, waiting for just the right moment, when the pain that had been beating behind your eyes suddenly pulsed painfully. It was so sudden and extreme that your eyes shut of their own accord for just a split second…

By the time you could force your eyes open through the pain, the vamp was already on the move, and you couldn’t get your machete up fast enough.

You cried out when he grabbed hold of your arm and slammed it hard against the brick behind you, forcing you to drop your machete.

He was leaning his head down, his vampire teeth extending from his gums in more detail than you’d ever seen—you didn’t appreciate the close-up.

He didn’t get the chance to sink his teeth into your neck. His head was on the floor before you even noticed Dean sneaking up behind him.

“You ok?” Dean demanded.

You tried to assess yourself for injuries, but it was hard to do when your migraine was the worst pain you felt; nothing else really registered.

“I’m…I think so,” you mumbled, swaying a little on your feet.

“Whoa, hey.” Dean grabbed your shoulders to steady you. “You didn’t get bit, right?” Dean’s loud voice had you cringing in pain.

You shook your head, lifting your hands up to rub your eyes—you couldn’t hide the pain anymore; you didn’t even know how long you’d be able to stand.

“What’s going on?” Sam’s—you assumed—hand was on your arm suddenly. Where had he come from? Last you saw him, he was tackling a couple of vamps. “They’re all dead,” Sam said. “We should get going. Are you hurt?”

You couldn’t tell if he was talking to you or Dean, and you didn’t want to open your eyes to look—the boys had turned the lights on in the building to disorient the vamps, and even with your eyes shut the light was nearly unbearable.

“Is it a migraine, kiddo?” Dean’s voice was softer now, which you appreciated.

Despite not wanting him to know, you have a tiny nod, knowing that trying to hide it was pointless.

“Alright, ok, we’re gonna get you back to the bunker.” Dean tugged on your arm and guided you outside and into the Impala.

“Here,” Sam said, pressing a water bottle into your hands. “Drink this.”

Ignoring Sam’s order, you just pressed the cold bottle against your forehead.

“Hey,” Dean spoke up once he was on the road. “How long have you had a migraine?”

“An hour or two,” you mumbled, before realizing your mistake.

“You had this before the hunt?” Dean demanded. “And you didn’t say anything? Are you crazy?”

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” you mumbled.

“It’s always that bad,” Sam argued. “And you know better than to go on hunts when you’re not ready.”

“I was ready!” You argued.

“The fact that you lied to me tells me you weren’t,” Dean scoffed. “So…you’re benched from hunts.”

“What?” You finally looked up, regretting it when your head pounded. “For how long?” You cringed.

“I don’t know,” Dean huffed. “Indefinitely. And I don’t ever want you to do something stupid like that again, understand? If you’re not a hundred percent, it puts everybody’s life on the line. Are you hearing me?”

“I understand,” you sighed, dropping your head back into your hands.

“Ok.” Dean’s voice was noticeably gentler. “Good. Now let’s get you home and see if we can do something about that headache. How does a nap sound?”

Despite yourself, a small smile creeped onto your face.

“Yeah, ok. Can I pick a movie tonight?”

“It’s my night,” Sam argued, but at Dean’s glare he huffed. “Ok, ok. Fine.”

“You’re gonna milk this for all its worth, aren’t you?” Dean asked. When he glanced back and saw you still smiling, he chuckled. “That’s my girl.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz

[star2fishmeg]

https://www.tumblr.com/star2fishmeg/765609602916204544

Sorry but this picture made me think about Luke’s long fingers plunging into you while he relishes in how good he’s making you feel

Back pressed against Luke's chest, the Lego flowers you were building abandoned on the coffee table along with your bra he'd skilfully slipped off you, his legs spread apart and yours mirroring. Your head lulled back on his shoulder, huffing hot air into his ear while his palm found its way under his your shirt, engulfing and groping at your tit, fingers pinching and toying with your nipple just as he loves to do. He can't help it, he loves playing with your breasts, you always make the cutest sounds when he has them in his hands, or tongue swirling around them, maybe nipping at the skin while moaning just to send those vibrations along your skin.

Meanwhile, his other hand has its fingers circling your clit with perfect pressure, he's done this hundreds of times, enough to know exactly how you like it and he's rubbing slowly, teasingly and you buck into him, whining out his name in the hope it'll drive him to give you what you need.

"Ten minutes ago, you were too busy building those flowers to listen to my begging and look at you now, baby." He murmurs, pressing his lips to your cheek with a sweet facade, running his middle and ring fingers through your sopping folds, "Now look at you, my pretty girl begging me to touch her. Mmm, such pretty noises too, too bad she's too quiet to hear well."

You're unsure where to put your hands but eventually, they naturally settle with one winding around Luke's head, fingers automatically gripping his curls and the other grabbing his forearm.

"Lu...please," you whimper out, louder than you have been knowing it will encourage him. A low, rumbly chuckle, long, wet kisses along the column of your neck with his hair brushing against your cheek as his lips rise to your ear, middle finger slipping inside your cunt easily, welcomed into a warm hug by your walls and he's languidly thrusting. His cock strains against his shorts, rutting into your lower back and you're reminded how he's spent the moments before this dry humping you.

"That's more like it," he chuckles, deep voice reverberating and sending goosebumps up your neck, "such a cute face when you concentrate, couldn't help myself. You thought I wouldn't catch you staring at my fingers either? Baby, I know how much you love my fingers."

His ring finger joins his middle, plunging into your pussy and sliding in its arousal. Your hands grip him tighter, back beginning to arch away from him but Luke's pulling you back into his chest, squeezing your tit, groaning softly into your ear when he curls his long fingers. Your mouth falls agape, airy whines spilling with his every stroke and calling his name in a mantra, excitement fizzling in his chest like sparklers and a wild glaze over his eyes the faster his name fills the living room.

"Don't stop, fuck," you sob, eyes screwed shut and tightness in your stomach, "feels so good, Luke, so fucking good."

