#and a handful of men (only ever men huh) got tossed for saying they believe so strongly in 2A that this particular law is not one they feel

[overbearingstruggles]

-

[jhoneybees]

70s smut 🙏🏼

Ooo 70s smut! Now I got two requests for this so hopefully this will be alright for both of them, thank you for requesting :)

Honestly, might be my new favourite fic that I have written🥺

Soulmates.

Characters: Late 70s!Elvis X Reader

Warnings/triggers: Third person pov, use of Y/n, Smut hehehe, fingering, p in v, size kink, swearing(one word), mentions of God and heaven, sweet love making *sniff*🥺, fairy tale beliefs(No one can change my mind, I believe in them☝️)

Tags: @elvisalltheway101 @atleastpleasetelephone @i-r-i-n-a-a (if you want to be added to my taglist for my fics, feel free to comment!)

Enjoy my lovelies!

_____________________________________________

Elvis just feels so lonely.

Lonely and tired of doing two shows every damn day of the week, lonely and sad from the aches and pains he has all over his body and lonely of not having someone that has a similar heart like his.

He wishes that he could have someone to hold him and love him for who he is.

He wishes to maybe meet his soulmate…if they are real, he thinks to himself.

_____________________________________________

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Glancing up from the bible in his hand, Elvis stares at the front door of his hotel suite.

Closing his eyes as he sighs, he tosses the bed covers aside. Grunting as he stands himself up by using the nightstand for balance he makes his way to the door. Swinging it open with a bit of force, he groans seeing Jerry and Charlie. “What do ya want?” he asks rudely whilst bringing a hand up to rub his face.

“We brought someone, Boss.” Jerry answers with a nervous look on his face.

Elvis groans again and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why?” his tone, low.

Charlie opens his mouth. “Well we’ve noticed you’ve been-”

“Get to the point.”

“Because we’re worried, Boss.” Jerry cuts in.

The thing is about Jerry and Charlie bringing someone to Elvis, they are both genuinely worried about him, he isn’t just their boss but their friend and not only did they find a random person but a young woman who’s been a fan of his ever since his ‘GI Blues’ days. They know that he feels the most comfortable around women because of their soothing nature but something about this girl they’ve met, they think she’s the perfect match for someone like Elvis.

Elvis lifts his head and looks between the two men, staying quiet with only a slight huff.

“You’re not yourself.” Jerry finishes making Elvis keep his stare on him.

“Where are they?” he asks with a sigh, rubbing his forehead.

Watching as both Jerry and Charlie step to one side, Elvis blinks surprised seeing a pretty girl step forward giving him a shy smile.

“Boss, this is Y/n, Y/n this is Elvis.” Jerry smiles.

“Hi…”

“...Hi” he shakes her hand, hearing the slightest gasp leave her lips and his heart skipping a beat.

“You two have fun.” Charlie says before following Jerry down the hallway, leaving the two alone.

His eyes scan her up and down, slowly. Watching her as she turns her head back to look at him.

Elvis doesn’t know what it is about her but she’s fascinating him.

“...Wanna come in?”

_____________________________________________

Courteously, Y/n sits herself down on his couch. She quietly looks up at him as he switches the room’s light on and walks out for a while before coming back with sunglasses on, giving her a small smile.

Making his way over to sit down near her with a soft grunt.

“They’re worried ‘bout me, huh?” He jokes and chuckles about the men who brought her up to his suite, earning a sweet laugh.

“So uh…yer from Vegas?” he asks after a bit of silence fills the room, absentmindedly wiping his finger under his nose and looking over at the woman. Getting a glimpse of her cheeks growing pink.

“No…” She breathes out with a quiet laugh and fidgets with the hem of her skirt.

“I-I’m from Memphis, just…um… staying here to see some of your shows…” Her words trailing off to almost a whisper.

“You’re a fan?” his voice, surprisingly soft.

She lifts her gaze and nods shyly. “U-Uh big fan.”

Her heart skips a beat at his soft laugh. “Well ‘s nice ta finally meet ya.”

He smiles and she smiles back.

“How long have ya been a fan for?” he asks, to which she shakes her head.

“Oh, ever since GI blues came out…” looking back down at her lap with a shy grin, oblivious to Elvis’ eyes trailing up her legs.

“Do ya…have a favourite song?”

“Don’t really have a favourite…I-I like them all…I enjoy the country, bluesy sort of songs the most...”

Y/n purses her lips and she looks over at Elvis, seeing him nod. “I like ‘em too, my favourite kind of songs.”

The more they talk, the more deep the conversation gets. The two of them don’t know how but they just click straight away and it seems like cupid has shot two arrows into both of their hearts.

The way her eyes soften at Elvis’ smile and the way Elvis’ mouth grows dry from her angelic laugh would show everyone in the whole of Las Vegas that they’ve already fallen deeply in love. It couldn’t possibly be attraction at this point because they have shared their life stories and struggles with each other.

The woman had only met Elvis 4 hours ago.

“C’mere baby, want ya near.” Elvis says and the girl happily obliges.

Quietly shuffling to where he sits, she slides right in next to him as he holds his arm over the back of the couch. She lifts her eyes to look at him, seeing how gorgeous he is up close, with the way his pores decorate his face so beautifully and his cute nose being the perfect shape to bring all his facial features together, her heart beats wickedly at the thought of how soft his lips would feel against hers.

“Somethin’ on my face?” he asks with a chuckle.

Y/n looks into his blue eyes through his sunglasses, her cheeks growing pinker as she nervously laughs. “N-not at all, jus’...”

He removes his shades.

She doesn't know what to say when he’s admiring her like that, with his lashes framing his sultry eyes as they admire her face lovingly and the corner of his mouth curls up.

It’s as if he’s an archaeologist who’s discovered the most dazzling thing he has ever seen in his life.

“...E-Elvis” her voice, soft.

He lifts his gaze and when he locks eyes with her, they both feel their souls are drifting out from one’s parted lips into the other.

They’re so close, combined scents of floral and luxury fill their nostrils. The both of them watch each other’s eyes carefully.

“Y/n…can I…kiss you?”

Just then as the woman gives her consent, they melt at the slightest touch, lips pressing so gently against each other like they’re afraid to hurt the other person. They both close their eyes and Elvis leans himself forward with his other hand moving to rest on the side of her waist with Y/n automatically climbing to straddle his lap.

Cupping his face with her delicate hands, warm tingles shiver up her spine and as Elvis pushes his tongue inside of her mouth, she pushes herself more onto him, wanting to feel every single little touch and she melts even more from his large, firm hands grazing up her thighs going under her minidress. Her breath grows shaky and shallow as he squeezes her ass through her panties.

“Elvis…” She whispers as he pulls away, moving her hands down to rub his chest, the nice silk material under her palms.

“Let’s…Let’s go ta m-my bedroom.” he breathes and she nods willingly.

Pulling on his hand to help him stand up, Y/n’s quick to grab his sunglasses he left discarded on the couch next to him, earning a gentle smile from him. “Thank you, baby.” She smiles back, walking with him through the archway to go into his bedroom, She watches as he switches the light on on the wall.

Her heart pounds in her chest as he pulls her in by the waist and crashes his lips onto hers again with more passion. Sighing contentedly as her arms go to wrap around his neck, following his steps until the back of her calves hit the foot of the bed and she falls backwards, taking Elvis with her making him grunt loudly at the impact and the girl winces at his sunglasses hitting her nose.

“Oh I-I’m sorry, honey.” Elvis worryingly cups her cheek.

Y/n shakes her head and her chest vibrates against his as she laughs. “It’s okay.”

Her hand moves to slide his sunglasses off. “Better if we get these out of the way.” she giggles and pecks his lips. Her smile falters a little when he grimaces and the realisation hits. “O-Oh you want the light turned off, don’t you?”

“No-no ‘s a’right, hon-”

“It’s okay, we can turn it off, I don’t mind.” She reassures quietly and smiles again as his eyes soften and he rolls off from on top of her body.

Y/n pads back to the bed after turning the lights off and steps out of her heels as she looks over the man’s figure, he’s moved to rest his back against the headboard with only the nightlife of Las Vegas shining through the window showing his face. A face that has guilt written all over.

She waltzes over to crawl onto the mattress and sit on his lap again. She doesn't know how she knows what he’s thinking but she just does. “Wouldn’t want ya getting sore eyes…” observing his facial expression carefully.

“Thank you…” he mumbles gently, she can’t help but beam at his sudden gentle demeanour.

“You’re welcome… " Her fingers going up to caress his cheek, a strange urge overcomes her as both of their lips are a few millimetres away. Something she feels like she needs to say. “...It’s the least I can do to…ease the pain.” before she envelops Elvis’ lips in a delicate kiss.

This time it’s his turn to melt.

Elvis moans into her mouth, she starts to roll her hips over his strained pyjama pants and his eyebrows furrow at the mind spinning feeling of her clothed sex rubbing against his and she grazes her fingers up to unbutton his shirt.

He pulls away and breathes hard, careful to stop her hands. “H-Honey…” A wave of insecurity flowing through his brain.

The woman observes his eyes and leans in to kiss him and brush the tips of her fingers over his chest hair. “I know…” She continues to finish undoing his shirt.

Kissing his ear and cheek. “You’re gorgeous.”

Her heart feels like it’s as light as a feather as her hand runs through his soft hair, she sighs through her nose as her lips press onto his once again, body moving from instinct when his palms glide back to her ass. Squeezing it so gently that it sends chills to her pussy, making it throb.

Elvis’ groan rumbles in his throat, sliding his large hand down as she lifts her hips to press her mouth more onto his, his head tips back at the position and he can feel the warmth coming from the place in between her legs.

Hooking his index into her panties and pulling it to the side, he uses his middle finger to drag up her wet slit, smirking against her hearing a soft moan.

His cock twitches at how she mewls from him touching her sensitive clit. He’s massaging it and taking control of her body, her hips rock against his palm.

“God, Elvis…” She lets out, gasping at how his skilled hand slides down to her dripping heat. Her eyes fluttering at his finger swirls around the entrance like a predator circles their prey.

She breathes out a brief smile at his words. “Seems like I know all the tricks, hm?”

A breathy moan rolls off her tongue as he pushes his middle finger inside, pumping it in and out at a steady slow pace. “Ta make ya come undone, so easily.” his voice, deep and raspy. She doesn’t know how he does it so effortlessly. Bringing all these noises she didn’t know she could make out of her from just using one finger.

“Please…” Y/n whispers. She's got no idea why She’s saying please, her mind is so overwhelmed by how he curls his finger, rubbing it against the ridges of her walls.

It’s making her have such an awakening experience and it’s not her first but her gut is telling her this time is different. Very different.

“So wet…” he growls, placing a kiss on her throat as she throws her head back.

“So tight.” dragging his finger out and along her bundle of nerves, he rubs big and slow circles on her hot button.

Lulling her head to look down at Elvis, seeing his eyes shine with passion. “Panties off f’me?”

She whimpers and nods obediently. Moving off of his lap to slip her panties off and toss them off the bed as she lays flat on her back with her legs spread, waiting as Elvis slides his pants off to reveal his hard, bouncing, weeping, red at the tip cock.

Her mouth waters at the thought of how good he would feel so deep inside of her.

“C-Can yer ‘elp, baby?” Elvis shyly asks, snapping her out of her thoughts. She helps him move to kneel between her legs.

“You’re so big…” she utters. Craning her neck up to look down in the middle of both of their bodies to see his dick swinging towards her pussy.

Elvis grins widely, trailing his eyes down her goddess looking figure. “And you’re so beautiful.” guiding the head of his cock to her hole, he inches himself in and the tightness already makes his eyes roll back.

“F*ck…” Y/n sighs.

He gets down onto his forearms, caging her frame underneath him protectively. Shivers slithering up his spine at the feeling of his belly pressing heavily on her stomach. Pushing more of himself inside little by little, groaning out loudly as her walls clench around him and her pornagraphic moans fill his ears.

Keeping his stare fixed onto Y/n’s pretty angelic face and a long breath squeezes out of his throat when he finally fits the rest of his cock in.

Suddenly something clicks.

“Elvis…I…”

“Y-You’re my soulmate.”

They stare into each other’s eyes, flicking from one to the other.

She cups Elvis’ cheeks gently, panting quietly as she thinks and admires his handsome face.

Ever since they were little, they didn’t think those fairy tales were real talking about how they would meet their soulmate one day and right at this moment, they have been proved wrong. So wrong.

“...H-hold on tight.”

Elvis starts to thrust into her slowly. Picking up pace as time goes by and every single second it feels like home, feels like they’re meant for each other.

They’ve found their true love, their love at first sight, their ride and die, their partner in crime, their goddamn soulmate and they have the strongest urge to say those three words that every couple says but something is telling them to keep going before they say it.

They grab onto one another, wanting to feel the closest they could possibly be and take in the sensations, the magic, the love, the truth as they fly up into the clouds. Sucking in an unknown magical essense that falls into the atmosphere and Elvis works the both of them closer and closer and closer and closer to heaven.

Crying out in unison. “I love you.”

[cenviswasteland]

Promise it to me. (Promise me the sea.)

Written for FreyVay Week 2024!

June 23rd -- Nature || Picnic || Flowers || Apple || Fantasy

Word Count: 5319

Rated: T.

Content warnings: mild fear, near-death experience (drowning).

Synopsis: Frey, pirate on the ship Lovelass, is tossed overboard during a nasty storm. Someone saves him.

[Check out the playlist for today!]

– I –

The seas and sky were clear today. Frey had found a comfortable, out of the way corner on the deck and sat down with the sailing log for the Lovelass. The Captain was usually in charge of it, but he’d been below deck for the past week recovering from something that was probably scurvy, and Frey was the only other sailor that could write decently.

20 June 1717

We are going to dock in New Providence. Standard trade and restock. It was supposed to be Port Royal. The last crew we saw got gutted by the British there. It makes for an added three days on the sea, but our crew is all wanted men. No one wants that kind of a brush. Captain is planning his next move.

Something came down on his head, hard and swift. Frey yelped, and his hand flew up to where he’d been hit.

“Show a leg, boy!”

He sighed as he looked up. “I’m awake, Cornie. I’m awake.”

Cornie pulled his hand away and crossed his arms. “Y’ain’t doin’ anything.”

Frey raised an eyebrow at that. Cornie didn’t do much of anything, either. Two ports ago, he’d “gotten his hands on” a scrap of royal purple fabric– which was now tied around his waist, stained by dirt and salt. It still made him look a lot more important than he was.

“Is there anything I can be doing?” Frey questioned, glancing around.

“Could be.”

“But,” Frey continued. “we’re on a straight path, the waves and winds are on our side, and Sawyer’s better with the wheel than I’ll ever be.”

“Aye, but–”

“When did you get pushed up the ranks?” he asked, knowing full well that he was poking a bear.

“You–” Cornie spluttered. “You and your damn sea dog book.”

Frey motioned back to his journal, tilting his head slightly. “It’s important work.”

“Maybe for the people that can read,” he shot back, obviously displeased with how little he was getting under Frey’s skin. “Ain’t nobody out here interested in your parchment shapes. Expectin’ to show off our travels to the fishes?”

“Maybe the Kra–”

Cornie waved his arms around wildly, a frustrated surrender. “Don’t you start. Can’t believe Cap filled up yer head with all his Nelson’s folly nothin’s.”

“You’re cranky today,” Frey chuckled.

“You shoulda stayed on land.”

“If only, huh?”

Someone on the other side of the ship yelled for Cornie– Frey couldn’t make out the voice– and he went scampering off with a final glare and a hiss of “Bilge rat.” 

Frey was, all things considered, a fine addition to the crew. He did as he was told when things needed to be done, and he had enough muscle on him to haul crates and bodies when necessary. It was his mouth that got him in trouble. The crew liked to joke– when they weren’t harassing him for being the Captain’s son– that God put an attorney’s soul in a tar’s body. They said if Frey had stayed on land for just a little longer, he probably would have been ordering everyone on the Lovelass to the gallows.

He turned himself back to the log.

I say again– no one is happy about more time on the sea. Rations have been tight for a while. It has only gotten worse. We live off rum and hardtack now. The Captain is trying to keep everyone in high spirits, but most barely have the ‘spirits’ to withstand him.

The wind whistled past, blowing into the sails. A few men let out cries of joy as the ship rocked forwards. Frey dug his heel between two wooden boards to keep from sliding, shutting his book and clutching it close to his chest. The waves had gotten choppy. He wouldn’t be able to keep writing until things calmed down again.

When the sea got like this, Frey always ended up thinking about the stories that the Captain told him. They were tales of the fantastic, things that he’d picked up traveling to London and Paris and Amsterdam. Apparently, those who stayed on land filled their days with the could-be monsters of the seas– the Kraken with its massive octopus body that could drag sailors to their doom, the mermaids that sang so sweetly that they could seduce any man to his demise, the half-fish half-horse that appeared on beaches and coerced a man into getting on its back to drag him into the depths… 

Frey once told the Captain that it seemed like they would fabricate just about anything to keep their men on land. He told Frey to keep his ears covered when the ship went past large rocks.

He knew that the Captain’s stories didn’t hold any weight, but he was the only one that would stay and listen when he told them. The crew thought they were useless stories to scare children away from the sea.The Captain swore his life on every tale. Frey barely believed in the Lord most days– he wasn’t about to go believing in selkies and sirens. The only things that were certain were the things that could be proven. Even so, it was nice to dream. Sometimes, he would sneak out of the barracks in the middle of the night and hope to see something in the dark waters below.

“Frey!”

The loud voice shook him out of his thoughts, and he turned his head towards the bow of the ship. Sawyer was waving for his attention. Frey scrambled to his feet and waved back.

“The winds are changing!” Sawyer called out. “I think a storm’s coming on. Get some more hands– batten it down!”

“Aye!”

It took him a few minutes to gather up enough men. He sent Cornie down to inform the Captain while Flynn and Kasper went with him to get the sails. In just that time, the skies had already started to darken, dark gray clouds rolling over the light blue skies, blanketing it all in gloom.

The Lovelass was never the perfect ship. The masts were a little too big for most to climb comfortably, and the sails couldn’t come down. They had to come fully off every time. It was Frey’s official job to tie and untie the ropes on the top masts. He was the only one with enough strength and flexibility for it– probably because he was the youngest of the crew, barely eighteen.

Kasper helped Frey get his footing on the netting up, and he started his climb as quickly as he could. The sooner he got down, the better in these conditions. Wind whistled past like a melody, rocking the ship into the waves. Frey had to steady himself before continuing.

At the half-way point of his climb, the crew below erupted into shouting and commotion. Frey glanced down to see that the Captain had emerged from his quarters, leaning against his cutlass for support while he barked orders to the crew. In a risky move, Frey waved down to him. He nodded back, and Frey continued his climb.

It took another half-minute to get up onto the masts, and the sky had gone cold and dangerously gray. Frey swung his leg around to anchor himself in a seated position, immediately working on untying the rope knots. He knew them like the back of his hand.

Flynn called up to him, his voice distant. “Alright, lad?”

“I’ll be fine! Get ready to catch!”

Frey pulled the knot loose and pushed the sail down. It fluttered in the wind for a moment before someone pulled it down onto the deck. The waves were dangerous right now. One crashed into the ship and threw Frey forward. He gasped in pain as his chest connected with the mast– but the blow didn’t do much other than knock the air out of him.

In good weather, the view from up here would be gorgeous. Now, with the seas dark and the wind battering him, Frey just wanted down. He couldn’t stand the way the wind was whistling, like a trick against him. He knocked his boot against a few points of the mast, feeling around for the netting again.

That was when he saw it. Between the seafoam and the waves, something in the water was moving. Glittering, almost, despite the darkness. Bright red, like a ruby. He stared at the shape for a moment, trying to make it out. It had to be some kind of fish, but he’d never seen anything like it. It was barely a fathom away, turning and twisting next to the ship as if it was inviting her to dance with it.

“Frey!”

He pulled himself back to reality and waved down to Kasper. “I’m alright!”

“The Hell are you doing? Get down here!”

“Aye!”

His foot slipped into the netting and he started his climb down on the makeshift ladder. Against his better judgment, he kept letting his eyes drift to the sea. The red shape had disappeared into the ocean, and he knew it was a trick of the light, but for some reason he wanted to see one more second of it.

