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ohangeleyes · 1 month ago

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⎯⎯ HUSBAND!DEAN WINCHESTER HEADCANONS

a/n i know i said i would be posting very very soon 3 weeks ago but in my defense i was busy with idk... this is my apology guys

notices contains cute ass dean and spicy ahh dean. for my bbg again @iris-w1nchester

┃dean didn't believe in "forever" until you.

he’s lived in motel rooms and warzones his entire life. permanence, something that would last felt like a myth for him. but it started creeping in slowly, quietly. it was the way he kept a toothbrush for you at the bunker. the way he started planning hunts around your schedule. the way your name came up when he talked about the future, without him realizing it.

it scared the hell out of him. love, to dean, had always been something that ended, violently. but with you? it felt… durable. and that was both terrifying and holy.

┃he realized he wanted to marry you while watching you fold laundry.

nothing dramatic. you were in one of his flannel shirts, standing barefoot, maybe listening to faint music playing in the background, folding his socks with that little quirk you do. and something in his chest just clicked. he sat back on the bed, eyes a little distant, hands stilled, and thought: “this is it. this is what I’ve been chasing.”

just this. the stillness. the safety. the ordinary, and how beautiful you made it feel.

┃when things started getting serious, he waited for the shoe to drop.

he started second-guessing everything: am I good enough? am I dragging her into a grave? what if I screw this up?

so he got distant. not because he didn’t want you, but because he did, too much. so much, it felt like loving you might kill him.

you didn’t force him to open up, you just stayed, kept being gentle, patient. and eventually, the walls cracked. he told you clumsily that he didn’t think he deserved something good. and you told him he did. he didn’t believe it. not at first. but you made him believe he did. and that made all the difference.

┃the ring wasn't something luxurious, it was personal, specific, chosen with care.

dean may seem rough-edged, but he’s sentimental. the ring? not flashy. maybe it had a stone in your birth color. maybe it was your mom’s ring he quietly got fixed. maybe it was a simple gold band engraved with something only you two understand. he spent hours figuring it out. weeks, even. we wanted it to feel like you. not just for it to be pretty.

┃the proposal wasn't grand, it was sacred.

he didn’t get down on one knee in a crowded restaurant, that’s not dean. it happened at the kitchen table at 2 am, half-drunk on cheap whiskey and pie, after a long hunt. you were wearing his hoodie, feet in his lap. you were talking about something silly, maybe a movie, maybe what color to paint the spare room.

he was staring at you like you hung the stars. and when you paused and looked at him, he just said: “marry me.”

soft. steady. with that haunted look in his eyes, like he couldn’t believe he was asking. like he half-expected you to say no. but also, deep down, desperately hoped you’d say yes.

┃after you said yes, he cried, but didn't want you to see.

dean feels everything, but buries it. after you said yes, he grinned. god, that grin, but when you went to grab your phone to call someone, he turned away, just for a second. but you caught the shake in his shoulders, the way he blinked up toward the ceiling. it wasn’t sadness, it was release. for the first time, maybe ever, he let himself believe in something that wouldn’t be ripped away.

┃he didn’t want a big wedding, but he did want you to have everything you deserved.

he said, “let’s just hit a courthouse and grab burgers after,” half-joking but totally serious. you saw it in his eyes, he didn’t want to waste time or money on something “fancy” for him. but when he saw how your eyes lit up talking about vows, music, food, he caved instantly. the way he always does when it’s about you. he didn’t fight you on any of it. not because he cared about flowers or cake, but because he cared that you cared. that was enough.

"if it makes you happy, I'm there, tux and all. hell, I'll even dance."

┃he was lowkey panicking the entire morning.

he didn’t sleep the night before. you’d never seen him that nervous, not even before a leviathan hunt. he paced the bunker kitchen, cracked half a dozen beers, muttered to himself. he was just terrified of screwing up something that mattered. so the moment before the ceremony? he was staring at himself in the mirror, whispering: "don't mess this up. she’s your home now. she’s your damn home.”

┃his vows were short, but they wrecked everyone.

you expected dean to grumble through his vows or quote some old rock song. but what came out of him was pure, raw, stripped-down truth. the kind of thing you only say when your heart is burning a hole in your chest. “I never thought I’d live this long. I never thought I’d find something that didn’t come with blood or pain. and then you walked in. and I didn’t know I was allowed to have peace. but I want it now. I want you. always." direct. intense. vulnerable.

┃the first dance? he dreaded it, until he saw your face.

dean’s not the “let’s slow dance in front of people” type. he groaned, tried to get out of it. but you talked him into it, and he gave in, because he always does, for you. and the second he pulled you close, everything else disappeared. he pressed his forehead to yours, murmured lyrics softly in your ear, totally off-key, and held you like he never wanted to let go. you felt his heart, beating loud enough to count.

“this ain’t so bad,” he whispered.

“yeah?”

“yeah. might even like it… if it means I get to hold you like this forever.

bonus: "can't help falling in love" was definitely playing in the background

┃the reception was messy, loud and filled with love.

he made damn sure there was pie. more than cake. sam gave a speech that had everyone in tears. cas stood awkwardly in the corner and made a comment about “the sanctity of human bonds,” which made dean laugh harder than you’d heard in weeks.

and at some point, around midnight, dean pulled you into his lap, arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder, murmuring “I can’t believe this is real” into your hair over and over again.

┃he didn’t care about the honeymoon details, he just wanted you.

you could’ve picked a beach, a cabin, even just stayed in bed at the bunker for a week straight. he didn’t give a damn where it was. his only request? “somewhere quiet. just us.”

┃during honeymoon, he plans nothing. except sex.

dean’s like, “sightseeing? that’s what I’m doing right now,” while watching you walk out of the shower, towel barely hanging on. lazy mornings become intense make-out sessions. afternoons are for naked naps and cuddles. nights? he turns the lights off just to feel every part of you without distractions.

“you wanna go out for dinner or… stay in and let me eat something else?”

┃he’s obsessed with “making memories.”

dean insists on taking polaroids or saving mementos: the cork from a bottle of wine, a seashell from your walk, a napkin from the hotel bar with a stupid doodle of you on it. he hides them in his duffel. one day, years later, you’ll find them and cry.

┃the mornings are slow, sacred, and full of sleepy affection.

dean’s a light sleeper (years of hunting will do that), but when he’s with you? he lets himself sleep deeper. he wakes up early, usually before you, but he never gets up right away. not when he’s got you curled into his chest, your breath warm on his neck, your hand draped over his stomach. he runs his fingers down your back, presses a kiss to your shoulder, and lets himself pretend, for five more minutes, that the world outside your bedroom doesn’t exist.

“mornin’, sweetheart. you staying here forever, or am I gonna have to trap you under the blankets?”

┃he always makes breakfast. always.

dean’s love language? acts of service. he won’t always say the soft things, but he’ll flip pancakes, fry bacon, and make you coffee or tea just the way you like it every damn morning. he hums classic rock while he cooks, occasionally turning around to flash you that smug little grin when he catches you staring.

if you ever cook for him? he teases you, “not bad, chef”, but his eyes are so soft, because he’s never had someone want to take care of him before.

┃hunts feel different now. he’s more careful, more deliberate.

dean still hunts. he probably always will. but since you, he doesn’t throw himself into danger the way he used to. he isn't so reckless anymore. not because he’s scared of death, he’s scared of leaving you. of becoming another ghost in your story. you’re his anchor now. so he double-checks salt lines. he calls you before and after hunts. and if you hunt too? oh, he’s protective, sometimes annoyingly so.

“you go left, I go right. watch your corners. and if anything touches you, I’m burning this whole damn house down.”

┃he has his hobbies, but now he wants to share them with you.

he still works on baby religiously, but now you’re invited. he’ll pass you tools and give you grease-smudged kisses like it’s nothing. movie nights? mandatory. he needs you to watch all his favorite old horror movies, even if you think they suck, because he wants to see your reactions more than the movie itself. and when he finds out you have a hobby, painting, knitting, whatever, he watches you do it like it’s magic. and he brags about it constantly.

“my girl made that. yeah, she’s kinda a genius, no big deal.”

┃vulnerable moments come in waves, but he shows up every time.

dean has trouble talking about his feelings, but when he opens up, it guts you. it happens in small moments: in bed after a nightmare, during a car ride after a hunt, or when a random song hits too hard.

“you know I never thought I’d have this, right? you, a home, peace. I still don’t know if I deserve it. but I’m not letting it go.”

he’s always there for your vulnerable moments too. if you cry? he doesn’t try to fix it. he just pulls you close, strokes your hair, and tells you everything’s okay.

┃cuddles are an every night thing.

dean needs physical affection like oxygen but pretends he doesn’t, that mf is so touch deprived. you’ll be watching tv and he’ll grumble, “come here,” before pulling you into his lap like a teddy bear. he wraps his arms around your waist, buries his face in your neck, and just breathes you in. you end up tangled under blankets, legs wrapped around each other, his hand under your shirt, resting on your skin just to know you’re real.

┃he has quiet “I love you” habits.

dean doesn’t say “I love you” every five minutes. but you feel it in a hundred tiny ways:

he keeps your chapstick in the glovebox.

he brings you pie when you’ve had a rough day.

he texts you dumb memes he doesn’t understand, just to make you smile.

he runs you a bath when he knows your back hurts.

he always sleeps on the side of the bed closest to the door, because if something ever came through it, he’d be the first line of defense.

he fixes things before you even know they’re broken.

he always walks on the side closest to the road.

he saves the last bite for you, even if it’s his favorite.

he checks the locks every night. twice.

┃fights aren’t explosive, they’re quiet and aching.

dean gets cold when he’s upset, emotionally, not cruelly. he’ll shut down, go quiet, avoid eye contact. but he never walks away. he stays. he sits with his feelings. and once he’s ready, he comes back to you.

“I don’t wanna fight you. I’m just… scared. I don’t wanna lose this. I don’t wanna lose you.”

and you always end up wrapped in each other again, tears drying between kisses, your forehead pressed to his like you’re both breathing the same apology.

┃sunday morning sex is sacred.

no alarms. no monsters. just the two of you tangled in warm sheets, half-asleep and already wrapped around each other. dean’s hand is under your shirt, thumb tracing soft circles on your waist before you even wake up. he kisses the back of your neck, breath warm, voice low and sleepy:

“mornin’, mrs. winchester… still sore from last night, or can I make you sore again?”

he’s slow and sweet on sundays. gentle rocking. lazy kisses. the kind of lovemaking that doesn’t end in a rush, but in laughter and quiet “I love you”s into each other’s skin.

┃he lives to undress you after a long day.

you walk in the door, bloodied, bruised, tired from a hunt and dean’s already helping you out of your jacket. boots off. weapons on the table. but then he’s unbuttoning your jeans, peeling off your shirt, fingertips ghosting over every scrape and mark with reverence.

“lemme take care of you, baby. you carried us out there… now let me carry you here.”

and sometimes that turns into a warm bath. sometimes a massage. And sometimes? he’s kneeling in front of you before you can even breathe, mouth on your skin like you’re holy.

┃he has a “kitchen counter” weakness.

something about seeing you barefoot, in one of his flannels, sipping coffee while leaning against the counter? it wrecks him.

next thing you know, he’s pinning you against the edge, mug gently set aside, his hands under your thighs.

sex in the kitchen becomes a regular occurrence. bacon sizzling in the background. your laughter echoing off the tile. his hips snapping into yours while the sun pours through the window.

┃ his pillow talk turns domestic and filthy.

aftercare is very real with husband dean. he’s all about the cuddles, stroking your hair, making sure you’re hydrated and fed. but once your breathing’s evened out and the room is quiet? he starts whispering filthy little plans for the future into your ear.

“you ever think about what you’ll look like with my kid in you?”

“wanna get a place with a big porch. I’ll take you every night in the rocking chair.”

“let’s grow old together, baby… but I’ll still have you screaming my name in every room.”

┃angry sex after arguments is a whole thing.

married life isn’t always smooth and dean can be stubborn. but when the two of you argue? it builds up into something hot and dangerous. he’ll slam the door, pace around, clench his jaw, but he always comes back.

“Still mad?”

“Shut up and bend over.”

it’s raw, fast, breathless. teeth on your neck. hands gripping tight. but after? he cradles your face, whispers apologies into your skin, and kisses you like you’re the only thing keeping him alive.

┃he gets weirdly emotional during soft, slow sex.

when it’s just the two of you, no distractions, nothing but skin and breath and whispered I love you’s, he sometimes gets quiet. eyes locked. hands holding your face. that single tear-thing he hates happens more than he admits.

“you don’t know what you do to me, sweetheart… I never thought I’d get this. you. this life.”

he holds you for hours afterward. like if he lets go, the dream might end.

┃he buys lingerie “for you”… but it’s totally for him.

every few months, you’ll find something new on the bed. a lacy thing in your favorite color, folded neatly with a note: “try it on. I’ll be waiting.” and dean? he sits at the foot of the bed, jaw dropped, eyes burning with adoration and lust.

“fuckin’ hell… my wife.”

“you married me just for this, huh?”

“damn right I did.”

┃your wedding ring drives him wild in bed.

he never says it, but every time your hand wraps around him and that ring catches the light? he goes feral. it’s visual proof that you’re his. that you chose him. and when he finishes? he presses his forehead to yours, rubs your ring with his thumb, and just breathes you in.

┃thinking about having a kid? he thinks about it way before you or before he'll admit it out loud

he watches you from across the kitchen, still in a tee shirt, humming to yourself, hair messy and his chest aches. he doesn’t mean to imagine it… but suddenly you’ve got a baby on your hip. or a little kid sitting at the table coloring while you make lunch. and he wants it, badly, but pushes the thought down.

“no way. not with this life. it’d be selfish.”

but it keeps creeping in. every time you yawn and curl into his chest. every time he sees a dad holding a toddler at a diner. it’s not a fantasy, it’s a craving. one he’s terrified to say out loud.

┃he wrestles HARD with guilt and fear.

the idea of bringing a kid into this world, especially his world, makes his stomach churn.

“what if they turn out like me?”

“what if I can’t protect them?”

“what if they lose me too young?”

but the more you two build a home, the harder it is for him to ignore that aching hope.

“you’d be an amazing mom,” he says one night, quietly, when he thinks you’re asleep.

and when you whisper back, “you’d be an amazing dad,” he just clutches you tighter.

┃ he absolutely short-circuits when you tell him you're pregnant.

you show him the test and for a few seconds he just… stares. blinking. jaw on the floor. processing.

“that’s… that’s real? you’re sure?”

“shit, sweetheart, you’re really pregnant?”

then it hits him all at once, his hands fly to your stomach even if there’s no bump yet, and his eyes get glassy.

“we’re gonna have a baby?”

“you’re gonna be the mother of my kid.”

he kisses you like you’re made of starlight and then sits on the bed in silence for like 10 minutes trying not to cry.

┃he immediately throws himself into dad Mode.

day one: he’s googling vitamins, rubbing your back, reorganizing the pantry, and drawing up baby name lists he’ll pretend are “just for fun.” by week six: he’s installed a baby app, banned you from lifting heavy boxes, and is holding your hand during every appointment.

┃he handles your mood swings like a champion.

he’s SO gentle with you. if you cry at a commercial? you’re in his lap with a blanket and your favorite snack. if you snap at him for no reason? he just nods and says, “you want space or a cuddle, sweetheart?”

┃when the baby kicks for the first time, he breaks.

literally tears up. presses his hand to your belly like it’s holy.

“holy shit. that’s our kid.”

he talks to the bump every night after that. tells it stories. asks it what music it likes. says he hopes they get your eyes and your laugh.

┃he won’t let you lift a damn finger, he adores doing everything for you.

laundry? he’s on it. grocery runs? cavings at 2 am? he’s in the car before you finish your sentence.

“you’re growin’ a whole person. least I can do is keep you fed.”

and at night, he holds you so gently, hand spread over your belly, whispering,

“I’m scared, sweetheart… but I’ve never wanted anything this bad in my whole life.”

MASTERLIST

i feel like a cheater but whatever, enjoy...

so yall want dad dean head canons or what

#tina's works ⊹₊⟡⋆#supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #spnedit #supernatural fic #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean x reader #dean supernatural #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader

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luigisbambinaaa · 3 months ago

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Soft Spot Pt. 2 ~

summary: spring break trip to cabo, luigi gets wiped out, and you’re sent to help him ;)

content warning: smut, oral (both receiving), p in v, luigi gets bruised

an: hi!! thank you to everyone that liked, shared, and commented on part 1!!!! also thank u to my homie palmersluvr for help with the formatting tho im still figuring it out. idk the word count but this shit is sooo long but i had so much fucking fun writing this so i hope you all enjoy :)! take a shot for every single time i said “rhythm” lol.

part 1

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weeks passed, and despite the playful texts shared between you and luigi, he wasn’t able to come back for a second “appointment”.

not because he didn’t want to. but because midterms had everyone busy— especially him.

sleep schedules were fucked up, group chats barely active, and every inch of the library taken over by students running on iced coffee.

luigi had practically disappeared— only proof of his existence being the many students that he tutored making jokes about how their TA had a spot reserved in heaven for all the hard work he’s done for them.

and yet, despite the chaos, there hadn’t been a single mention of back pain from him or his friends.

if anything, everyone noticed he seemed lighter. maybe your hands really had worked some sort of magic.

and eventually you were all able to taste the sweet freedom of spring break. friends of friends all headed to cabo for a well deserved get away.

instagram buzzing with photo dumps of tan lines and tiny bikinis, camera roll full of coconut drinks, beach sunsets, and grainy late-night dinners.

the resort ridiculously beautiful— picked out by luigi and others. shady palm trees stretching over the infinity pool, balconies overlooking the ocean, music a constant hum in the background no matter the hour. every corner full of beauty.

spending mornings with your girls walking the shoreline, tucking cute little seashells into your beach bag. afternoons spent exploring, wandering through colorful local markets, vendors beckoning you over in spanish, taking polaroids of everything. chaotic dinners with messy seafood platters, one too many margaritas, and tables full of friends cramming in every space they could.

and always, luigi was there, lingering just close enough to keep you on your toes. the flirting having been buried under study guides and endless cups of coffee— but not entirely gone.

you felt it in the way his eyes lingered on you in your sundresses, in the way he saved the empty chair next to him for you, in the way your fingers would brush when passing certain items across the table, yet neither of you said anything.

it was the kind of tension that hung in the air without needing to be addressed aloud. sweet, aching, and unbothered— until it wasn’t.

all the boys had decided to go out early that particular morning to catch some waves, lugging huge surfboards down to the beach while you and the rest of the girls stayed behind for some late brunch at the resort cafe.

you were mid-bite into a piece of french toast when someone burst into the outdoor patio, face red and out of breath.

“luigi wiped out bad on a huge wave,” they panted, trying to catch their breath, “board slammed him in the back, he should be okay, but he’s out for the day. they took him back to the room to rest.”

your stomach dropped. you honestly didn’t even realize how much you’d been hoping he’d show up that day, maybe just for lunch or just to sneak a few glances at you.

“can someone go check on him?” one of your friends asked, glancing around the table. “he’s probably fine, just milking it. but still.”

many of them shrugged, too caught up in their delicious breakfast food or downing their drinks to volunteer.

“you’re the nicest one here and have the expertise,” another added, pointing her fork at you with a smile. “can you go make sure he’s still breathing? im sure he won’t bite.”

they didn’t know. shit, nobody knew about you two. and so you nodded, wiping your hands on a napkin and standing slowly.

you headed back to your room first— not wanting to show up empty-handed. grabbing some essentials from your suitcase like some peppermint oil, aloe vera, the same lotion you used on him in your dorm, all thrown into your tote bag.

when you stepped back out into the hallway, one of the guys had caught up to you and handed you a spare key card.

“he’s in one of the oceanfront suites so i figured you might need this since he’s probably bed ridden”

you mutter a thank you and walked a few doors down the hallway. with the door clicking shut behind you, you stood still for a second, just admiring.

everything was nicer, sleek, clean, and expensive. the king sized bed resembling a cloud , a perfect plush comforter thrown over. floor to ceiling windows letting in sunlight that kissed every surface in gold, and a soft sea breeze drifting in through his open balcony door. and then there was a hot tub, massive and polished. half sunk into the floor near the balcony, something out of a dream.

your breath hitched.

“luigi?”

you called out gently, stepping further into his room. and then you saw him.

sprawled out across the bed, shirtless, eyes half closed, with a pillow or two tucked under his lower back.

his swimming trunks were riding low, dangerously low. low enough that your eyes traveled down the faint trail of hair leading down his stomach— the one you didn’t get to appreciate too much before.

your fingers clenched slightly around the strap of your tote bag, heart skipping a beat.

“…hi.” he replies softly and shyly.

you don’t say anything at first, tossing your bag on the dresser and kicking off your sandals without a second thought.

the bed dips slightly under your weight as you carefully climbed up beside him, leaning in slowly, one hand going to cradle the side of his face, your fingers instinctively tangling themselves in his curls, scratching his scalp softly.

“what the hell happened?” you murmured, brushing your thumb over the curve of his cheek. “how bad is it?”

he leaned into your touch just a little, lashes low and heat radiating off of him.

“hurts like a bitch,” he admitted, lips twitching into a tired grin, “but seeing you kind of helps.”

you rolled your eyes, but your thumb still stroked gently over his cheek.