You feel his grin against your neck, not his loverboy grin that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle, a grin laced with cockiness like his ego's been stroked. He's leaving open-mouthed kisses against your neck, nipping at the skin and setting wildfires through you while his fingers sink into your cunt, curling against the sweet spot, washing waves of fervour over your body.

[moongreenlight]

More childhood best friend!Gaz headcanons because I cannot stop thinking about him

He’s your valentine every single year. Started as his dad trying to teach him proper etiquette when he was young and just never stopped. A bouquet of flowers on your stoop and a cheap card he scratches a note into. Never signs his name. Just ends ‘xx.’

He chaperoned your first real date in high school because your dad paid for his tank of gas. The guy you were keen on never called you back after. It took you until you were seventeen to realize that it was probably because Kyle was sitting on the same side of the booth as you and spoon feeding you bites of dinner.

He also ruined your first real relationship when he beat your boyfriend to asking you to formal (a full two months early). You tried to explain that it didn’t mean anything, but he just couldn’t understand. Kyle said it was for the better while you sobbed into his shoulder. “Tosser can’t cope with the fact he’ll always be second place. Better not to waste your time.”

His basic training was 26 weeks away from home. He went immediately after picking up his diploma. It was the most miserable summer of your entire life. Spent primarily waiting by the mailbox for the postman to deliver your daily letters back and forth. He’s started signing off “Garrick. x.”

Both of your families went to his graduation, but his mother insisted you were the one to tap him out. You barely recognized him, like the summer where his family took a month long vacation and he came back a full four inches taller. He’s bigger now, his shoulders permanently rolled back, but he still carries himself with that same cool ease.

He barely stays long enough to say his hello’s to everyone until he takes you back to the car and lays you out in the backseat. Griping the whole way about how “you’d be in a hurry, too. Couldn’t even get away with a wank in the shower.” And “s’your duty to the country. You wanna thank me for my service, don’t you?” You swear the two of you fit easier six months ago, but now he’s cramped between the seats. Caged in tight. His head bumps the window each time he snaps his hips into you.

You seriously considered moving close to base when you found out he was being permanently relocated after joining the task force, but he wouldn’t hear a word about it.

So you settle on sending each other disposable cameras back and forth. You’ve got a picture of him on a mission in Amsterdam framed up in your hall. He’s got a cigarette hanging out of his big, toothy smile, posing like an overexcited tourist in front of a lingerie shop with a display window that made your ears hot when you first saw it.

He called you a few days after his incident with the helo in Urzikstan. Boasted his adventure with only a whispering tremble on the soft underside of his tough facade. Carried on until you wretched dryly into the receiver. Working yourself up into sick with worry even though he promised he was fine, just sticking to the ground for a bit.

Even though you’re seeing him less nowadays, he’s still somehow coming between you and any romantic pursuits you make. You chalk it up to coincidence most of the time, but a blind eye can only be turned so far.

He seems to have a sixth sense for when you’re on a date or a one night stand. Sending texts and pictures that could be misconstrued as flirty to someone who didn’t know the dynamic at just the wrong moment every time. And there was the one time where he sent flowers to your desk at work just a few days after you’d said something about a coworker getting sweet on you.

It happened so often that you eventually decided that the dating scene just wasn’t for you. Resigned to focus on work and friends. Adopting a new mantra of “if it’s meant to be, it’ll be.”

You’ve got no idea why Kyle is so pleased to hear about the conclusion you’ve come to. Or why he’s suddenly coming back home for a few weeks.

[xxblairexxss]

We’ll be fine

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x reader

Theme : Angst, fluff

Word count : 4.7k

Requested!

Relationships aren’t all sunshines and rainbows. Charles and you were trying so hard to maintain this long distance relationships but everything seemed to be going the wrong way. Was it the miscommunication, the lack of reassurance or was it because of your job?

The FaceTime’s outgoing ringtone blasted through your Macbook’s speaker, giving you a jolt, though you had bern waiting for it for the past 30 minutes.

"God, I miss you so much, baby."

The sight of your boyfriend in red, all sweaty, made you all giddy like a high school teenager. "Hi, boyfriend! Congratulations on the P3!" He went on to talk about the race and everything you had missed for not being able to join him this weekend while you rested your chin on your palm whilst listening to him.

"No way! You saw the same cut board again? Was it from the same person?" You asked; your work-related stuff was long forgotten.

"I'm not sure about that, but it freaked me out a little bit seeing my face that big over and over."

You cackled. He had propped his phone against his stuff, so you got a good look at him while he sorted out things before the press conference. It made you feel as if you were there with him.

This was the first time in a while that you didn’t get into an argument during a 10-minute video call. A few weeks ago, as frequent as it was, Charles and you would always get into an argument, sometimes one that lasted for days. It was all because of your new job and the upcoming summer break.

When you first got the offer, you could see Charles wasn’t too elated about it. It didn’t mean he was unhappy to see you step up into another chapter of your life. He was so ecstatic that he even prepared a small celebration and gifts to celebrate it. For the whole week after you told him about your promotion, that was all he ever talked about.

"I’m so proud of you."

"My hardworking girl"

"You deserved it so much".

Those were the words he kept on showering you with, like a mantra.

But those words eventually turned into fatalistic, forcing you to accept the culpability of the constant disagreement in the relationship.

"Not this again, Y/N."

"I just don’t understand why it’s so hard for you."

"I’m doing this for us too!"

"Am I the only one who gives a fuck about this relationship?"

Being able to talk to him and seeing him all smile with eyes full of accolades and longing for the touch from you erased all of the tainted spots.

That was until he called you again that night. When you told him about your upcoming project was when he blew up all over again. You saw it coming. Even before you picked up the call, before you had arranged those words in your head.

"What do you mean you can’t join me next week? Y/N, it’s my summer break. Don’t you want to spend some time together?"

