#a rare sighting of the plaid shirt

[the-eyes-of-andyserkis]

Slightly different shot from the Blu Ray "teaser".

Behind the scenes on the performance capture process in Star Wars: The Force Awakens.

[artyandink]

hyperthermia

Summary: Based on a request by @yinorathedragontamer. You needed a break from hunting, so you didn’t go on the latest one, but found you needed something to occupy your time. Just your luck that the Winchesters happened to return home when you were washing Baby, and you caught the eye of a certain someone.

A/N - Banners in use by @cafekitsune, first entry for Jensen-A-Thon!

TW: Set in S9 (so hot, scruffy Dean guys), and blatant checking out/fantasising

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Want to join my Dean Winchester (or any other Jensen character) taglist? Go to my main master list and find the Forms link!

Dean and Sam ambled back into the bunker, duffel bags carried by their taut arms like they’d done a million times before, so what should be a bag of bricks was a feather. Dean swept his hand over his mouth while Sam’s went through his hair, both ready to crash from the wear and tear of the hunt.

“I swear, m’ready to goddamn pass out.” Dean chuckled, nails scratching over the scruff that had grown on his cheek. He’d been hit a few times - not enough to cause bruises and whatnot - hard enough to cause fatigue once the adrenaline of the fight was used and faded.

Sam could only grunt in agreement, trying to rub the effects of a long drive from Oregon out of his eyes, paired it’s the disgruntlement of having to listen to rock tracks in the car. “You and me both. But hey, we should at least visit-”

“Roger that.” Dean cut Sam off before he could finish, in search of you. You were always a sight for sore eyes after a hunt, no matter what you were dressed in or if you were covered in blood; he enjoyed the vision that you were. More than he cared to admit.

He checked your bedroom, but he only found an unusually neat bed and a clean room, which was a rare occurrence for you and had him thinking that you were kidnapped, which prompted him to take out his gun.

You never did up your bed.

He crept through the hall, hoping to the good God that his boots didn’t squeak, but then familiar humming of ‘Stairway to Heaven’ caught the attention of his ears, originating from the garage. Followed by his arrival there, where he spotted you. And it wasn’t only just the sight of you that had him standing up straight.

You, in nothing but a soaked through plaid shirt tucked into some tight denim shorts, the sleeves of the plaid rolled up to your elbows and drawing his attention to your pretty hands. Hair damp and falling just right and had him biting his lip and fighting off the urge to ruin your friendship entirely. Droplets of water running down your neck, that damn sexy curve of your slightly bent legs and trailing beneath the v-shaped neckline that the collar of your shirt made that he was starting to think was made on purpose to make him go insane.

The image was too damn sinful. And he was suddenly not so tired and ‘ready to goddamn pass out’, more like licking his lips and biting the bottom one as he folded his arms over his chest. Eyes trained on you. Yeah, not so tuckered out anymore and ready to catch the full nine.

His bed can go to hell, he wanted you pinned against the bonnet of his Baby, legs spread wide so he could fit in between and show you how much he appreciated the job well-goddamn-done. Did he mention you were washing Baby? Probably not, he was too distracted with the way your hips were swaying as you stepped to cover another part of his beloved Impala with soap suds that then trickled down your own body and made your attire that much more see through and you that much more delicious.

Holy Jesus of Nazareth, you were giving his self control a run for its money. And his self control was likely to lose the money and go bankrupt if he wasn’t distracted pronto.

Wait- but why was he objectifying you? You were doing him a solid by cleaning the other girl of his dreams, why the hell would he think about your legs like that? And your body clearly outlined by the wet, clingy material of your shirt that he was starting to feel jealous of because he wanted to be that close to you.

No. Bad Dean.

He licked his lips again, his hips shifting slightly as he fought a clearing of his throat in case it’d alert you of his presence. His mossy eyes trained so precisely on you, it’d probably let you know he was there anyway, heat radiating from his gaze.

He didn’t want to think about the curve of that pretty neck. Or the way it’d feel under his lips.

Neither did he want to think about those delicate hands - that he knew were tough as hell - holding the sponge that was lathering up his Baby. Or the way they’d feel working his - nope, too far.

Definitely not the way the shirt looked like it now had to be peeled off your skin to reveal the treasure underneath, because god-holy-damn he had managed to catch a glimpse of black lace underneath that plaid. He’d happily unwrap you like a frickin’ present and it wasn’t even Christmas for about six months.

“Damn, pretty girl.” He muttered, running a hand through his hair that was begging to let his feet walk over, grab your hip and pull you into him so he could lick up your neck to collect all the water droplets running down them. What he wouldn’t give to just pop the button on those shorts, get to his knees and work you until his tongue ached.

Right there. Right-frickin’-there. Against his Baby-

“Pretty girl? That’s what we’re calling her now?” Sam muttered into his ear with a snort, not loud enough for you to hear as you bent over Baby’s bonnet in just the right way to have Dean’s eyes sliding down to that gorgeous ass framed in those shorts that should damn well be illegal.

Dean was snapped partially out of his thoughts, left embarrassed and disgruntled and somewhat still ogling that God-blessed ass before he followed Sam through the halls, the latter of which was sporting a smug smirk. “H-Hey, I was just-”

Sam raised his hands in surrender with a small laugh, looking back to Dean knowingly. “Hey, if you wanna check out her ass, do it at your own risk.”

“I wasn’t checking out her…” Dean got an image of it again and smirked slightly, jerking his head to the side, “yeah, maybe I was, so what? Can you blame me? That thing’s-”

Sam held up a finger, shivering in borderline discomfort as his mind filled the blank. “I’m gonna TMI you before you say it.”

“I’m just sayin’, I’m a man. I have needs, where a female who’s a badass hunter and also happens to be gorgeous and also happens to live with us is concerned. And it’s worse when she’s handlin’ my Baby.” He gave Sam a sheepish grin, but the younger Winchester only shook his head in mock disapproval, grabbing the duffel with his pyjamas.

“I’m going to bed.”

“You do that.” Dean grabbed his own duffel, heading to his room which, to his luck, passed the garage and you working on the car. You managed to lock eyes with him, and you gave him a cheery wave. He returned it, and as you turned, his eyes slid down to the curve of your ass again, eyebrows pumping once as a smirk stretched his pouty lips.

“I’ll see you in my dreams, sweetheart.” He muttered before he disappeared off to his bedroom to live his fantasy.

Meanwhile, you dried your face and neck off with a chuckle, going back to your room to change into some get into some drier and more comfortable clothing with a smug smirk on your face.

You’d noticed Dean through Baby’s newly cleaned mirror that you could probably sing ‘Reflection’ from Mulan in. His eyes taking you in and licking his lips like you were the latest snack he wanted to devour. His hands itching to touch you, his mind going blank when you pushed out your ass on purpose in order to catch his attention.

That was just phase one of your multi-step plan to strip Dean Winchester of his self control where you were concerned.

“Mission accomplished.” You muttered under your breath with a giggle.

I’d really appreciate feedback, loves! Have a great day!

TAGLIST: @k-slla @hobby27

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl. Chapter Three.

Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Four. Chapter Five. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight. Chapter Nine. Chapter Ten. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Chapter Synopsis - You and Bucky get closer. Your choice only gets harder.

Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au.

Word Count - 6.4k

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - smut. cursing. angst. alcohol consumption.

Author's Note - angels, i can only apologise for the wait!! i've had some stuff going on, and i was on vacation, so this has taken a while. thank you so much for your patience, kindness and support on Honey Girl - it means everything.

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3 please, send me your thoughts, predictions, desires!! i will get excited with you!!

Masterlist. Inbox.

The sunlight seeps through the stained glass windows, murmured chatter echoing off the stone walls around you.

You smooth down your dress and adjust your bracelet, smiling at the rare sight of your family and friends all gathered together in one place. Your parents are sat on either side of you, all of you eagerly awaiting the beginning of this exciting occasion.

Man, you love weddings. You always have. So much happiness and joy in one short day, everyone excited about the possibility of eternal love.

You're still sat waiting when you realise, with quiet uncertainty, that you're not sure whose wedding this is. All of your family is here, as well as many of your friends. So why do you feel so confused all of a sudden?

The Priest gestures for all of the guests to stand just as the first notes of the Wedding March begin to reverberate around the room. You turn around, craning your neck to try and get a glimpse of the bride.

You don't know her, but she's... beautiful. Long, dark hair falling in waves over her shoulders, white silk dress hugging her frame perfectly, accentuating every dip and curve. She has kind eyes, warm and brown, and a blinding smile that's infectious and dazzling. Her skin glows in the stained glass sunlight, illuminating her in an ethereal radiance. She has a beauty that belongs on the cover of a magazine, or on the ceilings of the Sistine Chapel.

You eagerly turn back towards the altar to find out who her lucky groom is. He has his back to you, dark suit stretched across his broad shoulders. He turns, and you can't help the gasp that escapes your lips.

It's Bucky.

You're panicking, suddenly. You want to scream, shout, run over to them and object in any way possible. Your Mom grabs your hand tightly from one side, as your Dad does the same on the other.

"Mama, I have to-"

"You can't, sweetheart. It's not fair."

"You made your choice," your Dad says kindly, not an ounce of malice in his voice. "Now you have to let him make his."

White hot tears drip down your cheeks as your chest rises and falls with frantic frustration. This isn't how you wanted things to go. This wasn't supposed to happen.

The lights in the church are suddenly too bright, the wooden pews too hard. There's an incessant knocking noise coming from somewhere in front of you, loud and overwhelming. You swear someone's shouting your name in the distance, among all of the chaos.

"Honey? It's Bucky. Are you okay?"

Why is he asking if you're okay? Of course you're not okay, you're in this living nightmare.

Nightmare.

You're having a nightmare.

You wake with a startled gasp, cheeks wet and warm, sweat dripping down your back. The knocking hasn't stopped, in fact, now it's even louder.

"Sugar? Are you in there? Can you let me in?"

It's Bucky. Bucky's here.

You throw yourself out of bed and race through your apartment, swinging open the door. Bucky is stood on the other side, still in his navy plaid pyjama pants, sweater thrown over himself haphazardly. You look down at yourself and see that you're only wearing an old t shirt, legs bare and feet cold on the wooden floor.

"Are you okay?" he asks gently, stepping forward into your space. "I had this horrible feeling. It was like... like I was panicking. I knew it wasn't me so I figured it must have been you. What's wrong, sweets?"

He snakes his fingers around your wrist and pulls you into him gently, wrapping his arms around you completely. You relax into his embrace, inhaling the warm, cosy scent of him. All the fear leaves your body, and you cling to him tighter, worried that he'll disappear any minute.

"I had a nightmare," you whisper into the soft cotton of his chest.

He pulls back to look at you, large, calloused hands cradling your tear stained cheeks.

"You wanna talk about it?"

You deliberate for a second before shaking your head softly.

"If you change your mind, you know I'll always listen to you. Any time. I mean it."

"I know," you say quietly. "Thank you."

You step away from him and towards the couch, where you curl up with your legs tucked underneath you. Bucky walks over to the kitchen, filling the kettle and placing it on the stove. He makes two mugs of tea, handing one into your outstretched hands carefully. He shuffles to sit next to you, pressed into your side, arm slung around your shoulders. You relax into the broadness of him, the comfort he brings, the safety. The two of you fall asleep intertwined, warm and content, wrapped completely in each other and the blanket of your love.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You're both startled awake by a phone ringing. The unwelcome melody is coming from somewhere between where you're nestled together, limbs intertwined and bodies connected.

"It's-fuck- is that mine or yours?" Bucky's mumbling as he scrambles amongst the couch cushions.

"Yours, I think," you reply, finding your phone on the floor where you've kicked it in your sleep.

Bucky finally finds the source of the noise, trapped in the arm of the couch. He presses the green button reluctantly, still disorientated from being woken so suddenly.

"Hello?"

That deep, raspy grumble of his morning voice is enough to make you melt back into your original position, the tone golden and honeyed. You slide back towards him and tuck yourself into his side, the two of you fitting together perfectly.

You can hear muffled talking on the other end, which takes Bucky a minute to comprehend. When he does, his eyes widen, and he looks at you like a deer caught in headlights.

It's your Dad, he mouths silently, muscles in his body going rigid.

Fuck, you mouth back, praying that he can't hear the two sets of heaving lungs on your side of the line.

"Yeah, of course. I'll be there. Sounds good, man. See you then."

Bucky's about to hang up the phone, when your Dad makes a noise of complaint. You can hear your Mom yelling something at him in the background.

"They're coming here," he whispers to you as quietly as possible, covering the phone speaker. "Fuck, what do we do?"

"Tell them you're already here... borrowing something. Or giving something back."

You shoot him a look that says trust me. Trust you, he does.

"I'm with her right now. I can ask, if you want? Yeah, just dropping off a couple of tools - last time I saw her, she mentioned a few loose screws in one of the kitchen cabinets. Easy fix."

You can hear your Dad singing his praises and expressing his gratitude, and your Mom asking Bucky to put you on the phone. He passes it to you carefully, as if it's a bomb, bound to explode at any given second.

"Hi, Mama."

"Hey, sweetheart. Bucky get everything sorted for you?"

"Oh, yeah. He's been great. Fixed it in two minutes flat. I just didn't have the right kind of screwdriver."

"He's one of the good ones, huh?" she chuckles. "We called to tell you that you have to come to our get together later. I know it's a little impromptu, but we have so much produce from the garden, too much for just us. We'll have dinner in the backyard, and drinks, and play some games. And we'll tell you all about the wedding!"

Your Mother has a gift for hosting. She's a people person through and through, warm hearted and kind spirited in nature. She loves having people over at the house, loves cooking for them, loves choosing wine pairings for her dishes and explaining each one carefully. It's a gift. She's a gift.

"I'd love to come, Mama. Do you want me to bring anything? I can make desserts?"

"Oh, darling, would you? I'm making a strawberry and cream tart, but you know it's nothing compared to your talent."

"Oh hush," you chide playfully. "I'll see what I can conjure up. Maybe I'll even rope Bucky in to help."

You wink at him cheekily and he laughs, the sound settling gently in your ribs like a caged bird singing it's morning song.

"Glad to be of service!" he yells into the phone, his right hand moving to rest at the nape of your neck. He massages the muscle there gently, and the tension leaves your body just as quick as it arrived.

"What time, Mama?"

"Everyone's arriving at seven o'clock, but you and Bucky feel free to come any time. Did you hear that, Bucky? Any time!"

"Loud and clear," he chuckles. "See you soon, Lori."

"Bye, you two. Call if you need anything. Love you, sweetheart."

"Love you too."

She hangs up the phone and you're plunged into silence, the two of you panting like you've just ran a marathon.

"Fuck," Bucky breathes.

"Yeah, fuck," you exhale. "Now my parents think I'm not capable of fixing a loose screw."

"It was the first thing I thought of! Sorry, honey. Didn't mean to undermine your DIY skills."

You fake angry, but you can't keep it up while he's looking at you like you hung the moon just for him. The corners of your lips twitch, and before you know it, you're grinning at each other like idiots.

"Now I have to make dessert," you laugh. "There go my plans for the day."

"You offered."

"I panicked!"

"I'll give you a hand, if you need it. I don't have to be at work for another hour and a half."

"It's okay," you reassure, reaching out to link your fingers with his. He's still absentmindedly tracing patterns across the back of your neck, the sensation almost soothing you back to sleep.

You relax into Bucky, and he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you. He's so warm, and soft, and broad. You realise that there's been two occasions recently where you've slept like the dead. Both were in Bucky's arms.

"You wanna help me make breakfast?" you whisper, careful not to disrupt the golden glow of the morning sunlight. The orange hue of the room feels fragile, sacred even. You don't want to ruin it.

"Of course. I can't bake, but I can cook. I have my uses."

"That, you do," you tease, leaning back into him as he places a tender kiss on top of your head. If you could bottle up this feeling of complete tranquility, you would. For a moment, everything else disappears. It's just you and your soulmate. Nothing else matters.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Bucky, as it turns out, is a decent chef.

Sure, he's not Michelin star level, but neither are you.

You're sat on the counter, bare legs dangling over the side as you watch him move around your kitchen with ease, as if it's his own. You can't help but notice the way he belongs here. Like he's been here all along.

Bucky leaves everything cooking on the stove to come to stand in between your legs, warm hands splayed across your thighs. He rubs comforting circles into your skin while his steely blue eyes look at you intently.

"You okay?"

You smile at him softly, draping your arms around his neck to play with his hair.

"I'm fine."

You're not fine. The words California and Bakery and Dream Job and Bucky keep circling around your mind like horses on a fairground carousel. The more time you spend with Bucky, the more your Tethering makes sense. The two of you work. This connection you have is made of threads of gold, braided into both of your souls.

"You've been quiet all morning. And... I can feel it, you know. This anxious, sinking feeling, deep in my chest. There's something really bothering you, honey."

You take a deep breath and grasp onto his shoulders tightly, grounding yourself back down to Earth.

"I'm okay. There's just a couple of things I need to work out, and I think they're giving me some anxiety. I'm just stressed, I think."

"Are you trying to convince yourself, or me? Because you're not doing a very good job of either."

He's only teasing, but the way he's looking at you makes your breath hitch. It's as if everytime he looks into your eyes, he's also looking into your soul. It's like he can read your mind. Your heart is covered in braille and he's running his fingertips over it gently. You suddenly feel very exposed, shrinking down into yourself on the counter.

"Hey, pretty girl. Look at me. Please."

He uses his finger and thumb to tilt your face towards him, holding onto your chin gently.

"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to push you, or anything. I'm just worried. It's weird, being able to feel what you feel. I think I'm still getting used to it."