“you’re such a baby,” you muttered, “let me see.”

he blinked up at you, hesitant. you pull back enough to sit on your knees, glancing down at the way his arm was draped over his stomach.

“come on, turn over so i can see, or do i need to do it for you?”

he grumbles something about you being bossy, but shifts anyway to let you get a good look. wincing slightly as he moved his arm, revealing an angry red mark blooming across his lower back and side— already beginning to bruise, dark and raw.

you sucked in a quiet breath.

“jesus, luigi…”

you reached for your tote bag and rummaged through it, pulling out the lotion and peppermint oil, warming it up in your hands.

“this might sting a little,” you warned.

“i trust you,” he murmured, eyes falling closed again.

your hands pressed carefully to his skin in slow, gentle circles at first, barely any pressure. and his breath hitched, not from pain, but from you and how you knew exactly where to touch without asking.

you kept your focus low, jaw clenching and unclenching, pretending not to notice the way his hips twitched slightly when your palms smoothed along the curve of his waist.

“relax,” you whisper, “I’ve got you.”

your fingers moved in slow, practiced motions, the familiar rhythm calming the both of you. he was quiet under your touch, face buried into a pillow, muscles slowly uncoiling under your hands.

“you’re so dumb,” you said gently, a little laugh slipping out. “what were you even trying to do? show off? impress the ocean?”

luigi letting out a small groan and barely lifting his head mumbles, “was tryna ride the wave,” his words slurred with exhaustion and comfort.

you pressed your thumbs in a little deeper to the sides of his bruises, careful but firm.

“and it rode you huh?”

“mhmmm…”

you smiled, shaking your head, continuing— moving a bit lower, tracing along the edges of his blooming bruises. he let out a low whimper, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, his fingers slightly curling into the sheets.

“seriously gi,” you murmured, softer now. “you could’ve really hurt yourself.”

“m’sorry,” he breathed, voice small now. “didn’t mean to.”

you leaned down just a little, hair falling over your shoulder as you whispered near his ear. “you gotta stop being reckless. who’s gonna fix you up next time if i’m not around?”

his only answer being a quiet, needy whine— his head tilting slightly towards you.

and with you leaning over him like that, face being close and hair brushing his skin, he lifted his chin just enough to press his lips to yours. soft and tentative. you froze just for a second, then kissed him back just as gently.

you’re the first one to pull away, giving his hair a light tug. “you better behave,” you whispered, breath warm against his mouth. “or i won’t finish your massage.”

he grinned, lazy and dazed. “im behaving,” he mumbled, already slumping back into the pillow like your kiss was enough to sedate him.

you scooped up a little more oil into your palms and worked quietly for a few more minutes— slow and careful movements over the bruising, his muscles loose now.

and then, a soft murmur:

“i think my back’s good now… think you could get my shoulders?”

…

“…and maybe my chest too?”

you smirked and glanced down at him.

“whatever you want princess”

he began to turn over, shifting on his side with a groan, but as you were about to guide him onto his back—

“wait not like this.”

before you could even reply, his hands slid over your hips and in one quick motion, he brought you right into his lap.

you let out a quiet gasp, straddling him now, palms braced on his bare chest as he looked up at you— eyes dark and blown out.

“like this.” his voice barely above a whisper.

you didn’t say anything, just swallowed hard and nodded once. your fingers dipped back into the oil, rubbing it between your palms to warm it up before sliding your hands over his chest.

he was pretty still beneath you, save for the tiny shifts of his body. sharp inhales when your thumbs pressed into his skin, the subtle twitch of his thighs when you pressed too low.

“shit,” he breathed, voice hitching higher this time, soft and strained. “feels so good…”

your hands moved to his shoulders, thumbs circling into tight knots just beneath his neck. it was a bit of a stretch from your spot in his lap, so you leaned forward, your chest brushing against his, your breath grazing his jaw.

and then his lips found yours again, lazy and slow. he kissed you without urgency, one hand sliding to the small of your back, and the other on your thigh, trying to keep himself grounded.

you kissed him back, just as slow. before pulling away slightly, catching your breath, and going back to his shoulders as if nothing happened.

he groaned again, though not from the massage this time.

“not fair,” he muttered.

you laughed under your breath, going back to press into a particularly tight spot behind his shoulder blade.

“too bad.”

you leaned back down, lips finding his again and this time it gets heavier. his mouth opened beneath yours, teeth dragging your bottom lip between his, and his hips shifting beneath you.

he groaned into your mouth, deeper, and then—

his hips rolled up. just once. slow, instinctual, and desperate.

he sighed, lips parting as he dropped his head back into the pillow, his chest rising and falling fast under your palms.

“fuck…”

you didn’t move at first. just stayed still in his lap, enjoying the rise of fall of his chest. and then softly, you leaned in again.

you kissed the corner of his mouth— a gentle peck, then another, and another. then along his jaw. then that sensitive spot just below his ear, that always makes him shiver.

you worked your way down slowly, kissing along the edge of his throat, his collarbone, your mouth lingering all over as he tilted his head back to give you more access.

“baby…” he whispers, his voice wrecked.

his hands slide up your sides, slow and kinda unsure. when his fingers brushed the hem of your swimsuit coverup, you let your arms fall to your sides, silently giving him the permission he wanted.

he sat up slowly, groaning softly at the movement and peeled the fabric from your body in one slow motion, letting it fall somewhere in the room.

then his fingers reached the tie of your bikini top. he tugged at it gently, watching you the entire time. when you didn’t protest, he undid the knot with shaky fingers and let the top slip away.

his breath hitched.

“fuck, you’re—“

he didn’t even let himself finish before his mouth was already on you. soft kisses at first, then his lips closed around the swell of your breasts, tongue flicking, hands pressing you closer to him as you arched your back.

your quiet gasp became a whimper.

“oh…”

his groan followed instantly. he sucked a little harder, peppering warm, open mouthed kisses near your nipple.

“ you sound so pretty,” he mumbled against your skin. “don’t stop.”

then, without another word, he took your nipple into his mouth, gentle and almost hesitant at first. his tongue swirled around it, his lips closing in a tight, wet seal as he suckled, like you were his favorite lollipop.

you let out a sharp little moan, surprised by how sensitive you were and how good it felt to have him care for you as well. he groaned in return, the sound vibrating through your chest.

his hand slid up your spine, holding you steady as he moved over to your other nipple, showering it with the same attention— his tongue flicking, lips tugging just right to make you whimper again.

you threaded your fingers through his curls, breathing uneven, your thighs tightening around his hips as his mouth latched onto you. each moan that escaped your lips, pulled a groan from his— almost like he couldn’t help it, like your sounds were enough to unravel him.

your hips started to move before you even realized with small, slow rolls against his lap, the friction sending sparks between your thighs with every pass.

luigi’s breath hitched.

his hands gripped your waist tighter, thumbs brushing over your bare skin as he tried to ground himself, his eyes fluttering shut as your bodies rocked together in a lazy rhythm.

“fuck… that feels so good,” he murmured, forehead resting against your chest.

your fingers carded through his curls, your lips brushing over the top of his head, all tender and affectionate while your hips kept working him over.

but then—

a sharp inhale.

“ah- shit-“

he winced, body tensing up beneath you, and you froze instantly.

“your back?” you whispered.

he nodded, jaw clenched, and brows drawn tight.

“just moved a little weird, m’okay,” he exhaled, trying to wave it off.

you shook your head and cupped his cheek.

“nope. lay down babe. let me take care of you.”

he didn’t argue. just sank back into the pillows with a groan, arms falling to his sides like he had no fight left.

you kissed down his chest as you moved, slow and deliberate. letting your mouth explore every inch of his skin, from the curve of his pecs to the soft dips between his abs.

he was already breathing harder by the time you reached for the faint trail of hair leading down— that happy trail you admired earlier.

you licked a slow stripe down it and then another, watching him twitch slightly under you. his hips shifted again, his swimming trunks now tented and clinging low to his hips.

you hooked your fingers into the waistband, tugging them down in one smooth, letting him spring free, the weight of him softly slapping against his lower abdomen. his hissed, not from pain, but from need.

you hovered above him, eyes locked on his face as you leaned down and gave him a single, teasing kitten lick across the tip.

he groaned, loud and frustrated.

you did it again, this time even slower. and then another, barely brushing his sensitive underside.

his hips flexed, but you pulled back just in time, smiling softly.

“be patient,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his thigh.

you kept it at that— delicate little licks of your tongue that barely counted as relief. just enough to make him squirm, to make him whine, to keep him right there on the edge.

“please,” he gasped, hips twitching upwards only for you to press them down.

“please, i can’t— i need—“

but you didn’t give in. instead, your hands held his hips steady, fingers digging into his warm skin, and your tongue tracing lazy circles around his sensitive tip.

another kitten lick, then met with a breathless groan.

he was shaking now, head turned to the side, eyes squeezing shut as he fought to keep his composure. his thighs tensing under your touch and his voice falling into almost incoherent whimpers.

“amore, please— im gonna—“

and then he did.

luigi’s whole body arched beneath you with a strangled moan, hips stuttering as he came hard against his stomach, all hot, messy, and sudden.

you kept going, soft and unrelenting, licking up everything he gave you with gentle care. every flick of your tongue making him twitch and sigh, oversensitive but too far gone to protest.

once you had cleaned him up, you leaned in close and pressed a tender kiss right to his tip. he let out a breathless laugh, eyes glassy and lips parted.

you smiled, resting your head just above his hips as you looked up at him, taking him in. you stayed like that for a bit, fingers tracing light circles on his thigh as he caught his breath.

his chest rose and fell in soft waves, his skin still flushed and forehead a little damp with sweat, lips parted in a dazed smile.

you leaned in again, pressing a kiss to his abdomen, another to his chest before moving upwards to curl into his side. your palms smoothed over his stomach, resting there while your nose brushed his jaw.

“how’s your back?” you whispered.

he chuckled weakly, still breathless, “honestly? im not even worried about it anymore.”

you scoffed and giggled into his neck, letting your fingers shift lower again, brushing over the curve of his hip.

then he turned his head, eyes burning behind the softness they had.

“let me return the favor,” he murmured. “please.”

your heart skipped a beat.

“luigi…”

but he was already moving. hands finding your bikini bottoms, fingers sliding against the strings at your hips as he untied them, tossing the fabric somewhere into the room.

his voice was hoarse, low and pleading.

“wanna taste you. been thinking about it since the day you made me take photos of you in that tiny bikini with your polaroid on the beach.”

you didn’t argue with that and let him guide you up his chest. letting his lips brush your skin the whole way up, until your thighs framed his face and your knees sank into the mattress on either sides of his head.

his hands gripped your hips, eyes looking up to meet yours as he exhaled, “let me take care of you too.”

he barely gave you time to settle above him before he was pulling you down hard. his grip tightening around your thighs, dragging you fully down onto his mouth, his tongue already parting you before you could even exhale.

your gasp nearly hit the ceiling, luigi wasnt soft nor gentle, he was hungry.

he moaned into you like he was starving— like just the taste of you was enough to keep him alive. his mouth moved so recklessly, tongue licking broad, wet stripes before curling into where you needed him most, lips sealing around you in a filthy, perfect kiss.

you tried to lift yourself just slightly, just enough to catch your breath but his arms locked tighter around your thighs, pinning you down against him.

“luigi—“

you barely got his name out before— crack!

his palm landed a sharp slap to your ass. not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to remind you he was in control right now.

your whole body jolted, letting out a surprised moan as you instinctively ground yourself down harder against his mouth and started grinding. slow at first, trying to find the perfect rhythm, and then faster and messier, as he just let you ride him, his pretty nose nudging against your clit.

he sucked, licked, devoured.

“fuck baby— you’re so good.” you moaned, voice shaking as your fingers tangled themselves in his curls, tugging hard.

“you’re making me feel so fucking good— i can’t—“ and he groaned under you, the sound vibrating against your pussy, making your thighs clamp tighter around his head. and still, he didn’t let up.

just kept licking like a man possessed, grip tightening, strong hands digging into your thighs, keeping you locked in place.

your body was trembling, skin flushed, that heat ready to snap— and luigi knew it.

and right when you were teetering, mouth hung open and breath stuttering— his lips latched onto your clit.

not soft or teasing, just purely desperate.

he sucked hard, his tongue flicking mercilessly, drawing fast, tight circles that made your vision go white.

“oh—fuck—luigi!”

the loudest moan tore out of you, sharp, raw, and damn near broken as the pleasure slammed into you. your thighs crammed around him, fingers yanking on his hair, hips jerking uncontrollably as your orgasm hit with a violent force.

and he held you there, through every gasp, twitch, and tremble. sucking, licking, chasing every last drop of your cum like he couldn’t fathom letting any of it going to waste.

even as your body gave out and you tried to pull away— he didn’t let you. he stayed there, moaning into you, drunk on your release.

your body still trembling when he released the tight grip he had on you, letting your thighs relax, pressing soft, tender kisses along the inside of your legs. and when you looked down at him, he was already watching you with wide eyes, swollen lips, and cheeks tinted pink.

“c’mere,” he whispered. barely having the strength to move, but you wanted to be close, needing it. you climbed down slowly and he met you half way— sitting up, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you into his lap.

your chests pressed together and noses brushing as your foreheads touched, “you okay?” he murmured, stroking his thumb over your hip.

“yeah,” you whispered, still trying to catch your breath. “are you?”

he smiled, just a little, “never been better.”

your lips met again, slow as his hands roamed your back, your thighs, and your waist— like he couldn’t get enough of you.

and as your hips instinctively shifted against him, he let out the softest groan against your mouth. you felt him, already hard and ready, pressing against your pussy.

he reached down, lining himself up carefully, and you sank down on him, both of you letting out content sighs. both stilling for a moment, getting adjusted.

and then slowly, you began to move, grinding, rocking, and meeting him half way every time he lifted his hips. his hands held your waist to anchor himself in the moment, just feeling all of you.

your name left his lips like a prayer and your moans soft and breathy as your bodies rocked against each other in perfect rhythm.

your lips brushed over his jaw as your hips rolled against his, “you feel so good,” you whispered against his skin. “So deep…”

luigi groaned, tightening his arms around you, the sound buried in your shoulder, “you’re fucking perfect, pussy’s so fucking tight.” he breathed, voice low and thick.

his hands slid from your waist down to the small of your back, guiding you gently, helping you move just right— until his cock hit that sweet spot inside you that made your body jolt.

“yeah? right there?” he asked, lips brushing the shell of ear.

you nodded, nails lightly digging into his shoulders. “yes—right there, baby.”

he adjusted his angle slightly, and then a slow, precise thrust upward, so deep. and it hit, your whole body clenching around him, and your moan came out softer, higher than before.

he pulled back just enough to get a good look at you, eyes glassy, lips swollen, and tits littered in love bites. your forehead pressed to his, your bodies meeting in such an intimate rhythm.

“you make me feel so good, so full,” you whispered, barely able to speak through the heat pooling low in your stomach.

he kissed you, harder this time and then he took over, just a little. guiding your hips with one hand while the other slid down to hold your thigh as he angled his next thrust perfectly into that soft, sensitive spot inside you.

“there we go,” he rasped, dragging his lips along your neck.

“let me take care of you, baby. let me give you everything.”

his rhythm had started to slow, a bit overwhelmed. from the way your body clung to his, from how tight, how wet, how delicious you felt wrapped around him. his head dipped to your shoulder, breath ragged against your skin, big hands grasping your hips attempting to ground himself.

but you felt ready now, your body humming with energy again—refueled by every groan, every helpless twitch of his hips, and every shaky breath that tumbled from his lips.

so you started to move. a soft bounce at first, just enough to shift the angle, taking in more of him. then another. then faster. luigi gasped, back arching slightly, eyes squeezing shut as you rode him with more control.

your lips hovered near his ear, voice warm and broken in between moans, “you’re so deep inside me, gi...” he let out the quietest whimper, hands trembling against your skin.

“so big… stretching me so good. you feel it, don’t you? how wet you make me?”

he could barely speak, just nodded. barely.

and then—click. the door handle turned.

your bodies froze, just for a second, before luigi pulled you tighter against him, shielding you, even as your hips never faltered.

“yo luigi! how you holding up man?” a familiar voice called through the narrow crack in the door. he hadn’t fully stepped inside, just peeked the door open a few inches, only being able to see the edge of the bed and maybe luigi’s bare shoulder. the rest, being you fully naked and still grinding in his lap, was completely hidden by the angle.

luigi’s eyes blew wide, his breath catching in his throat.

“you—you gotta stop,” he hissed into your neck, biting back groan. “please—“

you leaned in, brushing your mouth against his ear, voice was sweet as candy while your hips rolled again, deep and slow.

“answer him.”

“let him hear how good you’re feeling.”

luigi’s hand flew to your waist, attempting to still you, but it was no use.

“i—uh,” he choked out, voice shaking. “yeah—i’m good man, just resting.”

his friend paused, “cool, just making sure. let us know if you need anything.”

you didn’t let him get a chance to recover. the second the door clicked shut, you pushed him backwards, your palms resting on his chest as you eased him down against the bed, his eyes still wide and wrecked under you.

his head hit the pillow, curls sticking to his forehead, and his chest heaving as you straddled him fully again.

“you’ve been so good,” you whispered, voice shaking with need. “but now i need more.”

and then you started to really move. your thighs burned as you began bouncing harder, hips slapping against his with wet desperate sounds, so intense, overwhelming, and fast. luigi’s hands scrambled to hold you, his fingers digging into your waist like he might slip through the bed if he didn’t anchor himself to you.

“f-fuck baby—“ he gasped, voice breaking. “that’s—too much—“ but he didn’t stop you.

he bent his knees suddenly, feet flat on the mattress and thrusted up. hard. your whole body jolted, a choked moan spilling out of your mouth as he met your bounces with the same fervor. each thrust slammed deeper and harder, matching the way you rode him until all that could be heard was skin slapping and both of you chanting each other’s names over and over.

“yesyesyes—lu, just like that—“ you cried out as he fucked up into you like he was trying to split you open from the inside.

“you feel so fucking good,” he groaned, eyes hazy and voice raw. “such a tight little pussy amore— so perfect, can’t even hold back anymore.”

your movements became sloppier, desperation seeping through, your bodies completely lost in each other. just full of need. just you and him, chasing that sweet finish with matching desperation.

your name tumbled from his mouth in broken gasps, sweat slicking his chest where your bodies met, the heat between you two unbearable in the most delicious way.

and then his voice cracked out, desperate and strained, “i—fuck—i should probably pull out.” but his hips never slowed, because he didn’t really mean it and you both knew it. you leaned forward, pressing your chest to his, mouth by his ear as you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist.

“don’t,” you begged, breath heavy and hot. “i wanna feel you. want you to stay inside me.”

his groan was guttural, almost pained with how badly he had been waiting for that permission.

“fuck—fuck—“

your nails dragged down his back, your body grinding back into every one of his thrusts, and then everything shattered.

you came first, gasping, shaking, clinging to him like you wouldn’t survive without him.

“luigi—oh god baby, don’t stop—don’t—“

he followed instantly, crying out your name into your neck, hips buried to the hilt as he spilled inside you, his body trembling beneath yours as the outside world faded away.

your bodies stayed tangled for a while, skin to skin, limbs loose, and breathing slowly coming back down. the room was quiet now, except for the soft hum of the ocean breeze drifting through the balcony door.

luigi’s heartbeat thudded gently beneath your cheek as you laid against his chest your fingers tracing absentminded shapes against his ribs. eventually, he shifted beneath you, careful and slow, kissing your shoulder as he murmured, “be right back.”

he slid out from the bed with a little wince, his legs shaky and muscles drained. you watched with a sleepy smile as he padded naked across the room, grabbing a small towel from the bathroom and returning a moment later.

“here,” he whispered, eyes soft as he knelt between your legs and cleaned you up. “i got you.”

your heart fluttered.

luigi had already crawled back into bed, arms stretched behind his head, eyes half-lidded and warm as he looked at you with a soft, post-bliss smile.

you sat up slowly, reaching for the bikini top that wads left at the edge of the bed. “i should probably head back to my room,” you murmured, voice gentle. “so you can rest comfortably…”

you didn’t even get to finish your sentence when his arm reached out fast, firm as his fingers curled gently around your wrist to stop you.

“what?” he asked, brown furrowed slightly as he tugged you back down towards him.

“baby no.”

you blinked as he guided you back into his arms, your body slotting effortlessly into the space next to his.

“i wanna rest here,” he whispered, lips brushing your shoulder.

“with you.”

your heart skipped a beat as he tugged the covers up, over both your naked bodies. he nuzzled into your chest, one arm round your waist, the other lazily cupping one of your tits.

“m’tired,” he murmured. “wouldn’t be smart of you to leave your patient alone away.”

your fingers threaded into his curls, your other one rubbing up and down his spine.

“how’s your back?” you asked softly.

“feels perfect,” he mumbled, voice already dying down. “because you’re here with me.”

within seconds, his breath evened out, warm against your skin. and you were left with a sleeping, heavy luigi tangled into your bare body, like his life depended on it.