You covered your face with your hands, internally screaming. He always acted as if you had a choice to reject every offer that the company had arranged for you. As if you didn’t care about this relationship as much as he did. "They asked me to take over the project. I can’t say no."

"I haven’t seen you in weeks." He muttered.

"I wanted to see you too, Charles, but..."

"Don’t say that." He heckled. You saw him roll his eyes, moving away from the camera. "Don’t say shit like that just to make me feel better. I know you don’t actually mean any of it."

"Charles, I really wanted to see you but I can’t say no!" You yelled out, desperately trying to make him see things from your point of view.

"Bullshit." He sniggered.

"What?"

"What if I tell you, Oh, I missed you so much, I can’t wait to see you, then chose to spend the weekend with my friends after saying all that? It sounds bullshit to you, isn’t it?" He shook his head, as if what you said vexed him even more. 

“I wasn’t spending the weekend with my friends. I’m working! It’s a different case.” You argued back, feeling unfair from his reactions.

"I’m going to sleep. Good night."

"Already? But I thought we could talk some more. I wanted to hear your story, I wanted to tell you about happen to me on my way to work this morning.." Your pleas were ignored as he stayed silent, looking as if he were so ready to click the end call button. "It’s okay then. Good night. I love you.”

The call ended. Well, he ended the call without saying it back.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

The summer break came around. Just like any other year, Charles would spend a week with his friends and the other week with his family. You would always join him, but not this year.

You have seen videos and pictures of his friends laughing, teasing each other, and filming funny videos here and there while you were stuck in your office.

Charles would still text you; he would wish you good morning and good night; he would ask you if you had eaten and if you needed him to arrange a food delivery for you; but he never spoke about the summer break anymore. In one way, it just felt like he had erased the words from his mind. Though you still saw pictures and videos of him on his yacht, riding his jet ski, you never asked him about it—basically anything that involved the break—because you just didn’t want to get into another fit of disagreement and his failure to see your situation.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

"What are you having for dinner, baby? I can’t see." He was in his bed, barely keeping himself awake after the full-blown activities in the sea today while you were just getting ready to eat your dinner.

"I’m having sushi!" His eyes widen at the huge selection when you tilted the plate of sushi.

"That’s a lot! You got carried away with the menu again, didn’t you?"

"Yeah.." Your lips were pressed in a thin line, shoulder-sloping like a child who got into trouble.

"Can you actually finish that, love?"

"Obviously no! I’ll figure out a way to not waste any of this." Picking a salmon out of 20 more selections on the plate, you dipped the end into the small plate of soy sauce and devoured one, smiling at the fresh, delectable taste.

"You know I can’t finish them for you. I’m like thousands of miles away." Charles was propping his chin on his hand, forcing himself to stay awake.

"I know. I miss you a lot." You covered your mouth, holding your laugh, when his chin slipped off his palm and he nearly slammed his head against the pillow. "You know you can go to sleep, right? I am fine eating dinner on my own."

"No, I want to stay awake and watch my girlfriend eat her sushi."

You stuck out your tongue and scrunched your nose, making him chuckle. "Which one should I try next?" You moved the phone a little so he could get a full view of the plate again.

"Try the scallop one, baby. It looks good."

You picked the one he chose with your chopstick and ate it up, letting out a squeal of excitement when the taste activated your taste buds. "It’s so good! You would have liked this one."

Charles eventually fell asleep before you could finish your so called eating show. He fell asleep hugging the pillow, which acted as your replacement because he always had trouble sleeping without you. He even asked you to leave a travel-size perfume of yours the next time you came home, just so it felt much more pragmatic in his mind.

Unknowingly to him, you had requested leave from absence home earlier this week, and it was just approved by your supervisor today. It was only for a week, but at least you could see your boyfriend and spend time with him this summer.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

Charles came home, and he was confounded by how tidy his apartment looked. The pile of clothes he had set aside in the laundry room to be washed was gone, and the washing machine was on as it was counting down to 15 minutes, rotating and spinning his clothes. He had left the house quite in a hurry this morning, so he expected it to be out of place, just like how he left it.

"Surprise!"

He sprang back, his head hitting the wall when you jumped out from behind the door as he was about to walk in, causing him to bend down, his hand holding the crown of his head.

"Oh my God! I’m so sorry!" You chortled, covering your mouth from the loud thud sound as you hugged him.

"Ow, I think I got a concussion, baby." He buried his face against your neck as you cradled him like a child. "Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?"

"I wanted to give you a surprise! And a concussion." You stroked his hair, barely able to breathe from the tight grip around your waist.

"God, I missed you so, so much." He planted a trail of kisses along your shoulder blade up to your jawline and ended it on your lips, only pulling away when both of you were out of breath. "I missed you, baby."

"I missed you more. I’m all yours, love. No more hugging pillows!" You snaked your arms around his neck, giggling when you felt his lips on your nose.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

"Y/N, baby, no. I just changed!"

You saw a perfect opportunity when he was standing at the edge of the yacht, seemingly to be in very deep thoughts, so you dashed into him, making him lose his balance as he grabbed you by your arm and pulled you with him back into the water.

"Why do you have to do that?!" You cried out, splashing the water on him with a frown.

"Oh, are you mad at me? Really, baby?" He laughed and lead you back to the yacht as it started getting a bit chilly. You still refused to talk to him, even when he wrapped you in a new towel and engulfed you in a hug. He, however, found the whole situation funny. "Okay, baby, I’m sorry for pulling you into the water. I should have been the only one cold in the sea. " Charles finally surrendered when you seemed to be so in persistent with your sulking attempt.

Rolling your eyes, you fell into a fit of laughter as you threw yourself on him, making him lay down with you on the lounge seats. "I’m just kidding!" You cupped his cheeks and brushed your lips on his. "You are so cute!"