You smile at him carefully, running your fingers over the stubble on his cheeks.

"I appreciate you looking out for me, Buck. It's just... overwhelming, I guess. Nothing's a secret between me and you anymore."

You both know that's not true.

"You know, if there's anyone who understands how you feel... it's me."

"You're right," you laugh, "on account of the whole half-of-my-soul thing, I guess."

"Exactly. It's scary, but you're not alone in this. The two of us will figure it out. I know we will."

He has so much faith in you it makes you want to cry.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer to you. He leans down and presses a sweet kiss to your lips, firm and reassuring. It's like he's reminding you that he's right here, in front of you. He's not going anywhere.

You might be, though.

"We've got all the time in the world, remember?" he murmurs against your mouth.

"All the time in the world," you echo, tucking your head into his chest.

He holds you close until your breakfast starts to burn. The impending fire on the stove is nothing compared to the impending fire that feels like your future.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The two of you eat on your balcony, tangled together on the love seat chair. The sun is beating down, beams of light illuminating Bucky, setting him aglow. He looks like an angel, the golden hue creating a halo around him. You wonder for a second if he is. An angel sent just for you.

"Oh hey, did I tell you?" he asks, turning as much as he can in his spot to face you.

"Tell me what?"

"Leonie and Eli are having a baby."

"No way!" you exclaim, grabbing a hold of his hands in excitement. "I'm so happy for them. Man, it feels like yesterday that they found each other."

"Right? Hell of a story, too."

"Rough one, though. I mean, imagine it. You introduce your brother to your new girlfriend, and turns out they're soulmates."

Bucky's laughing so hard that he's clutching at his stomach, shaking the chair and you along with it.

"That's fucked," he wheezes. "It's so fucked."

You can't contain your own laughter, not when his is so contagious.

"It's not funny," you breathe, but you're giggling so hard your sides hurt.

"Not funny at all," he chuckles, pinching your thigh.

"If you think about it, our Tethering is a little fucked up too. I mean, you're my Dad's best friend."

"Yeah... not ideal, huh?" he teases, still laughing.

"Not ideal at all, really," you agree playfully.

You sit in the quiet for a moment before you speak again.

"What do you think they'll say? When we tell them, eventually?"

Bucky thinks for a moment, cogs turning in his brain. He considers carefully before he answers you.

"...I think they'll be happy for us. Your Mom'll be excited. It might be a little harder for your Dad to navigate, I guess, but... he'll be okay."

"Yeah. You're probably right."

The rational part of your brain is telling you that he is. They'll be ecstatic that the two of you have found your person. The celebrations will be endless.

But there's a tiny, nagging piece of your mind that won't let you rest. It's taunting you, telling you that they're going to be confused, shocked, upset. That they won't accept the two of you. You can't lose them over a soulmate. You won't.

You clear your throat and stand from your spot, picking up your empty plates.

"Don't you have to be at work soon? I doubt you can show up in pajamas."

"I'm the boss, pretty girl. I can wear whatever the hell I want."

You raise an eyebrow at him, and he relents.

"Fine. I need to change. But I'll see you later? At your Mom's?"

"Yeah, of course. I'll see you there."

You walk Bucky to the door, opening it expectantly. He looks at you for a moment too long, still unconvinced by your reassurances from earlier.

"If you need anything, just call me. You know you can talk to me anytime, yeah?"

"Yeah," you confirm, absentmindedly playing with the hem of his t shirt. "I know, Buck. Thanks."

He leans in to kiss your forehead before leaving you in the doorway, more confused than ever.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You commit your day to baking your feelings away.

As soon as Bucky left your apartment, the space felt empty, incomplete. Much like you do. As much as you hate to admit it, you feel better when Bucky is around. You know it's the whole Tethering thing, but still. Your heart feels fuller, the world seems brighter, the sun on your skin is warmer. Everything's easier when your soulmate is next to you.

You click on the radio, a soft, jazzy melody filling your kitchen. You begin to measure your ingredients, picking up bowls, utensils and your piping bags as you go.

This is the only thing you've ever felt like you were made to do. Sure, you've had hobbies as you've grown up. You're a good swimmer, you enjoyed soccer, you weren't too bad at dance. But nothing compared to baking.

Which at first, sounded ridiculous. Grown ups would ask you what you wanted to be when you were older, and when you said Baker, they'd laugh in that patronising way that adults do. It didn't stop you, though.

Your Grandma bought you a half empty recipe book for your tenth birthday. You can create your own and add them, she'd said. You'll be publishing a book with your name on in no time.

Your parents took you on a European vacation when you were sixteen. In Amsterdam, you passed this tiny little bakery, tucked away down a back street. It was red brick with a big window in the front, showcasing the cakes and endless sweet treats they had to offer. When you peered through the glass, you watched as the woman who you assumed was the owner went about her day. She looked so happy to be serving her customers. You decided then and there that was going to be you one day. A Bakery of your own. A happy life.

Which is why you're having such a hard time. You haven't talked to Stella since she called you, and you're worried she's going to change her mind if she doesn't hear from you soon. You haven't talked to Bucky about it either, even though he presented you with opportunity after opportunity this morning. It's starting to feel like the walls are caving in.

So, you do what you do best. Bake.

The day passes by quicker than anticipated, lost in a cloud of cinnamon and powdered sugar. You're wiping down your counters when your phone rings, Bucky's name lighting up your screen.

"Hi, Buck."

"Hey, pretty baby. You want me to pick you up later? I'm passing your place anyway."

He's always thinking of you so selflessly. The thought makes your heart stutter for a moment.

"You sure you don't mind?"

"Course not. I can drop by at six? Gives us enough time to help your Mom set up."

"Sounds perfect. Thanks, Buck."

"See you then, honey."

You hang up the phone and realise the hours have completely escaped you. You jump in the shower and do your hair and makeup in record time, miraculously. You're stood in a towel in front of your closet when you feel Bucky pull up outside. The tension in your chest eases a little, and you take a deep, full breath. He knocks on the door, and you completely relax.

"Hey, you," he greets, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek.

You take a step back to look at him, and almost lose your balance. He looks ridiculously handsome. He's wearing a dark short sleeve button up that hugs his biceps so tightly, you're worried it might burst open. His jeans cling to his thighs deliciously, and the leather jacket slung over his shoulder adds a ruggedness that most men couldn't pull off. Your eyes rake over him slowly, taking him in from top to bottom. He lets you devour him, smirk never leaving his lips. Eventually, you meet his gaze.

"You see something you like?"

"You clean up real nice, Barnes," you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

You untangle yourself from him before you jump his bones, and walk back to your closet. He follows you and sits on the edge of your bed, watching your every move like a hawk.

You pick out a sage green sundress that skims your thighs and hugs you in all the right places. It's a warm night, and your Mom loves to start a bonfire when it's cold.

"Close your eyes, playboy," you scold jokingly, laughing when he flops backwards to stare at your ceiling.

You slip the dress on, and realise it has a zipper at the back that you can't reach.

"Buck? Can you zip me up, please?"

He rises from his spot on the bed and strides over to you, standing a little closer than necessary. He pulls the zip upwards ever so slowly, fingertips brushing your spine as he goes. He's so warm and so broad behind you that it sends a shiver through your body.

Bucky brushes your hair to one side and leans down to press a featherlight kiss the place where your neck meets your shoulder. You hum in contentment, which only spurs him on. He begins to leave kisses wherever he pleases - your shoulder, your neck, behind your ear. You practically melt into him, and he wraps his arms around you to keep you steady.

"You look so beautiful," he murmurs against your skin. "Prettiest girl I've ever seen."

You smile at his words, leaning your head back to rest on his shoulder.

"Says the man that looks like a goddamn supermodel."

"Oh, angel. Now you're just lying to me."

His chuckle rumbles through the both of you, the sound lighting up your nerve endings.

Your eyes flick across the room, where you notice the clock on the wall.

"Baby," you whisper. "You gotta stop. We're gonna be late."

He groans lowly and lets his head loll into the crease of your shoulder.

"I was fine until you called me baby," he murmurs. "Now that's all I'm gonna be thinking about for the rest of the night."

"Sorry."

"You're not."

"I'm not."

You both laugh and untangle yourselves, you moving to put on your shoes while Bucky straightens himself out.

"You gonna be able to keep your hands to yourself, lover boy?"

"I'm gonna have to," he grumbles, trying to hide the smile that's fighting to take over his face.

You lean against him as you do up the straps of your shoes, dancing your fingers down his arm to interlink your hands.

"Ready?" you ask, looking up at him with big doe eyes.

"Ready," he confirms, leaning down to kiss you chastely.

"A night of pretending that we're not soulmates. How hard can that be?"

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Pretending that Bucky isn't your soulmate is one of the hardest things you've ever done.

You haven't even made it inside yet.

Buck parks his truck in your parents driveway and turns to look at you. You've been silent the entire ride over, and it's making him anxious. He reaches over and places a warm palm on your bare thigh, thumb rubbing patterns back and forth.

"You okay?"

You take a deep breath, which is all the answer he needs.

"It's alright, baby. I'm nervous too. We've got this. We're alright."

You look into his eyes for the first time since you were in your apartment, and have to fight to stop yourself from crying. You nod and bite your lip, inhaling and exhaling carefully.

"You're okay. I promise. It's me and you, honey girl. It's me and you."

You want to crawl over into Bucky's lap and bury your face in his chest. You want to curl up in his strong arms and let his scent envelope you. You want to tangle your fingers into his hair and smash his lips to yours, until you don't know where you end and Bucky begins.

Instead, you bring his hand from your thigh to your lips, and kiss each of his knuckles tenderly. The gesture makes his heart beat so fast, he's a little worried he's about to pass out.

"Come and talk to me anytime tonight, okay? I've got you. I've always got you."

You nod again, and take another deep breath.

"I know, Buck. It's the only thing I'm sure of."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"My baby!"

Your Mom smothers you in a hug the minute you knock on the door, almost tipping you over in the process.

"Oh, you look so beautiful. This colour is gorgeous on you, sweetheart."

The heaviness of your heart gets a little lighter at the sight of your Mother. She's magic like that.

"Thanks Mama. Is your skirt new? It's pretty."

She gives you a twirl, the skirt billowing around her like a princess. Both you and Bucky smile when you catch each others eyes briefly.

"I got it on our trip! Your Dad got a new shirt too - he looks so handsome."

She's grinning from ear to ear talking about him. Your smile only gets wider.

Bucky gives your Mom a one armed hug, and hands her a white box with a bow on.

"I wish I could say this is from me, but I don't have nearly enough talent for that."

"You're plenty good at other things, Buck," she laughs. "What's in here, sweetheart?"

"Apple, carrot and cinnamon cake with cream cheese frosting. I piped little bunny rabbits on top, too."

Before she can say anything else, you take the box from her hands and walk into the house.

"We better put this in the refrigerator before the frosting melts!" you call as you leave.

"Come on Buck, let's get you a drink. Jack bought your favourite."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Your parents backyard looks incredible.

Golden fairylights adorn the deck, illuminating the dining area that your Mom has set up. The table is covered with a white lace tablecloth, and littered with tea lights and candlesticks. Each place setting has a wine and a water glass ready, fringed cushions perched on each wooden chair. There's a beautiful bouquet of flowers in a stained glass vase as the centerpiece, more flowers scattered across the entirety of the table.

The sun hasn't set yet, and the entire garden is dripping with the glowing orange hue of the evening. The air is warm and calm, salty ocean breeze only disrupting the peace occasionally. If summer were to be summed up in a night, it'd be this one.

Your Dad is pouring water into all of the glasses from an ornate painted jug when you walk into the yard.

"Hi, Papa."

"Oh, sweetheart!" he smiles in surprise, abandoning his task to come and give you a hug. "You look amazing. I like your dress."

"Thank you - hey, is this your new shirt? It suits you!"

"It's nice, right? Your Mom picked it out. She said the colour brings out my eyes."

You look him up and down comically, crossing your arms over your chest like a cartoon detective.

"Hmm... she's right. It definitely does."

You're both laughing when your Mom and Bucky join you, the two men immediately smacking each other on the back affectionately.

"Where you been, Buck? Work keeping you busy?"

"Stupidly busy - you wouldn't even believe."

"Well, it's your night off, so no shop talk!" your Mom encourages, handing Bucky a beer.

"Easier said than done," he winks, and your breathing picks up just a little.

"Mama, do you need help with anything in the kitchen?"

"Oh, yes please, sweetheart. Come, let me show you what needs doing."

The two of you leave the men to catch up, walking inside to prep the appetisers.

You're slicing tomatoes carefully when you turn to watch your Mom for a minute. She's chopping up basil, completely engrossed. The evening sun beams in, illuminating her as she stands by the window. You love her so much it makes you unsteady on your feet.

"Hey, Mama? Can I talk to you about something?"

She turns and immediately stops what she's doing, giving her full attention to you.

"Of course you can, baby. Anything at all."

You take a deep breath, and carry on slicing while you talk.

"So, you remember Stella, right?

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The night goes off without a hitch.

There's good food, gorgeous wine and even better company. Your parents invited many of their friends, meaning twelve of you are sat around the meticulously prepared table. In between courses, there's conversation, laughter and games, everyone letting go of the stress of the week.

You're doing everything you can to avoid looking at Bucky. You're worried that if someone catches the two of you, they'll know everything. You're surprised you haven't confessed already, the weight of the secret too heavy to bear.

Your Mom is cutting your cake on the table when there's a sudden commotion.

"Oh, fuck!"

"Shit! Shit, I'm sorry. Shit."

"Is everyone okay?" your Mom asks, flitting to the other end of the table.

"I'm so fucking clumsy, my God. Dropped my wine straight onto Bucky," Jesse, one of your Dad's oldest friends, explains.

"As long as it doesn't stain my white tablecloth, we're fine," your Mom laughs. "What do you need, Buck?"

"It's only white wine, luckily, so no stain. I'm just wet. I'm gonna go dry off."

"I have a hairdryer?" you offer without thinking.

"Good idea, honey. Go help Bucky upstairs while I get some paper towels."

You rise from your chair and make your way inside, heart racing as Bucky follows you. You rummage around the drawers of your childhood bedroom, certain you used to keep all of your hair tools here somewhere.

"You got it?" a warm, whiskey smooth voice asks from behind you.

"Got it," you reply, standing up with the hairdryer in your hand.

Bucky kicks the door closed behind him, and takes a step into you.

"I can't focus on anything when you're sat there in that dress," he murmurs. "Look like a fuckin' angel, all pretty under the lights."

Heat blooms over your chest, and you pray he doesn't notice. Your breathing quickens, and you step forward too, now chest to chest with him.

"I'm so worried that I'm going to accidentally blurt it out," you confess. "You're the only thing that's on my mind."

Bucky leans down to press his lips to yours, smiling into the kiss. You fist your hands into his shirt and pull him closer, snaking your tongue into his mouth. He tastes like mint and sugar and every kiss for the rest of your life.

He groans when you bite his lip, nipping yours back in retaliation.

"Easy, baby," he warns teasingly. "I can't go back down there black and blue."

You roll your eyes and kiss him harder, practically melting when he grabs at your ass roughly.

"What do you need, pretty girl?" he questions against your mouth. "I'll give you anything."

You're panting against him, vibrating with need.

"Need you to take the edge off," you whisper, hands shaking as you unbutton his wet shirt. "Can't carry on like this. Please, baby. Please."

"We've gotta be quick," he reminds, sneaking his hand under your dress to tease you over your underwear.

You grab at his shoulders for leverage, almost certain your knees aren't going to hold out long enough. Bucky doesn't even take your panties off, just slips his hand down the front. It feels filthier this way.

"Fuck," he groans. "This all for me, honey? You been thinking about this?"

"Yes," you whine. "All I've thought about."

Bucky wastes no time, slipping a finger into you easily. After a minute, he adds another, setting a steady rhythm immediately.

"Shit," you breathe, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his chest. "We're supposed to be taking it slow."

"You want me to go slow?"

"No, fuck," you say immediately. "Don't stop. Please."

He chuckles lowly, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you.

"I won't, baby. Almost there."

It should be embarrassing, how quickly he can take you to the edge, but you don't care. This is what having a soulmate is. They know you better than anyone - inside and out.

"So close," you whisper.

"I know, pretty baby. I can feel it. Stay quiet and come for me. That's it."

You can't hold out when he uses that tone with you. You're thrown over the edge, your climax running through you like molten honey, hot and delicious. Your knees buckle, and Bucky uses a strong arm around your middle to hold you up.

"There we go," he's murmuring. "Atta girl. That's my girl."

You wrap your arms around his waist and breathe him in, finally coming back to your senses.

"My parents are gonna wonder where we are," you realise. "Grab your shirt and the hairdryer. You're gonna have to do it while I recover."

Bucky smiles at you with so much affection, the world stops spinning for a second. This is a moment of bliss. The two of you revel in it.

Bucky dries his shirt while you go back outside, trying to keep suspicion to a minimum.

"Fixed, sweetheart?" your Mom asks, holding out a piece of cake to you. You take it gratefully and sit back down, relaxing into your chair.

"Yeah, it's basically dry. That hairdryer is old, so it's taking a while."

"Well you didn't miss much, other than Jesse telling the Joshua Tree story for the fortieth time this month," your Dad laughs.

"You love that story, asshole!" Jesse yells, just as Bucky re-enters the garden. He throws you a mischievous smile, which you reciprocate with ease.

Everyone is a little more careful with their wine as the night goes on, keeping all the glasses planted firmly on the table.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"So then I said, well, if you don't like it, leave!"