#luigi mangione smut #luigi mangione thoughts #luigi mangione x reader #luigisbambinaaa #luigi mangione fic #luigi mangione x yn #luigi mangione imagine #luigi mangione fanfiction

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berryispunk · 4 months ago

Text

Your Home's Only a Town You're a Guest In

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

quick note: this fic contains heavy topics such as grief and parental death so be warned before reading but I swear she's worth it 🤍

tags: parental death, stages of grief, brief mention of addiction, teenager love, falling in love again, small town, rekindling romance, soft! Frankie, girl dad! Frankie, swearing, ANGST, bad jokes, nicknames, yearning, mutual pining, kissing, friends to lovers, slow burn, SMUT (🌶️🌶️🌶️), did i mention angst?, all the emotions, reader has longer wavy hair and a fuller figure but no further physical description

summary: You never planned to return to your hometown but things change when you've got life-changing news and soon you find yourself trying to navigate the past colliding with the present.

word count: 10,6 k (don't ask me any questions 😅 idk what happened)

readable also here

When you had left your hometown almost ten years ago you had never planned to come back.

When your mom called one day to tell you your father was in hospice care, you thought it had to be the worst day of your life. It felt like a cruel joke. Of all the reasons that could have brought you back, it had to be this—your dad, dying.

All the unspoken words between you and him came crashing down at once, knocking the air right out of your lungs. Your mother had made it clear: no one could say how much time he had left, and if you wanted to see him, you needed to come quickly.

Whenever you talked about your hometown to friends in the city, you could see the envy in their eyes. A beach town, waves always in the background—it sounded idyllic. You didn’t blame them. How could they know what it was really like to grow up in a place like Tidehaven?

The neighbors’ judgmental glances. The way people knew things about you before you even met them.

The unease that settled deeper the older you got.

How you never quite belonged—your spirit too wild, too restless for a town that wanted everyone to color inside the lines.

Staying would have clipped your wings before you even had a chance to use them.

So you left. One day, without looking back, no matter how many times your mom called, crying, begging you to come home.

Still, you dreamed about the ocean sometimes. You missed the sharp, salty wind in your face, the way it stung and soothed at the same time. You missed the quiet of sitting on the beach, listening to the waves crash against the shore, and the endless, aching stretch of the horizon.

In stark contrast, the city never slept. It was always buzzing, always alive—and that was one of the hardest things you had to adjust to when you first moved there. It was a whole different life. When you’d felt too big for your hometown, you suddenly felt far too small in the city, almost invisible. Just another face in the endless crowd.

You missed the feeling of belonging, of being part of a close-knit group. That was another thing you had left behind—your friends.

At first, you stayed in touch—thank God for technology—but it wasn’t the same.

Eventually, you found new friends in college, but they didn’t understand your struggles the way the ones back in Tidehaven did. They couldn’t share your history. They couldn’t share your pain.

You spent nights lying awake, dreading the journey back to that coastal town. But this time, there was no running, no hiding. As much as you didn’t want to, the responsible part of you won out, and you booked a seat on the next plane to the closest airport near Tidehaven.

On a late summer day—when the breeze was still warm but the air already carried hints of autumn—you returned "home."

Only, it didn’t feel like home anymore. It wore the costume of familiarity, but underneath, it felt foreign. Cold.

When you walked through your childhood home's front door, the screaking sound still the same, your mother looked around the corner and her face looked so much older even from a distance. Her hair was much greyer than you remembered.

The worry written all over her features had made her age like a forgotten piece of furniture tarnished by the tides. You felt tears pricking in the corners of your eyes as you let your luggage fall to the ground and walked over to her and hugged her close.

She almost crushed you with her arms and murmured, “My girl is home…” You had to bite your lip real hard not to sob. “Hey mama,” you whispered and she kissed your wavy hair repeatedly. This, you thought, felt like coming home.

You settled down in your childhood bedroom you had outgrown long ago, everything still looked like you remembered: the posters of your teen crushes, the pink floral throw blanket, all the books scattered around the small room. It felt like stepping into a time machine of your youth. Everything was neatly preserved and it tightened the knot in your chest even further.

You decided to visit the only place in this hellhole you were certain that had some alcohol you so desperately needed, the local bar.

So you threw on a fleece jacket before you walked through the empty streets of Tidehaven. The night air was almost too crisp for the shorts you were wearing but you didn’t have time to worry about it.

As soon as you reached the bar you slumped onto a stool at the bar and ordered some beverage strong enough to help you numb the gnawing pain of responsibility and regret. Halfway through your glass you suddenly heard it: a deep, familiar voice ringing in your ear. It was faint, almost not noticeable if you hadn’t listened close enough. But you listened very closely. The voice was deeper but still unmistakingly recognizable. So you whirled around on your bar stool and spotted him in a booth in the back of the bar, together with the same shared group of friends he had always been with. You froze in your seat and contemplated simply leaving, but you couldn't.

Could it really be him?

You tried to watch him as unobtrusively as you could but of course he noticed you staring and as your eyes locked it felt like time stood still, your chest immediately constricting, almost suffocating as you turned around and prayed that he hadn’t seen you. But of course you weren’t so lucky. When were you ever lucky? You emptied your drink quickly before you gestured to the barkeeper to give you a refill.

“Do you mind?” The voice from earlier, now dangerously close, asked you.

You shook your head, but you didn’t dare to look up. You knew it was him without looking.

“I’d say it feels like seeing a ghost, but I guess seeing ghosts should be scary. This isn’t scary, this is–”

“Sick? Twisted?” You interrupted him and you felt his confused eyes on you without ever having to look up. He laughed softly, the sound deep and rich as he ordered a drink for himself before sitting down on the stool next to yours.

“That wasn’t what I would’ve gone for but okay,” he said and you finally decided to look at him and immediately wished you hadn’t. It was him, no doubt. The same dark brown tousled locks poking out from under the old, worn-down baseball cap. The same warm brown eyes, slightly glimmering in the dim light of the bar. A slight stubble on his chin and cheeks that looked like it might need a trim soon. The same almost pouty lips, slightly dry looking and you wondered if this man knew chapsticks existed? His shoulders were so broad, his biceps so muscular when they flexed slightly under the jeans button-down he was wearing. You couldn't help but stare at him when he crossed his arms in front of his chest. This wasn’t the Frankie you’d last seen the night before you left. It was a new version, Frankie 2.0. The adult version.

He didn’t even flinch when you checked him out, your eyes dancing over every one of his unique features, trying to make sense of it. Putting together the puzzle pieces of the old Frankie and this rendition in front of you. He looked nothing like the tall, slender guy you had a huge crush on when you were a teenager but still it was him.

The warm expression on his face, an identical lopsided smile you remembered. But there was more to it. It was the way he handled himself - much more confident, taking in his rightful space. And the way his frame was built made him almost intimidating, if you hadn’t known better.

Well, you used to know him but how could you know if he wasn’t able to break you in half with these arms of his? Ten years had done a lot to his frame and you had a really hard time searching for words when you finally turned back around to sip at your drink.

“You know steroids are dangerous, right?” you scoffed and he gave you a deep, rumbling laugh.

“I guess you refer to my arms with that? I wanna let you know that it’s all just training and nothing illegal, I promise”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his remark.

“What did you train for? A bodybuilder contest?” you quirked an eyebrow and he shook his head, a grin still on his face. “Army,” he answered and you searched for his eyes.

“You’re in the army?”

“I was. I left last year. Wasn't useful anymore after this grenade exploded near me and the debris hit my leg during battle.“

“I am sorry.”

"No need," he said, waving you off with a casual shrug. "But you know," he added, taking a sip of his drink, "spending years in it and then getting spit out like you didn’t literally sacrifice your life for your country… it doesn’t exactly feel good."

“Sounds awful…”

“It is.”

There’s a beat of silence before he asked, “What are you even doing here? You made it very clear that you’d never return.”

Was his tone accusatory or hurt? You couldn’t really tell.

You scoffed scornfully.

“Believe me, wasn’t my first choice,” you rolled your eyes before you sipped at your drink again.

He didn’t answer, instead he took a sip from his own, the ice in it clinking against the glass.

“My dad, he–” You couldn’t finish the sentence, too painful, too uncertain.

“I heard about your dad,” he said cautiously, his words measured.

“Of course you did,” you said bitterly. “This is Tidehaven, gossip spreads faster than a damn wildfire.”

“I am sorry, hermosa.”

The nickname made you nauseous immediately and you glared at him, your gaze probably full of venom. He had the audacity to sound sincere.

“Save your words for someone who cares,” you spit out, slamming money on the bar and standing up so abruptly the stool scratched loudly on the floor. His eyes were on you in an instant, eyebrows furrowed deep.

You headed towards the exit with fast steps, wanting to create some distance between him and all the feelings you had kept buried for so long. Out of all people it had to be him.

You didn’t have time for this, you couldn’t afford to be distracted.

When you reached the doorway of the bar his hand grabbed your arm, determined but not painful as he said, “Please, stay. I just… I just want to talk. I am sorry if I said something wrong. We just met again, please.”

His eyes were nothing less than pleading and you frowned heavily.

Under any other circumstance you would have loved to stay and talk, catch up on what you’ve missed over the years but right now the weight of everything threatened to crush you any minute and you were too tired for all that.

“I can’t Frankie, I am sorry,” you said and you meant it even when you freed your arm from his grip and walked down the steps to the road. The gravel crunching under your shoes, echoing through the eerie silence of the night as you walked as fast as your feet and equilibrium could handle.

You didn’t know if he’d kept standing in the doorway and watched you walking away or not, but something told you he had. Even if everything in you screamed to turn around you didn’t, because you knew that he’d be the one person able to tear down your walls that you had so arduously built around you.

As you laid in bed later that night with your window open the sound of the waves lulled you into a restless sleep and you found yourself in a common dream landscape. The beach.

But this time it was different. Somebody sat on the sand, the person’s back turned but you immediately knew it was Frankie, only he wore a cap at the beach. But as you approached him his figure dissolved, turning into smoke and when you finally stood where he had sat he’s gone fully and you sank to your knees, burying your head in your hands and starting crying.

When you wake up the next morning your pillow is full of tears and you felt like you got hit by a truck. A silent bing from your nightstand catched your attention when you lift your phone to see the notification and you immediately sat up in your small bed.

“Hey, this is Frankie. Sorry, got your number from your mom. 😅 Let’s meet at our place at the beach at 3 pm.”

Frankie had been a pilot. He had served in the army. He had faced life-threatening situations, trained himself to stay calm under pressure no matter what. But today, sitting on the pier with his feet dangling over the water, his heart raced like he’d just run a damn marathon.

He checked his digital watch. Two minutes to three. His hand started patting nervously against his jeans-clad thigh. What if she didn’t show up? What if he made a complete idiot of himself?

When he saw you yesterday at the bar, it had been like getting struck by lightning. The sight of you hit him so hard it made his chest tighten painfully—almost as bad as the panic attacks he sometimes had from flashbacks to his army days. Maybe even worse.

He forced his gaze out over the ocean, letting the sound of the waves crashing against the shore wash over him. It was calming enough that he dared to close his eyes for a moment.

But even then, the images of you haunted him—the girl you had been and the woman he saw yesterday blurred together in his mind, burned into his memory so deeply he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

Your eyes were still sad, but now there was a flicker of curiosity in them too. Your hair still tumbled in wild waves past your shoulders. And you still wore that slight, ever-present frown, like you were carrying the weight of the world on your face.

To be fair, you were probably having the same thoughts about him—at least judging by the way you looked at him last night. Pure disbelief, maybe even a little shock.

Lost deep in his thoughts, he suddenly felt a shift beside him, the weight of someone settling onto the pier. His eyes snapped open just in time to see you drop down beside him with a loud, weary sigh, slumping onto the worn wood.

He didn’t dare to say anything, afraid you may leave as soon as he opened his mouth.

Your gaze was fixed on the horizon as well before you started speaking “Wasn’t sure if I really came until the last minute.”

“I am glad you did” he replied, his own gaze still on the horizon before he added “How are–”

“Are you seriously asking me how I’m doing, Frankie?” your tone was biting.

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly as he mumbles “Guess so.”

You shook your head and scoffed. “I am doing absolutely great. I am back in this hellhole, my dad is dying but I don’t know when so I’m stuck at the one place on earth I don’t wanna be at,” you rumbled.

Frankie could feel your frustration and hurt seeping out of every word. But mostly he could feel the sadness. You had a way of covering your real feelings under a heavy load of sarcasm, you always did. Some things never change, he thought. Even if the woman sitting next to him looked and handled herself so different from the girl he used to know, under all the layers of pain and heartbreak it was still you.

“I am sorry, hermosa. I really am,” he said sincerely and for a fragment your facade crumbled, the worry and all the other negative emotions flickering over your face.

"Can I do something?" he asked tentatively.

You shook your head again.

Straightening a bit in your seat, you tucked your hands under your thighs, your feet still dangling above the ground. Your gaze drifted to the water. "How have you been? Did you never leave Tidehaven, or...?"

He took a deep breath. "I did. Left for basic training, joined the military. Spent most of my time overseas—missions, wars, fights in and out of my job. But hey, at least I could fly an aircraft."

"Wait..." You blinked, caught off guard. "You were a pilot?"

His mouth quirked up. "Yes, ma’am. I could fly anything, but if I had the choice, I always picked helicopters."

"Wow." You exhaled, and his faint, proud smile lingered—for a moment.

"Well, technically, I was a pilot. Lost my license a while back."

Your brows knitted together. "Oh? Why’s that?" You had never shied away from the real questions. You still didn’t.

"Drugs."

"Drugs?" A beat. "Consuming or smuggling?"

His lips pressed together. "Consuming. Coke, to be exact. Definitely not my brightest moment." He exhaled through his nose. "I’ve been clean for over two years now, though."

"That’s... great." Your voice was thin, unreadable. Surprise? Judgment? He couldn’t quite tell.

A stretch of silence settled before you spoke again, softer this time.

"Do you... have a family? A wife?"

Another sore point.

“I have a daughter, Sofía. She's two years old now and lives with her mom. We’re divorced for almost as long as she’s old. I married her mom Ella because I thought I needed to, my parents doing the rest, you know how old-fashioned they are. We have shared custody and I see her as often as I can.”

You chuckled. Of course you remembered about his parents. You weren’t allowed to stay overnight at his house when the two of you were younger, but that didn’t stop you from sneaking around anyway and finding other places to make out at.

“I thought I’m doing the right thing, you know. Being responsible. Truth was, even if Sofía is my everything, she wasn’t exactly planned and her mom and I were already thinking about breaking up before she found out that she was expecting. So, I felt the need to stay and I really tried to be the man Ella needed me to be but I failed miserably. Being coked out all the time doing the rest. The short temper and not to mention the financial aspect of the addiction. All my money I earned went straight to drugs or stuff we needed for our child. So I quit the drugs cold turkey, being clean as soon as Sofía was born and by God, it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But as soon as I held this little girl in my arms everything kind of fell into place. I know it probably sounds super cheesy, but it’s the truth. This little girl was my new anchor, my reason to keep clean and to show up. And it worked out for a few months. But her mom and I didn’t. We kept fighting over the smallest things and I was so close to relapsing because of the emotional turmoil that we, in good terms, decided to call it quits. To be honest, I think we never were a good match anyway, but I’ll be forever thankful for the result of it: my daughter. Her mom is with this guy called Clint now and honestly, they really found each other. She even married him last year and is expecting her second child. And I hope she’s happy, it seems that she is at least. She deserves the good life I wasn’t able to give her.”

He took a deep breath. It had been a long time since he had talked this much—especially about his life. But you had a way of coaxing things out of him without pressuring.

You would have had every right to judge, to ask more questions—questions he would have answered truthfully, even if they hurt—but you didn’t. He looked at you for a moment, studying you, wondering if he had bored you with his rambling. But you just kept your gaze fixed on the vast expanse of the ocean, the ghost of a smile on your lips before you finally turned to him.

"So, Frankie Morales is a daddy?" you asked, almost mockingly.

He grinned in response.

“I am a daddy. Does that make me a hot dilf now?” he joked and promptly earned a shoulder bump and an eye roll from you. That was the sassy side of you he had missed so much.

“And you? Do you—?”

“Hell no”, you laughed. “Kids aren’t for me. At least I never saw myself as a mom and to be fair I never had a partner long enough to even have to worry about the possibility of that.”

He nodded, maybe frowning a little bit too.

“Where have you been the last ten years?”

You shifted in your seat before answering. "The city. I went there for college and stayed for the job I got after graduating. It’s so, so different from here. All the lights, the endless ways to waste money, and the even easier ways to waste yourself."

You trailed off, your gaze suddenly distant.

"The city is anonymous. Buzzing. She’s like an animal—alive and thriving as long as she’s being fed. And in my case, that meant my hopes and dreams, I guess." You tried to joke, to make it sound casual, but Frankie saw right through it. You were disappointed.

"The city was always your dream. Your light was too bright, your spirit too big for this sleepy town. What changed?"

"I did," you said sharply. The words hung heavy between you.

Silence settled, broken only by the rhythmic crash of waves against the pier.

"It’s not that I regret leaving, really. But it was nothing like I expected. I thought moving to the city would magically make me feel better, but it only made things worse. I felt so lost. So alone.

The friends I had—our friends—either stayed here or scattered across the country. I thought chasing my dream would make me feel complete. But instead, it shattered me even more. Because now, I have two places I call ‘home’... and neither one really feels like it."

Your words struck a chord deep inside of him. He knew the feeling of not belonging, especially after leaving the military.

He stayed silent, waiting if you maybe opened up some more, but you didn’t.

"So, do you have someone in the city waiting for you when—if—you return?"

"No," you answered, and somehow, it filled Frankie with relief.

"How about you?" You let your gaze roam over him for a moment, scanning him in a way that made him unusually nervous.

"No one," he said quietly.

"Good." A small smile tugged at your lips before your eyes drifted back to the horizon. "Where do you live? Your parents' house?"

"Sí. It’s just my dad now, you know. My mom died last autumn."

"Oh, shit," you murmured, brows furrowing. "I’m sorry, Frankie."

He sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. The memory of his mother’s passing still settled in his chest like a weight he couldn’t shake.

"I—" He hesitated. "I don’t know how much longer my dad has. They were together their whole lives, and he’s so lost without her. No matter how hard I try, I can’t fill the space she left behind."

"That’s not your job." Your voice was steady, certain. "Your job is to be present. To let him know he’s not alone. And I’m sure you’re doing everything you can—he knows that, too. It’ll never be the same again, sadly. Just… cherish the time you have with him now, yeah?"

There you were. Beneath all the stoicism, the tough exterior, the lingering sadness. You cared. You always had. And you always made his problems feel a little less heavy. It was one of the things he had adored about you, something he had deeply missed.

"Guess I may have to count on you now," you said, attempting lightness. "In the ‘I lost a parent’ department. Haven’t got any experience in that."

He chuckled. "Wouldn’t recommend it. Zero out of five stars. But… I’m here for you. If you want me to be."

You turned toward him, lips pressing into a thin line as you held his gaze. A long beat passed before you finally said, "I’d love to have you around. After all, you might be the best thing this place has ever had—well, besides the beach, of course."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that a compliment?"

"Ooooh, Morales, don’t get cocky now." A smirk played on your lips. "I was just trying to be nice, you know. After everything you told me, you might be just as lost as I am."

"Noted." He nudged your shoulder gently. "For the record, you’re also the best thing this place has ever seen." His voice dropped slightly as his gaze flickered to the water below. "And… I missed you."

Maybe he had said too much. Maybe he had overestimated the fragile bond rebuilding between you. But if he had learned one thing after losing his mom, it was that you never know when you’ll get another chance to say something that matters. So he said it.

Just as he considered adding something to soften the weight of his words, he felt you lean in, your head resting lightly against his shoulder.

Your voice was nearly swallowed by the waves, but he heard it.

"I missed you too."

Frankie’s heart skipped a beat.

The two of you stayed like that, unmoving, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting everything in soft, golden hues. And for the first time in a long time, he felt exactly where he needed to be.

Days blended into weeks with Frankie by your side. You spent every waking hour together. Eating with his dad, cooking together, going for walks at the beach. If you weren’t at his house, he was at yours, eating with your mom, making her laugh even if anything else felt so grey and heavy and the health of your dad was quickly deteriorating. The first time he came over for dinner he apologized for intruding, but your mom shrugged it off and said it was typical for you to bring anyone home like strays. Frankie shooted you a look at the word ‘stray’ and you smirked in response. It was this day his nickname ‘stray cat’ was born and it became a habit calling him that ever since.

Frankie was the light in the darkness for you. He was your lighthouse guiding you in the rough sea that called itself your life and even if you swore you wouldn’t let anyone close enough to hurt you again, Frankie tore down your walls brick by brick without your alarm bells ringing. He was patient, he was understanding and he never demanded anything. He was happy with what you offered him as long as it meant he could be by your side.

One evening, as the two of you sat on the front porch of his house, the breeze had grown too cold for summer clothing. You had stupidly neglected to pack anything warmer in your hurry, and you shivered against the harsh ocean air. Frankie rose from his seat on the bench without a word and disappeared inside. When he returned, he handed you one of his hoodies.

"You’re freezing, hermosa," he said softly.

You looked at him, deeply touched by the simple, thoughtful gesture. It was the kind of thing that made you feel warm and fuzzy inside. You quickly pulled the hoodie over your head, and the moment it settled on you, it felt like a warm embrace. His scent was everywhere, wrapping around you like a cocoon, and it made your chest tighten with affection.

You cared for him so deeply, maybe even falling in love with him again. But you kept a respectful distance, knowing he was the one good thing in your life right now. You couldn’t afford to lose him, not because of your usual mess of a relationship track record.

“Thank you” you smiled softly at him and he nodded, the charming boyish grin on his face making the butterflies in your stomach go wild.