It was his own folly, really. He thought he’d gotten his foot on another rope rung and let go without thinking. A wave crashed into the ship at the same time. The mast hit him at full force and spun. It sent him flying through the air. He stretched out his hand, trying to grasp onto something. He caught nothing.

That melody was still in the wind. In another situation, Frey would have stopped and listened.

But his ears and eyes filled with water, and it all went dark.

– II –

He was falling. He was floating. All the wind had been knocked out of him. Frey had to be dead– if not from drowning, from the cold. There was an arm around his waist. It pushed him and pulled him. He was still breathing. It didn’t make sense. Was he dreaming? It felt like the sun was shining on his face. Something cold– a hand?– was on his cheek. The same feeling was on the back of his head. Someone was singing. He couldn’t make out the language. It was a beautiful melody. It was a familiar melody.

He’d heard it on the sea.

Frey shot forward, every limb making its own spastic movement. His lungs were burning, and he coughed heavily. His fingers dug into warm sand. His clothing clung to him, still wet. He was staring out into the sea. He was on a beach. He was alive. He nearly laughed at the realization, but his head throbbed and he doubled over again. The pain spread into the rest of his body. It felt awful. Melodramatically, he considered if death would be better than whatever he was feeling.

His memories came back to him in pieces as he pulled himself to his feet. He was flung off of the ship and went into the waves. It was a miracle that he washed up on any kind of shore. He pulled in a sharp breath as he stretched, trying to make his body remember how to be human. The obvious questions swam across his mind– Where’s the ship? Where am I? Where’s the crew?– and he turned in place to survey the area.

Half of whatever beach Frey had washed up on was obscured by large rocks. The sand was clean, the tide was high, and the sun was beating down on him. He glanced right– lots of nothing– then left– more nothing broken up by the wreckage of the ship. Frey turned himself to the right and took a few steps before realizing that the ship was on the beach, at which he promptly turned on his heel and bolted towards it.

He finally arrived in front of the Lovelass properly after a few grueling minutes, clutching at his stomach to ward off the pain still rocking through his body. At first glance, he couldn’t see any of the crew. Hopefully they were all looking for each other, or below deck, or something. He kept walking closer. His foot caught on something and he stumbled, falling back against the sand. Fantastic.

Frey picked himself back up and looked down to see what he’d tripped over– a man face-down in the sand. He quickly knelt down and pushed him onto his side. It was the Captain. Frey breathed out a sigh of relief, and then shook the man to try and wake him up.

He stirred after a few seconds, opening his eyes. His expression turned baffled in an instant. “Frey?”

“Captain,” he greeted with a laugh.

“Saw you go flying into the sea,” the Captain returned with a smile, reaching his hand up to ruffle Frey’s salt-dried hair. “Thought you were dead, boy.”

“So did I. Are you alright? Is anything broken?”

“Not from what I can tell,” he replied.

Frey got to his feet, then helped the Captain up. “I suppose you don’t know where the rest of the crew is.”

“Not an inkling,” the Captain said, slowly stretching. “Where are we?”

“I wish I knew. I was trying to search for you all.”

“How ‘bout I take up the search for the crew? You venture through and see if there’s anything we can eat. Bet all our food’s rot now.”

Frey nodded. “Aye. Yell if you need help– I’ll try to stay close.”

“Atta boy.”

With that, Frey was off. He tracked how long he was searching by the sun in the sky, and within a few hours he’d been able to walk the length of the land. It was a small island, the kind of thing that sailors would talk about like a legend. The coastline circled into something that was barely a forest. Some of the trees bore fruit, and they’d be able to catch up some fish assuming any of their rods survived.

The wind continued to whistle away, making that same melody. It was going to drive him mad at some point. The setting sunlight and circumstances had to be playing tricks on him, that was all, but he swore he kept seeing something red swimming around the island. He almost considered following it a few times, just to see if it led anywhere, but decided against it. 

Something called on the breeze. It almost sounded like a name. Frey tried to ignore it, and despite his effort it continued to call. It just got louder. Eventually–

Alexander…?

–Frey heard who it was calling for.

It froze him in his tracks, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He called out: “Who’s there?”

Alexander?

“How do you know that name?”

Alexander!

It sounded further away that time, like a taunt. Frey fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Before he even realized, he was already running towards the voice, shouting questions the whole way.

His feet carried him to the other side of the island, away from the Lovelass and the crew. The coastline wrapped around the island, as it turned out, but this side was more rocks than sand. Frey caught his breath for just a moment before saying again: “Who’s there?”

“Who’s there?” the voice echoed, as if it wasn’t comfortable with its own words.

“My– my name is Frey,” he explained. “I sail on the galleon Lovelass. We got caught in the storm and crashed on the beach. I’m just looking for my crew–”

It was then that a man lifted himself up on the rock, stopping before he showed his waist. His hair was long and blonde– it was wet and it clung to his pale cheeks. He had no tunic on, and for a moment Frey wondered if he didn’t have any clothing at all. His gray eyes were wide, practically boring into Frey with how hard he was staring. He was beautiful.

Frey balked, stumbling over his thoughts. “Who… Who are you?”

He let out a noise, a single note without any word behind it. Frey must have looked surprised, because the man made the same noise and then frowned.

“Are you trapped? Do you need help?” Frey pressed.

The man tilted his head, still staring.

“Can you… not speak English?” Frey asked tentatively.

The man held out his hand as if waiting for something. His fingers were long and slender, and his nails were sharp. Carefully, Frey approached.

“Alexander?” the man asked, his voice almost sounding clumsy.

“That’s my father’s name,” Frey said. “How do you know it?”

There was a splashing sound against the water, and the man grimaced. He extended his hand again, more forcefully this time. Frey knelt down in front of him, and put out his hand in return. The man grabbed it and pulled, as if he was trying to drag Frey into the sea.

Frey yelped and wrenched his hand away. “What was that for?”

The man just kept staring, tilting his head the other way. It was like he was trying to drink in Frey’s image, or like he wasn’t quite sure how to quantify him. Frey started to match his movements, much to the other man’s delight.

After a few seconds, Frey spoke again. “Alright, we’re getting nowhere with this.”

The man frowned at that.

“Do you know what ‘yes’ and ‘no’ mean?” Frey asked, making the appropriate head motions alongside his words.

His face lit up, and he nodded. Yes. 

Frey sat properly on the rock, crossing his legs to hold the man’s stare. “Great, now we can talk.”

It started with normal questions: Do you live here? was answered with a Yes. So were Did you see our ship crash?, Do you know where the crew is?, and Are they safe?

“You can understand English,” Frey started, and that was met with a Yes. “But you can’t speak a lot of it?”

Another yes.

“Well, what do they call you in your language?”

The man made that same little noise again, looking expectantly at the sailor. Frey tried to make the same noise. The man looked disgusted for a moment, then repeated the noise. He, again, tried to repeat it. The response was an immediate shake of his head, the disgust on his face almost turning to horror.

“I guess I didn’t get it right?” Frey chuckled. “Did I say something bad?”

He nodded, then gave Frey another up-and-down glance. He put out his hand again.

“Last time I took your hand, you tried to pull me into the ocean.”

There wasn’t a yes or no answer to that, but he let out another series of vocalizations– a melody in its own right– and it would have been beautiful if not for how angry the man looked. Frey turned his head, trying to understand what was being sung to him.

Frey apologized before continuing his questions. The man wasn’t trying to hurt him or the crew– so he claimed– but there were others that might. He refused to come out of the water. Frey got him to point to where the sun was in the sky when the Lovelass crashed– crawling upwards in the East– and if it had been more than a day. It hadn’t. 

“Have you seen anything red in the water?” he eventually asked.

The man tilted his head, like he didn’t understand.

“The– the color of rubies, and blood, and apples,” Frey clarified after a moment.

His face lit up for a moment in understanding, then fell into a frown. He shook his head.

Frey sighed. “It might have been a trick, but I swear I saw something swimming next to the ship. Brilliant red, fast as an arrow. Could you keep a lookout for it, maybe?”

He tilted his head to each side like he was considering it, then nodded.

“Frey?” called a voice– he recognized it instantly as Sawyer.

The man pulled in a breath, and he hid behind the rock. 

“Wait, wait–” Frey begged. The man peeked out again.

Frey’s voice fell to a whisper. “Will you be here at dawn?”

He nodded.

“Then I’ll be back. I swear it.”

He smiled, and Frey matched it before pulling himself to his feet. He glanced back down to the water, but the man was already gone.

“I’m over here!” he called.

“Frey!”

Sawyer came tumbling out of the foliage, and they both froze for a moment.

“Sweet Jesus, you look like Hell,” Sawyer said, a smile spreading across his face.

“Well, I did get thrown out of the ship from the crow’s nest,” he laughed, stepping forwards to meet him.

Sawyer pulled him into a tight hug, then pulled back. He kept his hands on Frey’s shoulders. “I’m glad you’re alive, mate. The Captain gathered us all up– Flynn got himself a broken arm, but other than that we’ll all be fine by the morning. Come on, let’s get you back.”

“Aye.”

– III –

23 June 1717

The repairs are going well. We finally got enough wood to fix up the rudder before turning in for the night yesterday, and we should have the ship back on the sea in two days. Everyone’s finding his own way through it, as expected, but nobody is complaining about the fresh food. We plan to take some of it with us, maybe fill a barrel with it if we can. The Captain is sending Cornie and Sawyer out foraging when it gets light enough.

That meant that Frey didn’t have much time today. The repairs had been exhausting him physically and mentally, and he’d slept in later than he meant to.

He’d been taking campfire duty every night, claiming The rest of the crew needs more sleep than I do and the like, and he’d been making sure to sleep without covering his eyes, just in service of sneaking away from the group. 

He still hadn’t been able to get the man’s name. It was the worst part of the language barrier. Frey had taken to calling him songbird because of the way his native tongue sounded– the clicks and trills reminded him of a bird. Frey had been showing him the Captain’s log and helping him speak English, but it was still a mess most days. Even so, it was the most fun he’d had in ages. 

This morning, he filled his leather pack with a simple breakfast– he’d pick a few apples on the way– and set off, book in hand. The path to their spot was practically muscle memory at this point.

Frey sat down on the same rock, setting his pack and the book next to him, before knocking on the stone a few times. “Songbird?”

Like clockwork, the man peeked his head out, unsure at first. His eyes lit up for just a moment before his expression settled back into that inquisitive, neutral gaze that Frey had grown so used to.

“…Frey.”

It was his turn to light up, a giddy smile spreading across his face. “You remembered!”

He looked away, but nodded.

Frey turned back to his pack for a moment, then pulled an apple from it. “Are you hungry?”

He eyed the fruit for a moment, and when Frey held it out to him, he took it. Frey watched as he turned it in his hand, inspecting it, before biting into it. His eyes went wide for a moment, and then a slight smile spread over his face.

“Have you never had an apple before?” he teased. His question was met with a shake of the head.

It was when he opened his mouth to take another bite that Frey caught just how sharp his teeth were– each one was a point, as if he was a shark, not a human. He let the other man finish the apple before he asked the question that had been eating away at him for days.

“You’re… not human, are you?”

His eyes widened, and he stared back at Frey. He flushed red like a human, and then shook his head.

“What are you, then?”

He held out his palm again, as if that was an answer.

Frey glanced down, then chuckled. “Fine. Don’t drag me to my death, alright? I like you.”

He took the other man’s hand.

In the next moment, he was pulled back into the cold sea. Instinctively, Frey panicked, but something caught him by his wrist, and the weight stayed even as the man’s hand slipped out of his. Frey pulled in a breath.

And then he paused, floating in the ocean, and realized he’d just breathed. He took another breath as if he was trying to prove it to himself. It felt strange– awful, really– but he was breathing.

“Open your eyes,” said a voice from behind him, beautiful and sweet.

Slowly, he let his eyes flutter open, and the man was in front of him. His hair floated around his head like a halo, and his pale skin blended into scales at his hips– a tail, brilliantly red and shimmering in the water. He was smiling, marveling in the way Frey reacted.

“Can you speak?” he asked.

“I–” Frey tested, every sensation in his body foreign and impossible. “How…?”

“The sea is more fantastic than you realized, Frey of the Lovelass.”

He twisted in the water, swimming a circle around him, before taking him by the wrist. Frey looked down to see a band of shells adorning his tanned skin. He reached for it, and the other man pulled his hand away. “Don’t take that off, you’ll drown in an instant.”

“What– What is it?”

“I think your kind call it magic.” He laughed, and it sounded like the waves.

Frey had to look down at his legs, just to make sure he still had them. He did.

“What’s your name?” Frey asked again.

“Valence,” was the response. “I’ve been trying to tell you for days.”

“Valence,” Frey repeated, testing the word. “It’s beautiful.”

“I know.”

Valence turned again in the water, graceful and fantastic, and appeared again in front of Frey. He took a hold of Frey’s face, turning his head to each side. 

“What are you doing?” Frey asked, almost laughing.

“Observing.”

“And what have you observed?”

“You don’t look all that different from us,” he said. “but your eyes aren’t as bright.”

“Are you the same red thing that was brushing up against the Lovelass before she crashed?” Frey asked.

“What do you think?” Valence asked back, a smile playing at his lips.

“Then why’d you lie?”

“I couldn’t explain it properly.”

Frey couldn’t argue with that.

“I was also the one to drag you out of the ocean,” Valence continued. “In case you wanted to thank me for that.”

He laughed. “Thank you very much for saving my life, songbird.”

Valence gave him a look of exasperation. “Don’t call me that. You know my name now.”

“But it fits you so well!”

He glared, and the fin of his tail flicked in a way that seemed just as angry. Frey took something close to a bow– it was hard when floating in the ocean. “Yes, your Highness.”

“Better,” he said.

“How do you know my father’s name?” Frey pushed.

“I don’t.”

“But you said it a hundred times.”

“I can’t control the songs I sing,” Valence explained. “They’re not meant for my ears.”

“You were trying to pull me to my doom!”

“Maybe, maybe not.” There was a smile playing at his lips. “Either way, you’re far too interesting to drown you now. Consider yourself lucky.”

Frey raised an eyebrow at that. Valence took another half-circle around him, then wrapped his arm around Frey’s waist, pulling him against his bare chest. His free hand went back to Frey’s face, gently turning his head towards him. His fingers traced along Frey’s jawline.

“You’re touchy,” Frey whispered, as if anyone else would be able to hear them.

“When am I going to get a chance like this again?” he asked, just as quietly. His tail bumped against the back of Frey’s knees, and lifted up his legs. Valence leaned over Frey’s shoulder, his eyes fixed on the difference in their anatomies.

“You could have a million of them if you keep following the Lovelass.”

“Are you propositioning me?”

“That’s a big word for a mermaid,” Frey deflected.

“Well, perhaps I will join your little crew,” Valence said. Frey could hear him smile.

He let his fingers drag across Frey’s cheek. Frey leaned into his palm and planted a kiss there. Valence’s skin was soft against his lips, and he let out a tiny gasp.

Frey chuckled, a little sheepish. “Sorry, that was habit.”

“Noted.” His voice was a little quieter, as if he’d gotten bashful too. His grip on Frey’s waist loosened, and he floated backwards. Frey twisted in the water to see him blushing, trying to hide his face with his hair.

“Did I embarrass you?”

“No,” Valence replied, still looking away.

Frey looked up. The sky had changed from a pale pink to a light blue. He sighed. “I bet the crew is starting to wonder where I went.”

“You won’t stay?”

“I do get a choice, right?” Frey asked, a little more seriously than he meant to.

Valence looked like he was considering for a few moments. “I suppose.”

“Then I have to go.”

“You have to promise to come back,” he said, grabbing Frey’s wrist.

Frey leaned in to press their foreheads together. “I swear it.”

Valence guided Frey’s hand up to his cheek, holding it there for a moment.

“How do you say farewell?” Valence said quietly, his gray eyes glittering.

Frey smiled, and then tilted his head to catch Valence’s lips with his. Valence leaned into it immediately, instinctively, and his tail flicked before wrapping itself around Frey’s legs to anchor him against the sailor. Frey moved his other hand up, cupping Valence’s cheeks. It tasted like salt and sea but it was perfect and it was theirs.

Valence was the one to pull away. Frey opened his eyes to see Valence staring down at him with an uncharacteristically giddy smile on his face. “You’ve given me more questions.”

“I’m sure,” Frey replied.

“What was that called?”

“A kiss.”

“Why do you close your eyes during it?”

“To focus on the feeling.”

“Do humans only do it to say farewell?”

“No. They do it for all kinds of reasons.”

“Do they do it to everyone?”

“Only to the people they like.”

“Then why did you do it to me?”

Frey chuckled. “Because I really like you, songbird.”

Valence stammered, then pulled away from Frey. His tail flicked back and forth in the water, like he wasn’t quite sure how to wrap his head around all the information he was just given.

“You will come back,” he demanded. “I’ll drag you back if I have to.”

“I couldn’t just leave you forever,” Frey laughed. “I’m interested in you too.”

He nodded in understanding. “Alright, fine.”

Frey held out his hand. Valence took it, then laced his fingers with Frey’s. “Make sure to breathe out as much as you can. It’ll be easier that way.”

The advice didn’t make returning to the air any less difficult. Frey was sputtering and coughing the moment he inhaled again, his head above the surface. His lungs were burning again, readjusting to the feel of it all. Valence helped him back to land, making those little vocalizations the whole time.

“I can’t understand you anymore,” Frey lamented once he was back on the rock, still soaking wet. “That’s hardly fair.”

Valence grimaced, said something, then motioned to Frey’s wrist. The bracelet was still there.

“Don’t worry, I promise not to take it off,” he said, turning his wrist so he could see it from all angles. “And I promise to come back.”

He nodded, smiling.

“Farewell, Valence,” Frey offered.

Valence chirped back. Farewell.

[sacredsorceress]

Lovers’ Quarrel || Bucky Barnes

pairing: bucky barnes x rogers!reader

summary: when you married your brother’s best friend in 1941, the two of you had always promised to stick together and you did just that- even following him to wakanda where you trained alongside the dora milaje. When you find out that bucky’s released zemo from prison behind your back... needless to say you’re pissed.

a/n: okay i absolutely loved this request so much @missroro​. reblogs and replies are super appreciated!

word count: 2.4k

warnings: swearing, reader and bucky fighting

masterlist || request || taglist

You were pissed to say the least.

You couldn’t understand why your husband would keep something so big such a secret from you. You had spent seventy years in ice for those you loved. You had become a super soldier for those you loved. You had spent two years off the grid in hiding for those you loved... and your husband couldn’t even tell you the truth? You would have tried to understand- helped him even- but he had chosen instead to keep you in the dark, leaving you to find out about his actions second hand from those who felt just as betrayed as you.

As you stood in the threshold of the room, spotting the five men, you could feel almost nothing but rage coursing through your veins. The tension was so thick in the room, you swore you could cut it with a knife... but you decided that a spear would do.

Throwing your arm back and tossing the spear forward, you watched as it stuck itself into the column between Sam and John Walker- the man posing as your brother.

When the spear collided with the wall, everyone’s eyes immediately snapped onto you and you could of sworn it almost felt good to watch the fear in your husband and Sam’s eyes when they spotted you, knowing just by the look on your face that they had messed up... and you weren’t one to let things like that slide.

“Y/n-” Bucky began.

With a straight face you turned your head to the side, unable to look at him, instead turning your attention to the Dora Milaje as they entered the apartment.

“Even if he is a means to your end... time’s up.” Ayo spoke in Xhosa before switching to English. “Release him to us now.”

You could feel Bucky’s eyes burning into you, but you remained steadfast, watching the scene unfold in front of you.

“Hi. John Walker.” The new Cap attempted to introduce himself. “Captain America.”

Although you were enraged beyond compare upon finding out that the government had chosen a new man to take your brother’s place, you almost wanted to laugh at how poorly he was handling the situation.

When neither of the two women in front of him said anything, he continued.

“Well , uh.” John said. “Let’s put down the pointy sticks and we can talk this through, huh?”

God, he was handling this poorly, wasn’t he? You would find it funny if he wasn’t so incredibly ignorant.