"You make me the happiest man in the world." He caressed your cheeks while you braced yourself on his body. Everything was just so perfect you never wanted this moment to end. Just getting lost in those green eyes gave you a vivid view of the beautiful landscapes. The way you felt his soft, loving touch on your face, trailing the structure of your face tucked on your heart, just when you thought you couldn’t fell in love with this man even more.

"I love you so much, baby." He mumbled, drumming his fingers on your chin, which made you chuckle.

"I love you even more, love."

"Let’s stay like this for a little while. I missed having you in my arms." He leaned his head back on the seats, wishing for the time to stop because everything—literally everything—was just so perfect for him.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

"Baby?"

"Yeah?" Charles came to the kitchen, leaning against the counter while you still had your eyes on your tea, stirring it after you put a spoonful of sugar.

"Mom wished you could join the family’s vacation next week. Is there any way you can extend your leave?"

"I’m so sorry, love, but I need to be at the office by next week." Since you were working on a new project at the moment, it was difficult for you to be absent even more when you already got a week off though you knew right away you would have to pull an all-nighter once you touchdown tomorrow just to go through all those unreplied emails.

"Y/N, please. For me," He held your hand, which was circled around the mug. “For us.”

"Charles, this isn’t about us. You know—"

"Here we go again. I’m the only one who has to tolerate, give in, and follow your schedule. Y/N, this relationship isn’t about you all alone." His voice was louder now, half shouting as he left the kitchen.

"Yes, I know, Charles. I know! You are not the only one who has to ride the wave right now. You are not the only one giving in. I had been with you in every race that I could though I had to constantly fly back and forth. I have told you I was required to be at the office even more now that we’re working on a new project. Once it is all done and sorted out, my schedule will be more manageable. A couple of months is all I ask! I’m so tired of explaining this over and over, but you still keep on thinking I am being selfish in this matter. I am mentally and emotionally drained every single day! I spent hours in the office, coming home, expecting my boyfriend to be my comfort, but you kept on shouting and cursing at me." Your cup of tea was long forgotten as you trudged along his steps to the living room. "I took a leave for one week, hoping it would make you happy, but it is still not enough for you. I don’t know what you want me to do!"

"No one forced you to take the job, Y/N. You have no right to complain about that. I told you numerous times that I can always support you financially." You grabbed his wrists, tugging on them harshly to make him face you.

"That’s not how it works, Charles! I don’t want you to support me with your money. Just because I want and love this job doesn’t mean I can’t get tired of it. I’m a human with a capability to an extent. I just want you to be there for me when I need you." Charles looked away, hands clenched into a fist, when you started choking back tears.

"I feel like you are more scared to lose your precious job than you are losing me, Y/N. It’s more important than me, isn’t it? Your job." He snickered, his head shaking at how absurd this whole argument was.

"I got fired for leaving abruptly during my meeting because you got into a crash. I stayed with you for days, taking care of you, ignoring every call and text from my boss because you were all I could think about, and I could go insane if I wasn’t by your side, waiting for you to wake up. I had to build my career back up. Yes, this is my dream job, but I would drop everything again for you, and you know that too." You harshly wiped another trail of tears on your cheeks. You just wanted to rip your hair out because he kept on turning this back to you, as if you never sacrificed anything for him.

"Are you trying to blame me because you got fired? Is that what you meant? Y/N, that was on you!" Charles hollered, making you flinch as he pointed his finger at your face.

"That’s not it! If something happened to me and you left your race for me, would you blame me for that? No, you wouldn’t! Because there’s no one to blame! That’s what I—" Your words came to a pause when you saw him simpered. "Are you—Charles, what’s with that smile?" Your grip on his arm tightens to get his attention. "Are you saying you wouldn’t leave your career for me? Charles!" He tried to walk away, and you grabbed his shirt, yanking it. "Don’t just walk away! Answer me!" You pulled on his shirt again. "Charles!"

"Don’t ask me that! You and I are not the same, Y/N. Our career, our way of thinking, it’s just not the same."

It hurt. It hurt because you thought you meant a lot to him. You didn’t even want him to choose either one, but the fact that he acted as if your career and his weren’t on the same level shredded your heart to pieces. It was as if your career were nothing compared to his. Sure, it wasn’t one where people paid thousands to see; it wasn’t a career where you got paid hundreds of thousands, even millions, per year, but he, out of all people, knew how hard you worked for it, so you never expected him to disparage your career in front of your face.

"I don’t think I’m the one being selfish right now." He saw you walk past him into the bedroom with your head dropped. It was your last night before you had to fly back tomorrow, and he had ruined everything again. You had actually planned to bake cookies together just so the two of you could spend more time together for the last night, but the whole apartment is cold now, and there was no other sound except your irregular sob.

He stayed up, placing all those ingredients for cookies that you had arranged on the kitchen counter back to where it was. You were so excited to try the new cookie cutter, and he felt so bad for blowing up again.

"Y/N?"

You tugged on the cover, half hiding your face when you heard him walk in. It might not be as convincing as it was, but you held your sob, trying to control your shoulders from shaking too much, so it seemed as if you were already asleep since you didn’t want to talk to him. Not anymore. You were so tired. You would have packed and left right away if only you could, but you knew he would block your moves, holding you back and you didn’t want that to happen because you would have given in again. What you thought was a bad attempt was still able to convince him that you were asleep.

"Good night." He slanted over and pecked at your cheek before getting under the cover and facing the other way. He knew he didn’t deserve to hug nor touch you after making you cry yourself to sleep.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

Charles woke up, frowning, when a shaft of sunlight sipping through the curtain hit his face. "Baby, the sun is blinding me again." He mumbled and shifted to your side of the bed to hide his face against your neck, but all he could feel was a chilly, cold space. "Baby?" He called out a little louder and still didn’t get any response. "Y/N—" He was stunned when he realised your phone, hair tie, and your stuffs on the dressing table were gone. "Fuck!" The fatigue and drowsiness were gone in a blink as he threw the duvet off, feeling himself getting warm even though the AC was frigid.