“Can I ask you something?” you asked tentatively.

“Sure.”

You took a deep breath to collect some courage.

“Why did you never reach out to me? After I left, I mean. Our friends did, they texted and sent me photos. But you…”

Frankies face darkened, his brows furrowed deep. Something unreadable in his expression. “Honestly? I thought you didn’t want me to do that. You were so convinced to leave everything connected to Tidehaven behind I thought it included me. I had your number,my thumb hovered over the call button more times than I would care to admit. I wrote probably hundreds of texts but ended up deleting them all. And the more time passed, the more silly I felt. So I just checked in with Santi or Benny, who knew how you were and even if I was happy to hear that you were good I still selfishly wished I would know it myself.”

“Frankie,” you interrupted, “I cried my eyes out for weeks because I didn’t hear from you again. I thought you just forgot about me that easily, I thought you never really cared for me in the first place or at least not enough to reach out. Santi told me you joined the army, he gave me your number and I wanted to call you, but what could I possibly have said ? ‘hey, it’s me, you remember me? i was the girl helplessly in love with you but you just ditched me like a fucking prom date’”

Frankie audibly inhaled, his gaze fixed on the ground under his feet.

“I didn’t ditch you. You were the one that left, remember? I never forgot about you, never.”

“It would’ve been so easy. One message, one call, anything to show me that you still cared” you said, each word tasting bitter on your tongue.

“I never stopped caring, hermosa.”

He could’ve shot you or stabbed you, and it would’ve hurt the same as his words just did. Hot, angry tears blurred your vision as you stood up, walking out of his house. With every step you took, the vice around your heart tightened, and by the time you reached your own house, you quickly ran upstairs into your room, throwing yourself onto the bed. You buried your face in the pillow and let it all out—crying the frustration, the hurt, the anger. It was a dangerous cocktail of emotions.

Your phone buzzed multiple times on the nightstand, and you knew it was probably Frankie, but you weren’t ready to talk to him. You needed time to process this.

You didn’t know what hurt more: his absence, or the fact that your mom kept asking if he was okay because he hadn’t eaten with you for a few days. She should’ve been asking how you felt instead.

One evening, just as you were setting the table for dinner, the doorbell rang. Maybe it was one of the neighbors returning a container your mom had lent them when she shared some leftover food. She used to cook for a whole football team, after all.

“I’ve got it!” you called out to your mom as you opened the door. It wasn’t a neighbor. It was Frankie. Live and in color.

“Hey,” he murmured, lifting his baseball cap and running a hand through his hair before he placed it back on. He always did that, even back in high school when he was nervous. Some things never changed. Even though the adult Frankie was physically so far from the slender boy he’d been ten years ago, beneath the broad shoulders and strong arms, there was still that same boyish heart.

“Hey,” you answered, your voice sharp, the contempt probably written all over your face.

“Honey, is that…?” Your mom’s voice joined the two of you in the hallway, and her whole face lit up as soon as she spotted Frankie standing in the doorway.

“Frankie, come on in. Food’s ready,” she called, waving him in. Frankie glanced over at you first, silently asking for permission, but you just huffed and rolled your eyes as you stepped aside and closed the door behind him.

He followed your mom into the living room, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he stood there, uncertain. His tall, broad frame filled the room, but even so, he seemed smaller than usual, much less confident than you remembered.

“Have a seat, Frankie,” your mom said, placing the food on the table. The aroma was mouthwatering, and your stomach growled in anticipation.

“Thank you, Mrs. Davis,” he said politely as he sat down across from you.

You kept a hawk-eyed watch on him as your mom put food on his plate, acting like it was the most normal thing in the world. You, however, were still seething beneath the surface. Your mom, blissfully unaware of the conversation you’d had just a few days ago, went on as if nothing had happened.

“How’s your dad doing, hun’?” she asked, diving into small talk. Wonderful.

“He’s alright. Maybe a bit lonely. He’s started doing crosswords, and sometimes I can talk him into taking a walk with me. But he misses my mom… and so do I.” His eyes suddenly darkened with sadness, and for a moment, you forgot about your own anger.

“Yeah, I can imagine…” your mom murmured, her gaze falling to her plate as she poked at her food. She felt it too—the looming grief, the quiet anticipation of the day when your dad’s heart would stop beating. It mirrored the sorrow Frankie had spoken of. She would feel lonely too, and that reality made your chest ache.

You reached out under the table, gently patting her thigh in silent reassurance, earning a small, tight-lipped smile in return. You instinctively turned your head towards Frankie, and as if he could sense your gaze, he was already looking at you.

After a stretch of uncomfortable silence, your mom changed the topic, asking Frankie about his daughter. Suddenly, the man in front of you transformed. He straightened in his seat, a wide grin spreading across his face as he started talking about Sofía.

He was practically glowing with pride, telling you all about her love for animals and drawing. You could feel something stirring in your chest as you listened. Daddy Frankie was a whole new person—genuinely happy, talking about his child with such enthusiasm that it was contagious.

You couldn’t help but smile too, especially as his grin widened when he told stories about her potty training or the time she accidentally made a somersault trying to reach for something. It was absolutely adorable. By the end of the evening, everyone was in good spirits, the earlier tension forgotten. Your mom, always eager to meet new faces, insisted that the next time Sofía visited, Frankie should bring her by so she could meet her. He agreed happily, his joy still evident.

When you brought Frankie to your front door, he stood in the doorway, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “Thanks for not kicking me out…” He stifled a laugh, and you shook your head.

“Thank my mom, not me. If it were up to me, you wouldn’t have even made it inside,” you crossed your arms, a slight edge to your voice.

“I know, I—look,” he started, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. And I know no amount of words can undo the damage I did. I was an idiot. But I like you so damn much, and it’s killing me not to be around you, especially now that I finally got you back. Please, yell at me, hit me, do anything you want, but don’t push me away again.”

His eyes. Those damn puppy-dog eyes were lethal as he searched for yours, and you sighed.

You crossed your arms before responding. “We were young and dumb. We both made mistakes. I guess I can forgive you, stray cat.” You even managed a small smile, and he mirrored it with a soft one of his own.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Don’t make me regret this,” you warned, lifting your index finger in a mock-serious gesture. He raised his hands in mock resignation, then said, “Come here.”

He pulled you against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist. You hugged him back, burying your face in his shirt, smiling as you inhaled his familiar scent.

“You’re so goddamn stubborn, hermosa.”

“I am well aware,” you mumbled, but the grin on your face was brighter than the porch light you both stood under.

You lifted your head, your chin resting against his chest. He looked down at you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You leaned into his touch, your head resting in his big hand. His breath hitched slightly at the simple but undeniably intimate gesture. His hand wandered from your cheek to your chin, pinching it gently as he grinned at you.

“You’re as infuriating as you’re beautiful, you know that?” he whispered, his eyes flickering between your lips and your eyes so quickly you might have missed it if you weren’t this close. You bit your lip, your own eyes lingering on his lips, which looked so plush and kissable in the dim light of the front porch. He bit his lip for a moment, his gaze drifting away. He was battling with himself, you could see it.

“You’re gonna kiss me now or what ,Morales?” you challenged.

His head tilted back towards you immediately, his eyes confused for a second before they turned soft again and without missing a beat, he dipped his head to kiss you. A quick, cautious peck first, kind of testing the waters, assessing the damage he may have done but you just grinned at him and your hand found the back of his neck, pulling him down towards you and kissing him deeply. It was incredible. If you thought kissing him as a teenager was an experience then this was a whole damn revelation. His lips were familiar yet new, every movement more purposeful than the last, as though he’d spent years wondering how this moment would feel. His hand found its way to your waist, fingers barely brushing your skin as he deepened the kiss. The tension that had built up over years, over missed chances, vanished with the first taste of him.

His hand tangled in your hair when he walked you back until you hit the facade of your house with your back. His knee between your legs and his hard frame pressing you against the wall. His tongue now seeking entrance into your mouth, exploring every inch of you as you tightened the grip in the nape of his neck, gasping softly into the kiss. It felt like burning up from the inside, but it was worth it. “Dios”, he cursed against your lips. “We have to stop,” he almost whimpered as your foreheads rested against each other, both of you panting. You opened your eyes back up and his gaze on you was dark as you caressed the back of his neck. “I don’t want you to stop” you mewled and his eyebrows raised up, almost disappearing under the visor of his cap before he murmured “Are you sure?”

“I am” you reassured him and without hesitation he grabbed your hand and led you through the empty streets of Tidehaven towards his house. The street lights illuminating your way and tinting everything in a mysterious glow.

When you arrived at his house it was dark, no light on despite the one on the front porch when he impatiently fumbled with his keys to let you both inside. You giggled softly and suddenly it felt like all the years back when you were teenagers that were afraid to get caught.

His hand settled on the small of your back, guiding you inside, and the moment the door clicked shut, he found your lips in the darkness again, pressing you against the door. His hand gently cupped your cheek, and his kiss deepened, as if he couldn’t get enough, like he had been waiting for this moment far too long. You couldn’t help but giggle at the mix of eagerness and the familiar thrill of the situation, whispering, “What about your dad? What if he—?”

He trailed his lips from your mouth to your jaw, then down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. His voice came out hoarse as he whispered, “He’s taking sleeping pills. He won’t wake up easily. But if you’re too loud, I’ll have to find a way to keep you quiet.” His grin was wicked, and then his mouth was on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, sucking softly and drawing a quiet moan from you, making it impossible to stop the rush of heat flooding through your veins.

It was like a switch flipped inside of Frankie as he hooked his hands under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, his mouth still attached to your neck. He carried you down the hall, opening the door with one hand while keeping you secure in his grasp with the other. With a swift kick, he closed it behind you as soon as you were inside. There was no need for lights—only the cold, blue glow of the moon outside illuminated the room. Gently, he lowered you onto his bed, hovering over you. Though the darkness surrounded you, his eyes were intense, fixed on you, making your heart race in eager anticipation.

“Are you sure you want this?”, he asked again. You never were more sure of anything.

You just nodded as you started to undress him, starting by pulling his shirt over his head revealing a strong chest and a softer belly. You traced your fingers along his sides and he flexed under your touch. This body was different from the one you remembered. It changed, made room for some extra weight around his midsection and some scars adoring his beautiful lightly tanned skin which weren’t there the last time you saw him naked.

But he was still undeniably attractive, if not more with the strong arms and broad shoulders. A trail of dark, soft hair along his stomach, around his belly button and ending right over the belt of his jeans. You started kissing his neck, nibbling at his collarbone and he rewarded you with a sharp inhale of air. You took your time, drinking him in and he started kissing you back, his teeth grazing over your soft skin as soon as he discarded your shirt, leaving you only in your black lace bralette. He kissed down between the valley of your breasts, his breath hot against your skin as his hand found the clasp of your underwear. “Can I take this off?” he asked.

“Yes”, you breathed and he opened the clasp, the straps gliding down your shoulders, his fingertips never leaving your skin as the fabric slid off and left you exposed for his exploring hands and hungry gaze.

He was transfixed, his gaze almost reverential as he took you in.

“You’re even more gorgeous than I remember, hermosa” he whispered as he started kissing your shoulder. It made you feel desired but also so vulnerable. You weren’t used to praise and most importantly not to someone being this gentle with you.

“Well, I was still a teen back then. I changed… got fatter,” you complained but he quickly shushed you with a kiss.

“You may have gotten more soft but you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Give yourself some credit.”

He was sincere in the way he looked at you, his fingers still tracing over every dip and curve of your exposed skin, every stretch mark you hated so much and your heart constricted in your chest at his gentleness and the way he didn’t seem to care at all.

You fought so hard to keep the old feelings from resurfacing, but it was a losing battle. He didn’t even need to try—his natural attentiveness had always been one of the things you adored most about him.

His lips moved lower, grazing your skin softly as they found their way to your breasts, kissing each one gently before his tongue swirled around your hardened nipples, giving each breast equal attention.

His hand massaged the one he wasn’t focused on, and he groaned softly against your skin, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. His hips started to roll against you, seeking the friction you both so desperately craved.

Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer as you met his movements with a soft thrust of your own. The unmistakable hardness of him pressed against you, even through the fabric of his jeans. Your hands moved quickly, undoing his belt and zipper, pulling the fabric down along with his boxers.

He wiggled out of his pants and was back above you in an instant, quickly removing your shorts and underwear.

As soon as the last piece of clothing was gone, the air between you crackled with a charged mix of anticipation and something deeper—an unspoken connection that left you breathless, unable to quite name the feeling pulsing through the room.

He stopped his administration on your chest and kissed all the way back up to your neck and to your jaw until he found your lips again. It was a messy, open mouthed kiss as you wrapped your arms and legs around him, pressing him als close against you as you could, wanting to feel every inch of him.

His skin hot and melting yours, every nerve ending of yours on fire.

“Do you need me to get a condom or are you on birth control?” he asked and in every other circumstance this would be a mood killer, not with Frankie though.

He was responsible and you appreciated that greatly.

“I am, don’t worry” you breathed into the dark.

He searched for your eyes before his hand wandered down your body, his fat fingers sliding between your folds, already wet and leaking just from making out with him as he grinned satisfied, his teeth flashing in the pale moonlight.

“Damn, so wet all because of me?” he teased and you glared at him.

“Don’t tease me, Morales”, you warned, trying to sound at least a bit firmer than you felt inside but you clearly failed.

“‘m sorry” he purred as he latched onto your neck again, his flat thumb now pressing against your clit while the other two digits glided inside of you. You moaned instantly at the impact, one hand finding his soft locks, helplessly pulling at them as he pushed them in-and out of your slick with practiced ease.

The noise it was creating was almost obscene but you couldn’t find yourself to care. After a few movements you felt him shifting slightly, his hand now on his hardened cock, giving himself a few strokes before his tip teased your entrance and your grip on his hair only tightened.

“Frankie, please” you whimpered pathetically.

“I know”, he assured you, gripping your thighs and pulling you just a tiny bit closer to him, lifting your hips slightly before he finally, torturously slow, eased into you and stretched you out completely.

You didn’t remember if he was that big when you still were younger, but god damn that hurt. “Fuck”, he hissed. “You’re so damn tight I can’t–” he rambled helplessly as his head rested against your shoulder.

You wiggled impatiently, wanting so desperately for him to start moving. “It’s okay,” you murmured. “You’re not hurting me.”

Your confirmation was what he needed so he bottomed out completely, his pubic hair tickling your most sensitive area and it was heavenly.

He moaned deeply as your nails found his shoulder blades, digging into his flesh as his grip on your hips tightened as well, the intensity almost bruising.

“I wanted this for so long, dreamed about this…” he whispered against your hot skin, like it wouldn’t change everything.

It made your heart skip and you inhaled sharply.

What were you even supposed to answer when he was balls deep into you and your mind too dazed to form any coherent thought?

His thrusts were deep and powerful as if he wanted to show you with every single one how much he cared for you, how much he needed you. It was unlike anything else, the air thick and sultry with the smell of both of you and all the unspoken words between you.

This was a declaration on its own, one you weren’t even sure you were ready for, but there was turning back now.

You held desperately onto him as his movements fastened and grew more determined.

He gritted his teeth thrusting into you relentlessly while still making sure you never felt uncared for when he placed soft kisses everywhere he could reach.

“I-I’m so close, please don’t stop…” you moaned, pressing yourself against his hard frame.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he answered and without warning he took you at your ankles, pulling you up until your heels were resting against his shoulders and the new angle was incredible. He stroked your cervix with every snap of his hips, deliciously deep and mind altering.

In this position he grabbed your tits with his big, calloused hands, kneading them before his thumbs played with your nipples and it was all you needed to find your release.

You clenched tightly around him and he hissed in response.

“Yes, I need you to come for me. I need to– fuck!” he cursed as you felt him pulsating inside of you and following your climax just seconds later. He painted your inner walls with thick ropes of his cum and didn’t stop spilling into you as you cried out his name almost too loud for the quietness of the night.

His whole body shuddered against you before he gently let your legs sink down and collapsed next to you, panting heavily from exertion. His cheeks slightly flushed.

You turned onto your side to face him. Your hand reached out, stroking some damp strands that stuck against his forehead from his face as you grinned widely. Utterly satisfied and spent you mumbled “Not bad, stray cat” and it was a weak attempt at a joke because you were still equally as breathless.

“Not bad?” he choked out, his face mock shock as he turned his head towards you.

“I am wounded, hermosa,” and you both laughed in unison.

He pulled you against his side, his arm wrapped around your shoulders and kissing your hair.

It should’ve felt foreign, maybe even a bit awkward—but it didn’t. Instead, you felt a sense of contentment, one you probably hadn’t felt in a long time. It was a strange mix of comfort and unease, both comforting and terrifying at once.

You drifted into a deep sleep in his arms, his thumb gently tracing circles on your back. You weren’t sure how long you slept—probably not long—but when you finally opened your eyes, the light hit you with a sharp intensity, almost burning your vision.

You groaned, blinking a few times as the bright sunlight hit you. Doesn’t this man have blinds?

Still mostly naked, you turned around and stretched, feeling the impact of last night in every fiber of your body. Reaching beside you, you expected Frankie to still be there, but the bedside was empty. You turned your head sharply, sitting up with the blanket barely covering your modesty.

You stretched out an arm to grab your phone, checking the time—or maybe hoping for a message from him—but there was nothing. It was 7 a.m. You fell back into the pillow with a heavy sigh, brushing a wild strand of hair out of your face.

The fall hit you harder than you cared to admit. You should’ve known better. He’d gotten what he wanted, and now he was gone. Leaving you alone in his damn bed, in his parents’ house, casting you aside like you were nothing. Like all the others before him had done too.

The hot feeling of anger built inside you just as the bedroom door creaked open.

You didn’t even bother to look up, your arms crossed as you started at the ceiling.

Suddenly you felt a weight on the edge of the bed and the next thing your senses catched was the smell of freshly brewed coffee before his voice broke the silence.

“Good morning, I made us some coffee. Thought you may appreciate the liquid gold after last night”,his voice nothing more than a soft gravelly rumble in the stillness.

You propped up on an elbow to be able to look at him. His hair was a messy mop on his head, wearing the same t-shirt from last night and his boxers only.

It was a delightfully disheveled sight to behold.

His eyes were tired but his smile, God his smile, was brighter than the sun shining through the windows.

“I thought you changed your mind”, you pouted.

His brows creased in confusion. “Changing my mind about what? You? This?”

You nodded as you reached for the coffee cup he placed onto the bedside table.

“Never. I was just up a bit earlier and made sure to get us some coffee and maybe some breakfast too if you’re up for it.”

You sipped at the coffee, the hot liquid almost burning your lips. “Breakfast sounds great” you mumbled but not looking up from your mug. The steam dancing between the two of you he extended his free hand to rake it through your hair, a soft but mischievous smile on his lips.

“What is this smile about, Morales?” you asked and his smile turned into a full blown grin.

“I was thinking maybe we can go for round two before we grab some breakfast. Unless you’re too tired–”

You placed the coffee mug on the bedside table again before he even finished his sentence. You climbed into his lap, straddling him and his arms wrapped around you immediately. The sun was shining through the windows, creating a soft halo around you as his hands danced up and down over your bare back, the golden hues in his brown eyes sparkling when he looked up to you, tilting his head slightly to have a better look. “I could get used to this” he murmured against your skin, kissing your forehead, your temple, followed by your nose before he captured your lips in a soft kiss.

“You better do, because you won’t get rid of me that easily from now on” and it was a promise.

Five days later your dad died. He stopped breathing during the night and when your mom entered the bedroom her scream echoed through the whole house. It was exactly as awful as you imagined it to be, maybe even worse. You tried your best to be there for her,making sure she ate enough. But most of the time she was staring out of the window or playing absentmindedly with her wedding ring when she sat at the diner table, the same tea cup in front of her as in the morning. The days dragged on, functioning on autopilot and everything felt heavy and tinted in grey. Frankie never left your side, held you close the whole night until your tears subsided and you passed out from exhaustion.

At his funeral it was raining. How fitting, you thought to yourself. The sky mirroring your agony.

Everyone in Tidehaven attended the funeral and you didn’t want to see any of them. No one cared for you or your mom when he still was alive, they didn’t need to pretend they did now. It was hypocritical and your contempt grew even more. This was all this town could do after all, pretending.

Frankie’s hand was on the small of your back the whole time, his intense gaze flickering through the crowd to check for any potential misbehavior, but nobody acted up thankfully. It were just the same old judging, tired glances as usual.

As the casket was lowered into the soil you couldn’t hold back a silent sob as your mom reached for your hand and squeezed it so tight it almost felt like breaking. You didn’t dare to say a word the whole day. You felt paralyzed for a time after that.

Frankie’s presence was a silent shadow at your back. When you asked your mom if she needed anything, he mirrored that same quiet gesture for you. It was that day, despite never having believed in it before, that you were certain you would marry this man. He was your rock through it all—never complaining, never demanding anything—just offering silent support whenever it was needed.

When the worst was over, the grief only an unwelcome guest in the back of your mind you started to find some solace again. Sitting at the beach, listening to the waves crashing, even some music. You would probably never be the same again, but maybe that was okay. The old you never felt at ease somewhere. Not in the city, not in Tidehaven. But you felt at home in one place: Frankie’s arms.