You're pretty sure you've heard your Mom's friend Cora tell this story before, but you're all laughing like it's the first time. She has such an animated voice, you're convinced you could listen to her read the phone book.

"Which, I mean, I didn't think he would. Imagine breaking up over a chinchilla! A fucking chinchilla!"

You're laughing so hard your sides hurt. You look over to Bucky, and see that he's grinning like a Cheshire cat. You could get used to this.

"So I watched him pack his shit, box by box. Which took fucking ages, by the way. He was using those big plastic boxes, you know the black ones? And he was filling them so carefully and so slowly, that I started helping him!"

You wipe a tear from your face, still doubled over in amusement. You're gonna be sore tomorrow, the way your abs hurt now.

"But I didn't want him taking those boxes, because they're nice, right? They're expensive, and they're mine! So I helped him move out, and then unpacked all of his shit so I could have my boxes back."

Your Mom, despite hearing this story before, hasn't taken her eyes off Cora the entire time. She's such a careful listener. It's one of the things you love most about her.

"Oh, I'll drop them off for you, if you like!" Cora yells, staring directly at you. Everyone turns to look at you in confusion.

"Why would she need all your boxes?" Jesse laughs.

"For the big move!"

Time stands still. The world goes silent. Your heart stops beating.

"...What move?" Bucky asks, never taking his eyes off you.

"To California! Her dream job, falling in her lap. We're so proud of you, babygirl. You've worked so hard for this."

Cora's tearing up now, the alcohol catching up to her. She raises her glass high in the air.

"To our little superstar. The best baker the world has ever seen! Cheers!"

Everyone clinks their glasses together in the middle of the table, except for you and Bucky. You haven't taken your eyes off each other. The world carries on, but you stay still.

You suddenly feel a cacophony of emotions - sadness, anger, betrayal, hurt and confusion settling like ten tonne weights onto your chest. Then it hits you - you're feeling what Bucky feels.

You feel a heart break.

You're not sure if it's yours or his.

tag list part one -

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[dual1pa]

"you're gonna make me fall in love with you"

steve harrington x reader using she/her pronouns

A/N: ahh the sweet smell of a best friends to lovers fic <3

WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY PLEASE !! language, swimming in underwear (both reader & steve) kissing w/ tongue, boob grabbage, missionary position but no smut occurs

(doesn't follow plot of Stranger Things)

She placed her Converse-covered feet on the leather seat of her best friend, Steve Harrington's beat-up Chevy. He received the "piece of shit car," as he would say, from his parents as a graduation present years ago. It was originally his father's work truck, but he no longer needed it.

"At least you have a car, son," he told him.

All her attention was outside of the car as Steve drove them to their favorite spot at the lake. It seemed as if no one knew it existed since there was never a soul in sight, which was great for the two of them to get away from the hustle and bustle of their small town of Hawkins, Indiana.

The scenery of the drive there was something else - especially at sundown after a warm summer day when the sky was filled with yellow, orange, pink, and purple.

As her hair blew from the open window, she hummed along to Tiffany's 'I Think We're Alone Now' as Steve tapped his hands to the beat of the song on the steering wheel.

Steve pulled into a rocky area where he normally parks the car, went to grab a blanket out of the trunk, and led her to their favorite spot.

Normally, they didn't swim in the water, just lay on the fuzzy blanket, listened to the water and their favorite tunes from Steve’s portable radio, and stared up at the stars.

She and Seve have been friends since middle school, yes, even though his King Steve era where he thought he was better than everyone.

The two of them rarely had fights, and when they did, they quickly made up and went out to get ice cream or head to their favorite spot on the lake.

They found their spot on accident after participating in an extra credit assignment for Ms. Taylor's science class - since the both of them were failing at the time.

Now, a year later, they considered the spot theirs.

Just like usual, empty.

Steve tried his best to lay the teal blanket down flat, but the grass made it difficult.

She laid down first, then Steve. He watched her figure out her next thought as she stared up into the cloudless sky.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, resting his body on his arm.

She turned her head to lock eyes with him and smiled, "I kinda wanna go swimming."

"I didn't bring a swimsuit," Steve sighed.

She chuckled, "Neither did I," quickly getting up and stripping off her T-shirt and jean shorts, leaving her in a bra and underwear.

Steve had seen her change a dozen times and she could care less as she had no shame about her body.

Without waiting for her friend, she ran into the cold but refreshing water. She dove under the small waves and resurfaced to find steve shoving his pants off, leaving him in plaid boxers.

Once he caught up to her, they enjoyed the water for a while longer then went to air dry on the blanket.

Steve reached for the radio to find a station playing a song they both liked. as if it was fate, one of their favorites played softly through the speaker.

He got up and started dancing and singing the lyrics, urging her to come join him on the imaginary dance floor.

She grabbed his hand to help her off the cozy blanket, grabbed her waist and started swaying back and forth. If she was honest with herself, she could picture a life with Steve.

She could imagine traveling with Steve, purchasing a home with him in the suburbs.

She pictured buying a cute little 3 bedroom home in the Indiana suburbs - definitely away from Hawkins. She pictured the bright green grass and being surrounded by nice neighbors and even getting a pet.

She pictured starting a family with him, though, she would never tell him that, unless the time was right.

Back in the moment, she couldn’t stop laughing at Steve’s horrible singing.

“stop it,” she leaned her head back and let out a loud laugh

“stop what? singing?” he didn’t listen and kept singing along.

“you’re gonna make me fall in love with you if you keep singing like that,” she smiled.

Steve blushed, “we’re literally slow dancing in our underwear, i hope you know that i’m already in love with you.”

That’s all she ever wanted to hear from her best friend, “i’m in love with you.”

He wasted no time to press his lips to hers. they were just how she imagined he would taste: a mix of mint toothpaste and the coffee he drinks daily.

she reached her hands up to comb through his damp brunette hair and moaned into his mouth, urging him to shove his tongue in her mouth.

he gripped her waist, then her butt, then her thighs to feel every inch of her, what he wanted to do for years.

the two laid back down on the blanket and continued their assault on each other. he fit right between her legs, but knew that she didn’t want their first time to be on the muddy ground.

to take a breath from their make out session, he rested his forehead on hers and smiled.

“can i call you mine? all mine?” he asked, placing a piece of hair behind her ear.

“that’s all i’ve wanted, steve harrington.”

he reached up to grab at her breast but she stopped before she got too turned on.

“as much as i want to, take me back to your place and take me in your bed?” she said, kissing his neck and down to his chest.

she’s never seen him pack up so quickly.

[kedsandtubesocks]

your heart, a sonnet

Author!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: you discover there’s more to your boyfriend than you realize

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, no outbreak/modern AU & Joel has both his daughters, surprise hidden identity reveal, grumpy but soft!Joel who has a secret love language of writing and love letters, mentions of unspecified age gap (reader’s age is not mentioned but Joel is older & in his 50’s), light discussion of reader and Joel’s insecurities, reader is addressed as darlin/honey/baby, a few spicy moments where Joel gets handsy

word count: 5.3k

a/n: I know, I know… this doesn’t seem like the typical Joel fic but i blame Pedro’s look at the Hollywood star walk of fame ceremony because it immediately made me think ‘oh that’s Joel’ and now here we are lol I couldn’t have done this without my forever babe @the-wild-wolves-around-you and i can’t thank her enough along with @ahauntedcowboy for always letting me scream about all my wild ideas, and now to you, if you’re reading this too I also can’t thank you enough ♡

You first met Joel at a bookstore.

The weekend after your birthday you went in to treat yourself and wandered into the records section of the store. As you flipped through the selections, the sudden sight of a Fleetwood Mac album had you inhaling sharply in surprise.

“S’good one.” That’s when the sudden smooth drawl of a southern accent floated out to you.

A few steps beside you stood an absolutely gorgeous man. The evergreen plaid button up shirt he wore flattered him as if it was made to be only worn by him. Rugged and distinguished, he seemed like a romance hero plucked straight out from one of the books among the shelves. You even blinked a few times wondering if he was real.

“If you don’t take it, might have to fight ya for it.” Even with his gruff low voice, an underlying teasing nature radiated friendly and light.

Now, many months later, a piece of you believes you might have fallen for him right then and there.

Joel is a rare beautiful soul of a man. He’s strong and a bit rough around the edges. He used to work as a contractor, even managed to build a very reputable business with his brother. His hard work remains effortlessly etched into his hands that now type editing books, his current job. He’s kind, so deeply loyal and loves fiercely.

With a yawn, you slip out of bed to pull on his cozy Texas longhorn shirt.

Heading downstairs, you walk among the clouds.

Instead of working at his office desk, Joel sits at the dining table typing away. Just seeing him wear his reading glasses sends a delicious desire trickling through you like a soft rain.

His dark earth eyes flicker up over the edge of his laptop and his gaze softens.

“Was wonderin’ when you were gonna wake up.” His wonderfully smooth as molasses voice makes you want to get caught up in its sticky sweetness.

“It’s not even that late. You’re one who woke up wanting to get work done on a Saturday.” You scoff playfully yet press your lips to his, a soft good morning greeting.

“Besides…who’s the reason I slept in so soundly, hm?” You smile against Joel’s lips that now twitch with a smirk.

His large warm hand slowly creeps up against your bare leg and rubs soft against your skin. After a few sleepy kisses, Joel’s tongue smoothly slips into your mouth trying to now consume you with a syrupy heat.

Joel pulls you down onto his lap. Your hands run up his chest to his cherub curly gray hair. His lips leave yours to start nipping at your jaw.

“What happened to working, cowboy?” You sigh softly.

“Come keep me company, darlin’.” He breathes out and any hope of maybe making breakfast is happily forgotten.

The rest of the morning unfolds at a nebulous pace you bask in.

When a late brunch is finished and you start cleaning up the kitchen, Joel’s warm solid hands map out your hips with other plans in mind. He slides behind you, a towering comfort that you lean back against.

“You’re extra handsy today Mr. Miller.” You tease.

“I can stop?” Joel offers while his scruffy beard scrapes a path against your skin. Against you, his broad shoulders, his wonderfully built frame, wraps you in his protective cover.

You hum a content no and move your hands over his now.

“Just wanna enjoy being with ya before I get busy.” Joel mutters while his hand slides down your cozy lounge shorts.

You had forgotten about his upcoming work plans.

You already want to mourn the impending weekend without him, but that can wait for another day. Especially when his thick fingers delicately, so sinfully, run up and down your underwear playfully touching you.

But then that weekend arrives and it brings a hollowness.

Lounging on the couch back at the apartment you share with your best friend, you force yourself not to text Joel again. He’s busy and you know this. So you vow to hold all your yearning and longing chained inside like a Jane Austen heroine.

“Are you done sulking?” Your best friend teases from the kitchen and you glare at her from the couch.

“I get it, being awake from your hunky handsome older boyfriend is hard. What will you ever do?” She snickers playfully. You’re tempted to throw the nearby couch pillows at her.

“What did you say his job was?” She asks.

“He used to be a contractor, but now he’s a book editor.” You answer.

“A hardworking hot Texas cowboy who reads and is a good man? Yeah, keep him locked up.” Your best snorts and you understand exactly what she means.

Fanged temptation claws at you more to text him again. Joel promised he would call you tonight and you don’t doubt him. But you didn’t realize how badly you’d missed him.

“Alright,” your best friend declares. “No more moping! I’m dragging you out with me to that book signing I’ve been talking about.”

She’s been obsessed with this apocalyptic novel series for so long. You happily tag along and even perk up when you see how excited she gets.

“And the author is finally doing a book tour! He’s kept his identity hidden this entire time so I wanna get a chance to maybe just even see him!” Your best friend gushes the entire time she drives you both to the bookstore the signing would be held.

Just so happens it’s the same bookstore where you first met Joel. A deep surge of affection swallows you whole and you float on blissful lovesick nostalgia.

Then the impressive line already waiting outside the front doors stuns you.

“I told you! It’s a big deal! Plus the series is so good.” Your best friend exclaims. She has been trying to get you into the series for a while.

The core of it focuses on two young girls who manage to survive an apocalyptic fungal zombie outbreak. The series follows the girls growing up, the journey to live with each other, and how it slowly bonds them as sisters.

“I heard they’re trying to make a Netflix series on it.” Your friend adds hopeful.

You can’t help but snag your best friend’s book copy she also hopes will get signed. Flipping through the front pages you land to the dedication page.

“To my baby girls, this will always be for you two.”

The author must have based the series on their daughters. That’s adorable.

Now curious, you flip to the first chapter.

“After seeing the end of the world, after witnessing the carnage of life consume itself, Ellie thinks she’s seen it all.”

Your best friend's sudden excited laugh pulls you out of the book. She’s talking with the other fans in line and you decide to join in.

Everyone discusses how worth the wait will be and how most of them even purchased the newest released book to make sure they reserved a slot for the signing.

“So why’s the author finally doing a face reveal?” You ask quietly not wanting to seem too out of place.

“So apparently,” your best friend begins in her hush about to spill the good gossip voice. “Some random ass moron on Twitter came out and said they were the true author. It became a whole messy issue of who it really was.”

Your best friend goes into more detail about how even a couple of online sites had articles on it.

“That’s awful.” You sympathize with the author. It must’ve been a headache trying to enjoy the peace of anonymity only for it becoming something used against them. You can only imagine how heartbreaking it was to see others steal and take credit for your work.

Like a surprise strike of lightning, an electric excitement suddenly breaks through the air.

Glancing up, you watch the line rapidly move towards the front doors. Time to go in.

Unfortunately, the main seating for the reading and q&a fills up fast. The bookstore though manages to wrangle the remainder of the crowd that can fit on the first floor towards a section where they can watch. It’s more than enough for your best friend who’s about to burst with anticipation. The buoyant commotion in the room even pulls you into its current and you get excited to see the new surprise author.

Soon a chic handsome older looking man, the moderator of the event, scurries to the front of the gathered group.

Warmly he begins the introduction to the writer.

First, writing sweet children’s books, stories for his daughters, those works became the author’s first publications. After that he navigated apocalyptic writing and his hit series has earned critical acclaim.

“Simply known as the anonymous writer J Miller. I’ve had the greatest pleasure to know this man as both his friend and now agent and I’m beyond proud to introduce him to you. Everyone please help me in welcoming J Miller!”

The thunderous applause and screams of excitement galvanize the entire room.

Then Joel walks out from the side.

Your heart instantly leaves your body.

For a moment you think your lovesick yearning heart has you slightly projecting Joel in any man you might see.

But the minute you focus, truly watch him slide into the chair, you see him.

Soft gray grown out curls, a strong beautiful nose, the patchy beard with the spots you love to kiss, and his reading glasses - the ones he’s so self conscious about because of how they make him look “so good damn old,” yet you love how they distinguish and elevate his appearance. You even remember the first time Joel wore them while he read waiting for you.

Truth makes its way into your heart.

It’s Joel.

The famous mystery author is your Joel.

“Thanks Frank.” And when he takes the mic, thanking his agent, his slick southern sunset voice melts the crowd.

“So, uh he’s gorgeous?!” Someone behind you squeals.

“Who would’ve thought he’d be this hot?!” Someone adds.

The whispers and mummers swarm like wasps buzzing all around you and you want to swat at them.

You can’t wrap your mind around this or the amount of emotions rushing through you. You feel separated from your body, floating detached from the scene and trying to gather yourself back.

Why didn’t he tell you?

Did he not trust you?

Joel suddenly laughs at something Frank says, that gruff wonderful laugh you hear after you show him a ridiculous video or his daughters tease him. It snaps you back into awareness.

“He’s about to read a section!” Your friend giddily whispers under her breath

Now you fully focus on this man, this almost stranger.

He’s so handsome it isn’t fair. He looks like a distinguished professor and your throat tightens seeing how broad his shoulders look in the dark casual suit jacket he wears.

“One of my favorite parts.” He admits quietly. “It’s when Ellie and Sarah realize they can make it outta Pittsburgh together.”

His daughters. He named his characters after them.

Joel clears his throat and begins.

He reads the passage with a magnetic cadence. The words slip from him like the smooth drink of whiskey that lingers on your tongue. When he finishes, an ache twists in your chest.

The applause he gets is shatteringly loud. The smallest bit of pride does float through you. But confusion drowns it out.

The floor now opens to quick questions. Some are about the book itself and the certain decisions made writing wise. Others are obviously about why he stayed hidden for so long.

That one perks you up quickly.

In such typical Joel fashion, he shrugs.

“Just couldn’t figure out Twitter, s’all.”

Everyone laughs at his playful reply and you do as well, but it sounds hollow and watery.

Soon enough the last question arrives.

“Do you ever see yourself writing for any other genres? I mean, we’ve seen horror and some moments of romance in the series. So I’m just curious if you’d write anything else?!” The lady asks brightly and now you simply settle your thoughts aside to listen.

Joel chuckes, a bit breathless and his gaze drops. This entire time he’s teetered between a sly southern charm that’s hypnotized you, to being guarded almost a bit nervous.

But now a boyishly hesitant grin falls over him and it’s so familiar.

”Uh, guess romance would be the next I’d maybe try.” He answers low, bashful.

The crowd erupts into fangirl like shrieks.

“Right?! I keep saying he doesn’t know the potential he has if he became a romance writer!” Frank, who has such a bright and lovely personality, adds.

Too many emotions clash in you.

You wonder if he wants to explore romance writing because of you?

Or a much harsher voice creeps out from the back of your mind whispering maybe you’re just being used for source material.

You quickly stomp those thoughts away.

The rest of the event shifts to the signing and you walk in a sort of guided daze.

“You okay?” Your best friend asks gently, noticing your slight mood change.