"Y/N," He went through every room, and all of your clothes were gone. It was as if you were never here for the whole week. “No, no, no, no.”

Your phone was off when he tried to call, and none of his text messages went through. He even went to the airport because he knew your flight was 4 hours away, and he spent hours walking around to look for you, but to no avail. He would have kept you in his arms if he knew last night would be the last time he saw you.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

"Y/N! How are you? Oh my God!" Carla’s eyes widened. Just like any other day, Carla, Arthur’s girlfriend, would ring you just to update you on your life. You met her years ago when she and Arthur started dating, and ever since then, it had been like having a new baby sister. She was also the only one who knew your new phone number. And like always, you guys would talk for hours about everything, and though she never came here to New York, she was basically familiar with your apartment. This time around, you just didn’t happen to be in the apartment when you picked up the call. You were in the hospital, head wrapped up in a bandage, and your hand was as stiff as a rock from the hand cast. "What happened to you?" She yelled out.

"I got into an accident last night. No, two days ago. It wasn’t that bad, though." She rolled her eyes, finding it hard to believe when you winced from the pain as you tried to play it all cool.

"How did you get into an accident? That looks really bad, Y/N! You should tell Charles!"

Charles. It’s been nearly a month since the last time you left his apartment without confronting him. You remember staring at him that night while he slept, like a creep, thinking if you were making the right choice and decided there was no point staying in a relationship where you and him never see things at the same level. You changed your phone number because you knew he would spam your calls, and you knew the moment you heard his voice, pleading and begging you to forgive him, you would crawl your way back to him.

"No, don’t tell him. You promised me you wouldn’t tell anything to him or Arthur. I don’t know if you can call it an accident, but I lost my balance and fell down the stairs at the office. It wasn’t that bad, but I do need a few stitches on my forehead."

"That’s so bad! Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Just so you know, if he finds out that I knew about this and didn’t tell him, you need to back me up. How long do you have to be at the hospital? Are you okay all alone?"

"Yeah! I’m completely fine on my own. I will be discharged tomorrow!" The hand cast was actually quite heavy, and it was hard for you to do things on your own, but you’ll manage.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

"Why are you laughing?"

Clara put her phone away from her face, still giggling at the picture that you sent to her. It was a picture of you trying to make a thumbs up with your broken hand because she wanted proof that you had safely arrived at your apartment.

"Oh, it was Y/N!" She chuckled, turning her phone back to show her boyfriend the picture. "Look!"

Arthur blinked in surprise. He wasn’t expecting that at all. "What happened to her?"

"Oh, um—"

"What’s wrong?" Charles intervened, his eyes now on the couple.

Before Clara could make up a lie, her boyfriend was quick on his act. "Y/N. She was covered in bandages. Is that a bandage? Yeah, it is. Oh, it’s a hand cast." Arthur confirmed it himself after double-checking the picture on his girlfriend’s phone.

"What?" Charles furrowed his brows and took Clara’s phone from her hand. "What happened to her? Why didn’t you tell me about this?"

"She told me not to tell you. But she’s fine! Well, she said she’s fine." Clara stated, seeing how the older guy started heading out with only a few of his stuffs.

"Where are you going?" Arthur asked, chasing after his brother.

"I’m going to see her."

"What? You mean right now?" The younger one yelled out. "Has my brother gone mad?"

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

"One second!"

You ran from your room, anticipating another delivery from your window shopping gone wrong, and you ended up with 10 parcels that was supposed to arrive by today.

"Hi! You can just put the box here. I— oh,"

Charles was stunned. You were in a short with an oversized jumper, your hair tied up in a messy bun with your bangs pinned back where he could see the stitches right above your brows.

"Can I—can I come in?" His questioned, dragging you back into reality.

"My house is a mess." That was a bad one. You couldn’t come up with a better excuse, and he was still waiting, evidently disregarding whatever you just said. "Fine, come in. Do you want a drink? Coffee?"

"It’s okay. I’m all good."

"Coffee then." You felt his gaze on the back of your head as you grabbed a mug. The airtight instant coffee jar had to be the most difficult thing to open in one hand, even though you had the front part of your elbow circled around the jar. "Can I just get you water?" His laughter made your cheeks red.

"I’m okay, precious. There’s no need for that." He then marched to stand in front of you, hand cupped on your cheeks as he tilted your head to see the stitches. "What happened?"

"I fell. It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt that much." He was gazing at you, and you could feel the wall you built starting to quiver, so you took a step back.

Charles missed you. He missed you a lot. He knew you would have back away, but it never occurred to him that it would hurt this much to see the woman he loved pull in one’s horns with him. "I—,"

"You can’t do this to me." You cut him off, mumbling with your eyes looking down on your hands. "You can’t come here and touch me, forcing me to fall back and jump on you after the way you treated me."

"I came here to apologise." His voice became a whisper, barely audible to you.

"You have apologised for the million times, but I still got blamed for my career, for choosing to be my own person. Everything I do will always be seen as a selfish act by you. I can never make you happy, Charles."

"You have always made me happy, Y/N. Not my career, not my fame. It was wrong for me to say that, but it wasn’t my intention to disparage your choice, your career, or your life. I know you are not living your life as my girlfriend alone; you have your own dreams. I just got so—" He inhaled, looking away, unable to finish his words.

"Charles.."

He felt your cold hand on his, softly tugging it to get his attention and make him look at you.

"I just— I got so used to having you in my life every second before you moved away.” He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, trying to hold in his tears. "I got so frustrated because I came home and it was cold. I was so used to hearing your voice the second I stepped into the house, so used to you screaming my name when you greet me as if you haven’t seen me for years. You moved away so sudden, and it felt so lonely. I am happy for you, Y/N. I am so happy when you tell me about your days at work. I fell in love all over again when I saw the way your eyes were glistening when you talked about your new, dream job, but I wanted you to be with me. It just felt so distant. I am the selfish one all this time. I’m sorry."