You ended up staying in Tidehaven for way longer than you would’ve imagined. Weeks turned into months, into a year. You watched nature go through the seasons while you did the same. You changed, in more ways than one. When they were disappointment and sadness before it evolved into something more positive. Frankie made you see things differently. You started to experience real joy again. Not every day was perfect, of course not. But you finally felt like you belonged. Something you searched for your whole life. Turns out the only thing missing was him. All the pain you endured in his absence led you back into his arms after all. As summer approached again, the two of you sat together at the pier, watching the sunset. Without warning, he dropped to one knee and asked if you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. It wasn’t a grand, romantic gesture—but you didn’t need that. You knew, without a doubt, that his words and actions were sincere. And that was all you needed. Tears streamed down your face as you agreed, and he hasn’t stopped smiling since.

“Hey dad,” you said as you kneeled down onto his tombstone, placing fresh lilies, his favorite flowers, onto it. You gently removed some fallen leaves from his grave. “Just came to tell you the news. Frankie asked me to be his wife and I said yes. How could I not? I wish you could see how happy he makes me, daddy. He’s also a damn menace sometimes, but he…he can handle me. And you know, how hard that is. After all I come after you with my stubbornness,” you chuckled softly. “I would’ve loved to have you walking me down the aisle. I know you and I weren't always on good terms, but I think this is something so special for a daughter and her dad and I am sad we can’t experience that together,” your voice was slightly breaking as you played with your engagement ring. A simple silver band with a small diamond princess cut. “I love him, dad. So so so much. But I also love you and I miss you and I am sorry I wasn’t always the best daughter and I am sorry I left you alone with mom for so long. I wish I could go back in time to spend more time with you. Even watch these damn quiz shows you loved so much with you where nobody really ever won something for real. I’m gonna keep a chair empty for you at the ceremony. You can imagine how excited mom is for this damn wedding. I guess for a time she lost hope her daughter would ever settle down. Well, for a long time I did too. But he changed my outlook on things. Oh and, I am also a stepmom now. You know I never wanted kids, but I love Frankie’s daughter endlessly and I think maybe she doesn’t find me that bad as well, at least I hope so,” you exhaled deeply before you finally rose back to your feet again, spotting Frankie standing a bit far off, a soft smile on his face, his hands folded demurely in front of his pants crotch.

You lifted a questioning eyebrow. “How long are you standing there already?”

“Not for long”, he answered as he stepped towards you. “You okay?” his brown eyes worried.

“I am. Just told my dad about all that happened. Give him a quick summary, you know,” your left hand resting on Frankie’s chest, your thumb gently stroking the fabric of his Henley, your gaze fixed there. “It’s getting easier, coming here.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s kind of healing isn’t it ? Having a place to still be able to talk to them.”

You nodded. “Did you visit your mom already?”

“No, I was hoping you would come with me. So I could show her your ring and all,” he took your hand that was on his chest, kissing your knuckles, his thumb tracing over your engagement ring.

“Yeah, sure,” you retorted as you searched for his eyes. “You think she’ll approve ?”

His lips lifted up into a lopsided smile. “No doubt.”

He took your hand in his as you walked over the cemetery. It was quiet and peaceful. In the past you kind of avoided places like this because your thoughts would be too loud when your surroundings were silent like this but that finally changed now.

As you reached the grave of his mom, fresh flowers in the vase he must’ve put in there before you came here, you stopped. His hand still holding yours, his grip slightly tightening when he looked at you, his gaze a mix of different emotions.

He never brought you here before and you knew how important this was for him.

You squeezed his hand reassuringly, giving him a tender smile, trying to give him the same amount of support like he always did. He lowered his gaze a bit as you turned your head towards the grave, still holding his hand, not budging even a bit as you hugged his arm now with your other hand.

“Hey, Mrs. Morales. I don’t know if you’re aware but I am pretty much in love with your son and I can’t wait to marry him even if I never thought I’d do that honestly”, you snickered and Frankie scoffed softly next to you.

“He’s a good person. The best if I may say so myself. You would be so proud of him, I know that, because I am. And I am also so damn grateful to be able to call him mine.”

It was silent for a long, meaningful moment after you finished speaking, the only sound was the soft pattering of the starting rain and Frankie’s breathing which was a bit ragged.

“Let’s get you home, okay?” he spoke silently, his voice slightly hoarse with emotion.

You tightened your grip on his arm and placed a soft kiss against the side of his neck, your breath ghosting over his skin. “I am already home.”

thanks so so much for taking the time to read. please show some love, we writers live for that <3

my masterlist - in case you’re hungry for more :)

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superbassbuck · 24 days ago

Text

Making Out for America

Chapter 2: Red, White, and Black

masterlist || one || two || three || four || five

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x America's Sweetheart!fem!reader

Mentions: 18+, enemies to lovers, slow burn, set during thunderbults*, sexual tension, forced proximity, arranged marriage, panic attacks, mental health issues, angst (lots of it), no y/n

Word Count: 5.4k

gif by agentbelle || dividers by cafekitsune

You hated the way this man was staring at you like you were gum stuck to the bottom of his polished shoe.

You knew James Barnes. You’ve seen him on national television. You and pretty much the whole country knew that he was notorious for having a very, very bad staring problem and a signature scowl that was plastered across news segments and broadcasts.

But it was just something about seeing it up close and feeling that tension that made a shiver shoot straight through your spine.

Maybe his glare wasn’t personal? Maybe that’s just how his face looked all the time? But standing here, on the receiving end of it, made your skin itch uncomfortably. And now that Voss abandoned you two, you figured you might as well try to get to know your future husband.

…even if he looked like he’d rather dive headfirst out of the window than make conversation with you. Seriously, what was his problem? Just his gaze alone is already making you regret agreeing to this arrangement.

But then… you thought about the alternative. The truth was, the foundation had been treading water for the past year. Donors have been pulling out one by one, grants have been drying out, and the media attention has been… decent at best. As much as you silently complain about the speeches and being the face of it all, this was your father’s legacy. The thing that you’d spent your entire life dedicating to, and it was slowly fading from the spotlight.

You hadn’t agreed to this because you liked the idea. Or because you liked him, clearly. You only said ‘yes’ because this arrangement meant headlines, meaning attention. It meant power. Power that was enough to make a difference. You sucked in a breath and straightened your spine—well, you had to anyway, because this dress was impossibly tight—and reminded yourself why you were here.

Not for him. Not for Voss. But for your father.

“Congressman Barnes,” you begin carefully, testing the waters. “If this arrangement makes you uncomfortable, I understand if you don’t want to go through with it—”

“No,” he interrupts, a little too quickly. He shifts his weight and pulls his hands from his pockets, making a weird gesture like he’s brushing the idea away. “I’m comfortable.”

You raise a brow. “Are you sure? You don’t really look comfortable.”

“I said I’m comfortable.”

You press your lips into a thin line, trying to stifle a laugh. You kind of feel bad for him. Despite his words, the fancy suit and tie, and the salt and pepper beard that shows his age, he resembles a stubborn child.

“Okaaay then,” you tease, rocking slightly on your heels with your hands tucked behind your back.

The silence between you two was deafening. “Voss said that we should try to get to know each other,” you say, trying anything to fill the air. “So, what’s your–”

Bucky cuts you off before you can even finish your question. “No need for small talk,” he says flatly. “I’ll put together a file on myself. You can read it, learn whatever you need. Then make one of your own. We’ll study up on it and play the part.”

You blink. Huh?

“A file…?”

He simply nods, his eyes still dead set on you. “A biography, a background, habits, favorite color. Whatever helps this…” then he gestures a finger between the both of you, “thing… look convincing.”

You stare at him, dumbfounded. “You want us to write a ‘Get to Know Me!’ sheet for each other? Like homework?”

“Exactly,” he says, completely serious. “Efficient.”

He has a smile on his face now, like he’s under the impression that you’re understanding. You feel like you have to physically bite your tongue not to laugh. It’s not the worst idea in the world, but the way he says it so seriously makes it sound like an assignment on some foreign policy and not an engagement.

“I just thought,” you say, compressing a snicker. “We could try doing something a little more… organic? You know, talking, spending time together, pretending to like each other like normal couples do.”

Bucky raises his brows and scrunches his face a bit, almost like a cringe. “That’s not very efficient.”

You cross your arms and tilt your head. He looks mildly condescending—so you mirror it, because two can play this game. Petty? Maybe. But you’re not writing a five page biography about yourself for your soon-to-be-husband. “Not everything has to be efficient, Congressman. Sometimes human connection takes a little time and effort. Surprising, right?”

He leans against the desk behind him, arms folded across his chest now too—copying you, like this was some kind of stand-off. “Time and effort I don’t have. I have three hearings this week, four committee meetings, two interviews–”

“Perfect. How about instead of calling you Congressman, I can call you Bucky?” you cut in, completely brushing past his words. Then you take a few short steps closer to him. “Wouldn’t that be more natural?”

His brow twitches in response to your teasing tone, but he doesn’t move. “You’re aiming for natural?”

You frown. He really wasn’t getting it. If this plan was going to work, then you two would have to be as convincing as possible, as natural as possible—giving the nation the love story that they want. But in Bucky’s mind, all he has to do is slip a ring on your finger, snap a picture with you, and call it a day. Unfortunately for him, that wasn't enough.

“That’s the whole point,” you sigh, trying to explain. “If this is going to even remotely–”

Before you could finish your sentence, the door swings open and in comes Voss with her phone clutched in her hand and the brightest smile on her face. “Great news!” she announces. “Everyone’s on board.”

You and Bucky both turned toward her. You arch your brow. “Everyone?”

She nods, walking past you and straight to the table where she left her files behind. She starts flipping through them. “PR is already working on a joint statement. Communications is working on a press release,” then she turns to you with a smile. “And we’ve booked a photographer for engagement shots later this week. But most importantly…”

Jesus. She really did all of that in the span of fifteen minutes?

Her eyes flicker between you and Bucky as she continues. “Valentina’s gala is tomorrow night. And both of you will be in attendance as each other’s fiancée. It’ll be the perfect introdu–”

“Wait,” Bucky interrupts, turning to Voss with narrowed brows. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Voss confirms with a nod. “Everyone who matters will be there. It’s the ideal situation.”

You could feel your stomach doing jumping jacks. Tomorrow was just… way too soon. Sure, you were used to public speaking, but that was always scripted, prepared, and polished. This was entirely different. Pretending to be in love was a whole different ball game that you were not familiar with. And truthfully, your experience with love was… limited. At best. Sheltered would be putting it kindly.

“Tomorrow is just…” Bucky trails off.

“...so soon,” you finished.

Voss’s lips press into a thin line as she looks between the both of you. She just shrugs, as if there’s nothing you two could do about it. “So? Then what are we waiting for?” she asks bluntly. “You’ve got the rest of the day to get to know each other.”

Bucky stiffens. Based on his body language alone, it is so clear to you that he wants out of this situation. You could see the gears turning in that cyborg brain of his, computing for an excuse to try and get out. Like a lightbulb, he raises a finger up to shoot an excuse at Voss, but she was faster.

She raises her hands up to stop him before he could even speak. “Don’t even think about it, Barnes. Your schedule is clear for the rest of the day. I already checked.”

His shoulders slumped as he let out a sigh, barely sparing you a glance. Honestly, the least he could do was pretend to be happy about spending time with you.

There was a moment of silence between the three of you. Voss looked between the two of you, clearly unimpressed with the lack of interaction. When it became obvious that neither you nor Bucky planned to say anything else, she sighs and shakes her head disappointedly.

“Sorry, but I’ve got to get going,” she begins. “You both are adults. Figure this out.”

She gathered her things and made her way towards the door again. “I know this won’t be easy, but honestly—” she wags a finger between the both of you, “you two surprisingly look good together.” And with that, she opens the door and leaves the office, leaving you and Bucky alone yet again.

You processed her words for a moment. A small blush crept on your cheeks, feeling a little flattered. Despite Bucky’s perpetual glare, scowls, and generally bad attitude, Bucky was, objectively speaking, ridiculously handsome. Being told you matched his level of good looks to be within the same league was kind of a backhanded compliment, but you’d take it.

But when you turned to look at him, he didn’t seem even remotely flattered like you did. He looked offended.

“Alright, I’ve had enough of this,” you cross your arms. “I’ve been trying to ignore your scowls since the moment I got here, but I just can’t. Are you really that pretentious and uptight? I thought you just had a chronic staring issue, but turns out, you’re just a straight up asshole. I mean—just look at you!”

His brow lifted as he scoffed. “Excuse me?” Then his eyes skim you up and down again, taking in your ridiculous tight dress that’s hugging you in all the wrong—and right —places. He swallows before meeting your eyes. “Look at me? Look at you .”

You let out a breathless laugh. “I’m sorry. What?” you mirror his tone as you lean closer to him, deliberately trying to test his audacity.

Bucky takes a step closer to you, his blue eyes glaring you down. “Look at you,” he repeats. “Your hair’s a mess, you’ve got an attitude of a sailor, and your dress–”

“What about my dress?” You raise a brow, clearly offended.

He swallows again, and you can see his jaw clench. He looks like he’s deciding whether or not he should say his next line. It’d be smart for him to keep his mouth shut, but unfortunately for you, the only thing smart about him is his mouth.

“It looks like that dress is barely holding you in,” he mutters, his eyes dark and narrowed down at you.

Your eyebrow twitches, and you throw your head back with a mocking laugh. “Wow,” you say, tossing your hands up. “Did the Congressman really just call me fat?”

He stands up straight, visibly confused and thrown off guard. “What? No–” but instead of stopping there like any normal person would, he keeps going. A bad habit of his, clearly.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I meant…” then he starts gesturing vaguely at your body, his eyes darting at every curve, everywhere except your face. “I just mean… there’s a lot of you in that dress.”

Your mouth drops, and you just stare at him, stunned. “A lot of me?”

Bucky’s eyes go wide the second he hears himself, like he’s just realized he stepped directly into a landmine. It’s been too damn long since the last time he tried complimenting a woman, and if his mother were here right now, she’d grab him by the ear for talking to you this way. “Shit, I meant that like… like you have a lot of presence. You’re commanding. Not in a bad way, just—”

You raise a brow. “A lot of presence?” you repeat again.

He swallows, a heat of embarrassment rushing to his ears. “You’re built well. That’s all I meant. Like, structurally–” he grimaces at himself, but for some reason, he can’t seem to stop digging the hole deeper, so he adds, “in an architectural sense.”

At this point, you’re not even mad anymore. Irritated, probably. But the way he’s trying so hard to salvage this almost makes you feel bad for him. It was kind of amusing to watch in a way. You don’t say anything, you just stare at him as you let his arrangement of words linger in the air.

Then Bucky, clearly desperate, blurts, “Okay, how about dinner? We should get dinner.” He suddenly brings up, likely as an attempt to make up for whatever compliment slash insult he just threw at you.

You frown. “I just ate.”

“Yeah, okay,” he huffs, putting his hands on his hips and nodding in agreement, his eyes back on your curves. “I see that.”

There’s a pause.

Then your jaw drops when realization hits you.

“Oh my God , so you are insulting me!” you raise your voice, raising your hand to point an accusing finger at him.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles grumpily, starting to get tired of trying to defend himself. “I’m not trying to insult you, it’s just… you got a stain–”

You interrupt him, because right now you don’t care to hear what he has to say this time.

“I’m sorry that Voss couldn’t find you a more polished and put-together woman to be your wife,” you begin making exaggerated hand gestures in anger.

You probably look stupid and childish right now, but you don’t care. You’ve felt judged the minute you walked in here, and you’ve had enough with the way he was mumbling and scowling at you like you were a person with no feelings.

Bucky looks down at you and swallows hard, taking small steps back each time you take one closer, pressing a finger against his perfectly ironed dress shirt. You eventually back him up against the office desk behind him, leaving him trapped between you and that poor piece of furniture.

“I’m not perfect, but I’m good, I have good morals and–” you jab a finger harder into his chest with each word, “I’m loyal, I show up when I’m needed and I care. Maybe I care too much sometimes. But I’m a good person. I’m a good…”

You pause for half a second, your face scrunched up in anger, “...girl. I’m a good girl!” you repeat even louder.

Bucky just blinks at you, stunned and not knowing what to say. His mouth opens like he’s about to get a word out, but before he could, you raise your hand again to drill him for round two.

And that’s when it happens.

It rips.

Your dress tears, and the sound was so sharp and loud—you both couldn’t ignore it, no matter how badly you wanted to. Your eyes go wide in horror, and you both slowly look down at yourself. On the side, your dress had split further up. The tear crawled well past your thigh and revealed a very generous peek of black lace that definitely was not meant to be seen by anyone else.

You slap your hands to your thigh, trying to cover it while your eyes flick up to him in sheer panic. And Bucky, who was definitely looking, meets your gaze—and holds it.

Maybe he won’t say anything. He’s a Congressman. Surely, a man in office would be respectable enough when stuck in a situation like this.

But then the corner of his mouth twitches up to a smirk.

“Good girls don’t wear black lacy underwear.”

Your face is completely flushed in embarrassment. Your jaw drops. “You…!”

He shrugs, but doesn’t make any effort to move. And you’re realizing now that you two are very, very close. Maybe even too close, especially now that half your underwear is peeking out.

His smirk deepens, like he’s finally found solid ground while watching you squirm in embarrassment. The power dynamic has shifted, and he’s reveling in it. Slowly, he stands up straight from the desk and reaches into the back pocket of his slacks.

“Let’s meet up for dinner tonight,” he says as he hands you a card. “We have to try to get to know each other better before the gala tomorrow.”

You take it cautiously with your free hand, the other still gripping your thigh in a pathetic attempt at modesty. You glance at the card, then frown.

“What is this? Your trash?”

His expression tightens, mildly offended. “It’s my business card.” He taps the bottom edge, where his number is cleanly underlined. “Contact info.”

“Oh,” you blink. “Right.”

You both stand there for a moment, an awkward pause between you two. Your hand is still awkwardly gripping your thigh to cover yourself, and he’s still very much looking at you like he’s got the upper hand now.

You clear your throat and finally step away, putting real space between your bodies. “Anyway, I should—”

“Yeah, you should,” he cuts in smoothly, like he’s doing you the favor. Then he slips past you toward the window, settling back into the same position you first found him in, like you never even happened.

“Yeah, okay…” you mutter, backing toward the door. “Bye.”

“Bye,” he repeats dryly, like the council meeting is adjourned.

When you see his back is still turned towards you and his gaze occupied out the window, you spin around and try to sheepishly escape out the door. You’re not certain, but you’re pretty sure the rip went farther than just your thigh.

Probably all the way up the back.

And right before you slip out the door, with your back turned to him now, Bucky looks over his shoulder and gets one good look at the lace before you disappear completely.

Later that evening, George dropped you off in front of the restaurant where you were supposed to meet Bucky. You’d changed into something more flattering—and comfortable—this time. Something that actually felt like you. Your hair and makeup had been redone too, more soft glam than studio-and-television ready. Tonight, you looked less like America’s Sweetheart and more like yourself.

“Call me when you’re done,” is all George says, stepping out to open your door.

“Thanks, George,” you replied, soothing down your dress with a smile. “I’ll make sure to order you something to-go.” You add half-teasingly, and he just grunts in response.

He waits a bit until you get inside. The restaurant Bucky had picked out was upscale and romantic. It had the typical dim lights, small tables, and flickering candles. This was the kind of restaurant where you’d take someone you actually loved—which was ironic, considering you and Bucky were tied up in a loveless arranged marriage.

As you stepped inside, two suited men opened the door for you, and you greeted them with a polite smile before approaching the hostess stand.

“Reservation under Barnes,” you said, a bit unsure. Your eyes naturally wandered around the restaurant, trying to spot him.

“Of course!” the hostess chirped, tapping on her tablet. “Congressman James Barnes. Right this way.”And for some reason, hearing ‘Reservation under Congressman James Barnes’ makes your heart flutter proudly knowing that you’re his ‘date’.

He was seated at a more secluded area of the restaurant, a table he probably requested to avoid attention—for now. He was fiddling with his thumbs on the table, and this time you noticed he was wearing a glove on his left hand to cover up his metal arm. He didn’t have that on earlier. When he looked up and saw you, he sat up a little straighter. The hostess offered a quick smile before slipping away, leaving just the two of you.

“Hope my dress isn’t too tight for you, Congressman,” you say with a teasing smile, sliding into the empty seat across from him.

He stared at you longer than necessary, his eyes scanning more than just the dress. Then he muttered, “Looks good,” and quickly buried his face behind the menu. “Heard this place has decent food.”

You picked up the menu, raising a brow at him. “You’ve never eaten here before?”

“No,” he says flatly. “I don’t really… go out.” He clears his throat at the last part, almost like he’s embarrassed to admit it.

You sat up straighter. This was the perfect opportunity to try and get to know him.

“So, what’s your usual go-to spot?”

“Home,” he replied dryly, eyes glued to the menu.

“I meant to eat at,” you clarified, frowning slightly.

He turned the page without blinking. “Yeah. Still home.”

Good grief. Talking to your husband-to-be was like talking to a brick wall. You never imagined sitting here, at a fancy dimly lit restaurant, with a Congressman—much less a Congressman who has no idea how to talk. Either that, or he’s purposely keeping the conversation to a minimum. Even though he was the one that invited you out here.

You sighed and flipped to the drinks section, determined to keep things going. “Okay, what kind of music do you like?”

He pauses for a moment, “Forties music.”

Ah, that makes sense. You gave him a second, hoping he’d catch on and take the conversation from here. But instead of saying anything, he scratched at the stubble along his jaw. His eyes shifted to you, then dropped back to the menu.