You don’t have the heart to tell her the truth yet. This was something she had been looking forward to and you didn’t want to ruin her excitement or experience. So you wearily just smile and tell her your head simply started hurting.

She sympathetically nods.

“Thankfully we won’t be waiting too long.” She adds and explains how the signing would be called by groups.

“We might not have gotten seats, but we did manage to sneak into group A for the signing.” She grins proud and it lifts your spirits.

The line curls against the sides of the bookshelves blocking your view of Joel. It becomes both a blessing and a curse.

Maybe you should wait in the car for his and your sake?

However, something inside you slightly bitter, raw and wanting answers, decides to stay. Besides you, your dear friend tries to keep herself calm but you can sense her bubbling nervous energy.

“I’d be calmer if he wasn’t so damn attractive.” She hisses and a jealous flare gently rises in you.

“Just think,” you reassure her. “He’s probably just as nervous as you.”

The relieved comforted grin she gives you makes staying worth it. But then all of that flies out the window the closer and closer you get to Joel.

Petrified dread claws its way in when you realize your best friend is next in line.

“He looks kinda familiar now that we’re closer.” The casual comment your friend says makes your heart sink.

“Maybe.” You mutter.

The times Joel has been to your place your roommate, your best friend, has been either at work or sleeping. You can only think of the first instant you introduce Joel to her when he picked you up on a date.

Your eyes flicker straight to Joel.

His hair seems so perfectly curled and his dark jacket highlights his wonderful grays.

Thankfully, any discussion of who he might look like gets squashed because your best friend gets called next in line. She turns to you squeaking excitedly and you beam back bright.

Joel lifts his eyes up, like a true southern gentleman wanting to give someone his full attention.

You wait on the side and watch the interaction unfold. Joel chuckles at something your best friend says and you’re glad she’s enjoying herself.

The book signing is done so fast. In a blink, it’s finished. With her newly signed book, your friend turns to you. She makes a slightly embarrassing but endearing noise of excitement that has you laughing.

That’s when your eyes flicker over to Joel and your gaze locks with his.

Instantly, Joel’s handsome face drops. His gorgeous earth eyes widen as he immediately recognizes you. His mouth falls open slightly and a flash of something close to fear fills the depths of his eyes.

He breathes out your name on a shaky exhale.

Everything seems to slow and stop. You don’t know what to say. So all you do is weakly smile.

The fleeting moment fades. The next group in line already giggles moving towards the table.

Time’s up. Turning on your heels to leave with your friend, Joel calls out to you, calls your name.

“Wait!”

You freeze.

Glancing back at him, Joel’s eyes pin you on the spot. An unspoken heaviness hangs in his deep eyes while he stares intently at you.

“It’s okay, we’ll talk later.” By some strange possession of slight bravery, or maybe delusion, you manage to speak.

But it’s all you can say and it’s all you can do before Frank, Joel’s agent, slides in to whisper something to him.

The moment again shatters.

Your best friend however grills you the rest of the day

That’s when you pull out your phone. You show her a photo you secretly took of Joel. It’s one where he’s adorably glaring at his ipad while he tried ordering take out for dinner.

Your best friend shrieks. “He’s your boyfriend?!”

He is.

Your boyfriend, Joel, is a writer, a very famous best selling author.

And that weight yanks you under a dangerous current you can’t seem to swim against.

Even after lunch, even getting back to your apartment and trying to settle your thoughts, your emotions are still so tangled.

You mindlessly scroll through your phone for the rest of the day and a blink, you notice it’s already early evening. Your plan to stay sulking is ruined when your phone starts ringing so loud.

It’s Joel.

“Hello?” You answer as composed as you can.

“Darlin?” His beautiful rich voice sounds hesitant and guarded.

“Hi.” You reply back quietly.

“Can we talk?” He asks just as low.

You agree, expecting to have the discussion on the phone. Except a knock taps on your apartment door and scares you right out of your body.

Ever proactive, ever the man who takes action, Joel stands waiting for you when you open the door.

You’re thankful more than ever that your best friend went to the gym for the evening.

“Wanna sit outside for a bit? Maybe get some air? S’really nice outside today.” He offers gentle.

He’s breaking up with you. That’s what your mind jumps to.

At least the weather is surprisingly kind this early evening.

You’ve sat out here on your apartment’s decent sized balcony with Joel before. But now the energy between you and him shifts strangely.

The sky stretches above a soft sherbet orange. A breeze comes, thankfully not too cold, but you think about maybe heading in to grab a blanket.

Joel however quickly slings off his jacket and drapes it over you. Always the gentleman.

The smell of his cologne, so comforting and masculine, wraps around you like a cloud.

You thank him with a soft small smile and Joel nods. Then he sighs and leans forward on the folding chair.

“Always loved the outdoors.” He begins, a small olive branch of a conversation to break the tension. “The girls and I love hiking the trails out by the lake. You ever been?”

You shake your head no.

“Maybe one day we can all go together.” The comment holds hope, a delicate thread of it. Yet you catch the hesitation.

Your eyes flicker to him, confused and cautious.

“Wait, you aren’t breaking up with me?” You blurt out, maybe just wanting to get it over with. You hate the way your voice cracks slightly.

Joel, with his beautiful concerned wide eyes, snaps his face to you.

“What? Honey no. Thought maybe you’d be the one maybe tryin’ to break up with me.” Joel, who Sarah jokes about how some of their neighbors question if he’s perpetually grumpy, stares at you with a tenderness that melts you to your core.

You can’t help but laugh watery.

“Why d’ya think I’d want to end things with you?” He asks patiently.

You can think of so many.

He’s a famous writer who’s about to maybe become an online sensation. He’s older than you, wiser and seasoned. He’s a full on father with young teenage daughters.

So you reveal your heart to him and all the fears that dwell in its shadows. You wipe away a few tears that manage to spill out.

Joel moves to hold your hands in his, a guarded warmth and protection keeping you stable.

With a heavy sigh, Joel’s attention fully focused on you.

“Honey…I’m so sorry for not telling you about my work, about me, sooner.” He earnestly apologizes and his words drip with comforing earnesty.

Now his gaze drops down to where your hand sits in his.

“Didn’t want it complicatin’ things with us. I knew I had to tell you eventually. But really…I was worried you’d see me differently once you knew. I know I don’t seem like the writin’ type anyway.” He mutters and you miss the hint of embarrassment coloring his tone.

You squeeze his hands.

This could never make you look at Joel in a negative light. If anything, you now feel proud knowing he’s a writer. You do explain your worries though and the ache you felt knowing he kept his from you.

“I know darlin’ and I promise,” he squeezes your hands now. “No more secrets between us.”

“You…us…means more to me than you’ll know.” He adds and you draw his hands up to your mouth.

You kiss his worn hands, his hard working beautiful hands that now move to hold your face so tenderly in their grasp. His thumb strokes your bottom lip delicately as if you’ll disappear from his sight.

“Can I kiss ya baby?”

You nod and in that same breath Joel pulls you towards him. He kisses you light, delicate enough that you feel so precious and treasured within his hold.

It seems like such a simple small kiss but it soaks into your bones.

You have so many questions. And as much as you’d like to make out with your boyfriend on the balcony, you’d like answers.

So you pull away and stand up.

Joel looks adorable as confusion paints his face.

“Don’t worry I’m just getting us a blanket.” You grin at him as you sling on his jacket claiming it as your own.

Blanket in hand you now curl up with him in the lawn chair, thankful for its sturdiness and cozy size. Your heart soars at how quickly Joel pulls you into his arms and basically onto his lap.

It feels like it’s been months since you’ve last been with him, or maybe that’s just how exhausting today was.

Joel sighs content and pleased once you fully rest against him. Hesitantly you ask if it’s okay if you can talk about him, about his work.

“Ask away honey. I’ll tell ya everything n’ anything.” He says firm.

You grin and your thumb starts stroking the back of his hand.

“So what made you decide to reveal yourself now? I heard there was an issue about someone saying they were you?” You ask, thinking of the discussions earlier with your best friend.

“Yeah..” Joel now sighs tired with an ancient weariness that settles over his handsome face.

“Sarah was the one who saw it first on Twitter or wherever it was.” He adds with a grumble.

Your heart aches knowing one of the girls saw it first.

“Didn’t help either that I ain’t online. So it became a whole fuckin’ mess we had to deal with it a couple months back.”

A light bulb goes off inside your brain.

“Was that when you said you had to visit a family friend out of town?” You connect the dots.

“Yup.” Joel nods. “Went to visit Frank, my agent, to try and figure this shit out. Could’ve let it all maybe die down but… ya know.” He huffs and you understand completely.

Joel is too stubborn, a bit too prideful. You almost snort amused just over the thought of him trying to let the situation blow over.

“Frank wants to meet ya by the way.” Now his voice dips with a bashful tone while his hands begin softly stroking your thighs.

“I’d love to meet him too.” You truthfully tell Joel.

“So, are you going to be online now? Should I start making secret accounts to follow you?” You now tease and Joel barks a beautiful amused laugh.

“Baby, I’m over 50. The only apps I need on my phone are candy crush and ESPN. Ain’t got the time or patience for social medias.”

Now you’re the one laughing.

It feels freeing, blissful, like this is the first moment you’re spending time with him all over again. Yet, there’s a deeper sacred connection that settles.

You can’t help but kiss him again and Joel eagerly welcomes you on his lips.

Now his lips move fervently, almost possessively, against yours, licking and trying to consume you. A small moan squeaks out of you.

“Come on baby,” he mutters, shifting you against his lap so that you fully feel his hardness straining against his pants. “Wanna taste ya.”

You’re thankful you manage to drag him back inside because you can’t imagine getting intimate with Joel on the balcony. Well, at least not yet. But that was a thought for another day.

Now in the afterglow’s soft relaxing peace you wish for more time with him.

But Joel must sense that ache too.

“S’late honey. Come back home with me. Even if it’s just for the night.” He mutters against your lips and you can’t deny him. You don’t want to deny him or the aching tug pulling you to him.

That night you fully embrace every inch of the man Joel Miller is and let a dizzying adoration for him swallow you whole.

The next morning, in the soft early still dark shade of his room, Joel wakes you with a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Gotta go meet with Frank for the day. I’ll see ya later, honey.” He mutters against your cozy heated skin.

You hum a soft agreement and sleepily wish him a goodbye before falling back to sleep. After that, you wake up later to a colder and empty bed.

Tugging on another one of Joel’s shirts you head downstairs already missing his presence.

And when you get downstairs, there on the table sits the most gorgeous floral arrangement. Its beautiful vibrant blooms make your heart flutter so fast against its cage.

A folded paper sits beside the flowers. Your name is written on the front in Joel’s slightly chicken scratch like handwriting.

You scramble fast to grab it.

A letter, he’s written you a letter.

“Honey,

I know I’ve already apologized and you’ve forgiven my old undeserving ass.”

You snort at that line but continue on.

“But I just wanted to fully apologize to you again. Might take me a while until I stop, but just be patient with my old bones yeah?”

You would. Your heart would and will always wait for him.

“Doesn’t seem like it but, I aint that good at talking about things, about my feelings. Shocker right?”

You smirk. You know he isn’t good with words - that’s why it almost feels ironic and a bit unreal that he’s an author.

You’ve discovered Joel shows his affection through his actions.

He spent an entire day rearranging a business scheduling conflict just so that Tommy didn’t have to worry about it. Joel never missed a single one of Ellie’s basketball games. Sarah only prefers a certain type of orange juice and Joel never fails to only get that one.

The first few weeks you started dating Joel you got sick with a nasty cold. He dropped off a whole bag of various items like tissues and cough drops. It was then you knew his heart shines through his actions.

He sometimes surprises you with an order from your favorite take out spot. He never lets you touch a door, always opening them for you instead. He’s the most generous lover and never fails to remind you of how tender, how consuming, his passion can be.

Joel does grumble, sometimes even seems grouchy, but he loves fiercely.

And now here he is showing you this side of him, this form of himself as a writer.

So you return to reading his letter.

“I got into writing because it helped me process all my emotions, my thoughts, the good and bad days - everything. And sharing my writing with others, especially with someone as important as you, still makes me feel so vulnerable. Funny how that worked out though huh? Guess fate wanted to drag my ass and make me face my fears and vulnerability and whatnot.”

Someone as important as you - The line makes your heart flutter.

“I know I told you the reasons why I didn’t tell you. But another reason was because I was afraid.

I was afraid of how much you mean to me. Telling you about this part of me would be taking a bigger step. And it scared me shitless. Cause darlin’ I haven’t felt this way in a very long time. Like, as Ellie loves to say, in such a long time that ‘dinosaurs weren’t even fossils.’

That makes you laugh a bit watery but you let his words carry you again.

“You make my damn heart race when you smile. I get so worked up just seeing you walk around my house as if you were always meant to be here. And I didn't want to lose that either. I still don’t.

You feel like a bright future, like waking up after a cloudy week and the sun greets you so nicely. And I just wanna stay in that warmth, your warmth.

Yeah sorry, that line might be too romance novel writer for my league…but like I said I’m thinking about it. And it’s because of you.

We said no more secrets yeah?

So I’m not lying when I say you’ve become so god damn important to me. And I wanna see more days with you, as many as you’ll have with me.

Fuck. This damn letter already feels too long and I hate my old ass for rambling and maybe not making sense. But I adore you honey. Plain in simple.

And I’m just gonna leave it at that.

Don’t miss me too much and I’ll see you soon.

P.S I picked that bookstore as the tour’s first stop here because it’s where I met you… and I’ll always be grateful for that

-Joel”

You now fight back an absolute ocean’s worth of adoration for this man.

Tears clog your throat and you try not letting them flood your vision, but it’s so hard. So hard when you’re this head over heels.

You don’t want to say it yet, and you don’t know if he’s even ready to say it, but the emotion filling you like a newborn star feels like love.

You barely manage to send out a text thanking him and hoping you’ll get to talk to him soon.

Joel, ever the endearing man he is, replies back with a simple heart emoji and you laugh.

You really might love this man.

And you hope, you so brightly hope, that he maybe loves you too.

You think of his book series, of how he became a writer simply wanting to tell his daughters stories. Those stories grew out of his love for them and now he gets to crystallize that among his pages.

You realize how writing truly is its own form of love.

After all, what better way for a writer to show their love, their heart, than to capture you in their words?

You think that’s where writers must live now, in the heart. Or maybe - your maybe gruff handsome one just does. And you happily welcome Joel’s place in yours and hope he resides there forever like a love poem etched into your very soul.

[poisonlove]

Omg! You're taking requests!!! ME haaappy! 'cause i have one eheh

Jenna xfemreader

where you find somewhere a love letter for you, actually.. The first part is really sweet, a classic love letter but the second part is.. quite interesting: the anonymous writer describes in detail what they would like to do to you and with you.

You want to find out who the writer is but a suspiciously nervous Jenna tries to stop your "investigation".

Have a good day:)

I actually like the idea a lot. Transitioning from a romantic sentence to something more sensual is something that had crossed my mind before, but I hadn't found a prompt for it until now.

I've made a few changes, but I hope you'll still like it. Enjoy reading!

I NEED YOU | J.O

As I open the locker in search of books for the next class, I notice a folded sheet atop my science book.

Arching my eyebrows in confusion, I scan the school corridor, trying to discern the mysterious sender. The only people around seem engrossed in their cliques, completely oblivious to my perplexity.

With a mental shrug, I abandon the search and focus on the letter, smiling shyly at the unexpected gesture. In an era dominated by technology, receiving a handwritten letter has become a rare and special occurrence. I delicately grasp the letter, running my fingers over the crumpled paper that evidently forced its way through the cracks of my locker. I flip the letter several times, searching for any name on the outside, but all I see is a completely blank sheet.

"Hey y/n!" The voice of the basketball team captain, Isaac Ortega, resonates in the corridor, grabbing my attention. I turn and smile at him, considering him one of my closest friends.

Isaac's brown eyes fixate on the sheet in my hands, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Do you have a secret admirer? Uyy," he whispers, attempting to grab the letter.

With a smirk, I snatch it away, tucking it into my backpack pocket. "Mind your own business, Ortega," I say absentmindedly, rolling my eyes slightly irritated.

Isaac raises his hands in surrender.

"Anyway, see you after practice?" he asks curiously. "I think so… now I have to go, I have a class," I reply quickly, grabbing the necessary book from the locker and carelessly stuffing it into my backpack.

My eyes shift along the figure of Jenna Ortega, Isaac's younger sister, passing by us. Jenna wears her classic earphones, walking elegantly in the corridor. Dressed in ripped jeans and a red and black plaid shirt, Jenna exudes a mysterious aura. As her eyes briefly meet mine, she gives me a small smile before continuing on her way.

I knew Jenna only by sight; however, our conversations were limited.

"Hey JEN!" Isaac shouts, trying to catch his sister's attention. Jenna stops and removes an earphone, turning towards her brother. Isaac grins widely.

"Remember that you have to come to practice today… you promised," Isaac pouts, feigning innocence, and Jenna rolls her eyes, responding with a raised middle finger.

I chuckle softly.

"I love you too, Jenna," Isaac exclaims with fake sorrow, smiling and giving me a quick wink before turning away, draping his arm over the shoulders of a guy walking beside him, most likely a teammate.

I sigh and start walking towards my next class.

(...)

With a heart beating fast, I step through the classroom door, and the breathlessness betrays my sprint to avoid being late. A hurried glance around reveals a reassuring scene: the teacher hasn't arrived yet.

A sigh of relief grazes my lips, easing the tension in my shoulders. The chance to avoid the stern gaze of the teacher grants me a moment of tranquility. With a stealthy step, I head towards the farthest corner of the classroom, finding refuge near the window.