“Hey, John, take it easy.” Sam said looking between you and the two other women in the room. “You might want to fight Bucky before you tangle with the Dora Milaje.”

“The Dora Milaje don’t have jurisdiction here.” John insisted.

“The Dora Milaje have jurisdiction wherever the Dora Milaje find themselves to be.”

Rather than standing to the side and allowing the group of skilled warriors to take what- or rather who- they wanted and leave, Walker couldn’t help but instigate.

As soon as his hand landed on Ayo’s shoulder, you knew he would regret that decision.

Immediately the two women began fighting- one taking on John Walker and the other Lemar. You had known the women long enough to know that they could handle the situation themselves without breaking a sweat. Still standing in the doorway, you crossed your arms watching as one began choking Lemar with her spear, the other sticking her spear into Steve’s... John’s shield.

Quickly glancing over to the other men, you caught Bucky and Sam staring at you on the sidelines, whispering to one another. As soon as you caught their line of vision you glanced away, focusing once again on the fight taking place in front of you.

Right as Ayo held her spear above John, fear written all over his face, Bucky stepped in, pulling Ayo back. Recalling why you were there in the first place, you immediately uncrossed your arms, striding over to the other side of the room, able to feel the rage flowing through your veins.

Pulling your spear from the wall, you marched up to your husband pulling him away from Ayo.

“Y/n,” He eased. “Let’s talk about this.”

“Oh you want to talk about it?” You asked, shoving him backwards with the spear. “That’s funny, Buck.”

Dodging your blows, not wanting to fight you, Bucky continued backing up and reaching for the spear to keep the metal from meeting his skin.

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you!” He exclaimed.

Pushing harder with the spear, you grunted, kicking him to subsequently shove him back against the counter.

You asked yourself if he really thought saying ‘sorry’ would work. You knew your husband wasn't dumb enough to believe that there would be no consequences for breaking Helmut Zemo out of prison- a man who not only caused the split of the Avengers, but also killed the king of Wakanda- a place full of people who had shown you and your husband nothing but kindness. They had given Bucky a new chance at life and had given you the opportunity to train among the most expert fighters you had ever met- the Dora Milaje. They had given both of you more than you could have asked for when your life went sideways eighty years ago. So when you had received the call that Bucky had broken Zemo out of prison you could barely believe it.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Buck!” You shouted.

Knocking him back one last time, you recalled what they had taught you back in Wakanda when Bucky had first received his new arm- a trick you had hoped never to have to use, but as you stood there fighting your husband, anger fueling you in a way you had felt only a few times before, you didn’t see another way.

Moving your hand in the exact pattern you had learned years ago along where his shoulder met his chest, you listened as the the metal clicked and watched as his vibranium arm fell to the ground beside him, Bucky looking up at you with his eyes wide.

You had to shove back the part of you that felt your heart break in your chest watching the look of betrayal in his eyes. Recalling why the two of you were in this position in the first place, you stood up straighter, clearing your throat.

“You are sleeping on the couch tonight, Mr. Barnes.”

Holding the spear straight beside you, you turned your attention to Ayo who opened the doors to the bathroom, only to find Zemo missing. Instructing the other warrior to drop Cap’s shield, the two women left, leaving you behind with the four remaining men in the room.

Shoving past your husband, you dropped your spear onto the ground, making your way over to Sam and smacked him across the back of his head.

“Shit!” He exclaimed. “What was that for? Don’t get me involved in your little lovers’ quarrel.”

“Lovers’ quarrel?” You asked him, laughing. “I’ve been Mrs. Barnes for eighty-two years, Sam. I’ve put up with a lot of shit, but don’t act like you two didn’t just break a criminal out of prison. A criminal who- need I remind you- tried to brainwash Bucky and killed King T’Chaka.”

“Don’t look at me.” Sam said, throwing his hands up in the air. “That was all Bucky.”

Immediately your eyes snapped back to your husband who was standing across the room, attaching his vibranium arm to his shoulder once again.

“Thanks, Sam.” Bucky grumbled.

Before any of the rest of you could say anything, the voice from the other side of the room caught your attention. Following the voice you saw John Walker huddled against the table, his friend reaching his hand out to him.

“They weren’t even super soldiers.” He mumbled, staring off into the distance.

Despite the fact that you still didn’t approve of the ‘new’ Captain America, you felt your heart tug in your chest as you watched the man break down over to the side. You felt sorry for him. You knew better than any other living person the weight the shield and legacy carried being both the adopted sister of Steve himself and the wife of his best friend.

Although you were pained watching a new man undermine your brother’s legacy, you couldn’t help but pity him.

Making your way over to John you reached out your hand to him. Looking up you could finally see the recognition in his eyes, realizing who you were. Immediately he took your hand, pulling himself to his feet.

“You’re-” He started.

“Don’t beat yourself up over this, Walker.” You said, before making your way over to the couch. “No one wins a fight against the Dora Milaje. I got my ass handed to me every day that I trained with them.”

Despite the fact that you were telling the truth- you lost to each one every time you fought- you enjoyed every second of it. It was a relief.

After discovering that your husband, Bucky, was still alive after decades apart, you couldn’t stand to let him out of your sight again. When Steve had brought Bucky to Wakanda with the hope of clearing his brain of the programming he had endured under Hydra, you followed him there. Despite the fact that your husband was in your arms once again, you couldn’t help the thoughts that took over your mind every day- everything that you all had lost, the memories of what you had endured and the worry that Bucky would never be the same again.

The pain of being knocked around by a member of the Dora Milaje’s spear was almost therapeutic.

Rather than replying, Lemar pat his friend on the back, nodding to the rest of you within the room before guiding his shaken friend out the door of the apartment.

“You’re being too friendly with him, Y/n.” Bucky said.

Snapping your head to the side you glared at your husband.

“What are you? Jealous?” You asked.

Rather than answer you, Bucky crossed his arms.

“I just think you’re being a little too nice to the guy that’s ruining Steve’s name-”

Before he could even finish his sentence, you pushed yourself off of the couch, striding over to your husband, shoving your finger into his chest.

“Don’t tell me how to feel, James.” You told him seriously. “He was my brother. I wouldn’t have chosen that guy to take on Steve’s name either, but don’t get mad at me. You’re the one who fucked up and lied about going on this mission with Sam. Do you know what it felt like to get a call from Ayo to find out that you not only lied to me, but you betrayed the people who have been nothing but kind to us?”

Staring at you, he could tell how not only angry you were, but also distraught. The both of you had gone through hell and back and Bucky was thankful every day that even after all these years he was able- by some miracle- to still find you eighty years after the two of you had supposedly died. He had suffered through so much and done so many things he could barely look at himself in the mirror for, but at the end of the day you continued to not only be there for him, but to love him anyway.

A part of him felt awful for not telling you- he hated lying to you and you had every right to know- but after your brother had left the two of yours’ lives, he didn’t want to put any further strain on you than you had already endured.

He knew once he freed Zemo that you would find out, but as you stood in front of him he almost wish he hadn’t so you wouldn't be feeling this type of way.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” Bucky said. “I didn't... after everything with Steve I didn’t want to get you involved. You deserved a break, doll.”

Relaxing your shoulders, you sighed, resting your hand on his bicep.

“And what about you, Buck?” You asked. “Don’t you deserve a break?”

“That’s different, Y/n.” He said. “I need this. You know I do.”

You knew he did. You had been there while his guilt kept him up at night, waking him up after only a few hours of what you could barely call rest. You knew that his past had been eating away at him, especially since Steve left, and that doing something wholly good might bring him some semblance of peace.

“I know.” You said, meeting his eyes. “So I’m going to help you. We’re in this together, Buck, okay?”

Despite the fact that he wanted to keep you as far away from danger as he could- something he could never manage considering you had been fighting alongside the Avengers since before he had even gained his memory back- he knew he couldn’t say no to you.

“Alright.” He agreed.

Gently squeezing his arm you gave him a soft smile.

“Glad to see you guys are good.” Sam quipped. “Incase you forgot Zemo’s now on the loose and the back of my head stings like hell.”

Smiling and turning to, Sam, you playfully swat his arm.

“Please.” You laughed. “Big, strong guy like you? You barely felt that.”

“Listen I’m not a super soldier like you two.” He said, pointing between you and Bucky. “Remind me not to mess with your kids some day. Last thing I need is getting knocked out by some kid with two super soldiers for parents.”

“We should go find Zemo.” Bucky said clearing his throat, changing the subject.

“Yeah.” You agreed. “He couldn’t have gotten too far. Let’s go.”

Not one to argue, Sam threw his hands up in the air, leading the way out of the door of Zemo’s apartment. As your foot was about to cross the door, however, you felt Bucky’s hand wrap around your arm, pulling you to the side.

“So do I still have to sleep on the couch tonight?” Bucky asked in a hushed voice.

“Oh honey,” You cooed, patting the side of his cheek before laughing. “You’re not getting out of this one that at easily.”

Watching from his spot on the steps as you picked up the pace to catch up with Sam, he crossed his arms smiling to himself. Steve was right when he said that he was going to be okay... as long as he was with you, how couldn’t he be?

[mypoisonedvine]

Reader and Steve end up exposed to something on a mission that cause them to body swap. It would be hot as hell if one of them was seeing Bucky too and he decides to have fun with their misfortune.

(okay so this is kind of a crack fic so im sorry in advance asgjakhsagdj this is the WEIRDEST SMUT I’VE EVER WRITTEN... very nsfw and a slight touch of dubcon beneath the cut.)

you’d only been in Steve’s body for a few hours when you began to understand how deprived this man was.

you hadn’t gotten his memories.  you didn’t really understand how this had happened at all but you knew that for sure, because you distinctly recalled being you yesterday and now you were him.  and he was fucking horny.

maybe it was you, a little bit, but this was definitely his body acting of its own accord more than it was your mind inside of it.  it felt different in a guy’s body, for one.  it felt so different to have need like this, so much more all-encompassing than the subtle tingling in your gut that you normally felt when you were turned on.  damn, is this what it was always like for men?  you weren’t sure how they ever managed to get any work done.  maybe they don’t.

my cock is hard, you thought to yourself, trying to wrap your head around the concept.  you tried not to look down at it as you leaned back in your chair-- his chair, actually-- but you could feel it, not just the arousal coursing through it but the head curving back and digging into your hip.  

I can’t touch it, you decided, it would be invasive.  he’s not here to consent to me touching his body.  and you firmly believed that logic, and yet you felt your hand-- his hand-- reaching into the waistband of his uniform and pulling it out.  you whimpered just to feel warmth on it, though the sound was foreign to your ears as you realized you had his voice.

you had never been good at handjobs, but it was like instinct was guiding you as you stroked the cock you found in your palm.  his hands were sort of rough, something you normally liked but was not well-received in this body.  but it was enough-- it was just enough to satisfy this desperation that burned in your chest.  you could tell it had been so long since this cock had gotten attention from anything but this hand, you could feel how much he needed more but you, as his friend, understood why he didn’t get it.  he always told you he was too busy for dating.  frankly, if you got to this point, you wouldn’t really be worried about “dating” so much as “hooking up” but he was, understandably, not the type.

your head fell back as you bucked up into your hand, biting down on your lip-- and you’d always dreamed of tasting his lips, just not like this.  “fuck,” you hissed, the sound of his voice mundane to his body but driving your mind wild inside his stupidly beautiful head.  there was an urge to moan your own name, just to know how it would sound if he said it like this, but the idea was too weird for you go through with it.

then again, you were stuck in Steve’s body and jerking off so, ‘too weird’ was kind of a moot point.

you were jolted out of your rhythm when there was a knock at your-- his-- door.

“wh-who is it?” you stammered.

“it’s me!” you heard from the other side of the door. “or, well, it’s you!”

“shit,” you mumbled as you rushed to redress, running to the door-- you were so much faster in this body, unsurprisingly.  you weren’t really psychologically prepared to open the door and see yourself there.  you weren’t ready to be pierced by your own gaze, your own arms crossed in confusion.

“do you always get wet when you look at me?” Steve asked you suddenly.  “or is this just me... knowing it’s you?”

you swallowed, feeling an Adam’s apple bob in your neck-- what an odd sensation.

“does my voice always sound like that?” you asked when you heard his words from your mouth.

“we need to fix this before Bucky finds me again,” he demanded, “I barely managed to toss him off me.”

“... so I guess you found out about us too?” you winced, your secret fuckbuddies relationship now out in the open.

“more than I ever wanted to know,” he frowned.  his expression shifted as he looked up at you again.  “what were you doing?”

“what?” you asked, and you heard your own breathlessness.  “I wasn’t doing anything.  you always breathe like this.  don’t you have asthma?”

“I used to have asthma,” he corrected.

“yes, and now you have a vagina-- my vagina!-- so maybe we should focus on that and not you giving me this random third degree here?”

“whatever,” he scoffed, brushing past you to step into the room as you shut the door.  

“you didn’t... look, did you?” you asked nervously.

“uh, no,” he answered quickly, “did you?”

“I made a specific point not to,” you announced proudly.

“oh...” he mumbled, “good...”

“sooooo...” you changed the subject awkwardly, “any plans on how to fix this?”

“I was thinking we’ll start by trying everything we can think of, and work from there,” he offered.

“good plan,” you decided.  “maybe.... maybe, uh... we have to... go... somewhere?  or do something?”

“go somewhere and do something?” steve repeated incredulously. “you’re a real genius.”

“don’t make that face at me, you’re gonna give me frown lines,” you sneered.  “I can’t help it, okay?  I can’t think!  I’m distracted!”

“by what?”

“by... by stuff!” you defended, scratching the back of your neck-- it was your nervous habit, rendered entirely different by his short hair.

steve sighed, your chest rising and falling with his breath.  “it’s hard, isn’t it?”

“well, yeah, switching bodies is hard--”

“no.  it’s hard... isn’t it?”

your eyes went a little wide.  “ohhh. uh, yeah, it is.”

“god, I’m sorry,” he groaned, hiding your face in your hands, “it does that a lot.”

“how do you do anything?” you squawked.  “it’s like all I can think about is... is how bad I just need to be in something, something... warm!”

“welcome to my world,” he shrugged.

“you have to let me...” you began, but stopped yourself.  “no, no, we-- no.”

“what is it?” he asked.

“you have to let me fuck you.  me.  you have to let... you fuck me...?”

“won’t that be, you know... scarring?” 

you nodded.  “but I’m not sure we have a choice, please just-- just let me-- I know I want it.  I mean, I know my body wants it.  didn’t you say I’m wet?  I’m probably drenched by now, huh?”

he stammered a bit before answering. “um... I think so...”

“it feels warm, right?  warm and sensitive and like you need to be filled with something?”

“...kinda...” he replied hesitantly.

“please,” you groaned, “don’t tell me I’m the only one that’s ever thought about it.”

“no,” he answered, quicker than ever, “no, you aren’t.  you’re... you’re sure it’s okay?”

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” you finally admitted, “not like this, but I’ll take what I can get--”

“fuck it,” he mumbled before pulling you into a heated kiss, and with your eyes closed you couldn’t really tell the difference of who was who anymore, you just knew that it was him touching you and you didn’t really care that his hands were smaller and that his lips were softer.

you undressed each other at lightning speed, and there was a hand on your cock-- clearly he was pulling from his own experience with his own cock, because wow, he knew exactly how to touch it to make you gasp and whimper.

“you can look,” he offered to you when he pulled back from the kiss, “I know I did.”

“did you like what you saw?” you asked hesitantly.

“better than I ever imagined,” he grinned.  “I even put a finger inside you.  I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I’m gonna fit.”

“neither am I,” you sighed as you looked down at the thick member your own slender hand was wrapped around.  “fuck, steve... it’ll probably hurt you.”

“let’s just hope we can fix this tonight and you get to be sore tomorrow, not me,” he chuckled a little.

“k-keep stroking it, please,” you sighed, “I’m already-- I think I’m close.  I can’t really tell...”

“you should be able to feel it here,” he explained as he slipped his touch lower to cup your balls--

“oh,” you breathed, “this is... new...”

“oh please, it’s nothing compared to a clit,” he laughed, “that thing is sensitive.”

you realized that steve was taking much better advantage of this than you were-- while you had his body at your disposal, you needed to test out the superhuman strength.  it took you almost nothing to lift your own weight onto the desk, grinning as you saw him gasp at the show of strength.

“been a while since somebody lifted you?” you asked him with a smirk.  he didn’t reply, just spread his-- your-- legs and let you grind against him, just the warmth of a body enough for now even if you weren’t inside of it.  you kissed him again as you pulled him closer, thrusting to let that poor, sensitive cock slide over the delicate skin beneath you.

“well, well, well,” a voice echoed from the doorway.  you sat up and spun around to find Bucky, leaning around the wall with crossed arms and a satisfied smirk.  “it was just a matter of time before you two got together-- we all knew it.  no wonder you ran off so fast, babygirl... you had another engagement to attend to.”

“Buck, hold on--” Steve began.

“Bucky, this is not what it looks like,” you interrupted.

“then what is it?” Bucky asked with faux innocence.

you and Steve looked at each other, neither of you sure exactly how to answer that.  “it’s complicated,” you answered in unison.

“don’t worry about me, I’m not jealous,” he explained.  “we never said we were exclusive, no hard feelings,” he addressed Steve-- but he was talking to you.  well, he was trying to talk to you, but he didn’t know he was looking at Steve.  well, he was looking at you, but just your body-- oh fuck it, even you couldn’t make sense of it. “but Steve?” he chuckled. “he doesn’t even know what he’s doing.  he can’t make you feel as good as I can, I know it.”

he was like a blur as he pounced on you-- your body, at least, but it was Steve that was arching his back and moaning as Bucky licked and sucked at your neck, slipped his metal hand into your shorts and apparently found your most sensitive spots instantly.  Steve was already bucking up into his touch, your own moans echoing over the walls even if you weren’t the one making them.

“B-Buck, wait,” Steve protested, but he was too weak now to push him off, and too far gone into the pleasure to want to.

“feels good, hm?” Bucky purred, throwing a stray glance at you.  “are you jealous?” he asked you tauntingly.

“yes,” you admitted.

“jealous cause you know how good it feels when I make you come like this?” he pressed, and you froze.  

“do... do I?” you asked Steve anxiously.

“don’t look at him, look at me,” Bucky corrected firmly.  him? you wondered, but before you could ask, he answered your question, turning to address Steve pinned under him.  “I know it’s you, Steve.”

“what?!” you both gaped.

“she would never call me ‘pal’ like you did earlier,” Buck explained, “and she would never say no to me like you also did earlier.”

“hey!” you protested.

“and you,” he laughed, “I’d know that deer-in-the-headlights look anywhere, even on a different face.”

as embarrassing as this whole situation was, it was sort of nice to have someone else acknowledge it.  it made you feel less crazy.

“I can’t keep track of this conversation while there are fingers inside of me,” Steve shivered.

“it’s weird, isn’t it?” you smiled at him.  “good weird.”

“very good, very weird,” he agreed, breathing heavier as Bucky’s arm flexed from pumping his hand back and forth.

“she usually comes in just a few minutes from this,” Bucky explained to Steve, making you feel oddly exposed-- and not just because you knew they could both see the achingly-hard cock threatening to burst from the hastily-zipped pants.  “I know it’s you in there, but it’s still her body... so it should still be the same, right?”

“I-I’m close,” Steve replied, making Bucky laugh.

“oh, you’re even faster, damn.  go ahead and come for me-- don’t you wanna hear how she sounds when she comes?”

“yes.”

“don’t you wanna see that pussy cream all over my fingers?” 

“yes.”

“then beg me not to stop,” Bucky demanded, and instinct took over.

“please don’t stop,” you found yourself saying before Steve could answer, making them both turn to you.

“I’ve got you so well-trained,” Bucky grinned before looking back down at Steve beneath him.  “just like that, doll,” he repeated his instruction.

“don’t call me ‘doll,’” Steve barely managed to protest between loud moans.

“okay,” Bucky relented, “beg for me just like that, Stevie.”

“please!” Steve shouted instantly.  “please... please don’t stop.”

“one more time?”

“damn it, Buck, don’t stop!” he sobbed, and you wondered if you always looked like that when you came or if it was Steve’s expression painted on your own features.  Bucky, as always, wasn’t content with just one, and Steve’s eyes shot wide open as he realized that this could just keep going, over and over.  