And then… nothing.

Silence. Full, uncomfortable silence.

You cleared your throat to try and catch his attention, and he glanced up with a raised brow like you were the problem.

“What?” he asked, voice flat and a little annoyed.

“This is usually the part where you ask about me now,” you leaned in, narrowing your eyes.

He sighed, setting the menu down and leaning back in his seat, arms folding across his chest. Despite the pressed suit and professional look, his tie was slightly loosened and his once-slicked hair was starting to fall out of place. He looked tired, and irritatingly attractive. Not that you’d ever admit it outloud. He lets out a low and thoughtful hum as he tries to brew up a topic to talk about.

“Okay, I’ve got a question for you,” he begins, a slight smirk creeping up on his face.

Good. Good. He’s finally going to try and make an attempt at a conversation with you. You grab your glass of water and take a sip, giving him your full attention.

“What color panties are you wearing now?” he asks you suddenly.

You immediately choke, nearly spitting the water across the table. Thank God you two are tucked away in a private corner of the restaurant, because what the hell kind of question is that? You stare at him, eyebrows furrowed and mouth hanging open, stunned by the audacity. But then you realized… if he’s asking about your panties, then it means he’s still thinking about it.

Now this time, you’re the one with the smirk. “Still thinking about my underwear, Congressman?”

You had to silently applaud yourself for coming up with a smartass response for his smartass question. You lean back in your chair, arms and legs crossed to mirror his posture, thinking he’s probably regretting opening his mouth now. Surely he’s about to get flustered and backpedal—

“That depends,” he says smoothly, that smirk never leaving his face. “I’m just trying to figure out if my wife’s a good girl or not.”

You freeze, and you quickly pick up the menu to cover your face, hiding the raging blush you’ve got going on now. There wasn’t even any wine at the table, so where the hell is he suddenly getting all this confidence from?

“I—I’m not… your wife yet,” you stammer, refusing to make eye contact with him and keeping it locked on the menu.

He lets out a low and deep chuckle that rumbles in his chest, and you’re realizing now that that was the first time you’ve ever heard anything remotely close to a laugh from him. Even though you’ve only known him for a day, you had to figuratively give yourself a pat on the back for making this grumpy man chuckle.

The waiter approaches soon after, and you both place your orders. A few minutes later, your food arrives, along with a bottle of wine, compliments of the house. Apparently, being wined and dined with a U.S. Congressman has its perks. Free stuff, for one!

After a few sips of wine and bites of your meals, there was only the sound of silverware hitting the porcelain plates. The silence stretches long enough that you finally decide to break it.

“So,” you ask between a bite, then motion to his left hand with your knife, “why are you wearing a glove now?”

You see him tense up at your question, and you instantly regret it. He looked uncomfortable, so you swallowed your food and immediately started backtracking.

“Sorry, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I understand—”

“It draws too much attention,” he cuts in after taking a sip of his wine. “Negative attention. Everytime I’m on that podium, the press always finds a way to bring it up.”

You frown. His metal arm was something that clearly bothered him, and you get it. You know what it feels like to be knit-picked at when it comes to appearances. The world isn’t kind to women, especially women like you, who have a strong voice and an image in society to uphold. They say a bunch of terrible stuff, especially online. Down to your mannerisms, your appearance, your weight. Everything.

People love to reduce you to parts.

And the world also isn't kind to James Buchannan Barnes. A man who served the country, and paid the price for it by being morphed into a weapon. A man who helped save the world, yet is still being seen as a dangerous threat to the nation.

“You shouldn’t cover it up,” you say softly. “It’s a beautiful arm.”

He looks you over the rim of his wine glass, pausing before he takes a sip and raises an eyebrow at you. “It isn’t,” he mutters. “It’s a weapon.”

“No, it isn’t,” you insist. You reach your hand across the table and lay it over his left hand gently. The leather of his glove is cool under your fingertips. He tenses, but he doesn’t move.

“It’s vibranium. Crafted with care, and a gift straight from Wakanda. It’s not a weapon, Bucky. It’s beautiful, and it’s part of you. It deserves to be seen.”

Bucky’s eyes flicker to your hand resting over his. His jaw clenches, and for a moment, it looks like he might say something, something vulnerable. But instead, he gently pulls his hand back, withdrawing himself from you.

“Doesn’t matter if it’s beautiful or not,” he mutters bluntly, keeping his eyes downcasted towards his food. “It makes people uncomfortable. And that’s not something I feel like dealing with.”

Your frown deepens. You want to argue against him, explain to him that it’s not something he should be ashamed of. But the sad truth was, you don’t really know him. Not on a personal level, at least. Not beyond the title and the arrangements. So instead, you reluctantly sigh and give him a gentle nod, not wanting to press the issue even more.

A part of you had to remind yourself that this was simply all for show, and you shouldn’t cross a boundary that didn’t need to be crossed. All you had to do was to stay within your lane and continue this marriage as if it were any other business proposal.

The rest of the evening eventually dies down. He pays for the bill and now you’re both outside of the restaurant, waiting for your respective rides.

“You sure you don’t want a ride home?” he asks, keeping a polite distance, his hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks.

“No, that’s alright. George should be here any minute,” you wave your hand dismissively. “Thanks though.” you add with a forced tight-lipped smile.

Ever since you brought up his glove and the topic of his arm, the rest of the dinner was completely tense. You tried your best to redirect the conversation into something more lighthearted and playful, to try and get to genuinely know him, but he was completely closed off. It was as if he drew up an invisible wall just to shut you out. And you weren’t about to keep pushing just to crash into it again.

“Don’t forget,” he reminds you, keeping a professional and strict tone. “We have Valentina’s gala tomorrow night. Then a photoshoot later in the week for the engagement.”

You nod without saying a word.

Then, he turns slightly toward you. “If you have a preference for the ring, let me know. I can’t promise I’ll get exactly what you want, but I’ll take it under advisement.”

You just blink at him. Why even ask if it doesn’t matter?

You just let out a shaky exhale and turn to him with that forced smile of yours. “Sure thing, Congressman.”

He raises a brow, confused. “Are you upset?”

You continue gazing off into the distance, scanning the street for your car. “Why would I be upset, Congressman?”

He sighs sharply. “Stop calling me that. You said you’d call me Bucky. You know—for appearances. To keep it ‘natural,’ remember?”

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “Didn’t realize how hard it was to be natural when nothing about this arrangement actually is.”

Bucky just scoffs and shakes his head. “I told you we should’ve just stuck with the files. It would’ve been easier that way. More efficient–”

“Yeah, because God forbid someone actually tries to get to know you.” You mutter, arms crossed and tapping your heel against the pavement impatiently.

You didn’t realize how crude you sounded until the words escaped your lips. But to be honest, you were annoyed with the whole situation. You tried getting into this engagement with a positive upbeat attitude—seeing the benefit of it all, but Bucky was anything but positive and upbeat.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he mutters.

“Neither did I,” you immediately shoot back, glaring up at him. “But we both need this, and based on what I heard from Voss—you especially need this. But at least I’m trying to make it work. You invited me out tonight to try and get to ‘know each other’, yet you haven’t asked a single thing about me other than the color of my underwear and a sad flirting attempt!”

His face flushes, and he glances around quickly like someone might’ve overheard. “Jesus,” he hisses, dragging a hand over his mouth. “That—That was a joke , alright?”

You cock a brow, arms crossed. “Oh, so you do have a sense of humor. Who knew?”

His jaw clenches and he glances around again, double checking to make sure that you two weren’t being watched. Then he closes the distance between you in one sharp step. He leans in, eyes locked on yours, voice dropping low enough that only you can hear it.

“I know enough to tell you’ve got a smart mouth. You’ve got an attitude. You push my buttons just to see what’ll happen. You’re a brat. You’re nothing like the public makes you out to be. And most importantly,” he leans in closer, his voice dropping deeper. “You’re not a good girl.”

Your eyebrow twitches in annoyance. This man was completely insufferable. How is it that he’s a stuttering mess one minute and then he’s all confident and sly the next? You hate this. You hate him . And you’re not one to back down after being told off like this. Congressman or not.

So you lean in closer, matching his energy, your lips nearly brushing his ear.

“Red,” you mutter, your voice low and confident.

He’s thrown off guard, visibly confused. “What?”

You hear the low rumbling sounds of an engine, and headlights sweep over you both as George pulls the SUV up to the curb.

“The color of my underwear is red,” you repeat, giving him a sly grin. “So, what kind of girl does that make me now, Bucky ?”

And with that, you separate yourself from him. George steps out and opens the door for you with a small nod and you greet him with an innocent wave. You slip inside the backseat, and before you drive away, you roll your window down.

“See you at the gala, my dear fiancée,” you call sweetly, then blow him a playful air kiss.

He just stands there, scowling at you. His arms were crossed, watching you drive off into the night, listening to your soft and triumphant laugh slowly fade into the distance.

And now he’s left alone, outside the restaurant, feeling pissed off, confused, and annoyingly turned on.

back || next

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky x you #congressman barnes #congressman bucky #bucky angst #thunderbolts fanfic #marvel fanfic #the winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #making out for america

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airybcby · 6 months ago

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જ⁀♡⊹｡° hope you think of me

( rin itoshi x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — hi all! this is part of my new series! if you know me, or my account in general lol , you'd be able to pick up on some taylor swift references in the form of titles :) i do base a lot of my writing off songs! so, i decided to rework old work and...decided to start the new discography masterlist! the masterlist will be made soon, but the basics is that i paired ( almost ) every taylor song with a bllk character! i hope you enjoy the ride ;)

♡ content — rin itoshi x fem! reader, fem! reader, set in both before rin went to blue lock and when he is a pro soccer player, the past will be in italics, the present will be normal text, established relationship, rin misses reader, kinda angst?, unrequited love, pining

♡ synopsis — It all crumbled down the day Rin Itoshi got that letter from Blue Lock. Why couldn't he easily choose one...you? or his dream? In his mind, the two couldn't exist together.

The bright lights of the stadium flicker on, casting long shadows across the pitch as the crowd roars in the background. The announcer’s voice echoes in the air, but all Rin can hear is the soft whisper of your name in the back of his mind, a constant refrain.

His eyes wander across the field, distracted by the fleeting moments that remind him of you, even though he’s supposed to be focused.

It's strange how everything about this stadium feels like a reflection of you. The banner for the jewelry sponsor—that’s the one you always liked. The colors in the ad are almost the same as the ones in your old childhood bedroom, the same shade of deep blue that you said matched the ocean.

And then there’s the scent of fresh grass, the kind that always reminded him of the times you two spent lying on the grass after school, listening to music while you tried to figure out who was more stubborn—him or you?

He should've known it would end like this.

It all crumbled down the day he got that letter from Blue Lock. Why couldn't it have been easy? Why couldn't he easily choose one...you? or his dream?

In his mind, the two couldn't exist together.

"Why do you care so much, Rin?" you’d asked after his constant nagging about what you wanted to do after high school, your voice soft but strained, like you could already feel the weight of the words before they even came.

He should’ve softened, should’ve told you everything that was happening inside him, but he didn’t. Instead, he let the silence grow thick, each word building a wall between you that no apology could ever tear down.

He pushed you away with every passing second. "It’s over," he’d said. Even as his heart ached, watching your big eyes widen and fill with tears, he couldn't risk giving up.

He had to reach him.

"You wouldn’t understand. Whatever. I have bigger things to focus on than you."

Your eyes… they were full of hurt, but you didn’t say a word. You just turned away, the soft click of your shoes leaving out his bedroom door and home sounding like the final nail in the coffin of everything you had.

The crowd's cheers feel distant now, like they belong to someone else. Rin runs a hand through his hair, trying to focus, but all he can do is look around and see you everywhere.

The water bottle with the same brand you used to buy. The locker room seats that remind him of how you’d wait for him after every match, always there, your smile the only thing that made him feel like he belonged somewhere.

He remembers the things you liked—small, silly details that seemed insignificant at the time, but now, they’re all he can hold on to.

He remembers the little things. The music you loved—the way it played softly from your car every time you'd drove to the beach, how you'd hum along with the lyrics, your fingers tapping the steering wheel.

You said the songs made you feel alive, like it was a memory of something you couldn’t quite place.

He didn’t realize until now, standing here in this stadium, that he was the one who made you feel like a memory.

He stepped onto the field, shaking off the weight of the past, but even as the game starts, the images of you flood back in—your laugh, your touch, the way you’d get embarrassed when you said something too cheesy.

The way you always made him laugh without trying to.

"You really remember everything, don’t you?" you had said once, your eyes teasing.

"Everything that matters," he replied without thinking.

Now, as he steps onto the field, the memory hit him like a punch to the gut. What really mattered? Because what he remembers isn’t just your smile or the way you made everything feel like home. What he remembers is how much you gave him, how much you loved him, and how much he didn’t deserve any of it.

The game continued on, but the colors, the lights, the little reminders—they all blur together.

Rin’s vision fades, and for a moment, it’s just him, standing still in the middle of the field, surrounded by a sea of faces, none of them yours.

And yet, every second feels like it’s laced with memories of you.

hope everyone enjoyed :)

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!!

#★ · airybcbyy #airy posts #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi #blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #rin bllk #rin itoshi bluelock #blue lock x reader #rin x reader

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jjartaveces1 · 2 months ago

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Robin being the #1 shipper of these two idiots — a little progress check and a lot of love for the concept

This is a remake of a piece I did a while back — and honestly, the original has always been a bit embarrassing for me. Too many anatomy mistakes, awkward choices… you know how it is when you look back at something old. But despite all that, I’ve always been really fond of the idea behind it. So I decided to bring it back in a way that actually reflects how I draw now — something I could look at and feel proud of.

This time around, I focused a lot on making them feel like themselves. I put extra care into their expressions and gestures so their personalities came through naturally. I wanted that familiar chaos and sweetness between Luffy and Nami to show — and of course, Robin in the background being the ultimate quiet shipper. That’s a little headcanon I’ve always had: she often smiles at their nonsense in the manga, and I like to think she’s secretly rooting for them.

I also pushed myself technically in this one. I tried painting the hair more freely — building it up with brushstrokes and color, no lineart at first. I wanted it to feel loose and natural (hope it shows!). I even had to look up a tutorial to figure out how to paint the ocean hitting the sand — that was a first for me, and I think it turned out pretty okay.

I spent a good while struggling to draw Robin too — turns out I’ve gotten really used to drawing Nami, but not so much other girls lol. Still, I wanted to do it right and see how much I’ve grown. Comparing both versions is super motivating, and honestly? This fanart feels like the version I meant to draw from the start.

Hope you like it!

———————

Robin siendo la shipper #1 de estos dos tontos — un chequeo de progreso y mucho amor por este concepto

Este es un remake de una ilustración que hice hace un tiempo, y sinceramente… la versión original siempre me dio un poco de vergüenza. Tenía muchos errores de anatomía, decisiones raras de dibujo… ya sabes cómo es mirar tus trabajos antiguos. Pero a pesar de eso, siempre le tuve mucho cariño a la idea que quería transmitir. Así que decidí rehacerla con el estilo que manejo ahora, para por fin sentirme orgulloso del resultado.

Esta vez me enfoqué mucho en que se sintieran como los personajes de verdad. Le puse especial atención a las expresiones y a los gestos para que sus personalidades se noten de forma natural. Quería capturar esa energía caótica y tierna entre Luffy y Nami — y por supuesto, a Robin al fondo siendo la shipper silenciosa definitiva. Es un pequeño headcanon que siempre he tenido: en el manga se ríe seguido cuando los ve tontear, y me gusta pensar que en el fondo los apoya.

También aproveché para probar cosas nuevas técnicamente. Pinté el cabello de forma más libre, con pinceladas en vez de lineart, construyéndolo con color y forma. Quería que se sintiera más suelto y natural (espero que se note!). Además tuve que buscar un tutorial para pintar el choque del mar con la orilla, porque nunca lo había hecho antes — y creo que salió bastante bien.

Dibujar a Robin fue todo un reto también — me he acostumbrado mucho a dibujar a Nami, pero con otras chicas todavía me cuesta el doble jaja. Aun así, quise esforzarme y hacer justicia a esta escena que me gusta tanto. Ver cuánto he mejorado desde la primera versión me da ganas de seguir avanzando. Este fanart se siente como el que quise hacer desde el principio.

¡Espero que les guste!

#digital art #anime art #fan art #luffy x nami #lunami #one piece #cat burglar nami #monkey d luffy #nami x luffy

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lxkeee · 1 year ago

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I'M IN THE WIND, YOU'RE IN THE WATER

PART ONE

—Angel! Lucifer Morningstar x Mermaid! Reader

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Genre: Fanfiction/Romance with slight angst

Synopsis: what if there are other supernatural beings that existed alongside angels?

Notes: If only I wasn't lazy in making my titles have ombre colors I would've had pretty colorful titles rn>:(

PART TWO | PART THREE

Long before humans, supernaturals have already existed. One of these are the angels.

Lucifer was a curious angel, one of the first angels that was created by God. One of the most beautiful angels to have ever existed and one of the few who has the purest of hearts and intentions. Three pairs of wings adorning his back.

Despite his good intentions, the elders do not agree to his way of thinking as they think his ideas are a threat to the order they tried so hard to maintain.

With this, he was often alone as the other angels tend to avoid him.

So most of his time, he often flies around the vast lands of the earth. Getting his mind away from spiraling into insanity.

Lucifer wonders about the other supernatural beings, he knows they exist but he hasn't met one though.

One of the kinds he wanted to meet were the mermaids, he read about them when he spent his time in the heaven library. He thinks they are fascinating and beautiful based on the descriptions written on the books.

Oftentimes, he made sure to fly nearby the ocean waters. Enough that his body barely touched the cold water.

Unfortunately, he hasn't made any progress in seeing one with his own two eyes.

He sighs as he twirls in the air, large majestic wings flapping to keep his body in the air. His reflection is mirrored by the sparkling sea water. The light blue skies as his background, white fluffy clouds passing by his body. Strong winds caressing his face. A gentle smile on his face. He loves flying so much, he's free.

Folding his wings back, allowing his body to dive down. Spreading it once more to stop himself from diving into the cold ocean water, the gust of wind made by his wings made small splashes in the water.

He maintained this distance, his body a few inches away from the water. Keeping his body stable as he glides through the air.

A laugh escaping his lips, the angel genuinely enjoying this pastime of his.

Somewhere in the distance, a splash was heard. Catching his attention, his eyes whipping in the direction of the sound. His eyes widened when he could see a light blue and dark blue ombre colored mermaid tail splashing through the water and disappearing once more down to the depths.

A mermaid!

The discovery was enough for him to lose his focus as his wings stuttered. Making him fall into the cold ocean water. Halo disappeared when he made contact with the water.

His eyes widened in panic, his wings would be soaked and that means he couldn't fly. He could feel his body getting heavier as his clothes got dense from the water. He struggled to keep himself afloat, his wings adding a weight for him to carry.

Water begins to fill his lungs as he struggles to breathe, his consciousness begins to slowly fade away. Before his world was enveloped with total darkness, he swore he could see a blurry figure swimming towards him.

[y/n] groaned in annoyance, she just went for a small swim. She didn't expect to see an angel and she surely didn't expect the dumbass to fall into the water.

Watching as the angel struggled to swim upwards, she sighs softly to herself as she began to swim towards the drowning male. Worry in her heart when she saw him close his eyes.

Catching him into her arms, his head on her shoulder. Keeping him steady as she swam upwards, her powerful light blue and dark blue ombre tail moving against the current.

Their heads are finally out to the surface, [y/n] turns her head around—left and right as she looks for a nearby land. Finally seeing one, an island a few distance away from them.

The angel is still unconscious in her arms, carrying both of them against the current. Making sure his head remained on the surface. To avoid more water getting into his lungs. Her gills open slightly as she breathes in the oxygen in the surface.

Finally arriving at the shore, she drags the heavy angel. Muttering something in her language, annoyance in her voice.

She finally managed to bring him to dry land, the angel was a mess, his light blond hair all over his face. Moving away his hair so she could perform CPR on the male, as she did so. She pauses.

He's... He's beautiful.

Red circles adorning his pale cheeks, highlighting his beautiful angelic face. Plump and soft lips.

[y/n] shakes her head to shake off the intrusive thoughts. Pressing her hands against his chest, pushing it so the water in his lungs would be pushed out.

Tucking her long hair behind her ear as she leans down, pressing her lips against his and breathing back oxygen back into his lungs.

Removing her lips from his, she returns to pumping his chest again to remove the water and then once more pressing her lips against his to give him air.

The taste of salty sea water fills his throat as he finally coughs, coughing out the water that filled his lungs. His ear finally registering different sensations around him—the familiar feeling of sand against his skin, the sound of the ocean waves hitting the shore.

He breathes heavily, trying to catch his breath as he opens his eyes to see.

A very gorgeous woman in front of him.

That surprises him, causing him to jolt upwards.

Accidentally headbutting her in the process.

“Ow!”

“Ouch!”

Both of them yelled in pain, their foreheads aching from the impact.

“Is that how angels treat their saviors?” the girl asked, eyebrows furrowed as she glared at him slightly. Her hand rubbing the painful area on her forehead.

Lucifer finally got a good look at her, she's beautiful. Like an out of this world beautiful.

His eyes landed on the gills and light blue scales on her neck, his eyes widened as he finally remembers why he drowned.