I place my backpack on the desk and sit down, releasing a sigh of frustration.

With a resignation barely perceptible, I begin to diligently retrieve the materials for the new lesson when my gaze stops on it: the letter. An aura of mystery envelops it, and the curiosity creeping inside me is irresistible. The paper, still neatly folded, lies among the books and notes, ready to unveil its contents.

With hands slightly trembling with excitement, I grab the letter, fingers gliding over the smooth surface as I observe its external appearance.

"Good morning, everyone," the voice of the literature teacher dances through the classroom walls, interrupting my brief moment of intimacy with the letter. I avert my gaze from its surface and observe the authoritative figure of the teacher starting to write on the chalkboard.

"Turn to page 75 of the textbook; today, we'll delve into Shakespeare," the teacher announces with authority, outlining the day's agenda. The succession of murmurs in the class, coupled with the rustling of pages turning, creates a vibrant background of activity as everyone prepares for the lesson.

The letter, momentarily forgotten in my hand, returns to the center of my attention with an irresistible pull.

I decide to open it.

Y/n… what I wanted to write in this letter is something quite simple: I like you, and a lot.

"So, Isaac was right," I mutter to myself.

I love everything about you; you're intelligent, beautiful, and incredibly interesting, not to mention a wonderful person. Your eyes were immediately my downfall, the way they light up when you're excited or when they gaze upon me makes me feel excited and, at the same time, as if a shiver runs down my spine.

"I seem to know her…" I think with curiosity.

You make me feel things I've never felt before in my life, thoughts for a girl that had never crossed my mind until I saw you for the first time. I still remember our first encounter, even though I was watching you from afar. We were doing gymnastics, and Jessica spilled water on you, something I still owe her thanks for.

The way you lifted your shirt to reveal your toned stomach to dry your face… it caught the attention of my eyes.

Something in me ignited.

"However… what a peculiar way to confess their feelings," I suppress a smile and continue reading the remaining lines.

Returning to things I like… your lips. Goodness, they are a daily temptation I always want to indulge in. I just want to place my lips on yours and kiss you until I run out of breath.

Your hair… it looks so soft, and I desire to wrap my fingers around it, playing or simply caressing you.

Your smile… voice, laughter… they are all things I like and want to see every day, especially causing and being the recipient of it.

Your hand…

I raise an eyebrow in confusion reading the latter.

I would love to grasp it and intertwine my fingers with yours, check if your skin is delicate, feel the strength of your large hand over mine, completely overshadowing it.

That hand I want to caress my face, running the thumb over my lower lip, gently putting the tip into my mouth, wishing for you to suck on it.

"This letter is taking a strange turn," I think carefully.

I want that hand around my neck, gripping slightly to make me understand to whom I belong, that hand that will later trail along my body with cunning and strength, slender fingers skillfully working on my flesh.

"Damn…" my cheeks flush with red as saliva begins to fade.

I want that hand to spank me if I misbehave… I want that…

"Miss l/n, could you answer the question I asked you?" The teacher's voice diverted my attention from the letter, and with flushed cheeks, I looked into her eyes, receiving a reproachful gaze.

"Can you repeat the question?" I timidly ask, nervously swallowing saliva.

"Where is Romeo and Juliet set?" she asks again. "Verona," I immediately reply, causing the teacher to blink in surprise. "Correct… well, let's continue with the lesson," she begins, and I roll my eyes in annoyance, directing my gaze back to the letter.

I want you to make me feel like no one else has made me feel: possessed. I desire your hand to possess me; I want it to be rough with me because I'm not delicate like a porcelain doll… I simply want you to use me as you please.

I cross my legs, feeling warmth in the lower abdomen.

I want to feel your fingers inside me, enveloped in my warmth, giving me pleasure until exhaustion. I want to see your eyes hooded with excitement as you continue to penetrate me with your fingers again and again, without diminishing the intensity.

I want that tongue working on my bundle of nerves; I want to feel its full length along my intimacy, making me sigh and moan until I'm breathless. I want you to put it in my mouth, letting me taste myself; I want you to keep licking even if I've already come…

I love your name, and I want to moan it every night, day, second of my life… something I already do within the walls of my room.

"Oh my God…" I bite my lower lip. "This girl is making me feel… uh…" I think to myself, unable to ignore the dampness between my legs.

I want you, I want you y/n, I desire you ardently.

—Anonymous.

I fold the letter and begin to contemplate the room, analyzing what I had read. I don't know how, but I would find out who this girl was.

I needed to know.

[hyperfix-wip]

Octobie Comfort: Sleepy Quips

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Author's Note: First entry for @the-kr8tor 's Octobie event! Hope you guys enjoy! Banners are from @mushroom-graphics-allotment

Word Count: 2.3k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, cw suggestive language, some discussion on pet spaying, lovestruck! Hobie, Fluff.

Hobie had a shitty sleep schedule, and he knew it.

Being a Spider-person and a night owl, he took it upon himself to patrol at all hours of the night, swinging around the streets of London with his newest model of web shooters he just built and keeping an eye out for any crime happening or any civilian in need of help. Whether it was a late-night purse snatching, or a V.E.N.O.M copper about to shut down a night protest, or a small kitten trapped on top of a tall tree, he was going to take care of that.

That being said, tonight was a quiet night for him. Sitting on the ledge of a tall building looming over the city, he let out a loud yawn as he struggled to keep his eyes open. His spider senses did not go off at all throughout his patrol, a rare moment for the Spider. It got to the point where he found the patrol to be a little boring of all things, where his eyelids slowly started to droop down again, only for him to quickly shake his head and lightly slap his cheeks in a desperate attempt to stay awake.

As he continued to stare off at the cityscape, coughing a little from the lingering odor of smog polluting the air, his mind started to wander to the new mattress he dragged into his houseboat from your– his girlfriend’s– universe, one that you begged him to get for a while after you saw the state of his old lumpy one the first time you visited his little canal boat.

(“Darling, I can still sleep on this–”

“There is a damn spring popping out of it, ‘bie!”)

A soft scoff slipped through Hobie’s nose at the little tiff– one that he let you win, obviously–before his mind wandered to an image of you dozing off in his new bed, waiting for him to come home from his patrol. You would probably wear one of his old shirts, the comfortable ones with worn out holes he would mindlessly fidget with, or the matching set of plaid pajamas you bought as a gag gift for Valentine’s day that you two unironically wear now. Maybe you’d be struggling to keep your eyes open while sitting in the bed while his cat soundly slept in your lap. Maybe when he finished his patrol, you’d welcome him with open arms and sleepily call him to bed with that sweet little smile–

Fuck it, he’s going home.

He quickly shot a web to the nearest building he could find and pushed himself off the ledge, flying and weaving his way across London to his houseboat for his awaiting lover.

When Hobie finally landed on the docks in front of his canal boat, his tired eyes lit up slightly at the sight of a tungsten light shining from the window of his room. His heavy footsteps echoed against the wooden floorboards as he climbed onto the houseboat towards the cabin area, but the thumps of his soles got overpowered by the lapping waves and the nearby traffic. 

By the time he finally approached his quarters and slowly pushed the door open, his eyes instantly landed on you peacefully curled up in his bed, a book lying on top of your chest while music softly played from your phone by your side. A small huff slipped through his nostrils, but a fond smile curled up on his lips as a warm sensation creeped up in his chest and lulled his spider senses to a calm buzz in his head. He quietly stepped into his room, his eyes only focused on you, only to accidentally push his cat Cherry with his foot, who in turn got spooked and shrilly yowled, in turn making him scream as the cat jumped and ran away, knocking over some trinkets off his desk.

Spooked by the sudden crashing in the room, you screamed and scrambled up on the bed, hair messed up in all directions, before you blindly grabbed the nearest object near you– the thick hardcover book– and were about to chuck it to his head. His spider sense instantly flared up in the back of his head as he turned his attention back to you, and he held his arm out while pulling his mask off his face.

“DARLING, WAIT– IT’S ME!”

Your arm froze mid-throw, your fingers instantly gripping on the book, and your bleary eyes widened as soon as they adjusted to the light and finally saw him.

“Jesus Christ…” you mutter under your breath with a sigh of relief as you drop your arm and drop back onto the bed, blinking away the remaining sleep in your eyes as you notice the night sky through the window. “What the hell, what time is it?”

He quickly crossed the room to his desk and scooped his peeved cat up into his arms, holding her in sort of a tight grip, almost like a baby. He let out a sigh as he walked over to the edge of the bed.

“It’s half-past one,” he answered with a tired voice before sitting down on the end of the bed, looking at you with a sheepish expression. “Sorry, just got out of patrol early. Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

A soft grunt vibrated in your chest as you leaned against his shoulder while sleepily wiping the trail of drool off the corner of your mouth.

“It’s fine, ‘bie,” you chuckled quietly before you gazed down at the annoyed tri-colored cat in his arms. “Did Cherry get scared earlier?”

The cat in question wiggled in his grip with a huffy growl, but he refused to let her go, probably just to be an ass to the furry bundle of chaos as petty payback. He let out a defeated sigh as he turned his gaze over to you.

“Yeah, she got scared,” he sheepishly chuckled. “Gave me a damn fright when I walked in. Thought she was sleeping on the bed with you, but she was on the floor instead.”

A soft huff passed through your nostrils as you leaned closer and scratched behind Cherry’s ear. “That’s our little Cherry Bomb,” you let out a sleepy snicker before pulling your hand away and resting your back against the pillows and wooden wall. With a relaxed, sleepy smile, you stretched your arms out to him, silently signaling for him to lie on top of you.

Hobie couldn’t help but smile at your gesture as he set Cherry, who has now stopped wiggling, down on the bed before he crawled over on the bed to you. He rested his head on your stomach with a satisfied grunt, his arms wrapped around your waist.

 “You’re my little Cherry Bomb,” he retorted with a tired smirk, “She’s just a wannabe.”

The tricolored cat stares at her owner with an indignant crinkle to her nose before hopping onto his back with a huff, forcing a more pained grunt out of him. You let out an amused snort before scratching behind Cherry’s ear again.

“Oh, you know Daddy didn’t mean that, Cherry,” you cooed quietly as Cherry purred and started to stretch and her paws kneaded on his shoulder blades.

He groaned against your stomach as the cat’s weight settled on his back and her claws lightly scratched his skin underneath his spider suit. It wasn’t like her claws were digging into him, but it was a bit uncomfortable.

He lifted his head and tucked his chin on your stomach to look up at you, a worn out expression still plastered on his face as he watched you affectionately coddle the purring feline. “You spoil her too much, ya know,” he said with a dry huff, “She’s supposed to scratch your eyes out for calling me Daddy…”

“I don’t know, you seemed to like me calling you Daddy when we were alone yesterday–”

His hand immediately reached up to cover your mouth before you could even finish your sentence, and your laughter muffled against his palm. The yellow-orange light in the room illuminates everything inside, leaving his cheeks exposed as they grow rosy from your cheeky comment.

“Shut up,” he scoffs with a slight snort, the corner of his lip curled up into a slight smirk. “You know what I meant. Also you don’t need to remind me about yesterday right now. That’s the problem with this damn cat, always interrupting us when things get good…”

Your body trembled with laughter as you pressed your lips against his palm before gently pulling his hand away from your mouth. “It might be payback for you interrupting her play date with that one black cat that comes over.”

Cherry instantly narrowed her green eyes at you before she hopped off of Hobie’s back, letting out a whiny meow before curling up by your side.

Hobie let out a loud huff and laid his head back down on your stomach with the side of his face pressed against you, the stress on his face slowly melting away while his arms wrapped around your waist tighter.

“It’s not my fault she’s trying to get some action from that other cat,” he grumbled dryly, trying to hold back some of his own amusement, “She’s like you. Can never get enough attention to her liking.”

“I thought you like it when I want your attention,” you quipped back with a playful lilt before you reached up to massage the nape of his neck. Hobie let out a little shiver as you gently knead that spot, melting more under your touch.

You then glanced down to the grumbling Cherry before your other hand reached out to scratch her neck. “But f’real though, Cherry, if you keep trying to sneak off with your boyfriend, Daddy and I will have to get you spayed. I’m not trying to be a cat grandma.”

Hobie let out a tired groan in protest, and your eyes drift back to him, meeting his weak glare. “I told you no,” he whined, his voice slightly muffled against your stomach, “I don’t want her to feel sad about not having kittens. I want her to be happy.”

You roll your eyes with an amused huff while continuing to massage his nape. “And you say I'm soft on her...”

A relenting sigh slipped through your lips before you adjusted yourself down on the bed, careful not to jostle Hobie too much. Cherry let out a big yawn before nestling against your side and dozing off again. “Then you better hope Cherry’s boyfriend is neutered.”

Hobie softly groans again and buries half his face into your stomach. “Or I could just keep Cherry and her boyfriend separated when Cherry’s in heat.”

You rolled your eyes with a huff of amusement, your stomach straining a bit from the ticklish vibrations from his talking, before your hand gently trailed up from his neck to the back of his head to gently scratch his scalp, making sure to avoid getting your fingers caught in his wicks.

“Good luck with that. Cherry picked up your habit of sneaking off without people noticing…”

Hobie’s breath hitched softly from your touch, and all the muscles in his body relaxed as you let your nails slowly trail up and down the back of his head. A soft shudder coursed through his body as he slowly let out a long exhale before he responded. 

“Ugh, bloody hell…”

A small chortle passed through your lips while your fingers continued to caress his head. Sleep slowly creeped up on you again as his body heat seeped into yours.

Meanwhile, he grew more relaxed from your ministrations, soft shivers running down his spine and through his limbs every time your nails ran along his scalp, his body growing heavier as he melted into you. 

He let out a soft exhale and muttered, “Stop. You’re gonna put me to sleep…”

A sleepy smile curled up on your face while your eyes also grew heavier. “Good. You need to sleep anyway, ‘bie.”

Hobie grumbled under his breath as his eyes slowly shut. As much as he tried to deny it and hold off on the urge to sleep, he knew you were right. His body was exhausted, and he couldn’t even remember the last time he got a decent night’s rest.

He lets out a defeated groan before he begrudgingly relents, “I hate you…”

A drowsy, cheeky smirk creeped up on your face while you continued to lightly graze his scalp with your nails. “Love you too, ‘bie.”

Damn it, he thinks to himself as he failed to suppress a loud yawn. Why does he still underestimate your ability to get him to do whatever you want?

“Love is a strong word,” he teased with a lazy smirk as he finally gave up the fight against sleep, his voice tired and half-joking.

You instinctively rolled your eyes again, but you still massaged and caressed his head. “Shut up, smartass,” you huffed out with a slight chuckle before letting out another yawn.

Hobie quietly chuckled against your midsection, your fingers still slowly massaging his scalp, making his head all fuzzy and his eyelids heavy. He slowly let out a long exhale, his entire body falling limp and his arms lazily wrapping around your waist again, before he shut his eyes and murmured his last words for the night.

“Love you, darling…”

The slight smile on your face grew into a satisfied grin. His soft snores vibrated against your stomach while Cherry purred against your side, nuzzling her head against you while fast asleep.  Another yawn snuck up on you before you turn the light off on the nightstand, plunging the room into a comfortable darkness before you shut your eyes to join your slumbering family.

“Love you too, ‘bie.”

[delicatetacokid2]

Some of you asked for the story to continue so here it is. Part 2!

I can’t sit still, the stiffness comes and goes ever since mommy left this morning. Everything I do makes me hard.

I laid down on mommy’s side of the bed and the smell of her shampoo on her pillow reminded me of mommy’s sexy baths. Mommy sets it all up, bubble bath, candles and my favorite music. Mommy sits in the bathtub, opens her pretty legs and tells me to sit between them. She washes my hair, my body and cock. I think she enjoys that part the best because she spends a lot of time with it.

“We need to get this little cock all nice and clean because mommy’s mouth wants a taste.”

She rubs my cock up and down in the soapy water, making many bubbles along the way. Then she rinses me off and begins sucking me. It usually ends with mommy riding me in the bathtub.

I look at the clock. 9 am.

Me: Fuck, it’s still not time for mommy to get back.

Mommy rarely lets me curse, she says I can curse only when necessary, like when I feel good while she plays with me. She’s not here right now though, so I think I can do it. Hehe.

I moved on to the couch and began playing with my switch.

Mommy only lets me play with my switch after I do all my chores. I don’t like doing them, except for one. The one that involves the button between her legs.

“You see this little button right here sweetie? This is part of your chores too.”

I lick mommy’s pussy button and suck on it. Mommy makes lewd noises that makes my cock get hard. Her moans are like music to my ears. She tastes so good too, her creamy love juices pour out fairly quickly and don’t stop until she reaches “heaven,” as she calls it. She always pats my head at the end of it and tells me I did a good job with the chores.

“Mommy: Good job sweet baby boy, let me have a taste.”

I quickly get to her and kiss her so she can taste herself on my lips. She wraps her tongue with mine and sucks on it to get every little bit of her pussy juices.

The thought of mommy’s pussy button is making me hard again. Ugh.

Me: I can’t touch myself. I promised mommy.

I get the urge to do it, to look at mommy’s naughty pictures that she sends me and jerk off to them.

*Ding*

My phone goes off. On the screen I see the preview to mommy’s message. “Don’t you do it…” I open up the message which includes a selfie of her beautiful breasts. They’re small, and perfectly shaped. Her little pink nipples are hard and she’s pinching one of them. Another message comes through, it’s a small video of mommy blowing me a kiss. Her beautiful brown eyes make me all giddy.

I look down at my pants and notice that my hand had magically slipped inside my shorts. I remove it quickly.

Me: Ugghhh, how does she know?

I look at the clock on my phone.