“you’re-- you’re really not gonna stop,” Steve gasped.

“he’s mean like that,” you explained with a little smirk.  you were looking forward to getting back in your own body just for the multiple orgasms alone.

“how’s it feel, Stevie?” Bucky asked proudly.

“s-so good,” he answered dutifully, “so good it almost hurts.  fuck it hurts... but I want more, I wanna come again.”

“mm, so greedy,” Bucky praised.  “just one more, then we need to give our lonely friend some love... I bet she’s ready to make a mess in your pants just from watching me finger you--” he turned to you suddenly-- “isn’t that right?”

“yes,” you answered quickly.  “p-please, Bucky, I feel so... I need you.”

“I know, babygirl, it won’t be much longer,” he promised, “I can feel your cunt clenching on me already-- come on over here and feel for yourself.”

you hesitantly stepped closer, hissing a little as Bucky’s free hand grabbed your wrist and pulled your hand closer.  “see?  just put your finger in beside mine, I want you to know how tight you get when I make you come.”

you took a shaky breath but did as he asked, hearing Steve’s gasp as you inserted his thick finger into your slickened channel.  it definitely felt different than when you put your own fingers in yourself-- for him and for you.  it was different to feel your pussy around your finger when you couldn’t feel the finger in your pussy... if that made any sense.

“three’s too many,” Steve complained.

“and yet, here we are,” Bucky winked.

“I can’t,” Steve clarified, “it’s too big.”

“aw, she always says that but then she changes her mind... you will too,” Bucky decided.  “now just move like this,” he explained to you as you started to move with him, feeling the way your body responded instantly.  it built up so fast as you tried to keep up with Bucky’s pace, watching Steve cry out at the same time as your walls tightened around the assortment of fingers-- Steve and Bucky’s, flesh and metal-- inside you.

“you’re close,” Bucky informed both of you.  “feel the way that pretty pussy is getting so wet, holding on so tight?”

“y-yes,” you shivered, trying your best to ignore the pangs of need coursing through the cock you still struggled to acknowledge as your own.

“go ahead and come, Stevie,” Bucky encouraged, and that was all it took; Steve cried out as your whole body spasmed-- not just your body, but the body you were in.  You were coming, much to your dismay, without even being touched, ropes of hot come creating a wet patch on Steve’s uniform, and you couldn’t bit back the groans of pleasure as your gut flexed with each wave of the orgasm.

“oh, now look at that,” Bucky purred as he looked back and forth between Steve and yourself.  “you two both made a mess.”

“aw damn it, my uniform!” Steve protested as he looked at you.

“I think you need to help our girl clean up that mess,” Bucky cooed as Steve shot him a look.  “it’s been too long since you got your dick sucked... and I’ve always felt it’s your responsibility to solve your own problems.”

“I... I don’t know how,” Steve protested.

“I’ll show you,” Bucky promised as he guided Steve to kneel in front of you, helping you push down your trousers.  “just lick up some of that come first, nice and slow.”

you gasped the second you felt a warm tongue against your skin, your hands reaching out and finding a comfortable place to grip on your own hair-- and Steve moaned when you pulled on it.

“you like the taste of your own come, Stevie?” Bucky purred. “now put it in your mouth-- just the head, you might not be able to fit much else.  suck on it like a popsicle.”

you bit back a moan that wouldn’t been embarrassingly loud when you felt a warm, slick mouth wrap around where you were now much too sensitive.  

“look down, babygirl,” Bucky whispered to you.

“I-- I can’t,” you denied, “I can’t look.”

“but you look so pretty when you suck cock, doll, haven’t I told you a million times?”

you sighed but obeyed, opening your eyes and looking down at Steve looking up at you, but with your eyes, and with your lips stretch around his thick shaft.  “I... I do look pretty,” you agreed nervously.

“did you always wonder what Steve looks like when he’s getting his cock sucked?” Bucky asked you as he knelt down beside your body where Steve was using it for the moment.  “The answer is... very confused.”

“that might be unique to this situation,” Steve explained as he pulled away from you.

“keep sucking, whore, I didn’t say you could stop.”

that language made you both moan softly, but Steve obeyed.

“oh, we are going to have so much fun,” Bucky chuckled excitedly, and you already knew that you were in for a very long night.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Right Where You Left Me

Summary: Y/N never expected to see him again. He tore her heart out and left her in the dusty heat of a Las Vegas diner. She never wanted to see him again, but sometimes the heart wants what heart wants.

Word Count: 3.7k

Author's Note: This is the first prompt that I wrote for 400 followers and it is based on Right Where You Left Me. Some background info: Spencer and Reader (Female pronouns) were lovers when they were 23, Spencer left to join the FBI and Y/N never recovered.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Content Warning: Angst till the very end, one use of f--k, reader cuts her hand on glass so blood is mentioned.

Right Where You Left Me

2009, Enterprise Diner, Las Vegas, Nevada

The bell above the door always sounds the same, no matter who walks into the little diner. Whether it’s exhausted truckers looking for a cheap cup of coffee or lonely souls looking to be a little less lonely for even an hour, the bell’s chime is always the same.

From the first time she met Spencer Reid, Y/N knew that boy was destined for greatness. His greatness is exceptionally painful when it juxtaposes her intense ordinariness. Part of her always dreams of the bell ringing and telling her that he’s back. He’s back and would no longer just haunting her dreams. But he isn’t back. He isn’t back and she’s right where he left her.

Y/N wipes the counter with a worn napkin, noticing how her skin is cracked from her fingertips to the butt of her palms. The bell rings and Y/N picks up her head. An elderly couple walks in holding hands. It’s amazing to her, to be that old and that in love. She wonders what it would be like to have the kind of love that you’ll never run out of things to say. If her past has taught her anything, Y/N tells herself she’s not the kind of girl that gets a lifelong romance. She’s not the kind of girl that gets someone who gets her.

She’s the kind of girl that’s frozen in the place right where he left her.

September 2012, Enterprise Diner, Las Vegas, Nevada

“One of these is not like the other,” Sabrina says in a singsong kind of voice. She walks out from behind the counter, finished with her shift. She wishes Y/N good night before she leaves the diner, telling her to lock up and handle the clean up. The busboy makes his way to the table of men with two kinds of coffee, decaf and regular, in her hands. Y/N follows, rolling her eyes, behind with three coffee mugs.

Apparently, there is a missing child case and the FBI has gotten involved. The two men, dressed intimidatingly in black suits and gray ties, looked very different from the younger man who sat across from them. It only took her a second to recognize that face. It’s the face of all her dreams that at one point was just out of reach. But now it’s just the face of rejection and hurt.

Before she even realizes it, the coffee mug that Y/N holds in her hand drops and shatters on the floor. The men, even vigilant, turn towards the noise. Y/N wanting to disappear into the night, drops to the floor to clean up the glass. She hears a shuffle from the booth and in comes a pair of well-worn converse into her field of vision.

“Here,” he says, his voice just soft and steady as ever, “let me, Y/N,”

Y/N drops the glass like it burns her. But in reality, she’s trying to get as far away as possible from Spencer, because she knows if she touches him again, she’ll never be able to survive letting go.

Spencer.

Spencer Reid crouches down before her just inches from her face all these years later. It seems unbelievable to see him in the flesh, but it’s him, even if he looks a little older and a little sadder.

“Thank you. I’m going to get you a new cup. I remember how much you love coffee,” Y/N whispers, wishing again that she could turn into the wind and disappear.

Y/N tries to ignore the way Spencer’s co-workers eye him when he returns to the seat. Clutching the pieces of glass, Y/N cuts her thumb. The dark red blood rushes out and she can feel her pulse rise. She wraps a white cloth over the cut. By the time she gets to Spencer’s table, the blood has pooled to the surface. She places the cups on the table, turning to leave, but a strong, yet gentle hand grasps her elbow.

“You’re bleeding?” Spencer says, his voice ends on a high note like he’s asking her more than telling her.

“Yeah, it’s fine Spencer. I’ll take care of it later, it’s just-”

“Let me help you,” he says, the two men, his co-workers, share a thoughtful glance. Y/N has the sneaking suspicion that they can read her mind or very much close to it.

She narrows her eyes at Spencer as her thumb pulsates and the blood soaked napkin grows even more red.

“Last time I checked you’re not a real doctor,” Y/N says, the venom in her voice all too apparent. The man sitting across from Spencer with the kinder eyes puts his hands up in defeat.

“What the hell is going on here? Do you know her or something, Spencer?” he says, his confusion about who Y/N is growing into frustration by the second. The man sitting next to the man with the kind eyes doesn’t say much. Y/N expects that he’s soaking in the entire interaction or is too tired to care about his co-worker’s personal drama.

“Huh, you didn’t think it would be a good idea to tell you FBI friends about me, Spencer? Huh, can I say that I’m not surprised by that at all,” Y/N responds, fumbling with managing to pour the coffee and covering her cut with the napkin.

“Please, Y/N you’re being ridiculous, let me help you,” Spencer asks or rather, begs Y/N. Y/N tries to not let him know how much it affects her when he rubs his thumb on the crook of her elbow.

“Fine, make it quick Spencer, I’m closing up tonight and I want to get home soon,” Y/N says, walking away from the table before Spencer can even get the chance to get up from the booth.

Y/N is too far past the booth to hear Spencer whisper to his co-workers that he’ll find his own way back to the hotel. She runs her thumb under the running water, watching as the blood clears up, revealing her clean finger. Y/N can feel Spencer’s looming presence behind her. She can smell his cologne and thinks if he cans any closer she’d be able to feel his body heat.

“You’re not supposed to be back here, Spencer,” Y/N says, she knows she’s being short and clippy with Spencer, but she supposes that should be expected, considering how he left her all those years ago.

“That never stopped me, or you for that matter before,” Spencer says, taking a step forward. His hand comes up to gently hold Y/N’s. She can feel his fingertips on her skin for the first time in years. Y/N has to close her eyes to focus on anything but how close Spencer’s body is to her’s. It’s restraint in it’s finest.

“Things have changed, Spencer. People have changed,” Y/N says, she doesn’t make a move that tells Spencer she doesn’t like him touching her. Spencer, whose hands have a slight tremor as they hold Y/N’s, practices an equal amount of restraint as Y/N does. He has to stop the thoughts of what it would be like to feel his hand against her hand again or how she’d sound if he could muster up the courage to kiss her again. He can’t even think of the first place he’d want to kiss her if he had the chance again.

“I’ve changed, Y/N, I’ve changed,” Spencer says, knowing fully that he’s pleading with the girl whose heart he broke 7 years ago.

“I have a hard time believing that one, Spencer. You were always the exception to the rule, whether you liked it or not,” she tells him. Her voice has lost all venom. It’s bare to the world without any weapons to wield.

“Let me fix you up and I’ll be out of your life again,” He says, still holding on to her wrist, still holding on to hope.

Y/N nods and tells him where he can find the first aid kit. She watches as he reaches up to the top shelf and carefully places the kit on the counter. Y/N holds out her hand as Spencer takes an alcohol wipe to her wound. He grimaces more than she does, afraid that somehow, all these years later, he’s still causing her pain. What he doesn’t know is that his touch stings more than the strongest rubbing alcohol in existence.

“So,” Spencer starts, hating that there’s silence between the two of them, when a decade ago that would have been impossible, “how’ve you been?”

“I’m good, Spence, I’ve been good. All I ever wanted was a quiet life, and I guess that’s what I got,” Y/N says, Spencer knows her answer is cordial. It's an answer that you give when you really don’t want to give an answer.

“That’s good, Y/N. I’m happy for you,” Spencer says, he doesn’t realize that he’s been rubbing his thumb against Y/N palm until she reaches into the first aid kit and tosses a band-aid at him. Spencer blushes slightly, but thinks that he’s not offending her too much since he’s still at the diner.

“What about you, Spence? Did you ever find uh….someone that could…” Y/N says, her voice trailing off, too afraid to finish the sentence herself, but aware that Spencer is probably the only person on Earth that could fill in the blanks. He was always good like that, he could always fill in her blanks and make sense of her senseless.

“Find someone, like a wife?” Spencer asks, the blush returning to his cheeks, “no, Y/N I’m not married. Are..are you? Do you have, um, a husband?” Spencer asks, hating the way that he stumbles over the word “husband” like it’s a dirty word. Though he supposes that it is a dirty word when Y/N’s husband is not synonymous with Spencer Reid.

“God no, Spence. I couldn’t not after, you know,” Y/N says, again letting Spencer fill in the blanks and hoping beyond belief that he’d pick up the pieces too. Spencer looks over at where his co-workers sat when they were working, he can't say he’s disappointed to see that they are gone.

“I never really apologized for what I said to you, Y/N. I know that I’ll never make it up to you, but..”

“It’s okay, Spencer. You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, I’m just a waitress. And you, god. You are you. How could I ever think that I’d get a happily ever after with someone like you,” Y/N says, brushing past Spencer to collect the coffee mugs from the table.

“Please Y/N don’t believe that for a second,” Spencer says, his voice full of pain and regret.

Y/N thinks about the times that she would dream of seeing him again. She can’t remember if she’d rather him to be sorry or if she'd rather him rush back to her and sweep her off her feet again with a love confession that rivals the greatest stories ever told. But then again, waitresses don’t get knights in shining armor. Especially when those knights wear sweater vests, despite being in law enforcement. Spencer always loved facts, and he told it to her in a few more words than necessary, people like Spencer Reid don’t end up with people like Y/N Y/LN.

“You still think too highly of me, even after I hurt you, I can’t apologize enough for what I did to you,” Spencer says, hanging his head low. His hair, that’s grown much longer, falls into place over his eyes, as if it’s shielding Spencer from Y/N.

“Did you come here tonight thinking I’d be here? Did a part of you still want to see me?” Y/N asks, she wants to reach out and touch Spencer’s hand, she wants to reach out and feel that his hand is still the same hand that would caress her face and make all her worries vanish. But it’s hard when that hand is attached to the man who destroyed you.

“I didn’t think you’d still work here, Y/N. You always hated living in the desert. Remember how we talked of getting a place somewhere cold where you can see the snow, but still be warm-”

“And safe inside? Yeah, Spencer, I remember that. But that was our dream, how can I still want that when it’s tainted by you,” Y/N spits, walking towards the last booth in the row. She plops down, sinking into the plastic covered cushion. Spencer, nervously, sits down next to her. He doesn’t say anything, knowing how Y/N’s bated breath and tapping foot tell him she’s going to unleash 7 years of pent of hatred and frustration. And somehow, 7 years of desire and want and love.

“I lied Spencer,” Y/N says, looking down at the table. “I lied. I hate it here, you’re right. God, why are you always right?” She smiles wickedly and Spencer has to tell himself to not give way to his emotions. He needs to let Y/N finally release her justified anger onto him.

“You moved on, Spencer. You moved on and I’m right where you left me,” Y/N’s strained voice is perhaps noise that Spencer knows will haunt his nightmares, “It’s like I’m a ghost of that girl I was when I was 23, waiting for someone who’s moved on. Waiting for you, but god, no one wants to love someone so fucking pathetic,”

Spencer wants to react, he wants to reach out a kiss away Y/N tears that fall down her cheeks. He wants to make her pain go away, but how can he when he’s her pain. Spencer knew he never wanted to end up like his father, yet sitting in that corner booth watching Y/N cry, Spencer realizes he’s his father’s son. Spencer realizes that he ran away from the best thing that ever happened to him, when thought he got a better opportunity.

“I never moved on Y/N,” Spencer says, reaching down inside himself for the courage to tenderly hold Y/N’s hands in his own. Even all these years later, her hand still feels the same inside his.

“I’ve thought about you every single day of my life. It’s a curse, Y/N, not being able to forget how much I hurt you. As much as I try, I’ll never be able to erase the look on your face when I told you--”

“When you told me I wasn’t good enough,” Y/N finished for him. It looks like she can fill in his blanks as well as he can fill in her’s.

“I didn’t mean it, Y/N. I didn’t mean it and I know that you’ll never look at me the same way, but I’ve never stopped loving you, Y/N. I’ll never stop loving you,” Spencer says, he’s sobbing at this point. The tears trail down his face and his skin in blotchy red.

“Spencer,” Y/N says quietly, like she’s trying to control the mix of passion and fury that threatens to take control of her, “I need to get this out without interruptions, so just please listen to me,”

Spencer nods and tries his best to not react when Y/N reaches down to his lap and takes her hands into his. He tries to hold in the emotions that split seems in his not-so tough exterior.

“I created a fantasy for you Spencer. I gave you the life that I could never give you. In my head you had kids because I needed you to be deliriously happy. I gave you a wife and I hated her because I love you too much to hate you. I needed you to have the life that I couldn’t give you, because it beats thinking you’re a mess. It beats thinking you ended up like me,” Y/N professes.

Spencer brings his hands up to her cheeks wiping away the tears that fall rapidly. Even the time he was kidnapped, the countless of times he was beaten or held hostage, his heart never ached quite like this. His heart never yearned to soothe someone’s pain as it did when Spencer watched Y/N come to terms with the years and years of heartbreak Spencer left her in.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” Spencer says, his fingers lacing through Y/N’s pinned up hair, “I hated myself for years for doing what I did to you. I knew that there was no one else, there’s no one else for me, Y/N,”

Y/N’s cheek presses up against Spencer’s chest, his warm body is home and is spicy, yet sweet cologne the closest thing to paradise. She tries to get control over her breathing, trying to steady it and not slobber too much over Spencer’s soft shirt. His hands anchor her to him. They latch on to her elbows, begging her silently to not shove him off and kick him to the curb, even though it’s what he deserves.

“Oh god Spencer. You really still are my Spencer, aren’t you?” Y/N asks, her voice slightly muffled by Spencer’s chest. She can hear his heart beat, even now, it’s still in sync with her heart beat. After all these years, between all these miles, throughout all this pain, Y/N’s heart still beats for Spencer’s.

“I don’t wanna lose you again, Y/N,” Spencer says, the tears back on his face, some have dried slightly and new ones make their way down and pool onto the back of Y/N’s head. Spencer brushes his fingers against Y/N, making sure that he’s actually holding her in his arms in this little diner he thought he’d left in the past.

“Please don’t hurt me again, Spencer. I love you too much to lose you again, but I can’t get hurt like that. I can’t bear to do that again,” Y/N says, raising her head to look at Spencer in the eyes.

She can see the glistening tears that fall down his face and the way his gaze softens when his eyes latch on to her. They could spend hours drinking each other in, making up for the lost years. She searches his face, finding new age lines and wrinkles, and maybe even a gray hair or two. But underneath all that, he’s still Spencer.

“I though our love was dead, Spencer. I thought I had my chance real young and the rest of my life was going to be spent haunting this booth, waiting for a man that in my delusions was married to a wife that wasn’t me and with kids that aren’t mine. But good God, Spencer, you really are too much sometimes?” Y/N says, her voice breathy and exasperated as she leans in close to Spencer.

“Can I take that as a yes?” Spencer says, terrified for her answer, even though he knew it already, based on how deeply Y/N looks into his eyes.

Y/N is quiet, and even though it’s just a moment it feels like forever. They are so quiet that all they can hear is their heartbeats. The little diner where their fateful love story took flight is never quiet, yet in that moment you can hear a hair pin drop. Spencer counts the seconds that pass, reading Y/N’s eyes, reading her emotion, and praying to a God he’s not sure is real that she’s not going to leave him this time.

“Yes, Spencer. I love you too much to let you walk out here again,” Y/N says, leaning into Spencer’s face.

She bridges the gap that they’ve both been ignoring since they realized they were in each other’s company again. Spencer is still when she leans in, he doesn’t realize until her soft lips kiss him how much he’s missed her. Before his mind is able to run off the far away places called doubt and denial, Y/N wraps her arms around Spencer’s neck, hooking him in closer. Having each other so close has never made them feel so utterly helpless and giddy. Spencer feels like he needs to tether himself to Y/N’s because he still feels like she’s going to float away. The world was dizzying and Spencer was the only solid, strong thing, holding her to Earth. Y/N always knew he was her anchor, it was just a matter of time before Spencer realized it too. Spencer’s quiet whimpers and shaky tremors spurred her on, kissing up and down the openness of his face until she felt the need for air.