You were a crying mess. You had never seen him this broken before. When you accepted your job offer email, you were so perturbed that you would have a hard time living thousands of miles away from your boyfriend, but it never once occurred to you that he would get the short end of the stick. Instead of saying anything, you cradled his head against your neck.

Charles’ arms went around your waist as he buried his head in your neck, replenishing his longing to have you in his arms for weeks. It had been so long since he held you, taking all that you were, everything he ever needed.

"It is not a bad thing to not be able to see each other every day." You mumbled, pulling away to cup on his cheeks. "It is sad, of course, but having you to miss is a privilege to me."

"I never want to lose you, Y/N."

"We just need more patience, understanding, and trust, Charles. I need you to understand me." His hands went on your back as you rested your head on his chest.

"Can you give us another chance?" He felt it was impossible to hide the slight quaver in his voice, too anxious for the worst thing to come. "I truly understand if you don’t want to because—"

"I’m staying." You leaned away and beamed, stroking your thumb against his cheek. "As long as you’re trying, we are trying, and I’ll stay. We’ll be fine."

“I know I said it otherwise but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t come running to you if something happened. You are my life, Y/N.” 

You leaned into his hand, drowning yourself with his touch. “We both need to work on our communication skill. You suck at it.” 

He chuckled, pulling you back into his arms. “Yeah, I am so bad it also costs me my happiness.”

“Can you stay here and keep me accompany for a couple of days?” You just couldn’t let him go today so you had to be self-obsessed today if it got him to be with you for at least another day.

“Of course, baby. Though I might need to buy some new clothes because this,” He extended his arms. “This is all I have.”

“You come here with just these?” There wasn’t any luggage, anything that made it seemed as if he were planning to come and visit you.

“Yeah, I came in a rush when I saw the picture you sent to Clara.”

“You are so silly. I only broke my hand!” He laughed along when you lifted up your hand cast, as if it was something normal to break your hand on a random Thursday.

“Only broke your hand? Only? Really, love. You even got stitches.”

✧.* general tag list! @i83andrew @cltrlne @karmabyfernando @ohthemisssery @ru-kru @tastebaldwin @f1obessed @love4lando @shinrjj @ietss @leclerc13 @darleneslane @buckybarnessweetheart @xcinnamongirl @boiohboii @formula1mount @judespoision @alwaysclassyeagle @scenesofobx @mrsmaybank13 

If your usernames were crossed, meaning I can’t tag you! Let me know if you would like to be removed or to be added to the tag list! Or if I missed anyone!

[urdepressedslut]

You’re Mine, Sunshine ❝part five❞

♡ Pairing: Grumpy!Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: Getting to know each other better doesn’t go according to plan. Bucky has to comfort you and fix the mess he made. Will you forgive him?

♡ Warnings: self hate, mentions of parent death/family death, panic attack, heavy angst, fluff, literally sobbing i love them

Part 6

Trope ⇢ Grumpy x Sunshine | Mob!Au Bodyguard!Au

It was almost becoming a mantra, reminding himself daily that he needed to keep things strictly professional. He just didn’t realize how hard it would be. You were so easy to be around, it was a different change of pace with you, he felt he could actually think— slow his mind down around you.

He had tried to digest the thought many times.

I could be her friend, nothing more.

Would it be unprofessional though? He tries to think how Pierce would react to that. He feels completely and utterly confused— the devil and angel on his shoulders battling constantly.

Even then, he was already a bad friend— if that. He was keeping something from you— something extreme. He had caught himself thinking of where you could be in the house— the part of him deep down wanting to tell you. He knew he should, but he knew that’s not what Pierce wanted. If anything, Bucky didn’t want to mess anything up— or he’d never see you again. The thought shouldn’t of scared him as much as it did, but he didn’t like it.

That’s where he found himself in the bathroom of his room, staring into his own eyes through the reflection. He had showered and caught himself trying to find a nice shirt amongst his clothes— immediately he stopped. He had to take a moment to take a deep breath and remind himself how ridiculous he was being.

It had been so long since he actually cared about his appearance. But as he was scanning every line and wrinkle on his face in the mirror— he knew he was doomed. Suddenly he felt insecure, and for once it wasn’t about his arm. His mind was consumed with the thought if he was good enough. While he felt overwhelmed, because he had never worried about such a thing. Well, in awhile at least.

You had kept yourself busy in the library for most of the day, and while you looked to be buried into the books— your thoughts were of him. You couldn’t ignore the giddy feeling that his words gave you— his want to get to know you better. Maybe, just maybe— he wanted to be your friend.

Just as you were about to get up and leave to seek out Bucky, you heard the sound of the library doors opening. A smile worked its way onto your face, excited to see him— though you had just seen him not that long ago.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the space, and soon revealed a handsome looking Bucky. Your mouth hung slightly open, his appearance looking sharper than usual. He was wearing his classic black shirt, and had the black leather jacket over— along with his jeans that hugged him just right in all the areas. He wasn’t dressed all that different, so why did he look so good.

You cleared your throat and broke your stare— yes he looked good. But you shouldn’t stare.

“You look great James, I wish I would’ve put something better on.” You laughed nervously, looking down at your t-shirt and shorts— along with your different colored socks.

Bucky on the other hand, thought you looked fine. He was pretty sure you could wear pretty much anything and look good in it. He also shook off your compliment, thinking you were just being sweet like you always were.

“You look fine, (Y/n).” He assured you.

Truthfully, standing here in front of you now— Bucky wants nothing more than to go back upstairs, choosing to avoid getting to know you better. He wasn’t sure why his walls were coming down so easily, but he hated it. Oh he hated it— he hated you.

“So…” You started, walking back to your seat. Bucky followed after and took his spot from the nights before. “I know this kinda takes the fun out of this but— I had a list of questions.”

Bucky shook his head but chuckled lowly, not surprised at all.

“Of course you do.” He acknowledged, and you scratched the back of your neck nervously.