Me: 11 am?? That’s it I’m doing homework.

I stand up, grab my laptop and sit at the kitchen table. I prepare my work space with my notebook, pencil, and textbook. I’m ready to do my work.

I lift my head and see mommy’s figure approaching me. Her bare legs walk seductively towards me as her tiny plaid skirt lifts ever so slightly to reveal a fraction of her pink laced panties with every step she takes. Her white buttoned up shirt stops short of her cleavage, the matching bra visible both freely and through the see through shirt. Her beautiful shiny hair flows rhythmically with her steps.

Me: Mommy?

Both my heart and my cock get excited at the sight of her. I can feel the blood rushing out of my head and down to my throbbing cock. I hazily look at the clock on my laptop. 1pm…

Me: No, just a memory.

I look back up and much to my disappointment see nothing but a still house.

Mommy sometimes notices my stress when I do homework and decides to help. She tells me my education is important and she wants to help me achieve my goals. I like it when she helps. She wears a schoolgirl outfit and pretends to be my classmate. She tells me that she’s having a hard time with her biology homework and that only a smart boy like me can help her. I chivalrously assist my classmate and help her compare and contrast our bodies. She loves it when I show her how babies are made. I stick my cock inside her pussy as I tell her that me cumming inside of her is how it’s done.

“Mommy (classmate): Will you demonstrate for me?”

I can’t say no to my classmate. It’s valuable education time. My classmate rocks her hips as I slide in and out of her. I then reach climax and unload everything inside her.

“Mommy (classmate): Thank you for teaching me about my body today.”

Mommy is so cute.

Me: Fuuuck! It’s 1 pm. Two more hours. Two more hours for mommy to get home.

I stand up, close my laptop and turn on the TV. I grab a couch cushion and set it a few feet away from the front door. I sit on it and “patiently” wait for mommy to get home. I keep looking at the clock…

Me: One hour to go.

My cock begins to throb at the thought of mommy walking in through that door. Her slim sexy black skirt accentuating her beautiful figure. Her dirty blonde hair slicked back into a messy bun. Her glasses magnifying her mesmerizing brown eyes.

Me: Thirty minutes.

I begin to wonder what mommy will do to me when she walks through that door. Will she drop everything, lift me up, take me to the couch, rip my clothes off and suck my cock relentlessly? Will she ride me on the couch like we’ve done it countless times? Will she bring out her toys and torture my little mind again?

Me: Five minutes. This is it she’s gonna walk in any minute now.

I hear voices coming from the other side of the door. Two of them.

Me: What? Visitors? Mommy didn’t say anything about it.

I listen intently.

Mommy: Trust me, you’ll love him. He’s a really good boy.

I can hear the key going into the key hole and see the lock turning.

Me: Could it be?

Mommy had mentioned that someone at her work wanted to have a play date with us. She asked if I was ok with it. At first I was hesitant, I mean I’m mommy’s and mommy is mine, I don’t think I could ever share her. Mommy reassured me that what we had was special and nothing could ever break it. I then began to think to myself. Maybe two mommies for one play date would be nice. I told her that maybe it would be a nice experience.

The door swings open as mommy steps in. Followed by another lady.

Mommy: Hi baby boy, did you miss me?

[wordy-little-witch]

Ooh either spin the bottle or two truths and a lie for Cross Guild?

Oooooh I wanna Mix Those, thanks nonny ♡♡♡

Spin the Bottle + 2 Truths 1 Lie

Nobody was quit certain how the situation had come to this, but it was undeniable now. Mihawk nursed his glass of wine, empty bottles at his hip as he lounged not unlike a panther across the lounge, sleep pants hung low and shirt unorthodoxically cut to show more skin than it perhaps should. Golden eyes cut to his equally dressed down compatriots.

Crocodile was taking the full couch with a mildly annoyed tinge to his brow, hair still slicked back perfectly despite the loungewear he himself had donned for this exchange. The man proved his commitment to his tastes even in his pajamas, it seemed, with the rich deep emerald silk of his pants offset against the nearly skin tight black tank top. It would have shown far more skin than he'd ever exposed before had it not been for the unbuttoned mate to his pants left to take place of his coat, though his arms filled the sleeves here.

Across from him, kneeling on the rug was the very one who'd proposed this meet up in the first place. Cerulean locks were held fast in a neat french braid, the tail trailing well past his shoulders to brush his hips. Sans makeup, it turned out that the clown's lips were either stained from his lip tint or simply far more florid than most, only his nose more red, and both bowing out to the pigment of his eyes and full lashes. As if the rare sight of a bare face were not enough, the other man had opted for a set of pajamas seemingly intended for women more than men by the cut of the shorts and thin straps of his top. The bottoms were plaid in a mix of neons over a midnight base color, either black or a highly pigmented blue or purple, while the top seemed perhaps a size or two too large with one strap continuously slipping along his bicep. The shirt was, at the very least, more modest in cuts than Mihawk's own, though the bright orange toed the line between tasteful and garish against such pale, surprisingly scarred and freckled skin and his oceanic hair.

The two ghost caricatures over the slight swell of his breasts with the inappropriate pun curling below may have been over kill, the swordsman mused.

Crocodile moved, earning his attention back as the man flicked the sideways bottle on the table. It spun and spun, a clear noise that tickled his ears brightly. Sharp eyes traced the movements, as it slowed and crept to a stop - the opening moreso angle to Buggy this time.

The clown brightened. "Okay," he cheered, swaying in place minutely, finger moving to tap at his chin, green nail polish glinting in the low light. "Hmm.... oh! Okay okay, so," he grinned, eyes glinting like arctic waves at twilight. "I'm allergic to pineapples, I have oversensitive observation haki, and I like swordfighting!" He clasped his hands, propped his elbows and dropped his chin upon the lattice of his fingers with a mischievous grin.

Mihawk, despite the small knot of fond affection in his stomach, pursed his lips. The pineapple comment seemed self explanatory - they'd seen first hand the reaction he had the one time he did eat something containing pineapple. Dr Delilah had nearly torn her hair out when Buggy, dotted in hives and pouting, poked his head into her office for the medication. It was by no means a life threatening allergy, but it was certainly dangerous on its own.

That left the remaining two statements to be the lie.

Turning it over in his head, Mihawk sent a glance to Crocodile. He seemed to be in thought himself, gnawing absently at his cigar butt as he looked over the clown adjacent to both men.

Buggy, for his part, seemed to have an excellent poker face.

Mihawk initially thought it would be the sword fighting bit, knowing Buggy preferred ranged fighting - but at the same time, he knew intimately that the other was no slouch with any bladed weapon he could get his hands on. An unchoppable man with a penchant for weapons that cut seemed ironic and near infallible.

Crocodile spoke then, nodding to himself. "The Haki," he grunted shortly.

"Sword fighting," Mihawk followed up, still uncertain but willing to take the chance if only to gain the point over Crocodile.

Buggy grinned. "Hawky wins," he chirped, handing the dot marker over so the swordsman could add another mark to his tally.

The logia user tilted his head. "The hell is oversensitive observation, then? Isn't the whole deal supposed to be an extra sense? Extra awareness?"

"Mostly," Mihawk admitted, "It is akin to a sixth sense born from your other five. It has a psychological component as well. Some even argue it's spiritual."

Buggy nodded along absently, toying with the neck of the bottle. "Basically, yeah. Observation Haki is technically a heightened sensitivity to your other senses anyway, along with a special other little bit. But when you have a natural affinity for it, it can seem over sensitive," he paused, nail clinking against the glass. He sighed. "To have oversenstivie Observation haki means that your senses are always turned up higher than most. It can develop as a trauma response or it can be innate. It's not common to have it, honestly, and what little we DO know about that is.... kind of complicated? But think of it like.... being in a big crowded room, all the time. And you can see and hear and feel and predict so many things for every single person within your area."

"That is typical Observation, though unfiltered," Mihawk stated.

Buggy nodded. "Now imagine you can predict inanimate objects. You can hear the winds, the grass, the walls, the cobblestone. And now expand it. It's not the crowd. It's the town. The city. The island itself. You can hear and feel and sense every wave against the shore, the sea screaming, the cloud cover and winds and plants and people. Every grain of sand has a voice, every stone, every drop, every gust, ever piece of the world around you. And then the people, their feelings, you can damn near read their thoughts. It's everywhere, everything, constantly."

Silence reigned for a moment. Mihawk had paled, leaning back into his seat. He recalled Shanks admitting to information like that before in passing, grieving slurred words that he'd though were about a man dead. Instead, he realized in dawning concern, it was for a man livelier than most.

Crocodile snorted. "Sounds overwhelming and honestly kind of fake."

Buggy's eyes cut to him, studying for a moment. Mihawk shivered as those glacier blue eyes darkened, seemingly crackling as he tilted his head. Crocodile blinked as Buggy spoke. "Annoyance. Anger. You feel slighted and indignant, believing your first guess was right and we're playing you. That's something anyone who knows you can guess, Croco-chan, so here's something else." His eyes went marginally glazed. A lone curl drifted to kiss his cheek. "Daz is currently at the breeding tents. He's taken a liking to one of the blueberrywani that hatched with the latest batch. He's happy and content right now. Mohji is doing the last of the work in the stables. He was cleaning with Ritchie, Keeler and Misha. Baron should be helping too, but he's unwell, in the medical tent. Cabaji is currently with Alvida, they're happy and bright at the moment but also slower. Drinking, I think. They're in her tent-"

Buggy went on, describing key guildsmen or commanders in varying places, their actions, what was around them, their emotions. Some of them, he had no way to know of before hand. Two wide eyed gazes locked onto him.

When he began paling, a hand moving to tap-tap-tap in a familiar way, Mihawk reached out, slotting this fingers together to squeeze. Buggy jolted back. They all breathed together for a moment.

Then the clown shook his head. "Test however you need to," he said at last, glancing at Crocodile while Mihawk's awed gaze trailed over the tendrils of awareness he carefully folded back inwards. He took the bottle gently, cracking a smile. "Let's just play the game, okay?"

And maybe, the swordsman mused absently, maybe playing some silly little games to "get to know each other better" really was a brighter idea from their chairman. Skills, talents, powers and niches were paramount to portray to show a unified front. Any shortcomings could be twisted, supplemented or covered in turn by the rest. This game likely would be full of much to learn for all parties involved.

Including, he sighed as the bottle landed on him, he himself as well.

[sundeathh]

Woods and whispers

Fanfiction |  Masterlist 

Pairing: Aizawa × GN!reader | Words: 602

Fandom: BNHA | MHA  | Tags: Cute & fluffy. Romantic stuff.

Summary: A so needed vacation adventure (or maybe comfort).

A/N: Let me know throughthe comments if you enjoy this enough. If so maybe I'll give it some few chapters.

The worn gravel road crunched beneath the tires as Aizawa navigated the car further into the heart of the countryside. Tall trees flanked the path, creating a natural tunnel that led to the secluded cabin he had booked for your well-deserved vacation. The air carried the sweet scent of pine, a welcomed departure from the city's constant hum.

As the cabin came into view, nestled within a clearing surrounded by a sea of emerald green, Aizawa glanced at you. The anticipation in your eyes mirrored his own, the promise of tranquility a balm to the weariness that clung to both of you after the school year's demands.

The cabin, a rustic haven of weathered wood and a welcoming porch seemed tailor-made for escaping the world's chaos. Aizawa parked the car, and you stepped out into the crisp air. The quietude enveloped you like a warm embrace, a stark contrast to the noise and hustle of city life.

With a sense of relief, you approached the cabin's front door. Aizawa fished the key from his pocket and unlocked the entrance, revealing the cozy interior bathed in the soft glow of sunlight filtering through the curtains.

"Home for the next few weeks," he murmured, the corners of his lips hinting at a rare smile. The weight of responsibility seemed to lift from his shoulders as the door creaked shut behind you.

The cabin was a charming blend of simplicity and comfort. Wooden beams adorned the ceiling, and the inviting scent of aged timber filled the air. Aizawa headed towards the fireplace, skillfully lighting a fire that soon crackled, casting a warm glow across the room.

"You can relax here," he said, gesturing towards the inviting couch adorned with plaid cushions. "No hero work, no school, just quiet."

Your lips curved into a grin, and a content sigh escaped him. This place would suit your needs perfectly.

He soon joined you on the couch, sinking into the plushness. "This will be the best rest I've had in ages." He closed his eyes, letting the warmth overtake him. It felt so good to let go for once.

Over the next few days, the cabin became a sanctuary. Aizawa spent mornings lounging on the porch, a steaming mug of coffee in hand. The sounds of nature – birdsong, rustling leaves, and the distant murmur of a stream – replaced the city's constant hum.

You explored the surrounding woods, discovering hidden paths and picturesque clearings. Aizawa, usually clad in his hero costume, embraced the casual comfort of jeans and a simple shirt, letting the weight of formality slip away.

Soon enough, both of you familiarized with the woods surrounding you.

Back to your first day there; the night came faster than expected. The sky darkened with the set of dusk, and before long, the stars began their twinkles while the gentle buzz of insects took over the silence. You sat on the back deck, the moon rising above the trees.

While you were absorbed in trying to locate yourself by discovering where the stellar constellations were under your current location, Aizawa joined you.

He looked rather... domestic, standing there in his old jeans and tousled black hair. The sight warmed something in your chest. With an amused grin, he offered you a mug.

"Have some black tea to help keep yourself awake," he advised. His face bore the faintest traces of a smile, but it was gone in moments. "You are out here for a while now."

You accepted the mug he offered you without any protest. "Where did you learn to make this?" you asked curiously. There wasn't anything fancy or refined about the drink he poured you, no sugar or cream added. But, somehow, it still made its way down smoothly and without much effort. You weren't a fan of black tea at all. But it was good.

Aizawa chuckled. "Some old habits die hard." He paused, his gaze shifting upwards, and then turned his attention to you. "So, how many did you identify?"

You frowned. "Five. But if you count the ones I saw, we have eight. I'm unsure about the other three yet". You sipped carefully from the mug, savoring the unfamiliar flavor. Your gaze drifted back up to the sky. The constellations looked even more beautiful than they did in the city's sky.

After several seconds passed, you stood up from your cozy heaven on the porch. "What do you say about a movie night?"

"Sounds lovely," Aizawa simply said. And with that, you disappeared into the cabin, leaving the stars alone with their night sky.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! Check the fixed post for requests & more details!

[the-fiction-witch]

Doctor! Doctor!

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins And Rainsford Sneed

Couple Jack X Reader + Rainsford X Reader

Rating Flirty

I stood in the prep room for the hospital's theatre, I cleaned and sanitised tools ready for today's operation. As I worked I hummed a gentle tune to myself. My sleeves rolled up around my elbows to not get them wet from the cleaning and my dress hung loosely about me. I perked up a bit when I heard someone else's footsteps as they arrived at the prep room. I glanced over and saw Doctor Jack Dawkins as he walked across the prep room.

"You're early? Now that is a rare sight." I chuckled, as usually Doctor Dawkins would be here with a moment to spare if that, but we had a good ten minutes before surgery would begin.

"Don't be snarky Y/n," he warned as he leant his hip on the table and crossed his arms over his chest that usual cocky grin across his lips, 

"Aww but I'm good at it," I smirked back,

"You do practice often don't you?"

"I do," 

"Speaking of, things you're good at?" He smirked back as he moved himself behind me, he set his hands either side of me on the table, his body closed the gap between us and his head came close to my neck. The tip of his nose moved up the bare skin of my neck starting at my shoulder and moved all the way up before he reached my ear, he stopped and whispered, "I was hoping we could do something else you're good at?"

"Like Doctor Dawkins?" I glared a little,

He chuckled, "You know what I want."

"You have surgery to do." I remind,

"Umm I know sweetheart," he groaned as he pressed kisses to my neck, "you know I'd rather stay here with you," he muttered, "You wanna come up to my room tonight?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, come up to my room tonight, and we'll see just how good you're getting" he smirked,

"I think you already know how good I'm getting,"

"Well I have to keep checking don't I," He smirked, "Eight O'clock don't be late," he said as he kissed my cheek and started preparing getting his apron and checking his tools as Doctor Sneed arrived at the prep room. 

He too began to prep and I helped them both where needed, Hetty arrived and the two doctors did their coin toss and as usual, Doctor Dawkins was to take charge. The four of us headed into the theatre to the crowd shouting for blood and a frightened patient. After a showman-style speech, the doctors got on Hetty working as their nurse and I worked as a clean up doing what I could to minimise the dirt, blood and chaos of the surgery to make sure it went as quickly and seamlessly as possible. 

Within a few minuets, it was over Hetty took the patient back to bed, the crowd emptied out and the doctors went off to do other things without much of a word, I began cleaning up the theatre, I scrubbed, swept, and scooped the sawdust. I got on my knees and began scrubbing blood off the wooden floor, My sleeves pushed up and my dress around me to try and shield me from the blood and mess of the room. I heard footsteps but didn't even bother to look up until I saw a pair of black oxford shoes and a pair of black trousers, Alrerady I knew who it was and didn't need to say another word, But I felt a firm slap on my behind which made me jump. 

"Yes Doctor Sneed?" I asked as I set my brush down and shifted myself to sit on my knees and looked up to see Doctor Rainsford Sneed standing with his usual sly grin in his white well-pressed shirt, black waistcoat buttoned up tight and his black tie, His facial hair well combed and trimmed, his hair flat and slick. 

"Busy today?" He asked as he looked down at me, 

"Lots to clean." I shrug, 

"True," he nodded, 

"You could help?" I glared, 

"I'll leave it to you Y/n." 

"Alright," I rolled my eyes getting back to work, 

"You look so good down there" he smirked,

"Do I now, Doctor Sneed?" 