“You’ve been practicing? You’re better at this than when you were 23,” Y/N says, not wanting to let go of Spencer’s neck.

“No, God no, Y/N. I haven’t been with anyone since you,” Spencer says, slightly ashamed to be reminded of his deepest mistake.

“Spencer, baby, you know I forgive you, right? And considering you kiss like that now, I know how you can make it up to me,” Y/N says, planting a couple light, feathery kisses up Spencer’s neck and to the corners of his mouth. Her lips are like a paintbrush on his, turning the grimace he holds into a winning smile. He remembers that it’s near impossible for him to not be flustered near Y/N. He’s glad, even now, that still rings true.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Spencer says, he leans his forehead against Y/N’s and lifts her hands to his mouth, kissing each of her fingers as he says “you are enough, and I’ll hope you’ll let me spend the rest of my life making it up to you,”

Y/N kisses Spencer on the nose as he scrunches it, causing her to laugh. She slips out of the booth and holds a hand out for Spencer to grasp. He takes it without hesitation and pulls her in closer. She supposes that after being apart for so long, it would take some time to get back into their rhythm. Y/N knows that it will never be the same; they aren’t 23 years old anymore. They’re scared and wounded, but together, Y/N thinks that they’ll never run out of things to talk about even if they are old and gray and wrinkled.

THANK-YOU FOR READING :) <3 <3

I really appreciate every like, comment, and reblog. It helps me know what people like about my writing things I should work on.

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[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

bakugou thoughts pt 2001847471 :)))

- if u go to the park, and somebody is like, walking their dog n the animal barks at y’all??? bakugou is barking back. mans full on squares up, n barks at the dog until it backs off

- he rarely gets into shows/series, but when he finds one he likes, he’ll only watch the first few episodes and then make u watch the rest with him. he’ll always say sum “if i dont watch with you, then i gotta make extra time for your needy ass. ‘m prioritizing my fuckin’ time. it doesn’t mean anything, shut up.” ...... he’s lying. it does mean something. it means he wants to share the things he likes with u

- pls he’s so smart, and generally pretty aware, but sometimes he’ll just do something so duMb. like, u kno that thing that happens sometimes with hair?? like, when it sticks to ur fingers and no matter what u do, u can’t get it off?? bakugou is literally breaking his wrist a foot away from u, shaking his hand back and forth and cursing soooo loudly. u just gotta go up to him and gently remove the hair from him like “oh honey- no.”

- peanut gallery comments. lots of them. mans will sit fully dead silent, not talking for the whOle day, but the second u do something embarrassing?? like trip??? suddenly he has a LOT to say ..... smh men

- animals just always like him. its absolutely unexplainable bc he’s so loud n moves super suddenly,,, but the amount of street animals that follow him home is ridiculous. srsly. sometkmes he even has other people’s pets trying to follow him home

- respects absolutely no one n that somehow strangely makes him the most respectful u’ve ever seen??? like- he hates everyone the exact same so u won’t ever catch bakugou in an act of discrimmination

- he can’t draw at all but if u asked him to draw something, it’ll be the same skull every single time. it’s a good skull, but it’s soooo obvious he learned how to draw it from a tutorial in the midst of his emo phase

- will fully make fun of others for baby-talking around their s/o, n then just fully go home n look at you like “tired.” “hungry.” “kiss.”...... like okay baby man, maybe try putting a full sentence together before u start trying to run your mouth. hypocrite.

- probably sleeps like the dead. contrary to popular belief, i absolutely do not believe he’s up at every single noise. man’s could sleep thru an explosion, im sure of it. that being said tho, it’s probably actually hard for him to turn his brain off n fall asleep. he prob goes to bed so “early” bc he has to wind down for a good hr or two until he’s ready to actually sleep

- he’s got a vendetta against salespeople. like, if his phone rings with some bullshit about a product? if somebody, god forbid, tries to walk up to your door? fully frothing at the mouth annoyed. will chew out any employee who’s too underpaid not to listen to him

- eats like an absolute animal. no rlly, its bad. holds his spoon with a fist and digs at his meal like its the gold rush. the worst table manners you’ve ever seen rlly

- he gets sorts antsy if he sits for too long, so he’s always off doing random shit. like, u’ll look out the window n he’s just like, raking the .3 leaves from ur driveway, probably trying to guess where the wind will be so they wont blow back

- ik this with my heart and soul okay,,, bakugou has never had a conversation with u that wasnt from exactly .2 meters away. like,, if he’s comfortable, then he’s just close all the time. like he’s waving his hands around and yelling and you just have to take his face in ur hands and go “im literally right here. ily but pls tone it down for the sake of my hearing.”

- very much guard dog behavior when y’all go out. absolutely will not leave ur side for even a second, like, at a bar or during a concert. even if u go to the bathroom he’s like, leaning against the wall and waiting right outside the door

- gets absolutely bitchy about your phone blowing up while you’re hanging out. its not that he’s suspicious that ur, like, cheating on him, it’s just that he doesnt understand why u’d even leave ur phone on in the first place since he always has his turned off when ur around. if he gets annoyed enough he’ll fully take the phone out of ur hands, say sum “yeah, you don’t fuckin’ need this anymore. you’re done with this.” n toss it across the room while he kisses u senseless

- tbh his ultimate love language is 100% playfighting. v much would go heart eyes if u even seemed like u might try n wrestle him. obvi u dont win, but his favorite is how u laugh while he pins ur hands above ur head

- he sneers at other angry people. will fully, fully sit there like “jesus christ, they need to calm the hell down. annoying as shit- fuckin’ loud too.” ....... -i. who’s gonna tell him

- silent conversations with ur eyes. no rlly. if y’all are with friends and somebody says something questionable, bakugou is immeadiately turning to u, eyes hardly even shifting but u just know he’s hurling insults in his head

- he doesnt realize his own strength sometimes. like- he knows he’s strong, but if u ever open a door n ur like “woah, careful, this is heavier than it looks” bakugou is .2 steps behind u practically ripping the damn thing off it’s hinges. he’ll look at it, huffing like he doesn’f even understand the issue

- he rlly likes when u call him by his name. pet names are fine, but he srsly is super soft for the simple stuff. like when u look over at him, all excited, smile wide like “hey katsuki, u gotta see this! c’mere!”

- his road rage is severe. no rlly. bakugou drives like every day is a race n he’s one win away from going formula one. you’re pretty sure that the only reason he passed his license test is bc the instuctor was too terrified to tell him no

- bakugou probably does that thing where if you’re sitting on the counter top, watching him cook, he’ll stand between ur legs. hands on ur thighs or resting on ur hips while you tell him about your day

- can’t explain this one, but he doesnt kill spiders. he takes them outside. says sum “they eat ticks, idiot. what- you actually want a fuckin’ blood disease? Hah? ‘m not gonna kill it. motherfucker’s gotta earn his keep before dyin’ just like the rest of us.” while he v gently picks the spider up into his hand and walks it outside

- ik that his one cheat food is sugary cereal. like, he’s a health freak, but the one thing he can’t help but make a concession for is sugary cereal on the weekends

- he’ll sometimes get in this over-stimulated mood where everything pisses him off, n the only thing u can do is leave him alone. u learn this quick bc his anger doesn’t discrimminate and if u push him even after he tells u what’s up?? pls bakugou will lash tf out. at u. like, ik y’all like to write it but that whole “it’s okay- it’s just me. just look at me.” thing does not work with him,,, u literally gonna get merc’d if u try

- he’s probably a guy who’s gonna be super big on passing touches. like he drops his hand on ur head when he passes, or bumps his shoulder into urs when he laughs. no footsies tho. too sappy even for him- pls if u tried to initate that he’d crush ur toes under the table aHAHAHA

- feeds every street cat he comes across. is probably super fond of the ones with a bunch of scratches/scars on them. he’d die if u knew, but one time u caught him feeding a scratched up calico n going “bet u beat his stupid ass, right? that’s my girl. we always win, huh?”

—/—

surprise suprise,, my brain rlly never shuts the hell up about this man

[ktheist]

girls like you [don’t] run ‘round with guys like me | m

characters. popular!reader x shy!jimin

genre. college au. rich kids au. fwb au. eventual ceo au. eventual racer au.

words. 4k

warnings. 18+

note. this is a repost. tumblr messed up my exposure last time. this fic didn’t show up in search and it’s probably a third post of mine that ends up like this. this one probably won’t either but posting bc someone might see it and like it.

x

It’s easy to tell when Park Jimin is in love.

Unlike Kim Seokjin, his eccentric, dad joke-loving friend, Jimin would only wear the pastel pink when he’s feeling giggly and shy and mushy inside.

The source of said feelings being either the barista he goes to get his daily dose of coffee from, or the girl at the library he studies at during finals or well, right now it’s the girl he’s fucking almost every day of the week - you.

“What are you doing?” Seokjin looks at him like he just dumped a spoonful of salt in a broth that needs a little, teensy bit of sugar.

Or his face seems to say that as he goes on, “she’s a mean girl. She’s mean.”

Jimin isn’t sure if Seokjin’s aware that he’s just repeated the same thing twice.

“She calls you Chim!” The older man reiterates.

“Yeah, it’s…” Jimin trails off, the heartwarming image of you cuddling into him after yet another mindblowing sex, flashing at the back of his mind, “...her pet name for me.”

“Sounds to me like she can’t remember your actual name,” Min Yoongi interjects from the couch he’s claimed for himself ever since they got to their usual hangout.

It’s a penthouse Jimin’s parents bought him on his 18th birthday. Him and the boys would hang around there after they’re done with classes or just need a place to crash whenever they have problems with their girlfriends or boyfriends or parents or any sort of problem that renders their usual room not sleepable.

“I think we can just agree we have different wants,” Jeongguk - or the sanest of them all, as Jimin likes to call him - chirps in, taking a bite of the apple he got from the fridge.

“Exactly,” Jimin throws his hands up as if freed from his elder friends’ judge-filled eyes. The vibration of his phone in his lap gives him even more comfort to know that he finally has an excuse to slip away - he checks his phone, your name flashing in the bubble that says ‘hey, wyd?’

“I have to go, it’s ___.”

A series of groans and hollers equally erupts from the men in the room at the realization of what Jimin’s ‘having to go’ means.

And so it goes. Jimin finds himself under your blanket that smells like fresh laundry - it’s a nude green color compared to the pleated black and white from last time. Your head is on his chest and he’s caressing your hair like it’s the softest thing he’s ever laid his hands on.

Besides your boobs, that is.

“I was thinking… since we have Monday off… maybe we could-”

It’s the way you push yourself off him, eyes that are onto him gazing straight into his soul, “oh shoot, Monday’s a public holiday. I totally forgot! I have to meet my parents. My dad’s been nagging me to come back since I skipped Christmas and New Year.”

And there goes his chance to ask you out on a date.

“Oh yeah, what were you saying about Monday?”

Jimin wears the biggest fake smile he can muster, “just that… me and the boys are gonna hang out and we’re bringing our girlfriends and boyfriends and uh- doesn’t have to be someone you’re exclusively seeing,” he almost chokes at the almost-admittance that he has the fattest crush on you and wants to make it official by inviting you to a couple’s-only hang out, “but like, I don’t think I’m going, it’s boring anyway.”

He waves his hand dismissively, trying to play it cool.

You make a cooing sound, eyebrows knitting together as your lips pout cutely before a playful smile blooms on your face, “I know what you’re trying to say.”

“You do?” Jimin thinks he heard his heart dropping to his stomach.

“Yeah, you’re single and all the boys have someone special they’re gonna bring… it’s gonna be awkward as hell because they’re gonna act different because they’re around their special someone so you thought if I was there, it’d be more fun because at least you have a friend with you that’s not gonna act fake the whole time there but I can’t go so you decided you’re not going too like a minute ago.”

Silence lulls in after your analogy that you sound so sure of when, in fact, he has a whole list of things he’d do on the date which he may or may not have gone over a hundred times in his head.

Doesn’t matter now, since that date is a no-go.

He’s going to delete that list off his phone once he gets to his place and drink himself silly until he wipes it out of his mind.

“Yeah,” Jimin says a moment later, “yeah… I mean, girls in love are cute but boys in love are just… annoying.”

The week flies by without Jimin ever mentioning Monday and you’ve showed him the clothes you’re going to wear to visit your parents because apparently-

“It’s lunch at some five star Michelin restaurant and I think they’re gonna tell me they’re getting a divorce,” your voice drifts into the room from the open, walk-in closet.

“If they’re not in some long, dreadful battle on who gets the holiday house with the pool and the dogs - how do I look?” You step out, in a frilly creme sweater with a black ribbon tied around the collar of your white undershirt with a black pleated skirt that stops mid-thighs, just inches from your black stockings.

A glaring contrast to your collection of washed out skinny jeans, plain t-shirts and sneakers.

“You… look…” Jimin knows he should stop openly ogling at your never-before-seen drip but there’s just something about the creme colored sweater.

“Like a good girl?” You offer with a smile Jimin couldn’t quite put a name to. Somehow he notices a trace of sadness in your eyes, but you disappear into the closet too soon.

“I’ll think about what to wear the morning I need to wear it,” you’re in the middle of pulling off the sweater when Jimin comes up behind you, kissing your neck and grabbing your boobs like they’re his.

The sound of your giggle is music to his ears.

That is, until his boner brushes against your butt and you gasp, “Chim! We just did it.”

“I know but you look so cute in that sweater.” He sounds exactly like Jeongguk. Like a fuckboy.

Like one of the boys you got tired of before you finally noticed him, the quiet, shy guy who’s friends with the outgoing, baby-faced Jeon Jeongguk whom - Jimin hates to admit it but he thinks about this every once so often and gets jealous all on his own - you’ve humped and dumped.

How you and Jeongguk still manage to stay friends and tease each other about the other’s choice of partners, Jimin doesn’t know.

It’s like a twin calling the other ugly.

He wonders if you and him will still stay friends after…

Jimin pushes the thought out of his mind. It’s not hard to forget everything when he’s with you - when he’s kissing you on the mouth like you’re the only girl he’ll want to spend the rest of his college life with and maybe his old days with together too.

“Chim, I can’t get my shirt creased,” you say but you’re already dripping wet and laying down in said shirt that’s half ridden up from him sucking and biting on your nipples.

He stopped you when you tried to take off your clothes.

“I’ll wash it and iron it for you,” he negotiates just as he rolls the condom over his length.

The sound of your giggle makes his heart skip a beat. Or maybe that’s the libido?

Either way, your mouth clamps shut when he pulls you down against him by the dip of your waist.

A different kind of hymn leaves your lips as Jimin throws his head back, relishing in the feeling of you around him.

When Monday rolls around, Jimin’s lying on the bean bag with his two legs sprawled over the floor. The boys are all out with either their significant others, working part-time or at a party.

The worn out baseball Jimin’s been tossing in the air and catching with one hand finally hits him square in the face when he hears the doorbell, signaling the presence of someone at the door and that someone being none of the boys because they would just punch in the code and strut in like they own the place.

Jimin thought maybe it’s Yoongi - the guy couldn’t even remember what he had for dinner and actually forgot the passcode to his own rental room once.

So he didn’t think to check who it was.

When your bright smile and slightly puffy eyes flash in front of him, Jimin thinks his soul just yeeted itself out of his body.

“Hey!” You sing song, holding up two plastic bags of beers and snacks.

It takes a moment for him to snap out of his stupor and grab them from your hands and then stepping aside to let you in.

“Is… everyone late or am I just early?” You sound increasingly confused as you step further into the center of the room, standing right next to the bean bag he was laying in just a moment ago.

“Oh-” he says once before he opens his mouth the second time, ready to spurt out another lie, “oh yeah… we decided not to ‘cause why hang out in a group when you can hang out with your significant other… you know, just the two of you… doing what couples do…”

“Huh,” you say, nodding though not quite believing him but you being you, easily lets it slide, plopping on the bean bag and grabbing the closest thing to you which is the ball that hit Jimin in the face - he’s sure he has a circular mark smack dab in the area on the top of his nose bridge, in between his eyes.

The dress you end up wearing is creme colored and riding up your thighs - Jimin swallows thickly and give extra attention to the bottle opener.

“So… how did lunch go?” He pops two beers open and hands one to you, taking a seat on Yoongi’s favorite couch and admiring how your dress is taking the shape of your body as gravity pulls it down.

“Oh, you know, everyone was being fake and acting like the perfect role in the family,” you put the beer down a few inches above your head so as to not tip it over with the ball you’re waving around but not throwing in the air like Jimin did.

“Sounds suffocating,” Jimin repeats a similar answer he gives whenever you use that dismissive tone while talking about your family.

“...are you okay?” Then he asks - and he’s genuinely asking - about your state of mind while casually downing the beer and feeling the bitterness lessen with every gulp.

The silence that lapses in between you is familiar.

“If I say no, can I get a hug?” It’s the look in your eyes, glimmering like the lake he used to go to in summer.

“Always,” he sets his beer down on the table next to the couch and goes over to you, standing on his knees before bending down and engulfing you in his arm.

You’ve always had a knack for picking yourself up.

When he sees you the next time, which is on instagram and a post of you having lunch with your friends, Jimin could hardly believe that’s the girl who asked him for a hug as if she’s afraid she’ll be putting him in an uncomfortable spot by asking for too much.

But there’s something…

Like an invisible wall made of ice that he can’t thaw through nor can he climb over to get to the other side where you are. Where you keep the people you love the closest. Closer than he’ll ever be.

Jeon Jeongguk is one of them.

In the picture of five people huddled close to fit in the frame, Jeongguk has his arm over you with a peace sign while you lean your head on his neck but not actually resting on it - like it’s an unconscious action you’d do because you’ve done that plenty of times.

Is it when you two were together?

Everyone he knows, knows that you and Jeongguk used to be more than just friends at some point.

Sometimes he still hears people talking about you two in passing.

‘Did ___ and Jeongguk get back together? I saw in Jeongguk’s snapstory - they were in a club or something.’

‘No way. There goes my chance of getting close with Jeongguk.’

‘Girl, with ___ hanging around him 24/7, do you think he’d look at girls like us?’

‘A girl can dream though.’

Jimin wanted to open his mouth and tell them they deserve way better than Jeon Jeongguk - though they’re not prettier than you.

He thinks you’re the loveliest girl on planet earth and if there was another life form on another planet, he’s almost a hundred percent sure you’d still be prettiest being in the universe with your obsession for skinny jeans and the way you’d unconsciously pout when he talks about how things weren’t going his way that day as if you would’ve exchanged your abundance of luck with his shitty one just because you’ve got that big of a heart and how you’d be walking with your friends, laughing and giggling and when you see him, you’d wave at him like you’re good friends.

Second only to Jeongguk and your friend group that you’re always hanging out with.

“Oh, ___? We were childhood friends.”

“Hmm… Gguk and I became friends because our parents are friends.”

The two of them say at different times and settings when Jimin asked, trying to play it cool. Like he isn’t just brimming with jealousy. Like he’s not half-way to losing his mind because the girl of his dreams just went to a retreat with his friend-of-a-friend-turned-actual-friend together when everyone else in the group who was excitedly planning for the trip - couldn’t make it.

The rooms at the inn weren’t even pre-booked. It was owned by Jeongguk’s family and they didn’t deposit any money for the trip for them to rationalize going on that trip anyway despite everyone else not being to go.

“The trip? It was fun, if you want we can go together next time.”

Jimin isn’t sure if you even mean that when he asked how the trip went after you’re glistening with the glow of after sex and scrolling through instagram, liking posts of everyone you know.

But then three months later, on your break, Jimin is hit with a ‘keep your schedule free next week for a whole week!!!’

Then he finds himself at a five star hotel by the beach with the most breathtaking view of the sea.

It wasn’t the inn owned by the Jeon’s but Jimin liked the fact that you brought him to a place - and he hopes his assumptions are true - your friends have never been before. Especially Jeongguk.

“Woah, this place is better than I thought,” a king sized bed lies directly across from the balcony where you’re standing, hair flying behind your back as the seaside breeze blows into the room.

“We can watch the sun rise and set from our bed,” Jimin comments for the sake of saying something.

He’s not sure what this means. He’s not sure if he should be having a boner at the thought of the two of you being together for a whole week without any other person getting in the way. He’s not sure if his heart should be thumping this fast.