His eyes moved downwards to her body to see the large and majestic beautiful light blue and dark blue ombre mermaid tail on her body.

Though, heat filled his cheeks as he realized the girl was naked.

Avoiding her gaze, hand on his collar as it suddenly felt tight than usual.

“Sorry and thank you for saving me.” he says shyly and the girl just raised an eyebrow. Finding the angel cute, especially when she knows he got shy when he realizes she's topless.

“It is no problem, though, make sure not to drown yourself while flying.” she says with a deadpan making Lucifer cover his face with his hand in embarrassment.

“Sorry, you just caught me off guard that's all. Normally, I'm not that careless.” he explained shyly, [y/n] raising an eyebrow at him.

“So it's my fault you almost drowned then?” she asked with a small glare, Lucifer began to panic and [y/n] laughs softly.

“I am just teasing you.” she says with a smile, her laugh reminding him of the soft bells that often ring in heaven that were pleasant to listen to.

Lucifer's tensed shoulders relaxed as he calmed down.

“I am really sorry for being reckless.” he apologizes sincerely and the mermaid smiled softly at him.

“No worries, though, I have a favor to ask you.” she says and Lucifer raised an eyebrow, “What is it?”

“May I know the name of the angel I just saved?” she asked him, giving him a close eyed smile.

He blushed slightly and smiled, “Lucifer, Lucifer Morningstar.” he introduced himself.

“Lucifer Morningstar, what a beautiful name for someone as beautiful as you.” She says with a smile, the compliment making Lucifer's cheeks heat up more. How befitting for him, Morningstar. The star you can see during earliest dawn.

“Nice to meet you Lucifer, my name is [y/n], [y/n] Soleil.” she introduces herself.

Soleil, that means sun. How fitting for someone like her, she looks like she shines the brightest like the sun.

“Nice to meet you, [y/n].” he says, gently holding her hand and placing a kiss on her knuckle.

[y/n]'s cheeks heat up slightly. Heart beating erratically.

Both of their hearts are thumping so loudly against their ribcages.

They spent most of the day by the sandy shore, [y/n] keeping him company as he dried himself.

They have gotten to know each other, having a similar mindset and interests. Made them bond.

The sun was finally setting on the horizon, the shades of orange, pink, blue, yellow, and red adorned the ocean as the sun finally kissed the sea.

Lucifer has finally dried himself up, his wings now lightweight now that it's dry.

The day has finally come to an end. Standing up from where he was sitting.

Both of them know that they finally need to say their goodbyes.

“I... I need to go now...” Lucifer whispers hesitantly and [y/n] smiled, lacing her hand with his to give it an assuring squeeze.

“I know, it has been truly fun spending the day with you. If you want to hang out again, I'm just swimming around these areas. So you know where to find me.” she says with a wink at him making him smile.

“I'll keep that in mind, I'll see you around [y/n]. Farewell.” he says sadly, spreading his wings and finally took off. He looks back down to see her returning to the water.

Her tail disappearing back into the deep depths.

Her head popping back out into the surface, he could see her waving at him and he waved back.

Both of them left at the same time. Maybe they'll see each other soon.

TAGLIST:

@adaizel @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @thedarkkitten @selvyyr @froggybich @brithedemonspawn @kottenox @totallymitya @many-fandoms-lover @dou-dou @mezzyb0nb0n @n1chxyaaenthusiast @cherry-4200 @koirb @galaxyj3lly @crystalplays28 @luleck @scootinonyourmom @rory-cakes @mixplara @crescent-z @bitchyzombienacho @kalisha2004 @altervex

#lucifer morningstar x reader #lxkeee hazbin hotel masterlist #hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer #lucifer magne #lxkeee answers #hazbin hotel x reader #lxkeee updates #lucifer morningstar

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nandolonso · 10 months ago

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UNDISCLOSED DESIRES (Fernando Alonso x Reader)

TITLE: Undisclosed Desires – aka who is the biggest fan of whom? (Fernando Alonso x Reader)

I got inspired after Baku. P6 BABY, LET’S GOOOOOOOOOO!

FYI: English is not my main language nor is Spanish. I’m sorry for any mistakes.

Word count: 4K

Warnings: self-doubt, self-image issues, kind of shy reader, reassuring and slightly dominant Nando (who worships the shit out of you), happiness, positive social media presence, Spanish, dirty talking and fingering, smuttish – I hope you enjoy it. 😉

Recommended song: Undisclosed Desires by Muse

Explanation: Y/N – your name, Y/H/C – your hair color

Also, this GIF is chef's kiss, his gaze is so intense. GOSH!!! 🔥 I hope you'll like it. Let me know what you think! ❤️‍🔥

It was race day in Baku.

You were sitting in the paddock waiting for Fernando Alonso to show up. Your boyfriend. It was hard to comprehend that he was your man, your partner. It was an unbelievable title – but it was true, he really was yours.

However, the last period has been challenging for both of you. On the one hand, Alonso has spent several periods away from you, as Aston Martin has struggled to get a good position in recent months. Of course, Fernando took his job very seriously, so he helped the engineers where he could. They did a lot of test laps, planning, thinking.

As for you: you were an average person. You were not a reporter or a supermodel. You were completely different from Alonso's previous partners. You were ordinary – in the best possible way. But it was a very difficult situation for you. You often questioned yourself: were you good enough? Were you good enough not only for yourself but for him? Where did you belong in this world? Especially seeing the other WAGs, and how pretty and thin they were… And you could go on. So, all that time you spent apart didn't help your already fragile mental state.

It was tough for you not to project your self-doubt onto him. And you hated yourself for it. Because there was nothing you wanted more than to be there to support him in every race. To be there for him, always. But a lot of times your state of mind, the media presence, and all the hustle and bustle didn't help you at all. That's why you stayed mostly in the background, as you didn't want Fernando to worry any more than he had been worrying lately.

Fortunately, Aston Martin recently managed to sign Adrian Newey to the team, and you could almost see the "life" returning to Fernando's eyes. The love of your life was shining as he entered the paddock: his stance was firm and confident, that mischievous smile at the corner of his mouth was back, and his gaze was sparkling with fire which you hadn't seen for a long time now.

You couldn't help thinking how good he looked. How he deserves to be world champion again. Your world champion. The thought made your chest tighten. You loved him so much it almost hurt. You wanted him to be happy and succeed so much – it was sometimes physically impossible to bear.

You have never felt this way about anyone, and you didn't want to lose him. You had been together for almost a year now, but you noticed your feelings for him growing every day. So, you thought this weekend was the perfect time to surprise him and actually show that. To be there for him not just mentally, but physically.

You pulled yourself together: you wore a custom Kimoa x Aston Martin shirt that fit your body perfectly. While you didn't have a supermodel figure, you were definitely gorgeous. You had a lot of heads turning in the paddock.

Your Y/H/C hair glistened in the sunshine, your fingernails painted the typical "Aston Martin green". You counterbalanced the shirt with a black skort that showed off your body perfectly but wasn't too much. To top off everything, you were wearing a sneaker to keep it casual. But the way you wore Fernando's name on your body – front and back, sparkled in his colors, and carried his brand proudly, you were anything but "casual".

As soon as Fernando entered the garage, he noticed you. But he had to look twice just to make sure you were really there because he was not used to seeing you around. Although he made no secret of you, he was very aware of how much you tried to avoid the public. He could understand that you were suffering with your own demons, and he knew exactly how harsh the media could be on F1 drivers and their loved ones.

But at that moment, he didn't care about anything or anyone. Just you. And all he felt was pride. You were a perfect fit. His perfect fit. And the fact that you were wearing Aston Martin colors, and his brand made his heart beat faster. Suddenly he didn't know what he was feeling.

The way he looked at you took your breath away for a moment. You felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room (even though it was half in the open air). The fire that flared up in Fernando's eyes was so intense, that you feared he would burn everyone alive. But mostly you.

Your feet rooted to the ground; you gulped as he strode confidently towards you.

"Mi vida," Fernando began, and leaving you no time to think, he pulled you close to him, pressing a passionate kiss to your lips.

In that moment you forgot that other people were standing around you. There were probably a few photos taken of you, but you didn't care. At that moment, it was just the two of you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer to you to deepen the kiss.

Not only his eyes were fiery, but so was the passion he kissed with. There was almost no space left between the two of you as he pulled you shut to him, his hand holding your waist tightly.

Your tongues brushed against each other to have a taste. You almost moaned out loud at the sensation, and you knew you had to stop now, or you wouldn't be able to contain yourself. This man brought out emotions that you never had before. With him... Well, you were always horny, so to speak.

Your cheeks heated up at the thought of him taking you there and then, so you broke the kiss. You tilted your forehead to his.

"Nando," you said breathlessly. "People are watching."

"I don’t care, mi amor," he replied, his Spanish accent getting heavier, which tends to come out when he's very passionate or angry. You hoped it was the former. "Estoy tan contenta de verte," he murmured into your lips in Spanish. It meant he was very happy to see you. You have spent the last year trying to learn as much of the language as possible, which he of course appreciated. You were of a different nationality as well and English was your common language.

You learned a lot from him in bed. He was quite vocal – to say the least. Calling you pet names and talking through it… Enough, you thought to yourself, snapping out of your trans.

Fernando laughed at your expression and how easy it was to make you riled up just with a simple sentence. It was as if he could see inside your head. It was easy for him to read you. And he enjoyed teasing the hell out of you.

He pulled you closer to him for a hug and pressed a short kiss to your forehead.

"I'm really glad that you're here," he said once again, this time in English, squeezing you gently to mark his words. "And you look beautiful too," You hugged him around the waist, burying your face in his chest and taking in his intoxicating scent. The smell that always kept you going: something leathery and woody. It was very masculine, but somehow still comforting and reassuring. Thanks to Boss. They were doing God's work with this man.

"Here to support the best," you muttered into his shirt. You pulled away from him for a moment to look him in the eye. "I'm your biggest fan, I hope you know that." He loved the way you were looking up at him: the way you were glowing with love and desire. How your lips were swelled up after the kiss, how you stood there in the garage, proud to belong to him.

Alonso was like you. He hasn't felt that way about anyone for a very long time. And although he did everything he could for you, somehow it was very difficult for him to talk about his feelings. And not because he was ashamed of them or because he wasn't sure of himself – he was too sure of what he felt. And it frightened him. He was afraid to open up and might lose you. He was old enough to know what he wanted, and he didn't want to start over again with anyone else. All he wanted was you. In the end, somehow, he was still afraid. You had been together for about a year, but he was afraid to say those particular three words, even though he kept calling you "my love" and its synonyms in Spanish.

And at the moment as he looked at you… He was sure. He was sure he wanted you for the rest of his life and that you weren't his biggest fan, but more like vice versa. And he wanted to prove it to you.

He pulled you into his embrace once more.

"I know, mi amor," he mumbled into your hair and pressed another kiss to the top of your head. "I'll put myself out there, just for you," he added with a gentle chuckle. You squeezed him and then let him go, knowing how much he had to do before the race. You took a few steps back just to take him in, now there was even more determination in his eyes than before. Fernando was almost vibrating with excitement, knowing you were there to cheer and support him. And there was something in his eyes as well that made the butterflies in your stomach revive.

"I…" you wanted to say something, but how his eyes softened with tenderness made you speechless. He slowly reached for your hands, his fingertips gently caressing the soft skin of your palm.

"Can I take some photos of you guys?" suddenly one of the team members of Aston Martin popped between the two of you. He was clearly making some content for the team's social media channel and even though you were nervous, you somehow felt put together and wanted to support Fernando all the way. "You look so good together," he added with a soft smile. You tried to find lies in his eyes, but he seemed sincere. Maybe it's time to really believe that you're GOOD and that you looked great together. Fernando Alonso wasn't with you for nothing.

Fernando looked at you and waited for your approval. You nodded slightly and Alonso immediately pulled you to him by the waist.

"The best girl on the grid," Alonso said loudly and proudly, pushing a soft kiss to your temple. You couldn't help but smile at his affection and you pulled him closer to you as well, while the social media guy snapped a few pics.

After that, he showed you all the pictures. As Fernando looked at you in the photos, all his emotions were clear: his eyes radiated with love and respect. And you were definitely glowing next to him. The guy went on to show you some of the photos, eventually stopped when he had taken the two of you kissing. You indeed looked very good together.

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself," he mumbled to himself. Fernando tensed for a moment next to you, waiting for any protest. But you didn't. You really did look good together and wanted nothing more than to show the two of you to the world.

"It’s okay," you started. "The pictures are really great," you reassured the guy and Fernando next to you loosened up. He pressed another kiss to your temple then took a few steps back.

"I'm sorry, mi amor, but I have to go now," he said. "Enjoy the race," Fernando added with a wink. That damn wink. And that damn smirk. Gosh, that will be the end of you. Pendejo.

You turned back towards the social media guy, and at that moment you realized that because of his interference, you didn't say out loud what you wanted to a few moments ago. You wanted to declare your love to Fernando for the very first time, out loud, but now you missed your chance…

"Can I take a few more of you, especially the shirt and nails?" he asked shyly, snapping you out of your thoughts. "You seem like a truly great soul who supports and respects Alonso, and I want to show that to the world," you were almost touched by his words. You were definitely genuine with Fernando and didn't want to use him for anything. You were just there because you were his greatest fan. And that was the best thing for you.

You nodded softly and you guys managed to make a full-on photoshoot in the end. You were surprised at how liberated you felt at the end, and you even chuckled and did some "model-poses."

"You're a natural," he chuckled but you soon stopped as the race began.

The race was very exciting. Full of overtaking and adrenaline. At the end of the race, Alonso managed to score P6, which is a very big word from Aston Martin these days. You couldn't help but be excited all the way through, expressing emotion and knowing you were going to be all over social media, but you didn't care. Because Fernando Alonso won. In your eyes that P6 was P1.

After the race, you ran up to him and hugged him. He still had his mask on, but you pressed a kiss to the plexiglass. Of course, the cameras were clicking around you, but you didn't care. Because you were incredibly happy, and you were glad for Alonso. And at that moment, that was all that mattered. If it didn't bother him that you were in every picture (and it probably didn't, because he'd asked you to come with him to the paddock countless times), why would it have bothered you?

In that moment you realized that even though you never said those three words, it was clear how you felt about each other. Alonso lifted you up as he celebrated.

"Yes, baby," he said then laughed. You loved it when he was so excited. And you couldn't wait to see what the new season would bring him under Newey's aegis.

A few hours after the race, you were sitting in your hotel room looking at your phone.

Social media, especially Aston Martin's official Instagram page, was full of you and Fernando. You couldn't stop smiling as you saw the hashtag #couplegoals and the many, many supportive comments from fans. What were you afraid of in the first place?

Sure, there will always be some people who don't like certain things, but the majority of commenters were supportive. At least, most of them. You locked your phone and looked out the window. You were thinking about everything that happened that day and you couldn't help but admire the wonderful view of the old town of Baku. You tried to take in every little detail, but your mind kept wandering back to how truly happy you looked at those pictures. And how you guys looked good together.

You let a soft sight as you snapped back to reality. You were waiting for Alonso and he was always on time. You were more the late type, but now you're well ahead of schedule. You wanted everything to be perfect. Not just for the night but for you as well. After the race, you took a thorough bath, did the typical "girly routine", used lotion, did your hair, your make-up... You wore his favorite perfume that made you both sweet and seductive – just to make sure he loses his mind. Then you put on an Aston Martin green evening dress that perfectly accentuated your figure and hid what you were less than happy with. That's how you were waiting for him as the two of you arranged to have dinner tonight to celebrate his placing. Just the two of you. You took your eyes off the city and slowly stood up and went to the full-length mirror in the corner of your bedroom to examine yourself.

You've smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles on your dress, but you've looked quite nice – even you were satisfied, which is a big thing. You nodded to yourself, just when you heard a knock on your door.

Slowly you walked over and opened it. There stood Alonso, in all his glory. He was wearing a black shirt and a black suit. For some reason, the color combination looked very good on his skin. His stubble was short and thick, the hair was all set. You were instantly struck by the typical "Alonso scent", the leathery, woody, Boss-y fragrance. Gosh, he looked delightful. Your mouth almost watered at the sight.

But as he looked at you, he was the one taken aback. You looked like an angel in that green dress. And he was ready to be your demon in that black attire of his, to lead you into the dark mysteries of the night as his eyes locked with yours. You were like the perfect match for him: black and white, Ying and Yang to each other.

"Y/N," he basically growled, as he stepped closer to you, his accent heavy. He tried crossing the distance between the two of you. The emotions of the whole day were stirring inside him. As he stepped closer, you stepped back. He looked at you as if he were the hunter and you were his prey.

His eyes burned with a fire you'd probably never seen from him before. You were almost afraid that as soon as he got close to you, it would burn. And you weren't sure you didn't want to burn all the way.

As you stepped back, he stepped forward one more step, closing the door behind him.

The back-and-forth game continued until you got to the bed. As soon as your knee hit the thing, a truly devilish smile spread across Fernando's face. His eyes almost darkened, with only one thing in his mind: you. Oh, he wanted to explore every inch of you like he'd never done before.

Suddenly you didn’t know why, maybe because of the intensity of his gaze, you felt very shy. You felt almost naked even though you were fully dressed up. You were almost certain that he saw right through you and he could see your flaws and mistakes. At least, that's how you were with yourself. Because when it always came to "that", it was very hard to switch off and let go.

"Mi amor," he started. "Look at me!" he ordered, and you obeyed. Not that you could argue with that: he stepped closer to you to lift your chin, so you had to look him in the eye. He could read you like an open book. He knew your past, your traumas, your hurts. "I know you've suffered, but I don't want you to hide."

That sentence meant more to you than you knew. The knowledge that he saw you, like really saw you, that you didn't have to hide yourself from him, and that he accepted you as you are, said more than anything. You tried not to get emotional, but you couldn't help it as a single tear rolled out of your eye. Fernando slowly wiped it away with his finger.

His gaze became a touch gentler, his hand slid down your face, down your arm, all the way to your fingers. There he intertwined his with yours and slowly guided you to the mirror.

"What are you doing?" you asked quietly.

"Trust me," he said confidently, as you stood in front of the mirror. The mirror was tilted a little so you could see both of your figures quite well. "You are the one," he whispered softly to your ear from behind.

You shivered a little, then let go and leaned against his chest. You closed your eyes for a moment, enjoying the way Fernando stroked your arm again, from the bottom all the way up to your neck.

"What do you mean?" you asked softly, leaning your head back to his shoulder.

"As I said, mi amor," the words rolled out of his tongue. "You're the one for me." You opened your eyes and again met that burning look in the mirror as he held your gaze. "I love you, Y/N, just the way you are," he admitted. "Completely and utterly."

The air caught in your throat at the confession. You looked at him with eyes full of emotion, then turned in his arms so that you were face to face with him.

You tried to analyze every little movement of his. Was it true? All the alarm bells went off in your head, but you wanted to believe it. And he seemed sincere. You deserve to be happy too, so it's time to give yourself to it.

"I love you so much, it almost hurts," you confessed as well. Fernando grabbed the fabric of your dress, it was really hard for him to contain himself. His lips hovered just a few inches above yours.

His chest tightened at the sound of your words, and he could barely restrain himself from taking you at that moment. But he wanted to make sure you felt worshipped and loved – just how you deserved it.

He brushed his lips against yours, looking at your reaction. Your breath hitched in your throat, and he loved the sight of it. He wanted you to see it as well. He wanted you to see how he makes you react. And how he makes you feel good.

He firmly but gently started to turn your hips between his hands. He encouraged you to turn back, so his chest could face your back and you could see yourself in the mirror once again.

"I'm only going to say this once, mi amor," he began, running his hand down your arm again. His voice was firm and dominant. You just loved it when he was like that with you. You knew deep down he was devoted and wanted only good things for you. "Keep your eyes on me," he said in the mirror. "I know it's hard," he added. "But can you do it for me, princess?"

You swallowed hard and nodded.

"Así amor," he murmured into your neck.

He placed a slow kiss on the back of your neck, then moved his hand lower, now on your hip. There he firmly grabbed the dress and almost ripped it off you so that now you were standing in front of the mirror in just your underwear. As he saw the black lace piece, another growl erupted from his throat.

"Mierda," he cussed at the sight of you. You would have preferred to hide. You didn't want to tear yourself away from his gaze, but you didn't want to look at yourself either.

Just like he could read your mind he said: "You're beautiful," sliding his hand from your waist to your stomach, so that he could slowly slip his hand inside your panties. "What did I say, mi amor?" he asked in a dominant voice, suddenly stopping in his movements.

You knew exactly what he meant: you swallowed hard. Once again.

"To look at you," you answered, searching for his eyes again. As your gazes interlaced, he began to move his hands once again.

"Así es," he whispered softly into your neck, then left a hot trail of kisses behind. At the same time, he started to move his fingers skillfully, reaching for the perfect spot: where he could feel your aching desire for him. The need started to pool between your legs larger and larger.

You wanted to close your eyes and lean back to him, to lose fully to the sensation but you knew him just well enough that if you would do that he would stop. He kept eye contact while his fingers were deep inside you. The demon in black, your demon who wanted nothing but to make his angel come undone at his touch and mercy.

"Nando," you whispered, as you looked at the two of you in the mirror.