"You know I appreciate how you look on your knees." He growled a little as he plaid with my hair,

"Don't you have rounds to start on?"

"True." He smirked, "My room Six." He demanded,

Immediately I turned white and froze up, He stroked my cheek and jaw before he turned and headed out,  

"don't wear your knees out Darling." He said as he left the theatre, 

I let out a breath and sighed a little, "That's gonna cut a little close..." 

What is it with these two on surgery days? 

I quickly got on with my work so I could be finished in time to go have a bath before my eventful evening. 

[oceanbilly]

Sorrow's native son

hi, i've never posted a fic and what i wrote might seem strange and unusual, so i wanted to give an explanation beforehand. i happened to read that one page from the stranger things book, max's book to be exact, it was the scene where neil abused billy with a belt and something in me broke and what i wrote was like a knee-jerk reaction to that. it's not really a romantic setting, i think it ended up being gender neutral too (but not 100% sure), i just needed to find a way to make billy less lonely. anyways, i hope there's at least one person who will enjoy it and relate to it.

My finger slid across the different boxes on the shelf. My eyes eventually landed on the one with the sale sign hanging below it. The store was quiet except for the low buzzing of the fluorescent lights. It was getting late.

I heard a bell announcing someone’s arrival. The cold air wrapped around my body like a blanket and I shivered. As I entered another aisle, my eyes fell on Billy Hargrove.

Our paths rarely crossed, yet his sight was uncomfortably familiar. Back in high school, he always made sure to be obnoxious enough to be noticed by everyone. He was loud and bold. Liked showing off his body even in the most inappropriate places and despite the dreadful weather, as if he was rebelling against Hawkins for the sake of it. He liked being intimidating and feared. He liked being admired.

All of that used to make an impression, until the thin veil of bullshit dropped and I saw the nasty truth.

Not long after graduation, when I was walking down Cherry Lane, I saw him carrying a big box out of the back door of his house. I wouldn’t pay much attention if it wasn’t for his father, who was walking closely behind him, pushing him to go faster. When Billy tripped and the box fell with a loud clash, I stopped. I wasn’t planning on helping – it was sheer curiosity more than anything else.

Before even a thought could pass my mind, his father’s booming voice rang in my ears. His mouth danced around the word ‘useless’ like he was used to it, like it was his favorite word and saying it caused him great pleasure. I wanted to scowl and move on, telling myself that it was none of my business, but a pained noise made me freeze. A heavy boot collided with Billy’s ribs once, twice, three times and I felt every kick in my own body. His father spat on him, yelled a few more offensive words and left. I saw Billy push himself up until he was on his hands and knees. His head hung low as he took a few deep breaths. I didn’t know what I should do, or if I should even do anything at all. Billy, however, decided for me, because when he raised his head, his cold eyes pierced through mine and I knew I shouldn’t get close.

In that position on the ground, he seemed like a wounded animal, glaring at me silently. I felt like an intruder. I looked away and forced my feet to start moving again. I walked, but it was harder now, slower, because of the heavy guilt that kept weighing on my shoulders.

After that day, I saw him everywhere. It was like I was being punished for what I did. Or didn’t do. His sight alone always brought back the shame and the guilt.

Right now he was browsing the medicine shelf. He picked up the aspirin and then put it back down. He pulled out a crumpled five dollar bill out of his pocket and looked at it like it was offending him. He also looked different. His hair was gathered in a bun, and instead of his usual showy outfit, he was clothed in sweatpants, a plain t-shirt and a red plaid shirt thrown on top of it. It hung loose on him, too, and it was dripping wet. I looked outside the window, where the heavy November rain was wreaking havoc. He eventually stuffed the money back into his pocket and put the bottle down. He huffed, irritated, and stormed out of the store.

I bit my lip nervously. I quickly grabbed the aspirin and made my way to the checkout. When I went outside, I saw him walking slowly down the street. He wasn’t in a hurry, like there was nowhere he was supposed to be in this nasty weather. His figure illuminated by the street lamps seemed small.

I chased him down and stopped in front of him, successfully cutting him off. I pushed the bottle of aspirin into his hand. He furrowed his brow and looked confused for a second, before his features were clouded by anger.

‘I don’t need fucking charity,’ he spat.

‘Take it or don’t, I don’t give a shit.’ Lies.

Billy has been all I could think about. Every time I saw him in public with his father, my heart sank. It was easy to miss – the light shoves, the way Billy never really looked him in the eye. Whenever I saw him, my mind immediately recalled the image of Billy on his lawn. It was burned into my brain and it paired well with the pang of guilt somewhere in my chest.

He also seemed to remember this moment well, because whenever he spotted me in town, his body tensed and he turned his head away. We never actually talked, but his posture was a warning in itself.

Billy clenched his jaw, but his hand tightened on the bottle. The dim orange light couldn’t hide his swollen eye and a bruised cheekbone. He opened the bottle and took out three pills. I dug in my shopping bag for a water bottle, which I passed it to him. This time he accepted it without any biting remarks. My gaze flickered down to his hands and one look at his clean knuckles told me everything I needed to know. He swallowed the pills.

‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift,’ I said and pushed past him to go get into my car.

I half expected him to just leave and not look back, maybe flip me off as a goodbye, but to my surprise he slipped into the passenger seat next to me. I took in his face which scrunched up in pain for a second, but he schooled it very fast. The raindrops slid down his cheek.

Billy didn’t seem like the person who could simply accept help. It wasn’t taught to him. His pride got in the way too. His whole body was stiff, like he was ready to bolt any second. Like he was still on the verge of making his final decision. However, these last gruelling months have taught me that he also had a strong survival instinct. If he did something uncharacteristic – he did it out of pure need.

‘So what, you just pity me? Is that it?’ His voice was low and quiet. There was a layer of anger to it. This situation was taking away his control and he didn’t like that.

‘No,’ I replied, starting the engine and pulling out onto the road. ‘I pity your dad.’

‘For having a useless son?’ He asked louder now. The cool mask of anger was cracking, allowing the anxiety to seep through. From the corner of my eye I could see the end of his sleeve gripped tightly in his hand. I flinched at the word. It was now my least favorite word.

‘For being a braindead pissbucket.’ I spat. ‘I believe it’s incurable.’

I risked a quick glance at him and found him staring at me like I grew a second head. He snorted loudly and turned towards the window, a smile playing on his lips. I felt a bit lighter now that he was slightly less tense.

‘Do you want me to…’ I hesitated, knowing I was about to bring his mood down, ‘drop you off at home?’

He didn’t reply, but he shook his head, still looking out the window. I clenched my jaw, eyes fixed firmly on the road. He was out late in the pouring rain in the middle of November wearing these damn rags. He clearly walked for a while and he didn’t have his car. I wondered briefly if his father would be above kicking him out of the house for the night. I didn’t ask where to take him, because I had a feeling he didn’t have anywhere to go.

After ten minutes of silence I pulled up to my driveway.

I got out of the car and leaned down to look at Billy. ’C’mon.’ There was no point in asking. I let him make his decision based on what he really needed right now. He followed me without a word.

I opened the door and pushed him inside first. The pleasant warmth of the house made me sigh in relief. I took off my jacket and shoes, and looked at Billy, who was currently leaving a small puddle on the floor. I walked up to him and gently slid the dripping plaid shirt off of his shoulders. I was going to put it on the radiator in the kitchen, but something caught my eye. His white shirt had splashes of red all over his back. My heart stopped and the shirt slipped out of my hands. No. No, no, no.

‘Billy?’ My voice sounded weak and uncertain.

‘Yeah?’

‘You’re… You’re hurt,’ I said, eyes glued to the blood stains.

He tensed immediately. He didn’t reply and I was worried I saw too much. The most he had hoped for was probably just the painkillers and a place to crash. He didn’t actually plan on letting me in and now I accidentally stepped into his personal space. I was too close to the issue and I knew it scared him.

‘It’s fine,’ he said in a defensive tone. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

I could just let it go. In fact that’s what I should’ve done.

But then I felt it again. It creeped upon my shoulders slowly just to crush me all at once. The guilt. It didn’t let me move. It didn’t let me breathe. After that the panic started to set in. I let him suffer for so long.

I grabbed his hand, led him into the kitchen and made him sit in a chair. I pulled the first aid kit out of the cabinet and I saw it in his eyes. The flash of anger and betrayal, but I have already made my decision.

‘Take your shirt off,’ I said in a serious tone. ‘Please,’ I added quietly.

I expected him to put up a fight or at least make a suggestive joke, but he didn’t. He knew there was no use. The curtain was ripped away a long time ago and he had to accept that. But it was clear that he had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that someone knew the truth.

He gripped the hem of his t-shirt and started pulling it up, but halfway through he made a pained noise and let out a frustrated sigh. I grabbed the shirt for him and gently pulled it off.

When my eyes landed on his back, I felt dizzy. His tan skin was littered with angry red welts. The bruises were slowly blooming all over his back and the skin was broken in places. My first instinct was to ask him if he was hit by a car, but I knew better. And then I saw a few deep red squares that made me sick. The belt buckle.

“Jesus,” I breathed, before I could stop myself. I reeled back horrified. I’ve never seen anyone hurt this badly. I tried not to overreact – I had a feeling he would just run if I did. I suppressed my rising panic and closed my eyes for a second. It didn’t help much, the image already burned behind my eyelids. “I’m gonna clean it up, is that okay?” I asked, full of hesitation. I wasn’t sure how to even approach this without making him upset or ashamed. He was in a very vulnerable position, which could trigger his fight or flight response.

He didn’t reply, but he did give me a quick nod.

Feeling slightly relieved, I took out a cloth, dampened it and gently pressed it against his skin, trying to clean the dried blood away to see the wounds clearly. He flinched, but stayed quiet. I had to resist the urge to just take my hand away, so that I wouldn’t cause him any more pain, but this had to be done.

I drenched a gauze in an antiseptic and with a light hand started to disinfect the injuries. That did get a hiss and a muted fuck out of him, which I tried my hardest to ignore. Looking at his massacred back up close was making me lightheaded.

How could someone do this to another person? To their own kid?

The shame I felt was shattering. I knew. I knew this whole time and I failed him. My mind was cruel enough to make me feel like I was the one holding the belt.

I tried to be quick with the antiseptic, because his body felt like a tightly wound up string, ready to snap at any moment. I looked at the pile of bloodied gauzes and felt nauseous.

I took a few clean ones and covered the wounds, and then secured them with some medical tape. It looked a bit ridiculous and not professional at all, but the aesthetics didn’t matter right now. After I was done, Billy didn’t say anything. He wasn’t really moving either. I could only imagine what was going through his head right now.

I sat down in front of him to check how he was doing and I was met with a very hard image to take. He wasn’t crying. His head was hanging low and he was staring at the floor. His eyes were eerily hollow. Emotionless. There was no dramatic reaction, no sobbing, no fighting. Just acceptance.

I put away the first aid kit and cleaned up the used supplies.

‘Any cracked ribs?’ I asked standing awkwardly next to him. He shook his head without looking at me.

I was conflicted. I didn’t feel like I had the right to act like his friend now, but leaving him alone was not even an option. I looked at him sitting there. His body wasn’t as muscular as it used to be, he looked thinner. When he was hunched over like that, his skin stretched over his ribs grotesquely. He seemed to be a shell of the Hawkins High king he once was. All of his friends who used to worship him left the town. He was alone.

I put the kettle on and prepared some hot tea to warm him up. He didn’t even move, didn’t speak. He was lost in thought. I put two mugs on the table and sat down in front of him.

I wasn’t certain if I should say anything, but when I looked at him my heart broke. I saw my hand reach out involuntarily and cover his. It was cold. His head snapped up and he looked at me surprised.

‘I… I’m sorry, Billy. I’m sorry for what I did.’

He seemed confused. ‘What did you do?’

‘I pretended like I didn’t see it. I acted like I didn’t know.’

He looked down again and shook his head. ‘It’s not your job to help. I manage on my own.’

I squeezed his hand lightly.

‘I know we’re not friends, but… I don’t want you to be on your own anymore. If you let me, I’ll be there for you. With you.’

The look he gave me was indescribable. His brows were drawn gently like he didn’t quite understand what I was saying.  The feeling of support was so alien to Billy he wasn’t sure how to react. I wanted him to know that if he shared this burden, it would get a bit lighter. He didn’t have carry it alone anymore.

He didn’t sob or open up immediately. He did not pour his feelings out to me. He sat there quietly for a long time, but I could see that there was no anger or fear darkening his beautiful face anymore. He was weighing his options, thinking carefully about the secret he has kept for so long. He was now forced to confront it, to look this monster in the eye and call it by its name. He had to acknowledge his pain, really feel it instead of burying it deep under his skin.

The yellow overhead light in my kitchen betrayed Billy and I caught the glimpse of how glassy his eyes were. He didn’t let the tears fall. He didn’t even let his voice break.

All he said was: ‘Okay.’

And I knew he was ready to let me in.

[hathorneheiress]

Cattle roundups, Hawthorne style

So we all know that cattle and horse roundups are a big part of being a cowboy, but also I big part of Texas.

So of course, being born and breed in Texas, there is no doubt the Hawthorne brothers had their fair share of roundups.

This is how I think it would go.

Nash: Out of all the brothers, he is the best. He is also what every girl would say, "The dream cowboy" With his well-worn jeans, plaid short sleeved shirt, and cowboy boots and hat, he is surely a sight for all! With his gentle mare and experience, it doesn't take Nash long to get the herd moving in the right direction. Wistling a country tune, he is able to get the animals where they need to be.

Grayson: He actually doesn't mind going out with Nash and herding up some cattle. But unlike his older brother's simple and rustic style, Grayson dresses in a fashionable pants and coat with frills going down the front. His stubborn Arabian stallion doesn't always listen to him, and he finds himself steering his horse more then the cattle! Gray is a perfectionist, which means everything has to be done the right way. After many times of things going haywire and falling off his horse, Grayson had enough and stopped doing roundups.

Jameson: He loves them! The thrill and adrenaline that courses through his body is something he craves. Unfortunately, he gets too excited and scares the cattle in the wrong direction. His Thoroughbred stallion senses his owners excitement and gets over excited as well. Whooping like an Indian, Jameson chases the cattle head-on. In the end, he is given a very big reprimand by Nash to not scare the herd. Doing things slowly is not how Jameson works so he leaves it up to Nash.

Xander: He hates it! He could care less about rounding up some cattle. He has never enjoyed riding, actually being afraid of the horses till he was about six. Occasionally, Nash can coax him out for a ride, but it's very rare. He just watches from afar, laughing at his brothers.

So, this was a collaboration with @riddles-n-games. @riddles-n-games wrote the first post with the horses and gave me a snippet of what Nash's was. I then added on with my own ideas with roundups.

The post @riddles-n-games made is so good and I highly recommend checking it out on their page.

[fiddler-sticks]

Okay, what should I wear for 5 hours at church on Easter while playing violin in the balcony poll time. Fits under the cut

Outfit 1

White shirt, long pink skirt (that I rarely wear for literally no reason, I love it), and shawl I crocheted last year. The skirt is kind of tight around my waist, and the outfit doesn't look too very fancy, but I think it's still solid

Outfit 2

Blue skirt I wear a lot, pink shirt that I got to match it but rarely wear with it, and black shawl. I'm wearing the shawl to the Good Friday services so it might be a little weird to wear it for Easter, too, but I'll be up in the balcony for practically the entire time, so does it really matter?

Outfit 3

This is my mom's favorite out of all of them. Navy blue and pink dress with a pink cardigan. The dress is a little bit tight and the cardigan is a little too small, but other than that it's the prettiest out of all the options. Idk how I feel about it though, as I'll be out of sight for both services

Outfit 4

This one's a backup in case I'm not feeling a skirt. Beige/brown plaid pants, pink shirt, colorful shawl. I might also wear it with black pants if I'm not feeling the plaid. Actually, black might look better, so I might wear black instead. My mom hates the plaid pants so she said ew no, but I like them, and no one's gonna see me anyway 😉

Anyway, scroll up and vote plz, I'm so indecisive 😅

Also, if you have any outfit suggestions based on the pictures, please tell me, even though I don't need any more options lol

[c0mmitt4xfr0g]

Ripe - Chapter Three

chapter three of my cringe ass hoffstrahm fanfic. enjoy. nsfw.

fanfic tags: hoffstrahm, gay sex, anal sex, fluff, established relationship, sappy, kitchen sex

I can't think of anything else but if there's a tag I'm missing you want me to add lemme know!!

Chapter Three

It came to be less and less rare for Mark to spend the night -- or week -- at Peter's house. Peter had expected it to be difficult to hide it, everything, from the world. But it was surprisingly easy to blend into the background like a chameleon.

They simply went about their lives, and nobody noticed them. Nobody noticed them leave in the same vehicle, nobody saw them constantly together, nobody noticed their shared clothing.

Like the time Peter mysteriously swapped ties halfway through a work day.

He was wearing the tie of a certain detective who had sucked him off just minutes before, hidden in an alley when Peter was supposed to be gathering evidence. He was gathering evidence alright. But if anyone noticed the wardrobe change, no one brought it up. Nobody mentioned the hickeys either.

Peter reeked of lovesickness; it would've made him sick, if only he could have realized it. But nobody in the world noticed that Peter Strahm was essentially married now, nobody except himself and Mark Hoffman.

Mark noticed the way Peter seemed to suddenly have an interest in domestic things, like curtains, and throw pillows. Mark noticed that Peter started to have colour in his cheeks, and the purple under his eyes faded more every day.

Mark noticed that Peter started going for walks every day. He had a spring in his step. He made jokes.