For the first time since he’s known you, Park Jimin is the most unsure he’s ever been.

“You know what I wanna watch?” Your hands slip in his as you stand between him  and the open balcony door, “you under me, biting your lips because you’re still shy about the sound you make.”

So when you tug him back into the bedroom just minutes after checking in, naturally, Park Jimin follows like he’s been bewitched by your ungodly beauty.

Once the one week of nothing but heavenly morning wishes and passionate night kisses - oh, there was more than just kissing but Jimin remembers how your lips meld so perfectly together with his the most - Jimin is sure.

‘Something definitely changed.’

He thinks maybe it’s not impossible to dream of a future with you even after college.

“Jimin I-... I’m not at a point in life to be thinking about relationships,” you say, hand gripping your arm, head lowered as if your whole body is saying sorry.

“O-oh,” is all he says, he hearts his heart breaking and his chest caving.

All of a sudden, the lights in Gangnam city doesn’t seem so bright anymore.

You both live your last year pretending like the other doesn’t exist. He doesn’t look at you when he passes you and neither did you. Only talks to Jeongguk even though you’re right next to the aforementioned man - granted you were talking with your other friends like you didn’t even notice him there.

But Jimin’s never felt so invisible in his life than he does now.

Then, graduation rolls around and he thinks finally, he won’t have to walk through the hallway and pretend like he didn’t see you. Don't have to keep a five feet distance whenever you meet up for a group project.

Park Jimin doesn’t need to see your pretty face and starry eyes anymore.

“Jimin… do you have a minute?”

Or so he thought.

“So… congrats on surviving college,” you make small talk while standing just ten feet away from the boys whom he’s sure are speculating on what you’re talking about.

Jimin never got to prove to his friends that you’re not the mean, name-forgetting girl they all thought.

Jeongguk knows you’re not. He’s always backing Jimin up when Jimin’s debunking their passing accusations about you.

“Sometimes things just don’t work out between two people but doesn’t mean one of them is the bad guy.” Jeongguk's words put an end to their debate of whether Jimin deserved better than you or not.

For someone young, Jeongguk spoke his mind decidedly.

Jimin felt ashamed that he’d ever been jealous of Jeongguk’s relationship with you.

“I just… didn’t wanna leave things on a bad note. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings when I said no but I really like spending time with you - whether it’s sex or just staying over and cuddling for hours… I like it all.” You say the word sex and cuddle like they’re used interchangeably and Jimin thinks his heart just fluttered.

And you’d said it in public where your everyone can see or possibly pick up on what you were saying, at that.

Well, one thing’s for sure, you’ve got bigger balls than he does.

“My feelings are the same as six months ago and call me crazy but I don’t think you dislike me either.” He finally says and it feels like a deadweight has been lifted off his shoulders.

There comes that pout, as if something is bothering you and you always ever pout like that when that something concerns him.

“You kidding me? I can never dislike you.”

The Jimin from six months ago would have stared at you with disbelief and a dust of pink on his cheeks. But the Jimin he is now simply smiles, heart thumping in his chest. He nods.

“Thanks for telling me that,” and Jimin knows that’s the closest to an ‘I like you’ he can get with the girl who builds an ice fortress around her heart.

A whole year passes by and Jimin finds himself in different shades of grey every day, working at his dad’s company and attending dinner meetings. Life comes to a standstill while time passes him by.

“So, like, you have a sports car, right? Why don’t you come over to the race circuit after dinner? Everyone’s gonna be there.”

Jeongguk tells him over the phone.

And by ‘everyone’ he means the sons and daughters in the corporate world. It’s networking at its finest.

When he’s there, three cars are already racing in the circuit. The smell of burnt rubber and the sound of tires screeching against asphalt isn’t exactly his favorite but they have cheap booze instead of fine wine and he knows the people here are in for the same thing as he is.

An escape.

Away from the grandeur of fine wine and dinner dresses and the elders breathing down their necks and having to act like the next heir to the legacy they were born to carry.

“That Chevrolet over there,” Jeongguk comes, hand on Jimin’s back as his other one that’s holding a bottle of beer points at a red car that looks like a racing fireball, “everyone’s betting on that one tonight.”

Jimin doesn’t know there’s a bet.

“I’ll skip the bet this time ‘round. Haven’t seen the driver yet,” he shrugs dismissively.

Even in stock investment, he’d learned to study the market first before placing his best bet.

Jeongguk leaves his side when his friends - he’s got new ones now - beckons him over. At the same time, the Chevrolet passes the finish line seconds before the Ford Mustang and McLaren 720s, making it the winner of the night.

The driver seems like a show off with the way the car rolls up to the audience, the sound of its engines revving into the night being met with cheers of half-drunk young adults.

Arrogance is a man’s downfall.

Jimin’s about to turn around and head for the exit when the door of the car gets pushed open. The driver steps out, decked in black and red leather jeans and jackets that seem to match the car.

But it’s the smooth, silken hair that cascades past the helmet that catches his eyes.

Park Jimin’s seen many arrogant men in his life but he’s only ever seen one woman with balls and looks good wearing them.

“___! ___! ___!” The crowd starts cheering as you pull off the helmet, holding it underneath your arm and waist.

Your eyes are as brilliant as the night sky full of stars. They’re tinged with shock and then recognition. And finally, you smile that gorgeous smile that gets you misunderstood often as a woman who doesn’t need anything or anyone but uses them as they come.

But Park Jimin knows better than anyone, how wholeheartedly happy that smile looks when you see him.

Like meeting a good friend after a long time.

Seven months down the road, Jimin finds himself with just a blanket draped over his waist while you’re taking a shower in his bathroom to get ready to head to Hong Kong for a business trip.

He hears the sound of the shower head being turned off. The tapping of your foot around his bedroom as you pick up your clothes that are strewn all over the floor.

Then the bed dips ever so gently under your weight as you climb over to him, the fresh scent of shower get filling his senses.  Lips press a deep, lingering kiss on his. As if you don’t want to go to a place where he won’t be.

A few socials and midnight races after his first meeting with you after a long time, you asked him if he’s seeing someone.

“If I say yes, what will you do?” It’s playful at first, because Jimin didn’t want to get himself hurt the second time.

But it’s the way you tilted your head, a finger tapping on your chin as you pondered on his words, “that’s a problem because I don’t want to be that girl that steals another girl’s man,” then you looked at him like you know he’s the one you want to wake up to every morning and the last face you see when you sleep at night and if you can’t have that. then-

“Can you be mine… just for tonight?”

“I don’t think I can.” The crestfallen expression you wear makes his own heart break, even if it’s just for a split second-

“Because I’m not seeing anyone but I’m in that point in life where I want a serious relationship or nothing at all.”

But what he doesn’t tell you is how he doesn’t want a relationship if it’s not with the girl who still haunts his dreams even after all this time.

Just like how you’d turned him down because you weren’t looking to be in a relationship before, you’d courted Jimin like you’d want to spend your whole life with him now.

Flowers got sent to his office everyday until it smells nothing short of floral. You’d be there, waving at him like he’s your savior in that dreadful social you were both attending. Every week, you’d plan dinner dates under the guise of catching up.

Before you race, you’d look over to where he’s standing, as if saying ‘this one’s for you’ before slipping into your car and coming out first every single time.

As if you were making up for every month of the year that you’d let life pass you by.

Now you’ve won a total of 36 races since he met you and the metal band you gifted him on the night of your 12th win feels warm against his skin. As if it’s absorbed all the love and adoration you poured into it.

And you’re wearing that ring he got you on your birthday on your finger that’s resting on his chest where his heart is as he kisses you back just as reluctant to let you leave.

But Park Jimin knows wherever you are, wherever you will be - you will always find your way back to each other.

Back home.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry XXI

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), trauma, violence, some elements untagged.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: The reader faces her past.

Note: We’re gonna keep going til this is over...hopefully ;)

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

MASTERLIST

You looked down the hill on the castle you grew up in. The road behind you didn’t seem as long as that before you, your destination not an hour away. You sat on a rock as Peter paced and muttered under his breath. You closed your eyes and thought of Elina. You knew she was safe with Zemo and that made the distance easier.

Before you left Heinrich’s Creek, you’d held her as long as you could. You kissed her all over and handed her over with tears in your eyes. Zemo promised you would see her again but you knew it was unlikely. He did too and he had never been one to lie for the sake of emotion. It struck you deeply and you kissed him just as desperately.

“So… we walk straight up to the gates and what? Hope for peace?” Peter asked.

You fixed the collar of your tunic and gripped your cane, “we’ll get her back, Peter,” you promised as you pushed yourself up. You were dressed as a man, it made travel easier and the two of you less conspicuous, “you have rope?”

“Rope? Uh, yes, but--”

“We’ll leave my horse up here. May will need it,” you said as you neared him, “get the rope.”

“Why--”

“Peter, we came this far knowing what needs to be done,” your chest stirred with dread though you were consigned to your fate, “tie it around my neck, get up on your horse, and take me down that hill.”

“I--”

“He can’t think I’m here on my own will, he’ll know. You make him think you only want your aunt and you leave with her as quick as you can,” you voice cracked and you inhaled deeply, “I’m doing this for my daughter. So she can live without men like him.”

“You don’t have to die for it. Zemo, he can help--”

“He can’t. Not swift enough to save May,” you shook your head, “we’ve taken long enough to get here. Now tie me up and let us go.”

He looked at you and shuttered. He frowned and went to his saddlebag. He took out the length of rope and you raised your head as he wound it around your neck quietly. He knotted it and you leaned on your cane.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he finished.

“No, you don’t have to be,” you said, “when we get close, if you see him, you yank on me. As hard as you can. Make him think I am as much your captive as she is his.”

“I can’t--”

“Peter, you have to be strong. I won’t have your aunt die for me. Not like your uncle. I lived, he didn’t. I owe you much more than you ever did me,” you uttered, “Now get on your horse.”

He hung his head and nodded. He mounted and wrapped the end of the rope around his hand. He nicked and set off along the path. You stumbled and limped behind him, your cane skidding over the stones and mud. It was well into fall and the land was cold and wet. You were careful on the incline not to slip and saved yourself several times with the wooden stick.

He kept looking back the closer you got to the gates and you hissed for him to keep his eyes forward. He could blow it all after everything. He pushed his shoulders back as he approached the guards at the wall and he stopped just a little away from them. They stood at attention and gripped their pommels.

“Who goes there?” one asked and the men shared a look of recognition before Peter could answer.

“Lord Barnes is awaiting his bounty,” Peter said stonily, “I have her but he must first return what is mine as he swore to.”

“This is her?” The man at the left side of the iron gates asked.

“It’s her, you dolt,” the other interjected, “you remember her, don’t you? And look, she’s all messed up from the horse.”

“Where is Lord Barnes?” Peter insisted.

“Aye, in a moment,” the man clanged on the gate with his mailed elbow, “Oswald, fetch the lord. Tell him Lord Parker has come for the crone.”

You shifted and leaned heavily on your cave. You focused on your breath as it threatened to quicken to panic. You had weeks, months to prepare for him but you could never be ready. You shook and struggled to keep afoot. You knew only cruelty awaited you, even if he did believe your lies.

It was a time before you heard anything more. Peter grew impatient as his horse spat and snorted in kind. At last you heard footsteps and suddenly Peter tugged harshly on the rope. You fell to your knees as he spoke, boots mulching in the mud.

“Lord Barnes, I have your whore,” Peter called out, “Where is my aunt?”

You looked up as you clutched your cane and felt along the rope at your throat. Your eyes met Barnes’ and time seemed to stand still. His hair was even longer than before, his beard too. There were threads of silver through both and his left shoulder was barren of its former attachment.

“You are fortunate I had the patience to wait on you,” Barnes growled, “your aunt is alive… though I cannot say she is happy about it. You give me my woman first and I’ll give you yours.”

Peter hesitated. “How do I know it is not a trick?”

Barnes raised his hand and signaled to some unseen person. There was a creak and more footsteps. May was dragged up in her stained shift, a patched cloak draped crookedly over her shoulders.

“See, she’s all here,” Barnes called, “Now you hand her over and I’ll do the same. Fair trade.”

Peter looked over his shoulder as you stood and you lowered your chin. It was a subtle nod. Do it.

A guard came forward and he bent to hand over the rope as the gate was opened with the crank. You were taken off your feet again as the armored goon wrenched you meanly and laughed.

“I will have you stripped and whipped if you do it again,” Barnes warned as he came forward, his hand on May’s elbow, “give him the old lady.”

He released May as you were led through the gate and as you passed May she glanced at you. Your eyes met and she knew. There was an unspoken and piteous gratitude in her eyes. You hobbled onward and felt fingers closed around your arm. You lifted your head as Barnes grabbed you and pulled the rope slipped from the guard’s grasp.

“Close the gate. Let the boy go,” he demanded.

He said nothing more and turned back and hauled you with him. His hand slid from your arm and followed the length of the rope as he wounded it around his knuckles. You barely kept up with him as your cane bounced off the ground and you walked unevenly beside him. His silence was unsettling.

You passed through the wide doors of the castle and he huffed as you staggered across the stone. He spun you suddenly and kicked your cane out from under you. The stick rolled away from you and he bent to scoop you up over his shoulder, the rope straining at your neck.

“You won’t be walking much,” he snarled as he set off up the stairs.

You quivered and grasped at the back of his tunic. His hand held your thigh firmly and he squeezed, as if making certain you were real. The fear bubbled in your chest and all your plans fell to the floor like your cane had.

He swept into his room and kicked the door closed. He tossed you down on the bed as he let the rope free and you bounced violently on the feather mattress. He was quick to follow and straddled you under him. His hand roughly felt along your cheek and lips, lingering on your scar as he stared at you.

“I thought…” he rasped as his eyes bore into you, “did you laugh to think of me mourning you?”

“No, my lord, I…” you croaked. You were that girl again, that maid, terrified. “I never--”

“I cried for you,” he sneered, “I buried you!”

“My lord,” you grabbed his wrist as his fingers stretched across the rope, “please--”

“Did he make a good whore of you? Huh? Did you prefer him to me?”

“He took me against my will. I was not aware even that he did until it was too late--”

“I know,” he hissed as he leaned over you, his hot breath scoured your skin, “I know about our child.”

“I…” you shook your head, “I-- I--”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t--”

“You know!” he shouted, “you know!”

“I don’t. Zemo… he fled when Peter got hold of me. Like the coward you know him to be--”

“Stop lying--”

“I am not lying, I swear it, my lord,” you pleaded, “you have me. You don’t need the child.”

“It is my child,” he barked, “mine. You would keep her from me as you kept yourself.”

“No, I cannot-- I didn’t run. He took me. I never asked for it--”

“You will tell me where they are,” he backed off of you and grabbed the loose end of the rope again. 

He flipped you and moved your hands to the middle of your back. He snapped at you not to move as he looped the rope around your wrists and struggled with one hand to pull it tight. He tested it with a violent tug that jolted your entire body. His fingers hooked into the back of your breeches and he ripped them down.

You yelped as he struck you with his hand. You kicked out and tried to stand. He pushed you back down with his foot and smacked your ass again.

“Stay,” he bid as he moved around behind you, “stay or it will only be worse… but I suppose it must be before you tell me.”

You twined your fingers together and pushed your head into the mattress as you braced yourself. You listened to him behind you and as he walked across the room. He opened the door and called to someone. You did not hear his orders, only the feet that shuffled to do as he wished.

He waited until they returned and the door closed heavily. There was a tap, tap, tap, as he neared you and you looked down past your shoulder at the sparkling head of your cane. He lifted it in his hand and rested it against your ass.

“Perhaps I spoke too soon when I said we would not need this,” he said.

He pulled back the cane and brought the wood down with a crack across your rear. You scream at the agony it sent up your spine. He did it again and your legs flailed helplessly.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you sobbed.

He struck you once more and asked the same question. You gave the same answer. The same thing, over and over. At least a dozen before he stilled. He brushed the wood against your bare skin and bent over you.

“I could have loved you. I wanted to,” he said, “we could have loved the child, too. Children… we could’ve had a whole litter.” He poked your ass with the cane as he stood straight and grazed between your legs with a hum, “Gods, we could just try for another right now.”

You closed your eyes and bit down. He withdrew the wood once more and his boot scuffed over the stone. He took a deep breath and let it out.

“In due time,” he said as he hit you again, “where the fuck is my child?”

You wept into the bedcover and thought of Elina. Thought of her in Zemo’s arms, the way she pulled his beard, and the way he smiled back at her, at you. You couldn’t tell him where they were if you wanted to. You never would. And if you suffered for it, Barnes would only suffer more. He would never know the only good piece of him to remain in the world.

[internalsealpanic]

Sealing the Deal part 2

Summary:  Dick has a perfectly reasonable idea.

a/n: There will probably be more parts to this since you people gave me so many ideas but for now here is some soft smut. Did I finish this just in time for the end of mermay? Yes.

warning: Attempt at soft smut

Main Masterlist

Part 1

"Let's get married."

 It takes around a minute for you to even register the fact that Dick had even said anything at all and another to parse out the meaning behind his words. You look up from the piece you've been slaving over for hours while Dick dozed on your lap. 

 "Let's get married." He repeats earnestly. 

 You narrow your eyes at him. You... clearly missed at least 2 diatribes and 40% of this conversation. "Uh Dickie, my love, did I miss the part where you divorced me or did I sleep through it like I did when Wally was preaching about raw fish?" You set your tools down and pull his pelt more tightly around you, feeling oddly protective of it. 

 Seeing you wrapped up in his pelt never failed to make Dick's chest flutter; unfortunately, he had to focus on the matter at hand. "As I was saying, we're married but not in the human way. "

 "Ah- Yeah, I see that but.. that seems entirely unnecessary." 

 "There's no harm in it." Dick says, looking at you with big hopeful eyes. No matter whether it’s his liquid seal eyes or his bright baby blues, you’re still a sucker. 

 He is definitely up to something. Dick always uses that look when he really wants something and you can already feel yourself falling for it. Who thought giving this man the cutest face in the world was a good idea? Who?! You sigh. Spousal homicide is a bad idea, you tell yourself. 

 "You're so lucky you're terribly cute," you huff, "you're also lucky that there's a ferry coming tomorrow."

 You mentally calculate how much time the whole trip would take but you know all that arithmetic is useless when you hazard a look at your husband.  Dick beams, dimples appear at the corners of his mouth, and makes the happiest little noises.

  You lean over the railing, watching the sea and feeling the wind comb through your hair. A pair of arms wraps around you making you squeak. 

 Dick buries his face in your hair and he sweeps you into his arms. "How's the most beautiful creature in the world?"

 "Dunno Dick, how are you?" You smile.

 Dick sniffles. "You're not allowed to be this cute."

 "Hypocrite." You laugh wrapping your arms around him. 

 He nudges his face against yours. 

 "Are you liking your first boat ride?"

 "I could still swim faster." Dick hums.

 You roll your eyes. "Sadly for us, I can't."

 "It's ok," he says, brushing his lips against the shell of your ear," it just means you can't escape me on this boat."

 "Pfffft!"

 "You're saying that now but look who I have in my hold." He chuckles, lips brushing against your neck.

 "We're in public you dork!" You squeal.

 "And?"

 You sigh."You just like embarrassing me."

 "Yup. Just ask Jaso- What's that?!" Dick says pointing to a statue on the shore. It was tall and proud with hair cascading down like a waterfall with a visage as hard as the rock it's carved on. You narrow your eyes trying to recall what the local told your father when you were younger.

 "Oh, it's... It's a sea goddess I believe or maybe a selkie." You shrug at Dick who looks at it in awe. You supposed this is the first time he's seen a statue that big.

 "I thought you said the people on the mainland didn't believe in selkies?"

 "Er... ok, so there are mainlanders who are more inland where I come from and there's people near the sea. No, there are more divisions than that but- Ok, so the place where I came from the sea wasn't as important but here it is so they probably have more folk tales."

 "I guess that makes sense," Dick says burying his face in your hair. "Did you have any folk tales?"

 "Some but it was mostly cautionary about maidens being stolen away."

 "Guess you didn't listen to them, huh?" he says, "did they say anything about stealing hearts?" Dick winks one of those winks that only he could make cute. 