"Sí, mi amor?" he asked, looking into your eyes while he kept his steady rhythm, collecting your wetness on his fingers, now pressing the end of his palm to your core. You bite down at your lower lips at the sensation, letting out a soft moan. "Use your words, princess," he smirked, knowing how hard it was to concentrate right now. He loved seeing you like this, and you loved the effect you had on him, as you could feel his hardness pressing against your behind. His intense gaze, his body, his touch, and his words almost sent you over the edge. Almost.

Then he suddenly stopped. You let out a frustrated breath and you get a chuckle in return.

"I…" you gasped and then shut up.

"Sí, mi amor?" he asked once again, tilting his head to the side as he was looking at you in the mirror. You desperately craved some friction, you even tried to rub together your thighs, but nothing helped.

"I…" you started once again, and he looked at you with encouraging eyes. "I want to…" your cheeks heated up at your words and you didn't even know why. "I want to cum." you finally managed to blurt out.

He let out a chuckle, grabbing your hips with one of his hands and he slid back his other under your panties.

"Was it so hard, princessa?" he asked, and he started using his fingers again. This time more passionately and faster. With one hand you grabbed Fernando's forearm while still trying to keep your eyes on him. "That’s it," he told you as he tried to help you finally push over the line. He knew how much you loved him when he talked you through it. "I want you to see how beautiful you are when you come undone for me," he whispered into your ear and that's what it took. You shook in his arms as you finally reached the highest highs, fireworks playing before your eyes and at this point, you couldn't help but close your eyes. Your feelings for him, his voice, his touch – it was just too much. You suddenly stumbled, but he was there to catch you. And he always will be.

"That's it, mi amor," he whispered, holding you close to him, while he pressed soft kisses to your neck as he guided you through your high.

For a few moments, you stayed in silence. Then he spoke: "I'm your biggest fan, I hope you know that," he repeated your words from earlier. Your chest tightened at his confession, and you turned in his embrace, now facing him. A soft and loving smile played on your lips as you pulled yourself closer to him.

“But you’re the one who won, we should celebrate you,” you said mischievously. You started to push him back towards the bed where he sat down, so you could straddle him. Fernando groaned as he felt you move against him. His whole body was becoming hard.

“Oh, we will celebrate, mi vida,” he chuckled darkly. “All. Night. Long.” he said and kissed you with so much passion that it consumed the two of you. Each one was like a promise, a seal, a mark for your happiness and a long, prosperous future together.

#fernando alonso #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso x y/n #fernando alonso oneshit #fernando alonso fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso fic #fernando alonso imagine

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persephonefawnao3 · 3 months ago

Text

Long-Awaited Caitvi Kid Headcanons

Welcome to PersephoneFawn's Caitvi Moms/Caitvi Kids/Kiramman Family Universe !!!

Basic Background Info

Cait & Vi marry not long (like a year-ish) after season two ends

But they don’t have kids until five/six years after (as seen in my fic, Buried A Hatchet

They end up having 3 daughters

Okay so now the moment we’ve all been waiting for…

Introducing the Three Kiramman Daughters :)

Oldest: Felicia, “Leah,” Kiramman

Born 6 years post-canon

Birthday: September 20th (Caitvi having a Virgo firstborn just scratches the itch in my brain)

Hair color: Indigo (in my HC they all have shades of purple for hair)

Eye Color: Light Blue/Gray (like Vi’s)

General Info:

The accident baby (Caitvi didn’t read the Hexstrap instructions closely)

Inherited Cait’s height 100%, tall as hell, tallest of the three

Lesbian

Very poised exterior but a secret science nerd (Jayce would love her RIP)

Her and Vi are both book nerds

Spent some time in Noxus with Mel (she’s lowkey Mel’s favorite but don’t tell the other kids), hated hand-to-hand combat before staying there but developed a knack for it

Feels an overwhelming amount of responsibility at all times (she is both of her mothers’ daughter)

Wears reading glasses

Middle: Cassandra, “Cass/Cassie” Kiramman

Born 8 years post-canon

Hair color: Mauve

Birthday: October 29th (what could go wrong with having a Scorpio middle child??)

Eye Color: Darker Blue (like Cait’s)

General Info:

Vi’s twin

Bisexual (not Vi’s twin in that respect LMAO)

The wild child

Learned how to shoot from Cait

Hopeless romantic

Has the uncanny ability to always beat Sevika in poker

The Amy March to Leah’s Jo (Little Women will always find its way into me writing sister dynamics, I’m sorry)

Has freckles

Youngest: Lavender, “Lav/Ven” Kiramman (not sold on these nicknames, still brainstorming)

Born 12 years post-canon

Birthday: March 2nd (little Pisces, my beloved)

Hair color: Lavender (of course)

Eye Color: Hazel/Gray (kind of like Felicia’s)

General Info:

Heavily resembles Vi’s side of the family, specifically Jinx

The token straight of the family (there will be a funny fic written about this)

Doctor/Healer (gets the interest from Tobias)

Often the peacemaker because her two older sisters can barely co-exist

VERY much the baby of the family, is protected at all costs

The only bad thing she ever did as a child was paint on the walls

Also has freckles

Inherited Cait’s social skills (my autism queens)

Everyone say a prayer for Vi being the only fire sign in the household.

Obviously this is very basic, but I'll add more as I figure more stuff out

Hope you enjoyed <3

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lcvelust · 7 months ago

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Autumn / Regulus Black

Neither of you can blame Sirius for running away.

The sound of students’ feet fluttering about was drowned out as Regulus focused on the door before him, eyes hard after abandoning the blank canvas perched atop its easel. Tossing the clean paintbrush from his hand, he watched as the brazen knob turns; brows shooting up in surprise as you peeked inside.

Just as shocked as he was, you cleared your throat rather awkwardly, while you were both evidently avoiding each other’s gaze. “Regulus.. may I come in?”

You saw the boy nod from your peripherals, looking down at his hands just as you gently closed the door behind you, the soft pattering of your feet on the carpet-clad floor loud in the spacious room. Slowly setting yourself down on the bed bench adjacent to the fireplace, you glared back at the flames, before Regulus deemed you startled by sparking up a conversation.

“..What’d you think of to be here?”

The frown on your face melted away, a contemplative look replacing it as you raked your brain for a second or two to come up with an answer, tilting your head to the side and sighing as you massaged the flesh of your neck.

“The same thing that you did.”

Regulus raised a perfectly arched brow, crossing his arms on his chest. “Sirius’ room in Grimmauld?”

You stifle a snort, “Probably.”

For the first time since you had entered, your stare drifted to his face, taking notice of the small smile that grazed his lips— a scarcely, stark contrast to the expression he bore outside of these four walls.

Meticulously analyzing his features from the usually neat tuft of black, curly hair atop his head, your eyes stopped on the slope of his nose, pausing to admire the little freckles littering the tip. You looked away, sighing.

“He’s been ignoring me. Your brother.”

“I figured that much.”

Your lips quirked up bitterly, an acidic taste enveloping your mouth at the fact. It was quiet for a while, the tenseness in the air noticeably shifting as you fiddle with the suffocating tie on your neck.

Reluctantly scrambling off of the stool, Regulus made his way over to the bed, settling on the foot of it. The untouched sheets crumpled, the mattress groaning beneath his weight. “I miss Sirius.”

He gently muttered, toying with the hem of his sleeve that ended on his forearms. Your eyes wandered, landing on the moving photograph of him and his older brother, remnants of their youth displayed on their faces as they showed off their pearly whites, albeit with a tooth or two missing.

“I.. I’m sure he misses you too, Reg. He loved— loves you through the bone.”

You offered, meeting his gaze. Neither of you looked away, and in that moment, it had been abundantly clear that you both sought comfort within the other.

The light reflected on his pale skin, dancing across the gloss over his eyes and the sharpness of his jaw, settling on the dark circles apparent of the late nights he had spent without a shut-eye. Pondering, you abruptly stood, taking calculative steps towards where he sat.

You took a hold of his wrist, softly beckoning him to rise from his spot. He relents almost immediately, letting you drag him to where his discarded art materials lay.

Still intertwined, you searched through Sirius’ shelves for some of his old vinyls, their covers a gallery of faded colors. You fingered along the spines, unflinching as they gathered dust, the crackling sound of each album shifting against the cardboard.

Pulling one from the box, the weight of it had left your hands satisfied as you slid it out of its sleeve. The hiss of the needle settling onto the record player filled the room, the turntable beginning to hum gently, letting the spinning disc produce a lone piano note sound through the air like a mist over the lake.

The music had acted as a quiet pulse in the background as you led Regulus to a space that was not as crowded, carelessly shrugging your robe off of your frame before clasping your fingers with his, your other hand trailing up his shoulder. With haste, he held onto your waist, sighing as the sounds enveloped the two of you, each one tender and light, yet full of sorrow.

Your feet moved in sync, reminiscent of the time you’d danced together during one of his parent’s elaborate balls, where you hadn’t noticed Sirius’ absence at the time. A pang shot through your chest, and you physically resisted from the pain.

Regulus guided the both of you as you slowly glided on the polished floor, twirling you under his arm as you laughed quietly. Before long, the two of you grew restless, heaving breaths just as you transitioned to swaying. You looked up at the younger boy, a tender smile plastered on your lips.

“You look so much like Sirius,” you mumbled, flickers of sadness fading away into the air like the wisps of wind as you cupped his cheek, thumb running across the expanse of it. “I don’t know if I’d ever live with that fact.”

The chuckle he let out sounded like it hurt, “Neither do I.”

You rested your head on his chest, an unbearable shadow that creeps, uninvited, into the quiet spaces of your mind badgering your heart. Its presence is sharp and insistent, like a thousand thorns pushing through your skin, each one leaving behind an echo that lingers long after the initial sting has passed. It claws at your thoughts, distorting everything into jagged edges.

“It’s quite ironic, isn’t it? Mourning the living more than we do the dead.”

Regulus felt you nod against his embrace, his limbs aching as he held you close. You were the closest he’ll ever be to his older brother once more.

He rubbed at your back, sight unfocusing as memories of the only person he has ever looked up to swarmed his vision. “Maybe it’s more painful to know that they could walk back into our lives again, but choose not to.” You sniffled, clutching at the fabric of his button down.

“I didn’t think he’d go through with his plans. I couldn’t stop him. It was his freedom before my protection. Still, I didn’t want him to leave me, but I never did want to disappoint my mother and father.”

You empathize with him, knowing that he felt about the situation deeper. “I understand.. I—I just didn’t think that it’d mean disappearing on me, too. No letter, no nothing. Not even a few words.”

Regulus shifted slightly, his hand moving from your back to stroke the hair away from your face, his touch lingering. “He didn’t know how to say it,” he murmured, “he doesn’t know how to say things. The love he had for you, it was there—beneath all the anger, all the rebellion, all the walls he built around himself. It was always there, just buried too deep for him to show it in any way that made sense.” You inhaled sharply, a small, broken laugh escaping your lips as you closed your eyes. “He was a mess. He couldn’t make sense of his own feelings.”

“Every day,” he continued on, voice barely above a whisper. “It was the same thing, over and over, until I wanted to scream at him to just tell you. Tell you how much you meant to him. But he never did. Instead, he just kept talking about how he couldn’t... how he didn’t deserve you.”

You felt the sting of his words, pressing your forehead against his chest again, unable to keep the tears from slipping down your face. The silence that followed felt heavier than the puffs of breath that escaped your throat, a thousand things unsaid, too many words that would never be spoken.

Regulus held you tighter, and your voice broke through the silence like a fragile thread once you calmed. “I know it’s not the same, and I know I’m not him, but.. I’m here. We’ll figure things out together, eventually. Especially dealing with your parents.” You chuckled, feeling your pulse pick up as you melted into his arms, the moment making an imprint in your thoughts as the beginning of a new chapter in both of your lives.

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livmightlive · 8 months ago

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LU Soul Eater AU: Four

I must admit, Four has a really edgy 2014 lab AU that I spent too much time thinking about. I did have fun though so here’s his backstory and a trigger warning for unethical human experimentation. I don’t think it’s anything more graphic than what would be in Soul Eater.

A small disclaimer: I’m going mostly off of what I remember from the manga for any sense of canon, I haven’t had the privilege of playing the game yet. 😔

I think I mentioned before, but each of Four’s colors are a different type of knife. Together they’re able form the four sword.

Green is a machete.

I decided on that for him because I think that machetes look really dangerous, showing up in a lot of horror media, and can cause a lot of harm, but that is not what they are meant for. Machetes are meant for clearing bush and foliage away to clear paths through forest or jungle. They can be used to obtain resources. A trailblazer or leader might use this knife. Green grew up with his father who was a captain in the royal guard. Green was being groomed as a weapon for the Princess Dot. Upon manifesting as a machete, a lot of people, especially Green’s own father, were disappointed and believed him to be a poor weapon for a princess looking crude and brutal. Together, Dot and Green proved the masses wrong, with them both proving themselves as leaders before fighters.

Vio is a throwing knife.

Vio is a child runaway. I can’t figure out what would be a good reason for him to run or what his family would be like, but I imagine he learned a dangerous secret. I also like to think that despite Vio being very smart, he can be unreasonable and is able to rationalize himself into making bad choices. He’s a throwing knife because it takes a lot of learning and skill to be able to wield a weapon such as that. It also takes something crazy to throw your weapon away from you and be able to rely on it to return. Vio can be recalled by his meister, but it has to be of his own accord. He can also control his flight to some degree. Up until the events I’ll describe in a minute, he had never been wielded before.

Blue is a trench knife.

In the background of the events during my story, there’s a war raging in the background that’s much more prevalent in Warrior’s story. This has caused a lot of children to be orphaned, Blue included. He grows up in a poorly funded orphanage and gets into a lot of fights growing up. I chose a trench knife for Blue because it is a very brutal weapon, something which I think he can be. It’s also a weapon that when you use, you know that you are aiming to really hurt your opponent and that you have to get really close to do so. There are also two main ways to use a trench knife, the blade, ofc, and the brass knuckles which I think kind of show how Blue thinks outside the box, especially in combat. It’s also a weapon that’s mean to be used when your back is against the wall.

Red is a Switchblade.

Red also grew up in an orphanage also due to the war. He and Blue grew up in the same place but weren’t close with each other. He definitely grew up more of a lover having a high level of empathy. Despite being picked on, maybe bullied a bit, Red is the type of person who never wants to hurt somebody else even in self defense. I chose the switchblade for Red because it kind of conceals its nature most of the time hiding in a sheath. A switchblade is a weapon that has to be used in close quarters, but unlike Blue’s trench knife, the opponent might not even recognize it as a weapon until it’s too late. Switchblades are spring loaded and fast, but by pressing a button, the user has a lot of choice before they use it. I think Red would be able to stop himself from being triggered in his weapon form if he tried hard enough.

All of the four were born in the same year, all being roughly the same age. (Yay this means I can choose their zodiacs!) When they were all 11, each of them were kidnapped in the same winter by a witch called Vaati. Vio was first, being a homeless child he was hungry enough to be lured in by the prospect of working for food and board. This later would be something he feels ashamed of thinking himself more clever than that. Next would be Red who thought he was helping an elderly woman carry her groceries home… into a dark alleyway. Blue would be next, probably just being classically kidnapped after he poked around somewhere shady. Green would be the last, going on a personal mission to investigate the rapid disappearance of kids from the city he lived in.

Vaati is a witch who is trying to make weaker weapons stronger in order to arm the army of the ancient evil (ganon) that he and many other witches are trying to revive. For his first experiment, he wants to fuse several small/young weapons into one big stronger one. He chose the four because they’re young enough to be malleable but old enough to actually be able to turn into their weapons. They also conveniently have a lot in common, age, gender, and weapon type which Vaati thinks will make it easier to fuse them.

Vaati begins a series of experiments that don’t really seem to make sense to the four. He’ll force them all to work together to complete puzzles only to rip them apart for the next few. Vio, who’s been there the longest, plays along well knowing what to expect. Green, who’s been training already for a long time, doesn't struggle too much with physical or mental challenges. Red and Blue however struggle a lot causing Vaati to use crueler and crueler experiments to get them to obey.

Vaati’s struggle with Red and Blue resides in that Blue fights back the most and is actually quite brawny for a tween and Red won’t fight at all refusing to take his weapon form and even if he does, he won’t unsheath. Blue is something Vaati must subdue and break in. Red is something to trigger. He routinely exposes them to extreme temperatures, Blue the cold and Red the heat, and subjects them to frightening simulations. (I’m basing this off the manga with blue being frozen, red in the burning village, the giant poe)

Most confusingly, he makes the four wield each other which is not natural/impossible for weapons to do. Vaati achieves this with the help of magic.

Vaati works using his own son Shadow as an assistant. Shadow is a similar age as the boys and enjoys the power he gets to lord over them. Secretly, he’s really happy to have so many other kids around. That being said. He hasn’t been properly socialized so his idea of trying to play with them is just by mildly tormenting them.

Vio is the first to start befriending Shadow. Like in the manga, he does this with the intention of later betraying him, planning on using him as means to escape. He unexpectedly begins to genuinely like Shadow and starts to experience extreme guilt in thinking about what he’s going to do. Nevertheless, Vio begins to start faking Stockholm syndrome. This is really confusing for the rest of the boys. Blue thinks that Vio is bad person and is actually siding with Vaati. This leads to a fight between them that results in Vio being separated from the rest of the boys. (I didn’t mention it but they’re usually locked in the same room between experiments.) Red believes that Vio actually has Stockholm syndrome and feels really bad for him. Green can see through Vios' plan but just thinks that it’s a really bad idea. He doesn’t say anything though because he doesn’t want to ruin it for him just in case it does work.

Red is the next to befriend Shadow, though it’s unintentional. Despite everything, Red does his best to remain kind, maybe not so much to Vaati, but to Shadow, sure. Red thinks that Shadow is just a brainwashed kid, which he’s kind of right about. Shadow starts to like Red because he’ll go along with any game he wants to play.

Green falls after Red gets more chill with Shadow. The games they play look fun and Green really didn’t have a lot of chances to play growing up. He starts to take a page from Vio’s book, trying to pry information where he can from Shadow. Somehow he feels less bad about this than Vio does.

Blue thinks everyone is going crazy in here so he takes to verbally bullying Shadow whenever he swings by. Shadow, being a weirdo, thinks that it’s a form of banter so he just bullies Blue back. Unexpectedly, and to his own horror, Blue finds it really fun to be able to have a witty back and forth with somebody who can match his level.

Shadow for the first month or two is really his dad kidnapped people his age. It’s so FUN having people to play with! He even has a best friend now in Vio. He doesn’t really think about the implications of his dad hurting his new friends, and his role in that, until they start acting different.

Vio starts having panic attacks (out of nowhere!/s) and can take hours or even days to calm down rendering him unable to even speak. This is the first thing that rattles Shadow. It’s the first time he felt hurt seeing somebody else hurt. His attempts to calm Vio down begin selfishly, wanting him to stop acting weird and to start acting like his best friend again. Eventually it turns into genuine and raw concern. Shadow, for the first time, feels bad because somebody else does. He starts just really wanting Vio to be okay.

His other playmates start breaking down too. Red is too exhausted now to play. He sleeps most of the day away and when he’s awake he’s too shaky and weak to do anything. Blue becomes dissonant, stuck staring at walls. He won’t respond to even the strongest of Shadow’s remarks. Green is caught between caring for the other two. He becomes too busy to try and pry information out of Shadow.

Then a day comes where Vaati gathers each boy and throws them into the middle of a collection of runes drawn on the ground with a combination of their blood. A flash and they’re all rendered into their weapon states, unwillingly. After a few moments there’s another flash and only a single weapon remains. The Four Sword. When the weapon takes its human form back, only one terrified boy stands sharing features of the four that formed it.

Despite Vaati’s satisfaction, Shadow feels that something REALLY wrong just happened, and it did. He later visits “Four. Four is shell shocked, barely able to walk, confused, and really, REALLY scared. He looks at Shadow and begs him to let him out. Shadow obliges.

Picking up the newly formed Four sword, Shadow vanquishes his own father and runs with his new friend Four. Shadow was greatly wounded in the fight, his father cursing him to never stand in sunlight. Four is traumatized and so confused. He decides to go to Green’s father, now technically Four’s father, unsure of where else to go.

The two boys tell the story to Four’s dad and a proper raid is unleashed on Vaati’s lab, leaving out the parts where Shadow was Vaati’s accomplice for most of the time. No body is found. Four’s father tries to defuse him, which just terrifies him. Shadow gets some medical treatment but most people don’t want to treat him, as he was Vaati’s son.

Four’s father, unsure what to do with two traumatized children, dumps them on his father, Four’s grandfather who lives out of town as a blacksmith. There they all heal and after a few years learn to defuse. They’ve all spent so much time together though that they can’t bare to part. They are literally part of each other now. Green’s father decides to give them all knight training and Shadow learns how to wield each of them and Four properly. They all know how to wield each other too but this is uncanny for a lot of people. Weapons wielding weapons…

Shadow goes missing at the end of a dangerous mission. All too soon, Four is called to accompany 8 others on a holy quest. He sets out determined to save the world and his best friend.

And that’s Four 😭 goodness that ended up a lot longer than I expected.

Please, and I’m begging 🙏🙏🙏, let me know what you think, your own headcanons, critiques, questions, ANYTHING. And who you’d like to see next!

Thank you 💕

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu chain #lu four #lu shadow #lu red #lu blue #lu green #lu vio #lu colors #green link #blue link #red link #violet link #shadow link #four swords #four swords manga #soul eater au

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