And Mark liked living with him.

At least, Mark liked staying at his place, for a week at a time, sleeping in the same bed and sharing clothes, eating breakfast together.

Peter never ate breakfast before Mark started staying with him.

But there he stood, cooking eggs and bacon and brewing coffee at nine in the morning on a Saturday. He was humming as he stirred the pan, deep in thought about grocery shopping.

"What is wrong with you?" said a sleepy and husky voice. "It's nine in the morning."

When Mark awoke from his sleep that morning, Peter's side had been disturbingly empty, and like a moth drawn to a flame, Mark was barely coherent when he rolled out of bed to find him.

Mark broke him from his thoughts, but Peter couldn't have been happier to be disturbed. He had prayed that his cooking would wake him up, just so that he could see him earlier.

He turned around and drank in the sight of Mark in all of his clothes – his sweatpants, and an old black tee shirt, slightly loose fitted on Peter, but tight on Mark.

He grinned. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

Peter was wearing a plaid bathrobe – the kind that old men wear, but he wasn't wearing it like an old man. It was tied loosely around his waist, and parted down the front so that Mark could see just how thin his grey undershirt was.

Mark smiled as Peter leaned down and kissed his forehead. He could see two eggs in the pan, one sunny side up -- the way he preferred them -- and scrambled. Peter didn't have a preference and therefore ate whatever egg he messed up more.

Mark had slept so well because they hadn't seen each other for a week before that night, and though neither of them would admit it, they'd both developed a strange case of selective insomnia – only when they slept alone. He showed up at Peter's house at ten at night, soaking wet from a sudden spell of rain, and Peter was all too happy to take him in like a sopping wet kitten.

That night they hadn't even fucked. Normally, they would have been going at it like animals the moment they got a second alone. But that night, they never did. They showered together, got dressed into warm, clean, dry clothes, and snuggled under the covers of Peter's newly purchased duvet.

"I did, I don't even remember falling asleep," Mark said, but his words seemed… distracted. He eyed him.

Peter could sense something different in Mark's expression. He knew that Mark had a busy mind behind those icy eyes, and when they were together, it seemed to quiet some.

Peter didn't pride himself in a lot of things – that was one of them.

He turned his attention back to the eggs he was supposed to be stirring in the pan and tried to subdue his smile, but he couldn't force it away when Mark rested his hand on Peter's lower back.

"I'm glad," Peter finally answered, ignoring the goosebumps that ran through him when Mark touched his back – he always got goosebumps.

"And how did you sleep?" Mark asked him, trailing his hand up his back.

The shift in his voice was almost tangible and a rush of adrenaline gave him butterflies and a blush that only served to make him more embarrassed. He felt his eyes widening but he tried to focus.

"I slept well," Peter said, swallowing.

He couldn't believe he was blushing just from a little physical attention, especially considering they barely kept their hands off each other most nights – but then Mark's hip, which had been touching Peter's, turned just slightly, just enough for Mark to graze the front of his grey sweatpants across Peter's thigh.

Enough for Peter to feel how hard he was.

"You must have, since you're up so early," Mark murmured, voice low and slow and sultry and- fuck, Peter could feel his eyes fluttering shut when kisses tickled across his shoulder blades.

"Mark," he whispered, all his muscles relaxing almost simultaneously, like Mark was some sort of narcotic.

He couldn't help but wonder why he, Special Agent Peter Strahm, aced training but couldn't multitask enough to stir eggs while Mark barely kissed him.

"Yes, Peter?" he asked in return, the aspirations of his name sending chills down his back.

His eyes snapped open. He had to focus or else he would burn breakfast. "Do you want toast?"

Mark froze for a moment, but then he pulled away from Peter, and smiled curtly. "Yeah, I'll put some in for you too."

Peter almost regretted asking when Mark stopped pressing against him and turned his attention to the toaster. He glanced at him quickly to see if Mark was as desperate as he was, but instead caught the sight of the toaster set to three on one side and six on the other – Mark's and Peter's respectively. Peter couldn't have told him what setting he liked his toast on, just that he liked it burnt, but Mark seemed to know him better than he knew himself.

Peter thanked God when he turned the burner off, plating breakfast quickly, knowing that the faster they ate, the faster they could fuck. But he nearly dropped the pan he was putting in the sink when Mark's hand was suddenly between his legs, gripping his dick from behind.

It sent a jolt of electricity through Peter and he gasped, his jaw dropping. Mark's other hand was on his hip, and Peter was frozen in place.

"Mark, what."

"Tell me, big boy, are you really that hungry, or just excited to be done eating?" Mark asked, and the only way Peter could describe the burning in his stomach was like drinking a cup of boiling water – searing.

"Oh," he whispered dumbly, licking his lips without thinking. His eyes were squeezed shut.

Mark's grasp constricted, and he laughed low in Peter's ear, even if he had to lean upwards. He was trying to push him, trying to see how long it would take to crack him because he knew that Peter would lose his cool eventually and fuck him hard against his counter, breakfast long forgotten.

"Use your words," he teased, rubbing his thumb across the tip of his cock, which he could feel sticking straight out of his boxers.

Peter let out a shaky, slow breath, wanted to be annoyed with him for distracting him – but instead his hips jutted forward, and all he could think about was Mark's ass, something a lot more appetizing than toast.

In one swift movement, Peter shoved both plates of breakfast in the oven, hoping they could be quick enough that it wouldn't be cold – but Peter would've eaten cement if it meant getting to fuck Mark.

"Get naked," Peter said a little too eagerly, already pulling off his bathrobe.

Mark just laughed triumphantly – he didn't have to be told twice.

Peter let his bathrobe hang on the back of a chair, and his boxers sat in a puddle of cloth on the floor, but he kept his shirt on. Mark, on the other hand, stripped ass naked, and if he would've been wearing socks, Peter would've insisted he take them off too.

Something about having Mark completely naked dumped dopamine into his veins by the bucketful in some primal way. He never would have considered that Mark liked seeing him naked, too.

Peter turned around to see Mark pressed against the counter, unapologetically naked, legs spread just enough for Peter to see his hard cock. He was waiting for him, eyes half-lidded, his fingers tensed on the new marble counters that Peter secretly had installed just to fuck him on.

He didn't think his imagination could be surpassed by reality, but nothing prepared him to see Mark bent over on his counter, cock leaking against the cupboard.

"Hurry up," Mark teased, a grin slowly taking him over.

"Jesus Christ," Peter said, not answering, instead drinking in the sight.

Peter's cock suddenly throbbed, twitching as it hung hard and red between his thighs. He gasped quietly at the sensation, taking himself in hand, and Mark bit back a smirk. Peter got worked up so easily.

Mark felt his pulse quicken when Peter planted his hand just above the swell of his ass, knowing what would follow. His fingers parted his lips and Mark opened eagerly, letting out a small hum of contentment.

"Thank you," he mumbled against his fingers, tongue fluttering against his fingertips.

Peter couldn't take the sounds – his cock was already twitching.

"Fuck, babe," Peter groaned, and pressed his cock against Mark's back. "What got you so."

He didn't expect Mark to answer him so willingly.

"Seeing you cooking," he said, Peter pulling his fingers to his momentary disappointment.

Peter hesitated for a second, his hand frozen on Mark's ass. "Cooking?"

He pressed two fingers against his asshole and Mark gasped, making an involuntary noise. He couldn't answer him, pushing backwards into his hand.

Much to his delight, Peter pushed back, slowly pushing his fingers knuckle deep, and a ragged moan rolled up Mark's spine, his head tilting up to rest in the crook of Peter's neck.

"Please," he whispered, swallowing hard.

"Use your words," Peter said softly, grinning as he kissed his wavy brown hair.

Mark drew a breath to collect himself, trying to ignore the press of his cock against the counter, fighting being pressed down, and Peter fingering him open, smearing his pre-come against his back.

"I-I thought you left, when I woke up," he stammered, rocking against Peter's knuckled hand.

Peter's heart hammered, and he slowed his pace, wrapping his arm protectively around Mark's chest. He didn't think Mark would really care about that.

"Keep going," Peter murmured encouragingly.

Fuck, Peter always got him good. Mark could feel himself biting his lips to keep whines and moans hidden, his eyes wrenched shut. For someone as uncharismatic as Peter Strahm, he could get anything out of him.

He exhaled slowly. "But you were cooking breakfast."

Peter slipped another finger into his ass and he shivered, his cock throbbing. Peter was going to kill him, he could feel his heart stopping, he could feel an orgasm building already and then he could come before he ever got fucked, and Peter would laugh at him, and.

"Yeah, you like when I cook for you?" he asked, and licked a long stripe across Mark's throat.

He shook and he knew Peter could feel it. "Y-You looked so domestic, I."

Peter suddenly pulled away his fingers, going still. Mark had fucked up, butterflies erupted in his stomach – but then he felt Peter's cock replace his fingers.

"Y-You like that?" he muttered.

Mark could hear the embarrassment, could feel how hot his cheeks got, how his muscles tensed all at once as he fucked him slowly into the counter.

"Peter," he groaned, and he felt like his lungs were burning. "Yes, god."

"You like pretending we're married?" Peter teased, right hand around Mark's cock, left hand rubbing at his tits, hips coming harder now. "Like I'm your domestic, submissive husband?"

Mark really wanted to say something to defend his honour but he couldn't think of anything, too preoccupied with keeping quiet.

That wasn't what he meant – but he couldn't help picturing it, his face heating up.

"Fuck off," he finally managed, but Peter hit that spot that made his knees go weak and he was thankful for Peter's strong embrace.

"You're the submissive one," Peter quipped back. "Teasing me just to get stuffed before breakfast."

Peter groaned, and he could feel the creak of his hips as he fucked into Mark harder, adrenaline pumping through him. Mark was clenching down around him hard. Every time Peter fucked him, he was sure he was going to break his dick off.

"Oh, Peter," Mark gasped, feeling a bead of sweat roll off his nose. "Fuck me, please, Christ, I."

"Fuck, you're so good," Peter whispered. "Gonna make you come and you'll sound so good, Detective."

Peter all but purred the last part, and Mark wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to hang on before he shot his load all over the cupboards. He knew his legs would be sore later, he was already rigid with ecstasy.

"Oh, I'm gonna." Mark licked his lips, his heart missing beats now and then. "Fuck."

"Gonna what, baby?" Peter asked, the sound of skin on skin overtaking that of Mark's noisy gasps.

"Oh my god– fuck, Peter, I'm gonna come, please," he whined, his voice wet like he was going to cry at any second.

"You're–" Peter gritted his teeth. "You'll make me come, you're so tight when you come!"

His voice was desperate and high pitched and embarrassed, and his grip on Mark's cock was clumsy, erratic even – but Mark felt like his dick would burst if he didn't come, aching into his belly.

He pushed back against Peter, meeting his every thrust because he needed to, even if his thighs trembled, his lip stung from biting it, even if it was torture – it was intoxicating.

"Fuck, I love you," Mark gasped, his back arching like he was electrocuted. "Peter, oh my god, I'm coming!"

"I love you so much, god," Peter groaned, watching his come paint his cupboard. "You're gorgeous– baby, gonna make me come."

Mark felt a hard shudder wrack his body when Peter slammed into him, hand grazing his oversensitive cock – it was too much – but it was so good.

"It's too much," Mark whined, voice wet and wrecked.

"But you're so good baby, I'm so close," Peter murmured against his neck, kissing slowly, he was being so careful to watch that he really didn't overwhelm him.

"Oh, I can't," he whined, but he held Peter tight against him.

"Don't you want to make me come inside you?" Peter rocked his hips slowly, but his thrusts were hard, pressing deep and Mark was so sensitive that he could feel Peter twitching inside of him.

Fuck, Peter had a bad way with words that made Mark frail.

"Y-Yes, fuck," Mark groaned, red hot pleasure shooting through him as Peter snapped his hips hard. "Please, I want you to."

Peter's grip on Mark was suddenly steel and he growled low in his chest, the muscles in his thighs jumping.

"O-Oh," he gasped, digging his fingers into his hips hard. "You're so– oh my god, I love you!"

Peter kissed his neck, and Mark could feel his seed filling him up, eyes refusing to focus in the haze. They were so close that Mark could feel all of his muscles tensing, squeezing the orgasm out of him, fucking it into Mark like he was possessing him.

There was a moment where nothing was said, and nothing was heard except for heavy breathing and the sound of Peter pressing slow, gentle kisses to Mark's upper back.

Mark let his eyes open finally, and shifted slightly, and Peter pulled out of him, watching with a bitten lip as his come spilled from him.

"Baby, you're so good to me," Peter said rapturously, and Mark turned around to face him, kissing him slowly.

Peter's eyelashes fluttered softly against his cheeks and it wasn't enough to hold Mark gently; he clung to him, finger pads pressing light divots into Mark's lower back.

Mark broke away from him and Peter stole the opportunity to reach for his coffee, taking a sip quickly.

"No, you're so good to me," Mark said, smiling shyly, and Peter kissed him again, Mark could taste the sweet coffee. "You treated me so well this morning."

Peter grinned, kissing his forehead before fixing his hair. "You know the best part?" he said, smiling mischievously.

"Hm?" Mark looked at him nervously. Oh no – what was he planning?

"There's breakfast once we clean up," Peter said.

Mark was relieved, and smiled too, letting his nose bump against Peter's. "There is breakfast," he said, capturing his lips in one more kiss.

He was starting to think he didn't mind being domestic so much.

the link to the fanfic on ao3...

[libidomechanica]

D such as thou the opinions can story

A limerick sequence

               Stanza the First

All pass for that put on their clammy cells. Light, for cash. My crickets sing of    Hell shortly afterwards    be good wine. And coward his Fame: and yet I quickly the spoil’d.

               Stanza the Second

And burn. See who travel—which shown; unless girth, singing, and then I’ve lost for    vs, home May with Bab-    o lest the eye that was they thought and thought! And cold her spend ye.

               Stanza the Third

All night goes. Her eyes, as old suck for Rebel: and wondering his Overthrow,    and cutte of speech, better’d    Hand, while I was busy, and critic is from the city.

               Stanza the Fourth

Thus the Vapours for Justice did when they like a fish. And I spoke a loft,    and anchor o’ the landscape    which gave them with mother. A sad, sour, sober part of them?

               Stanza the Fifth

Then Kings are vermin in uniform. Put on the time as thou hast that next    Heir, a Principles of    old? Due, uttering head, and bower, bring’st thee! Her in Sion rank!

               Stanza the Sixth

My dream there and castanets from you fought to witless Foes: yet she that pale;    and lost the swollen cheek    was let us go! Against his shirts been’ a momentaries!

               Stanza the Seventh

That we sleep, the first day she asked: Spindleshanks? The king bit the SATs, don’t the    green marriage rarely: this    is to be love-whispers, whom she eats betray the churchyard tree.

               Stanza the Eighth

Who dote upon the thought in days; sometimes a day or night, if Soveraign    power by preach. Or know    this wantonly when ill, which a goddess and turn’d to shun her.

               Stanza the Ninth

It’s today, it’s tears, and praise is strangers turned early: I scotch plaids, beloved    a ladders, rich rubies    there. And of a slave frae sun went the edge of old in me.

               Stanza the Tenth

Surprise and then Sighing to write. Na lang, lang link grief a riot, many    more—pulling laughter: then    I begins his tiny no-sex voices of Lapidoth stay!

               Stanza the Eleventh

And vesper bell’s that I cannot do, thought, of coiled rope which looks on yon human    had a little they?    As the kelp holds they are not the churchyard lie, my Arts had sound!

               Stanza the Twelfth

To feel the ground: the God could we else a checked devotion; for love. Or on    the miser and rainy—    tears for they were they, where none account bad what she move the sea.

               Stanza the Thirteenth

You any painful is all away. Spirit hastily subscribe,—that if    revels, readers give now    for all the base, yet your frown. ’ Let our only given to araye.

               Stanza the Fourteenth

And an ass the tremble under star to the rocks before that I doubt few    readers given his black    mark clean sheets smelling presence. The post of years, that from a slave?

               Stanza the Fifteenth

Woman, and Turbulent of the palace, and she faire won. From Plots, true or    faded eyes to the midst;    and tell their People King of many a very male Mrs.

               Stanza the Sixteenth

Such savory Deities who have been the little house, and spring. Was    which we Right, and O that    we escape. Means would farther careen; he heart shall conducted.

               Stanza the Seventeenth

Till, from a stoic, or live before me pay the Captain’s lady. So he    sight; in which the barks, and    I must taketh. Can story, the People grace for the betters.

               Stanza the Eighteenth

Souls. If not, when the same, or would I lead the way to whom the breeze of cherubs    round then let not your    souls might at your breath not appears to one to pronouce a Foe.

               Stanza the Nineteenth

The little one, that pay the stars, and rest, with Thee! That so, some good time, the    Tree. Through thy dial’s shady    stealth from their soft-lifted hand dirks, and well forgiveness costly.

               Stanza the Twentieth

My final twists of Bath. And these are bright content, so that might bubbles o’er    me rolls them it sits tower,    rang ruin, and sherbet cooling, in the pity for thee!

               Stanza the Twenty-first

While Native rank though vnfelt, whom, debauchee who like that does his Book; but, for meanes    of our part Lovers    love within a long his sensitive, while I am secure.

               Stanza the Twenty-second

That free our he shown. Now, now Momus; and always in the prince de Ligne, and    Pray; that I can say a    thing. Lulled the hole where on lattice edge unturnable, our love.

               Stanza the Twenty-third

For wet filaree and some witch of pain of finitely distant captures;    and the mind: musician    the best countries oppressions has not self to this? Tick of tears!