 You huff into your scarf.  "More about eating them, I think."

 "I can do that if you want." He smirks cheekily.

You pat his cheek, trying to be as irritatingly condescending as possible.  "You're still not scary."

 Dick takes your hand in his and brings it closer to his lips. He pretends to bite at your fingers, his sharp canines dragging along the skin and nipping at the joints.  "It’s because I love you so much."

 Dick alternates between gawking at perfectly common sights like large cargo ships and flocks of sheep on the cliff and teasing the life out of you for the rest of the ferry ride. 

 You are the tiniest bit mortified that several passengers have seen your husband drag his teeth over your skin and toss you in the air for the fun of it. Dick was horrible at keeping a low profile. Not that acting reserved would have mattered anyway given how everyone's eyes were always drawn to him. 

 You can't blame them, his laughter is infectious and his smile was enough to make the gloomy morning look like a bright summer afternoon.  You really really don't blame them for gawking but you just wish they wouldn't.

Not even fifteen minutes onshore and you're reminded why you only ever went into town with your father. Being meek by nature, you're often the target for unruly sailors. It never got too bad, not enough for you to call the cops at least. You would be lying if you wish it wasn't such a common occurrence to have some random guy shove his hand down your back pocket and squeezes your ass. 

 You jump, nearly dropping the little map of shops your father had drawn for you a while ago. A man passes behind you snickering quietly and yeah, knocking his teeth in would be amazing.

 "Hey buddy, do you mind apologizing?" Dick asks, his voice dangerously pleasant. 

 There's a gnawing sense of foreboding forming in your stomach. It squirms in your gut until you grab Dick's sleeve. "Dick," you hiss, "it's not worth it."

 You'd looked at the man and sadly, it really wasn't worth getting Dick's face punched in on his first visit to the mainland. You don't think anything worth getting Dick hurt.

 The men turn back to your and the dread in your stomach solidifies. Even your dad was never dumb enough to piss off sailors especially ones built like I train would be dented when hitting them. 

 "I don't see the problem, pretty boy," the man spits like he'd said the word fungus, "The lass doesn't have a problem with it, do you?" He leers at you. It makes your skin crawl.  He steps closer, invading your space, and places a hand on your shoulder. "This lassy here and I go waaaay back." He says, sliding his hand down your arm. You have absolutely no doubt that this man is sloshed because you have never seen him before in your life. You are pretty plain, so that makes sense but yeah, this is the first time you've seen his mug.

 "A lass like you shouldn't be dressing like that if you know what's good for you."You open your mouth to protest but only manage to tighten your grip on Dick's sleeve.

 There's a split second between Dick flickering his eyes to you and the satisfying sound of a fist making contact with a jaw. The man falls to the ground narrowly avoiding smashing his head into the cobblestones.

 "Get up and apologize to her." Dick growls, teeth bared.  He pushes forward. You're about as stunned as the man on the ground. Dick's poised for a fight and you have no doubt he'll have no problem getting into a row. You need to stop Dick from doing anything stupid. You wrap your arms around his waist, squeezing your eyes shut.  You bury your face into his coat.  You want to tell him that it's fine, that you're used to things like this, that you don't want him to get hurt. This whole thing isn't worth him getting hurt. You're not worth him getting hurt.  But the only thing you can manage is a weak "It's not worth it."

 Dick squeezes your hand. You're trembling and Dick feels awful for scaring you but he doesn't stop glaring at the man. He guesses he's made his point loud and clear. He softens a fraction, maneuvering you to his side and wrapping an arm around you. There's still a snarl caught in the back of his throat but contrary to popular belief, Dick isn't hot-headed enough to ignore you. All he wants to do now is get you to safety. 

 You squeeze him with your arms, your face still scrunched as if bracing for impact. "Let's go shopping for those rings, yeah?"

 Dick sighs with an indulgent smile. "Ok, honey."  He kisses the crown of your head. "I love you, I’m sorry."

 "Don’t be sorry," you say, snuggling tighter into him. "You know I only want you and--” That wasn’t even the point. You are really bad at this. “--and you really should be more careful. What if you got hurt?"

 "Did you miss that killer right hook? He sure didn't."

 A small smile shapes your lips. "Moron."

 "Still love me though." He says, bringing your knuckle to his lips.

 You shake your head. "It's unfortunate really."

 "You know the more time I spend here the less I believe the fact that you didn't know what selkies were," Dick says holding up another seal necklace.

 You look at him, wince at the bruise blooming on his knuckle but continue. "My dad and I went into town twice a year and they were only ever day trips." You say, setting down a cheap shot glass with a blubbering seal. It wasn't strictly a lie. It was more of a guesstimate. You look away from him and mumble a "I thought they were called Setties."

 Dick snorts loudly and you have a heart attack thinking he reverted back to his seal form. "Setties?" He snorts again and you think he's gonna suck in all the dust from the store. 

 "Yes, Setties." You repeat grumpily, "I was 7. Cut me some slack!"

 "When have I ever cut you some slack?"

 "Never."

 "Mhm, exactly."

 "Why do I love you again?" 

 "Because I'm the cutest person, you know?" 

 "I dunno, Dickie." You drawl, picking up a couple of little seal stuffed toys. They were cute with their round faces and distended bodies. Their black eyes didn't quite do justice to your favorite trouble maker but they're close enough in huggableness."These little guys could give you a run for your money."

 Dick makes an affronted squawk. You hold them to Dick's face for inspection and ask: "Should we buy the black one or the white one?" Truly, a matter of life and death. 

 Dick scrunches his face in thought. "The black one obviously."

 "But the white one looks cute too." You whine. 

 Dick gives you a grumpy pout. You ignore him.  "Why don’t we get both?"

 Dick crosses his arms. "Why-"

 "Yanno... A pair like us..." You say, pulling them closer to your chest and looking up at him hopefully. 

 Dick looks at you wearily. "How could I argue against such a solid argument?"  Dick says, tousling your already windswept locks.

 "What do you think I’d look like as a seal?" You ask absently as you exit the store. You'd managed to drive the price down with a little haggling and a bit of distraction from Dick.

 "Beautiful."

 You grin at him.  "Again buttering me up won't make me buy you more sweets."

 "I can think of other things to eat." Dick says, his pink tongue darting over his lips as he looks at you. 

 You swallow, mouth feeling dry. Dick is horrible to you today.

The old antique shop was dustier than you remembered. Part of you suspects that the particles sprinkled on all the shelves is in fact just the old owner's cremated remains but you don't really wanna find out if it's true.

 You comb through the shelves, feeling like a pirate in search of treasure. The expensive rings with their big rind stones were stowed away on a shelf behind the shopkeeper but everyone one knows that if you want the good stuff you have to search for it yourself. 

 Dick seems to be happy looking through all the strange knickknacks, so you carry on. 

 You nearly squeal with glee when you find a ring. It was a band of silver carved into the shape of a seal curling in on itself as it slumbers. You smile holding it close to your chest.  "Give me your finger." 

 "That... is a very strange way to put it."

 "Just give me your hand." You say holding out your own.  Dick, still incredulous, puts his hand in yours. You bite back a smile as you put the ring on his ring finger. Your lips stretch even as you dig your teeth in. It was a good fit. You're embarrassed to say you were bouncing on your heel with excitement.The silver looks lovely against his tanned skin. 

 Dick inspects it.  "And you said subtlety wasn't my element."

 "It really isn't," you say, smiling down at his hand. "But I never did say it was mine either." You could easily find another ring if he doesn't like it but you're quietly hoping he does. You try not to watch his face, not read too deeply into his expressions. 

 "I like it. Let's try to find a matching one."

Much to your amusement, you did find something but it's.... You snort as you put it on. 

 "It kind of matches." Dick says wearily. 

 "It's a fish." You laugh.

 "Um... it's a pretty silver fish."

 "Absolutely ravishing, huh?"

 "Exactly like my wife." Dick says, nipping at your ear. 

 Your ear burns and you cover it hastily.  

 "Let's just go pay for them." You say, shoving at him lightly.

 "So you do like it?" He asks, peaking through your fingers. 

 "Yes, you dork. Now, stop being cute." You say, shoving him again. 

 "Never." He chuckles.

"Is this the statue from the harbor?" Dick asks, poking at the little replica on the shopkeep's counter. 

 "Aye lad, the natives worshiped the sea before we came along. Kooky fellows but they knew a thing or two about the sea. They even talked about the selkie. Those blood-thirsty women folk of the sea. "

 Dick scrunches his nose. You press the heel of your palm to your lips holding back a laugh.

 "Well, I’ve heard some different of stories." Dick says, leaning into the counter, his eyes shining mischievously. 

 The old shopkeep leans in, looking around. "Like what?"

 Dick leans in a bit more, his voice hushed and conspiratorial.  "I hear they try to trap fair maidens into marriage to bear children for them."

 Dick winks unabashedly. You flush. "What?!"

 "C'mon lad," the shopkeeper snorted like a walrus, "we all know that all selkies are women folk."

 "That’s the thing," Dick says, resting his hands on his intertwined fingers. He grins. "I’ve been out at sea a while, my whole family has aaaaand," he drawls in his other voice. The shopkeep looks entranced.  "We've heard of different tales." 

 "Do tell."

 "My family have heard tales of male selkies, those who seek women to carry on the selkie way." Dick pushes off the counter, spinning around on his heel theatrically. "We heard of old lore when they used to kidnap unsuspecting women by the sea shore." You vaguely recall this version but it seemed like ages ago.  "But now," he says, stepping closer to you. "Now, they are much more persuasive." Dick winks at you and you resist the urge to elbow him.

 "I also heard they're quite persistent." You say, leaning against him. 

 "Quite." Dick says a little too fondly. 

 "Hnnn, never heard that one." The shopkeep says tilting his head. "Do you have anymore?"

 "Oh, I have a ton of seafaring stories if you'd like. I’ve heard stories about the Cthulhu."

 "Cthulhu?"

 "The great horror of the deep."

 "The only horror here is the lack of treasure chests." The shopkeep huffs. You would be inclined to agree if Tim and Damian weren't so good at finding them.

 "Oh this is no tall-tale my friend," Dick says, wrapping an arm around the man's shoulders, "we heard that he awakes once every 10 years to roam the deep seas. Why do you think boats go missing with no trace?"

 Monsoons, you think.

 "Like that submarine last summer!" 

 Dick nods sagely "Exactly."

 You want to slap your palm against your forehead. There is no way he can believe that hokey, right? ... You are literally married to a selkie. Do you really have any room for skepticism? You sigh. You suppose not. 

"The sea is a mysterious maiden just like those sires. A tricky bunch, slippery and smart not like mermaids."

 "Have you ever heard one?!" The shopkeep nearly folds over the counter.

 "Once when I’d been at sea for 4 months, I heard the most beautiful song in my life, kind of like a mirage but it was a misty night at sea."

 The shopkeeper gasps. 

 You blink. This is news to you.

 "Luckily, my father pulled me from the towboat before I set off towards it."  You try to imagine it and somehow it's funnier than the idea of Dick being bloodthirsty.

 Dick regails Bruce's spat with a sea witch and Alfred's horrifying tale with a kraken. Even you were enthralled by all his tales. Having the shopkeep thoroughly wrapped around his finger. He leans in close again. "Sorry, I got so lost. How much were these rings again?"

 The man blinks as if resurfacing from a trance. "A sea-loving man like you? You can keep it for five coffers."

 You gape at him, eyes blown wide.  That’s less than what you pay for bread. 

 The man turns to you. "Lass, you better keep an eye on him. This one belongs to the sea."

 He's... not wrong. 

 "You really are too kind," Dick says handing the money over. 

 "Anytime lad. Feel free to come back with more of your stories!" He calls out as you two walk out the door.

“Since when were you a sailor?” You ask, nudging your shoulder against his.

 “Since Jay told me stories.” He answers, nudging back. 

 “So they were all made up?” You ask, shaking his arm.

 Dick hums noncommittally.

  You frown at him. “C’mon fess up, pup.” 

 “Not *all* of them. I just spiced up the truth, that’s all.”

 “The sirens?”

Dick freezes. 

“Wait, are sirens real?” You gape, pounding your hand on his chest. 

 “Well, kinda.”

 “Kinda?!”

 Dick walks ahead of you trying to avoid your question. He does the mature thing and plugs his ears with his fingers. You continue to pester him all the way down the street. 

 The scent from the bakery wafted in the air calling to both of you as you two continue to bicker. Your stomachs cry out in a chorus. You look at your watch. You knew you'd forgotten something. 

 "I'll get us something to eat," Dick says, clearly staring at the cupcakes. Getting cupcakes wouldn't hurt. It would be better than getting an actual wedding cake. 

 You shake your head. "I might sit for a bit." You say handing him your purse and wrenching the bags from his grip. He huffs but doesn't complain. 

 You park yourself on a bench just outside the bakery. Going to town is just as exhausting as you remember it being. You lull your head back, looking to the sky. What are the odds that it's safe to just doze off here on the bench? Probably pretty low.

 Dick watches you from a window, snickering. You were so cute when you're nodding off.  He should probably ask if they sell coffee too because you look like you're going to need the entire pot.

 He lets a woman go in front of him because Alfred taught him manners and not because he was delighted to see you nearly fold into your shopping bags. You startle and yelp then straighten up. Great seas, you're so cute.

 "Hey handsome, can I get a name?"

 Dick turns to the woman with an amicable smile. "Oh, the name's Dick."

"I'm ..." Dick is barely paying attention when he sees you take out one of the rings you'd bought with a stupidly happy smile on your face as you try it on. You look up at your hand and Dick can't help the twitch of his mouth. 

 You wave to him, feeling his eyes on you. He waves back with a thousand-watt smile. 

 There's a hand sprawled on his chest. "I've never seen you here before." The woman purrs. Dick steps back, feeling a bit uncomfortable. 

 "I'm from out of town-"

 "That explains it." She says, batting her eyes. 

 Dick's not too concerned, not when you've just disappeared from his sight. Dick's about to run outside when he feels a familiar pair of arms wrap around his waist. 

 "My husband and I are just here for a day trip to run some errands." You huff glaring at the woman.

 Dick wraps an arm around you, chuckling at the priceless expression on your face. 

 "Dickie, did you want to introduce me?" You ask sweetly.

 "Sorry, I didn't quite catch your name." Dick says, feeling genuinely bad because he really wasn't paying attention.  In his defense, you were distracting him. 

 "I'm Mia."

 "I'm (Y/n)." You say trying not to puff your cheeks. You clearly just want the woman to go away.

 Dick wants to pinch you for being so cute. The disgustingly sweet aura you two radiate was enough to make the woman go away. Much to your relief and Dick's amusement.  Dick lets himself sink into your embrace.

 Dick pinches your cheek as you get the bread from the counter. You swat his hand away with a loaf of slightly stale bread you were gonna rework later. "What?!"

 "Nothing, you're just so damn cute, honey." Dick laughs, pinching your cheek again.

 "Says the dork who punched someone." You say, pecking him on the lips. 

 Dick rolls his eyes. "He totally deserved it." 

 "Sure, sure."

 Ok, he did.

 Dick pecks your lips. "Let's go find you a bouquet and a minister so you can keep that ring on."

 You flush not noticing that you haven't taken the ring off. Dick looks down at you like he's the luckiest man in the world.

“Will it still make you happy?” Dick asks, fidgeting in front of the courthouse. 

 You raise a brow at him prompting him to elaborate. 

 “Getting married without a proper ceremony, I mean.”

 Ah. You clutch the bouquet of cornflowers to your chest, twining your finger with his. “As long as I have you it’ll be perfect.”

 Dick sniffles. “Stop saying things like that.”

 “You started~”

 Dick presses his forehead against your, letting out a low trill. “I can’t wait to sign on the paper and make you my wife. Officially.”

 You nudge your nose against his. “I can’t wait either.”

The minister looks between the two of you suspiciously, probably looking for signs of which one of you suggested eloping. “You may now say your vows.” 

 Dick takes out a crumpled sheet of paper with yellowing edges. In a cool crisp voice, he begins to speak:

 “If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.”

 The wind rises in your chest, tears welling up in your eyes. You try to keep yourself together.

 “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hope, always perseveres.”

 You cup your hand over your mouth, your father’s words coming to life through Dick’s voice.  

 “Love never fails.”

 Dick reaches out to you, wiping the tears running down your face. You don’t know if Dick knows how much that meant to you but you’re endlessly thankful. 

 You feel flush. You’re not really sure you could follow that up. God, you really should have prepared more. You take a deep breath and will yourself not to turn tail and run. 

 Set me as a seal upon your heart,

as a seal upon your arm;

for love is strong as death,

passion fierce as the grave.

Its flashes are flashes of fire,

a raging flame.

Many waters cannot quench love,

neither can floods drown it.

If one offered for love

all the wealth of one’s house,

it would be utterly scorned.

 Dick looks at you, fondness curving his lips. You smile back at him sheepishly. 

The minister clears his throat. “You may now kiss the bride.”

 Dick picks you up and spins you around then brings you close to kiss you. You giggle at his theatrics. In the corner of your vision, you could see the minister just looking extremely tired. 

 “Give me the bouquet.”

 You don’t mainly because you have a policy of making people explain things before you do anything and also because you were hoping to throw the bouquet yourself. 

 Dick tilts his head. “Uh, give me two.” He pauses. “Please?” “Will you promise me this won’t curse anyone?”

 “Just because my dad’s girlfriend is a sea witch does not mean I curse people.”

 “And you feel absolutely no need to unpack that, huh?”

 “Sweetie, pleeeeeease.” He gives you the big eyes and you silently wonder how selkie divorce works. 

 You hand him two flowers. He pinches off the stems and says: “Hold out your hands.”

 “Can I at least know what kind of ungodly ritual my husband is suckering me into?” You huff as he puts one of the cornflowers in your palms. 

 “It’s more superstition really. My mom used to say that if you tell a flower about your love for someone and let the sea carry it away, then your love will be able to weather storms.”

 You want to tell him that based on the stories the sea had nothing to do with the ferocity of his parent’s love  but when you look back into the glitter of nostalgia in his eyes you know that there is nothing for it. 

 You hold the cornflower close, whispering promises to it, an endless litany of devotions that you hope only the sea will hear. Dick beside you does much the same with regular pauses and additions to his. When you’re both finished, you let the flowers fall harmlessly into the water and watch them, despite all odds, drift together in the ocean.  

  Dick nuzzles you into the floor. You lay flat on his pelt as Dick hovers over you. He kisses you, nipping at your bottom lip. You hum and slide your hands up his back and part your lips to give him access. Dick pulls away, dragging his lips down your face. His teeth graze on the skin of your neck. Feeling ticklish, you giggle. He smiles pressing another wet kiss to your skin before pulling back. You whine already missing the close contact. 

 "I think we forgot something." Dick says, gently grasping your wrist and kissing it. 

 You furrow your brow. You play with his hair as you try to think. "Pretty sure we did everything," you mumble. You shiver when you feel Dick's teeth catch on your pulse, his luminescent eyes staring at you intently. "I'm telling you, sweetheart, you're forgetting something."

 You groan. It would be easier to think if Dick's lips weren't on your skin. "We've gotten the rings, thrown the rice, and hit Wally in the head with the bouquet..." You bite back a squeak when Dick sucks a hickey onto your wrist. 

 "Getting warmer, darling."

 You flush. You try to control your breathing but your skin feels so hot against his. You and Dick have met with a minister and he's also carried you over the threshold... All that's left is...

 You can feel Dick's hand slide up your shirt, his hand warm against your chilly skin. "Consummation." You whisper, swallowing thickly. 

 Dick's eyes are bright and mischievous in the firelight.  "Bingo." He lets go of your wrist and lowers himself to press a hungry kiss on your lips; it was all tongue and teeth as his hips move against yours. He pinches your nipples between his fingers drawing out a gasp from you. Dick takes this chance to deepen the kiss. He groans into the kiss when you tug at his hair.You moan against him, wrapping your legs around his waist trying to pull him closer.  Your movements are clumsy, speaking to your inexperience. Dick is going to take his time with you. 

 Dick kisses your nose and pulls away. He can’t resist. Dick drags the shirt slowly over his body. He hears your breath hitch and a vain sort of pride fuels Dick’s ego. It was one thing for other people to tell him he was pretty. It was an entirely different thing to have you look at him with so much awe and reverence. That look in your eyes always makes his skin prickle with delight. 