“Uh— but there are rules! I made them up of course— but there aren’t many.” You rushed out, sitting crisscrossed in your seat.

Bucky exhaled annoyed, but couldn’t really argue otherwise. This was his idea. Was it to distract you from going out? Yes. But a part of him really did want to get to know you better.

“Alright, what’s the rules?” He asked, crossing his leg over the other— leaning back in his seat.

“Okay the first one— you have to answer the question that’s asked, no matter what.” You told him, watching him raise his eyebrows.

“Easy.”

You giggled, remembering how fast the conversation ended last time because he didn’t want to answer. This would be harder than he thought— but you wouldn’t call him out on it.

“Second rule— Can’t ask dumb questions.” You told him, and he chuckled again.

“That’s the second rule?” He chuckled, and you nodded your head.

“Yup.” You confirmed, “Okay— who should go first?”

You were ready to jump right into it, while Bucky was still thinking about your rules— rethinking his decision to do this.

“Why don’t you start doll, since you apparently have a list.” He spoke sarcastically, and you couldn’t stop the heat from rising to your cheeks at the nickname.

He never called you that before, and you didn’t know what to think of it.

“Um… okay yeah,” You thought about your first question, deciding to go easy on him at first, “What’s something you like to do on your free time?”

Bucky squinted his eyes, expecting a more personal question from you. He also had to think for a second— what did he like to do? He used to have hobbies at one time, but he couldn’t recall any in the moment. He felt he was a pretty boring person. There was one thing.

“I like to read sometimes.” He answered, and you smiled at that.

“Really? You don’t seem to spend a lot of time in the library for someone who likes to read.” You joked— knowing he was rather busy with his job as a bodyguard.

“Well, if I had free time— I’d probably be here.” He pointed out, slowly melting into his seat, his muscles relaxing against the couch.

“Okay your turn.” You told him.

Bucky didn’t want to admit it, but he as well had a list of questions for you. Things he was dying to know about you.

“What do you want to do in the future?” He asked, and you looked at him with furrowed brows.

“Huh?”

“What’s your dream job— like, what do you want to do for the rest of your life? Besides read.” He added at the end, making you giggle.

You thought about your answer for a moment, smiling to yourself when you came up with one.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever stay in one spot, there’s so much I want to do. But whatever happens, I wanna volunteer places. I want to help people— help them heal, cope. I just wanna do good.” You explained happily.

Bucky was not surprised by your answer by the slightest— of course you wanted to be helpful. It only made sense with your bubbly personality. He cleared his throat, fighting down a smile.

“Your turn again.”

You nodded and took a second to think of a question again, closing your eyes in thought. An idea popped into your head and you were hesitant about it. Last time you’d brought it up— he left.

“What’s your family like?” You asked anyway, keeping your voice soft in hopes he’d feel more comfortable.

Bucky tensed immediately and just glared at you for a second. His jaw clenched, and his eyes squinted at you. He was annoyed at you pestering him with this question— he’d answer every single one but this one. He’d play dirty if you were.

“My family… isn’t around anymore.” He answered quietly, his anger lacing his words.

His tone had you swallowing nervously, and deep down you regretted asking him. You didn’t mean any harm by the question, and you immediately felt bad. Your heart hurt for him, the way he didn’t have a family.

“I— James I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t o—”

You tried to apologize but got cut off.

“My turn.” He interrupted, sitting up in his seat now. His whole body tense again, his relaxed muscles no more. “Why does your Father hate you?”

He couldn’t stop himself from letting the words out, but as soon as they passed his lips— he was ashamed of himself. His face softened immediately at your face dropping, the way your fingers started to fiddle anxiously with the hem of your shirt.

You were shocked— at a loss for words. You probably deserved his anger, but you weren’t expecting such a harsh question. You felt your chest tighten, and suddenly you weren’t in denial anymore. Everything you’d ever thought— the nights you wondered if your Father really did hate you. You pushed away with a laugh, knowing he could never. But now as someone else witnessed it, and pointed it out. It ought to be true— and you felt sick.

“Um… He’s just having a h-hard time with the passing of my…” You tried to take a deep breath, feeling your throat tighter than usual. “Hard time with my mothers passing is all.”

You repeated from the first day meeting him. Your head pounded— your ears thumping loudly. Your fingers were numb and you felt like you couldn’t swallow.

Were you having an allergic reaction to something?

You tried to take another deep breath and felt your chest stop expanding. Your eyes widened in panic for a second.

Bucky felt so shitty— he couldn’t control himself for a simple question. The fact that you had answered it anyway broke his heart. He watched as your eyes darted around, in search of help. The way he could start to hear your breathing— the way you were beginning to wheeze.

“(Y/n), you ok—”

“Excuse m-me for a s-second.” You rushed out, stumbling out of your chair and towards the library doors.

Bucky was concerned for you, standing up immediately to go follow you. He was so ashamed of himself, angry that he let himself lose control like that. He had sensitive topics that just brought up a defensive side in him. The image of your face as soon as he had said the words was burned into his brain. You didn’t deserve that— you had been nothing be sweet since you two had met.

Making it up the stairs, he started down the hallway— body tensing in alert at the sight of you sitting up against the hallway wall. He rushed forward, kneeling down to your curled up form, scanning over you for injuries.

“(Y/n), what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He asked frantic, he noticed your hand clutching the area above your heart.

You shook your head, but seemed confused— and only panicked more when you couldn’t get the words out right away.

“I c-can’t breathe!” You wheezed out, your hand not clutching your chest— reaching out to grab onto Bucky.

You held onto him like he was your lifeline.

“I-I think I’m having a-an allergic reaction.” You panted, fisting Bucky’s sleeve in panic.

Bucky didn’t know it was possible for his heart to break anymore— but he swore he heard the cracking sound. He felt it drop to his stomach, his own throat tightening with emotions. You were having a panic attack— and it was because of him. You had no idea, and yet here you were still clinging onto him when he was the cause of it all. He was disgusted with himself.

“(Y/n)— you’re not having an allergic reaction. You’re having a panic attack.” He explained to you clearly, holding onto your shoulders, trying to bring you comfort.

You nodded in understanding, feeling lightheaded from lack of oxygen to the brain. Tears began to escape your eyes, you felt helpless— you felt like you were dying.

“James…” You whimpered, “I’m s-scared!”

Again, he felt his non existent heart break again— falling into his stomach. He felt sick watching this go down, wanting nothing more than for this all to be a nightmare.

He had experience with panic attacks and luckily knew what to do— he just couldn’t get over the fact that he caused it.

He grabbed your hand fisting his sleeve and put it above his heart. You lifted your flushed face, your bloodshot eyes watching your hand. You could feel the strong thump of his heartbeat, the feeling soothing against your palm.

“I want you to try and breathe with me, okay? I want you to match my heartbeat. You feel it?” He asked you softly, his voice gentle like honey.

You nodded your head, trying to focus on slowing your breathing— stop your chaotic mind from spiraling.

“In… and out— In… and out.” He started breathing, and you struggled to match him at first, but as your eyes met with his— you felt your heartbeat start to match his rhythm.

His eyes were comforting and warm. You felt safe in his hold— and you could already start to feel your everything relaxing.

“Good, just keep breathing with me. I’ve got you— you’re gonna be okay.” He assured you, rubbing your shoulders up and down soothingly.

You knew you’d be risking it, but you slowly moved forward— wrapping your arms around his bulky frame.

Bucky tensed up at first, a part of him knowing he should push you away— this wasn’t professional. But he knew he couldn’t— not after what he did. He relaxed, and wrapped his arms hesitantly around your back, hugging you tight against him. He could feel your quick heartbeat thumping competitively against his. He could feel your breath fanning his neck— as you rested your chin in the crook of his neck.

He hadn’t felt such affection in so long— he had missed how much he craved the protection— the security he felt being in someone’s arms.

Now, in Bucky’s hold— you felt at peace. You knew he’d never let anything happen to you. You still trusted him with your life.

“Doll,” You smiled weakly into his neck, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t of asked you that— I’m an asshole.”

You held onto him tighter— enjoying the embrace while you had it. You were sure it would never happen again.

“It’s okay James, I’m sorry too.” You weakly replied, your body drained of energy. “Thank you, I feel a lot better now.”

He wanted to scoff. You wanted to thank him for helping you out of a mess that he caused. You had the right to scream, punch, kick him. But he knew you’d never do that— and that’s what killed him.

He didn’t know how to respond to your thanks, and stayed silent instead. Holding onto you— never intending to let go until you did first.

“I’m tired James.” You mumbled sleepily.

“I’ve got you doll.” He whispered, easily standing with you in his arms.

He slowly and carefully carried you to your room, setting you down gently onto your bed. He was having déjà vu— memories of when he first carried you to bed that one night.

He lifted the covers, tucking you in. He watched you for a second, examining your face like you were a piece of art. His eyes danced all the way from your chin— passed your lips— to your eyes. Before he could stop himself, he was reaching out to brush a loose strand of hair out of your face. You sighed and leaned into his touch, and this time— he didn’t fight the smile down. He gazed down at you warmly, genuinely smiling for the first time in awhile.

“Stay with me.” You mumbled sleepily, just as you had wanted to that one night.

Bucky took a deep breath, staring down at you with sudden tenderness. He shook his head, ridding his mind of the thought.

“Okay.” He told you, watching you give a small smile in your sleep. Snuggling your face into the pillow.

Although both of you didn’t really get to scratch off every question of each others list— you both felt more connected after today. You just wanted someone, someone constant in your life. Bucky needed more light in his life— like you.

You both needed each other more than you realized.

🤍 taglist is officially closed for this series 🤍

TAGLIST: @winters1917 @unaxv @sebastianstansqueen @casa-boiardi @sonatabee @nytzirhk @almosttoopizza @erinallene @daddy-dotcom @h0nestly-though @beautiful-loserr @gloriouspurpose01 @lesleurs @justherefortheficandsmut @floralwsloki @dottirose @madi-be-buggin @navs-bhat @happinessinthebeing @ximi1315 @buggy14 @dancer3205 @neeezza101 @rovckwells @loki-is-loved @yujyujj @wolfstarrrr @distinguishedbluebirdtriumph @tatianah26 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @lethallyprotected @sadboiabby @ziatracy @doveromanoff @whattheduckisupkyle @buckysgirl85 @etherealdisneyvillainness @doctorlilo @torntaltos @raging-panda @livingoffsavvyillusions @lmao-liz @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @toriluvsfics

@baconeggndcheez @nialiuwanderlust @nabiiturner @nickangel13 @queerqueenlynn @memyselfandi19 @mentalidrainedfangirl @wattpaduser200 @obsessedbutnotblessed @iris-shihabi @thecubanator2 @chloe-skywalker @oatballsoffury @bbiaa420 @vanillascreams @athenabarnes @the-universe-is-complicated @marvel-fandom23 @ilovecliches @frankcastlesbabe @aizawa-emma @shamelesssuitshark @buckyb-stan @pampeop @bruher @reading-n-writin @lenavonschweetz @khypods @himikotoga101 @stefansring @iateall-yourcookies @giftedyoungster3000 @itsmytimetoodream @im-a-marvel-ous-hoe @wintermischief @companionjones @meetmeatyourworst @sebstanwhore @xforeveralonerxx @marziwritesfic @hidden-treasures21 @avenirectioner

@hvnnibvni @chipilerendi @buckylovu @clean-and-claire @broadwaybabe18 @billy-reads @natashassandwich @potatothots @char112244 @totallynotnotsukie @theconstantsidekick @unkownkii @missaprilt23 @dreamcatchernightsky @globetrotter28 @ilovewriting06 @leabunny @samsgirl93