 You trace the shape of his muscles with your fingers, your mouth parted slightly as you drink in the sight of him. Dick is no less awe-inspiring than the first time you saw him. You marvel over the scars crisscrossing his chest and arms. None of the imperfections on his skin ever managed to dull his beauty. Unfairly, they only enhanced it and took your breath away every time you noticed a new detail about him. Your hand drifts down to the V of his abs; the tough makes him tremble as it dips closer to the hem of his pants. Dick takes in a sharp breath before kissing you again. It was partly because he could never get enough of your lips and partially to get your attention.  

 “Honey, I want to see you too.” He whispers into your lips. 

 Your body locks up at his words and a heat spreads across your chest, your neck, and up to your ears. Your mouth feels so dry all of a sudden and your feet turn into blocks of ice. What if Dick finds you repulsive? What if he sees you naked and he can’t stand what he sees? Will he leave or will he smile through it all the while gritting his teeth through it? You’re not pretty, not the way Dick is and you certainly can’t measure up to the other Selkies you’ve met. How the flying fuck were you supposed to compte with Babs or Kori? You seriously consider running away and hiding in your room until you feel Dick’s teeth graze against the column of your neck. 

 “Please.” He breathes and his voice is so thick with want that it’s enough for you to forget the desire to melt into the baseboards even for just a moment. You don’t want him to be disappointed, to know that he’s traded down. You’re scared. You don’t want to be but you’re fucking terrified.

 “It’s ok,” he whispers. “I know you’re nervous.” He kisses your forehead. Dick knows he needs to be patient. He’s waited to feel all of you for this long. He’s willing just to wait a bit more if it means you’re comfortable. 

 You close your eyes, grabbing the hem of your shirt. Dick kisses your eyelid. He bites his lip, resisting the urge to sink his teeth into your flesh. It’s so supple and hot against his. Instead, he busies himself by helping you out of your bra but his fingers are clumsy with his brain too full of your skin. You giggle as you both fumble for the clasps. 

     Dick wastes no time peppering your chest with kisses once you’re completely bare. “So pretty.” Dick purrs against your chest. He nuzzles into the valley of your breasts as he feels your breaths even out. Sliding his hands up and down your sides reverently, he makes certain that you know just how beautiful you are with every bite, every kiss, and every touch.

 His attention goes to your breasts. You arch your back as Dick begins rolling your nipples between his teeth. He savors all the little gasps and mewls you make. "Dick." You sigh out his name happily. Dick groans, hips gyrating against yours. "Dick." You repeat, tugging at his hair. You rock your hips in time with his.

 Your voice is driving him insane. The way his name rolls off your tongue like silk fries his nerves. All he wants to do is make you scream it over and over while he takes care of you and lets you know just how good you feel against him. 

 "That's it baby, let me make you feel good."Dick says, giving your nipple one last lick before taking care of the other. "I wanna make you feel so good, sweetheart."

 The husky quality of his voice makes you shiver. Your fingers travel down his back, fingernails lightly scraping against his skin. He trembles against your as you slide your hand down his chest and down his pants. Your fingertips brush against the head of his member. You wrap your hand around his cock, teasing his head with your thumb. Your thumb is wet with his precum as Dick pants softly into your skin. Dick can't help but move against your hand.

 "Sweetheart," he grunts, " I can't... I-"

 Dick grasps your wrist, pressing a kiss to it before pulling it over your head. You whine. Dick's breaths tickle your ear as he tries to steady them. He kisses your cheek and nibbles on your ear. Dick grabs your other arm and pins it down next to the other, pinning both hands with one hand.  You squirm underneath him, trying to break his hold.

 "Let me take care of you." He says, trying to level his voice but you're making it so hard. 

 You drag your leg up his calf. Dick brushes his lips down your neck, sucking a hickey into every available surface of your skin on the way down your hips and murmuring ‘I love you’ as he does.  

 "Dick, please." You moan.

 "Sweetheart," Dick says, biting the soft flesh of your hip.

 You wriggle in his grip causing the hand wound around them to tighten. Dick watches you intently as he bites another hickey into the flesh or your hip. You gasp out his name and Dick can feel his cock twitch. He needs more. 

 “Shhhh, I know, Honey. Shhhhhh.” Dick says, kissing along the hem of your pants before his teeth catch on the fabric. Dick tugs the button free and pulls the zipper down with his teeth. You think your heart stops.  Every little thing he does drives you up the wall.  He hooks his fingers to the top of your pants and pulls them down slowly. You can feel the fabric drag against your skin as Dick presses I love yous up your leg. 

 Dick bites lightly at your ankle as he tosses your pants over his shoulder. Dick licks his lips, they’re plush and glossy from the saliva. He’s looking at you with so much love and adoration that you feel yourself melt. You’re suddenly painfully aware of your nakedness. You snap your legs shut shyly, withdrawing your ankle from his hold.  You curl in on yourself, muttering an apology.

 He shakes his head, chuckling softly. Dick pushes the hair out of your face. He presses his forehead against yours, kissing you softly and running his hands up and down your sides. Your legs slowly open to let his body closer to yours. You just want to feel his skin against yours. 

 "I love how your body reacts to me, honey." Dick winks. 

 You wrap your arms around him, your muscles relaxing a fraction. He can feel the ring on your finger dig into the back of his neck. You are his and he is yours. Dick trills at the thought. You laugh, the vibrations from his lips tickling you. 

 "I love you. You know that, don't you?" Dick asks, nibbling your lip.

 "The whole world knows," you snort, "especially after that fiasco at the town square."

 "I had to protect my wifey's honor." He says with a cheeky smile that takes over his face.

 "Somehow, I feel like knocking his teeth in was a bit much." You say, pulling him into another kiss because... well, your husband is awfully adorable even if he is a disaster.

 "Only seems fair," he says, his hand travelling down your body, kissing your clavicle, "he was being rude to my wife." Dick's fingers dip between your soaking folds. You were dripping just for him. Dick would be lying if he said that didn't inflate his ego. With his fingers curled inside you as he drags them in and out, you arch into him. You thread your finger through his hair and pull. 

 "Dickie, I want you," you whisper, rubbing your knee against his crotch. "I want you so much."

 Dick ruts against your leg, breath ragged and desperate. Dick's body is so sensitive to your touch; it's ridiculous.

 "I want you too." He manages barely above a whisper. 

 "Then fuck me, " you look away from his, biting your lip, "please?"

 "Honey," he groans. God, why did you have to say it like that? "You're going to make me cum." 

 "Isn't that the point?" You ask, your nails dragging on his back as you try and fuck yourself on his fingers. 

 What did Dick do to deserve you?

 "It is," he says, taking his hand out of your folds. "But not before I can make you cum first." He licks his fingers in front of you never breaking eye contact as he does. 

 You cover your face and squeak because damn it Dick you can't just- Who does that?!

 Dick hastily shimmies out of his pants, his cock springing free. You hear a pap as his cock slap against the toned muscles of his stomach. You squeak, peaking through your fingers, the slap ringing sinfully in your mind. Dick lets out an amused breath as he hovers over you. Stroking his length, he smears the precum along your inner thigh, whispering how much you turn him on and how he can't get enough of you. 

 "Sweetheart, I want you to look at me while I fuck you." He grunts and the air in your lungs evaporate. You think you'll follow suit in a few seconds. "Sweetheart, don't make me beg you."He says into your neck.

 Dick, you're not helping, you think to yourself but the saccharine way he always says your pet names has you giving into the request. Dick is smiling down at you and your heart melts. He kisses you deeply. You wrap your limbs around him, your heels digging into the small of his back and your fingers tangled in his locks as he slowly enters you. 

 He moans into your lips and you moan into his. There's a burning stretch inside you that has you begging for more. He bottoms out and your walls flutter around his cock trying to accommodate his girth.  A shiver travels up his spine feeling your velvet walls trying to milk his cock. Dick pulls away from the kiss to whisper: "I love you." 

 "I love you too, hubby. Please move."

 "Aye aye, wifey." He says slowly, pulling his length out. You can feel the long drag of his cock against your walls. You mewl for a lack of anything intelligent to say.

 The sound is enough to egg him on. He pushes in and out of you in long strokes, enjoying how your body rocks against his chasing your own pleasure. You pepper kisses to his chest and leave your own marks. Dick would be embarrassed by the lewd noises he makes as you do so but he's too caught up in you to really care. He doesn't even care if the whole world can hear him right now, all he cares about is that you're his and that you're loving this as much as he is. 

 "Baby, you feel so good. Your pussy was made for me. Ah!" Dick says, his hips stuttering when he feels you clench at those words. He kisses your shoulder. He loves the way his name falls from your lips as if it's the only thing you know how to say. "That's it baby. You're so pretty moaning and gasping and begging for my cock."

 All Dick can focus on is the sound of your skin slapping against his. You kiss up his neck, nibbling at his Adam's apple as he swallows. "Dickie, I want more."

  Dick's mind comes crashing to a halt. 

 "Dick, please. I want to feel you more. Please, go faster." You say, voice husky with want. It makes Dick feel like his body has turned to gelatin. 

 He kisses your forehead, a blush spreading across his skin. "Sweetheart, I can't."

 "Please Dick." You breathe, pouting at him. 

 Fuck, you can't look this cute while begging him to fuck you... twice. That's just not fair. 

 "Sweetheart, if I go any faster, I'm going to cum." The embarrassment is hard to hide.

 You drag your nails across his back and lick a stripe up his neck." Dick, I want you to fill me up. Dick, please, I'm so close." You beg, teeth catching on his collarbone, looking at him with watery eyes. 

 Dick is a sucker and he can never say no to a pretty face. He kisses one of your eyelids before slamming his hips into yours. His balls slap against your skin as he thrusts in and out with wild abandon. He thrusts deeper at an angle that was sure to hit your g spot every time. 

 You sing his name sweetly as you pull him closer. Your nipples rub against his chest as you bounce on his cock. Your walls constrict around him making it harder to pull out every time. All he wants to do is to stay inside you and revel in your warmth but he wants to bring you over the edge and fuck you stupid. He rolls your clit between his fingers as you whimper into his neck. 

 You both cum crying each other's name. Dick kisses you as he fucks you through your orgasm, painting your walls with his hot seed. 

 Dick rests his weight on top of you as he pulls out with some of his seed painting your inner thigh. "I love you." He pants. 

 "I love you too, you heavy lug." You grouse, trying to push him off of you.

 Dick has mercy on you and rolls you two over with you resting on top of him, perfect for cuddling you.

 Dick whispers "I love you" and other praises every time he opens his mouth and you return the sentiment by kissing a different part of his face.

 After a few moments of basking in the afterglow, Dick flushes seeing just how many hickeys he's left you and he flushes even harder seeing his own chest marked up. 

 "Sorry about that," He says kissing one of the marks. "I just can't help myself-" Kiss "-You look so pretty covered in love bites-" Kiss "-Sweetheart, you gotta stop sounding cute. I'll get hard again- Fuck." 

 Your hand wraps around his shaft, fingers brushing against his skin experimentally. "But I want you." You say bluntly. 

 Dick is going to combust. "I want you to. I've wanted you like this for so long."

 You stop. Your thumb brushes against the tip of his already leaking cock.  Your lips curl into a smile. "Is that why you were so adamant on getting married?" You snicker, booping his nose with yours. 

 "No, yes, maybe... partially." He stammers out. 

 You snort. "You know that wasn't necessary for us to..." The flush creeps back on your lips. You somehow have the audacity to look shy while still stroking his shaft. Dick is going to burst. 

 "I didn't want you to miss out on it," Dick says steadying his breath, feeling himself get harder as he talks or attempts to, "I wanted you to experience it since you told me you dreamt about it as a kid."

 You stop and Dick bucks to urge you to keep going.

 "You remembered that?" You ask, the expression on your face is complicated. 

 Dick sits up, brushing a finger against your cheek. "Of course, I did."

 "Dork." You sniffle, kissing his cheek. 

 "Only for you," He laughs but it's cut off by the movement of your hand. "Sweetheart, are you trying to kill me?" He gasps, biting into his knuckle. 

 "I'm only thanking you for being so sweet." You tease, spreading your mixed juices all over his cock. "and I just love my hubby that's all."

 ____________________________________________________________

Thanks for reading!!!!!!

Tag list:  @batarella​, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish , @birdy-bat-writes​,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell   @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red @ marshmallow12435 @vvipgot7be​ @jadedhillon

[duuhrayliegh]

A Friend of Yours - pt. 3

pairing: bucky x reader

warnings: TFATWS SPOILERS!!!!!, language, canon lvl violence, soft!bucky, some suggestive content, it’s ten thousand words so i’m sure i missed something, just lmk and i’ll tag it accordingly babes.

word count: 10,246 (i may have gone a little overboard)

a/n: this is the last part, unless y’all want more. i’m rlly proud of myself w this series, granted MUCH of the content was already written for me, nonetheless, here you go. i hope y’all like it <3

read A Friend of Yours - pt. 1 and A Friend of Yours - pt. 2

p.s.: my requests and tag lists are open!!

check out my m.list here!

xoxo ray

The Wilson family house was adorable. Two stories with chipped blue paint on the walls and yellowing white on the columns. You had beat Sam there, so you decided to just look around for a few minutes before meeting Sarah and the boys. You walked out to the dock in front of their house, admiring the water, how still and calm it was. You were staring into the distance when you heard small footsteps from behind you.

“You know, it’s rude to sneak up on people.” You weren’t sure which boy it was, but you were trying to present a non-threatening front.

“You know, it’s rude to invite yourself onto someone else's property.” You were surprised when you heard Sam’s voice respond to you. Turning quickly to face the man with the confused expression. “I thought you wouldn’t come to the States because of the whole Enemy of it thing.” He walked away from you, gesturing for you to follow as he picked up your abandoned duffle. “He’s not here if that’s who you’re looking for.” You shook your head as you crossed the threshold into the living room.

“I’m not here for him, although he would be a much welcome bonus.” The two of you shared a laugh. “But no, I’m here to help you however I can.” Sam’s eyes narrowed, wondering if he should question your generosity. Your eyes must have given away your desperation for a home because he decided against it.

“Okay, but if you’re here, you’re gonna work. We’ve got a lot of shit to get done if we’re going to fix this boat up.”

“What boat?” You smiled at him as he began explaining what was going on. He just skimmed the top of what was really happening, but you could tell he was worried even though he wore a good facade.

“Get changed into some clothes you don’t mind getting messed up.”

“Am I going to be doing, like, manual labor?” He gave you a ‘duh’ look to which you groaned, “So, shorts are out of the question?” Sam had already walked into the kitchen before replying.

“Only if you want to freeze your ass off!” You changed quickly into a pair of ripped mom jeans that you cinched with a belt at your waist and a white short sleeved shirt.

“Do you have an overshirt I can borrow?”

“You mean, a flannel?” Sam shot back as he exited the room.

“Yeah, an overshirt.”

“No. A flannel. Come on, say it with me, flannel.” He tossed one your way, which you put on the rolled the sleeves up to your elbows.

“It’s an overshirt, Sam. I’m not seeing the issue.”

“Y/N, it's a flannel. Just say flannel, why you gotta make it all fancy?” He walked out the back door and onto a wooden bridge that led to the marina the boat was docked at. He didn’t let the flannel thing go the whole way over, making you laugh loudly and shake your head. As you walked up the dock, you could see several people helping Sarah and Sam with their boat.

“This is all you guys?” You were amazed, you hadn’t seen togetherness like this since before Aunt Peggy died. “Wow.” You said mostly to yourself as Sam walked you up to the woman of the hour.

“Sarah, we’ve got another one. Sarah, Y/N. Y/N, Sarah.” You stuck your hand out for Sarah to shake, which she did kindly. “I’m going to work on getting some of the siding off the boat. Sarah, Y/N is all yours.” He darted off, leaving you with Sarah.

“What ya got for me, Sarah? I’m here to do whatever you need.” She began instructing you to help with cataloging everything that people were bringing. Whether it be rusty spare parts or a couple twenty dollar bills, Sarah wanted to know and she wanted a record of it. A truck pulled up next to the boat and Sam got out hugging the men that exited it.

“Tommy, Carlos, man, this is amazing.” They exchanged a few more words before one of them asked the inevitable question.

“How do we get it off the truck?” A loud scraping sound emitted as the pallet was taken from the truck bed. Bucky lifted the bundle of parts over his head effortlessly, dropping it on the ground. He turned to the group of three men staring at him.

“You’re welcome.” You laughed as you approached. Bucky hauled a gray and black case onto the truck bed, speaking to Sam about it. Suddenly, one of the pipe fittings went out of whack, causing a steady stream of air to escape on the boat. Sarah stopped in front of it on the dock.

“Sam!” She was holding her clipboard as she watched Sam try to stop the leak with a crescent wrench. Bucky walked up next to Sarah, saying hi before telling Sam he was doing it wrong.

“Men. They even mansplain to other men, can you believe that?” You said from beside Sarah while Bucky finished fixing the leak. You tilted your head to admire him, “But we love to watch them work, huh?” She laughed as you wiggled your eyebrows at her. Bucky and Sam turned back to you and Sarah and Bucky’s eyes widened when they landed on your figure. Sam walked toward the front of the boat as Bucky stopped to introduce himself to Sarah.

“Sarah--” His eyes flicked to yours, “Y/N.” Then he quickly followed behind Sam.

“Oh, what was that, Y/N?” Sarah teased, two can play at that game.

“I don’t know, what was your thing about, Sarah?” You said her name like Bucky did to mess with her. She shoved your shoulder away and pushed you back to work.

You had to admit, watching Bucky do domestic type things with his metal appendage did things to you. Just knowing that he was comfortable enough to be around Sam’s whole family with his arm fully on display, made you happy.  The sun was beginning to go down, and you were sharing a beer with Sam and Bucky. Bucky hadn’t spoken to you directly since he got there and it was starting to irk you. You thought that you had something, but maybe not. Bucky rose from his position on the boat, clinking his bottle with Sam’s, claiming he needed to find a hotel room so he could catch his flight tomorrow.

“You’re just gonna set me up like that, huh?” Sam joked.

“I just don’t wanna make it weird for your family.” But Bucky’s eyes caught yours as he spoke.

“Just stay here, man.” Sam began a rant about the people of the town, ending with, “Plus we already got one freeloader for the night, what’s one more, right?”

“Oh goodie! Are we going to braid each other’s hair and play Seven Minutes in Heaven, too?” you teased Sam, but Bucky stiffened.

“We can do whatever you want.” Sam said, then he pointed at Bucky, “Just don’t flirt with my sister. Cause if you do, I’ll have Carlos cut you up, feed you to the fish.” Bucky made a face at Sam before smiling again.

Later that night, after you had all eaten dinner and the kids had gone to bed, you contemplated what your next move was going to be. You were sitting in one of the patio couches outside, a blanket wrapped around your legs, watching the stars reflection in the water. Bucky walked out on the porch, a pair of sweats-- that he had to borrow from Sam because he didn’t pack anything-- slung low on his hips, his blue Henley stopping just before the waistband of his boxers.

His gaze met yours and he approached you as if you were a wild animal and you were going to run away if he made any sudden movements. Your legs had been sprawled across both cushions of the couch, so instead of letting you change positions, Bucky just lifted your legs and then rested them on his lap. His left hand was rubbing back and forth just above your ankle.

“Is there a reason you’ve been avoiding me, James?” He ignored your question all together, opting to ask his own.

“Do you remember when we first met?” You thought back to the first time that you ever saw him. Chained to a chair, hair hiding his face from nosy onlookers.

“Uh, yeah. You were being treated like an animal, caged in a glass box. Why?” His left hand never stopped its motion on your leg.

“When you first started staring at me, I was absolutely positive that it was out of fear. Then when I actually looked at you, you were curious.” You nodded your head, recalling the emotions.

“That was a stressful day.” You could sense that Bucky didn’t need your input to get to where he was going.

“Then, when we were in that stupid tiny blue car that Steve had crammed us into,” he paused to laugh at the memory, “I was sure in that moment, that I was never going to see you again.” His gaze hadn’t left his palms on your legs, refusing to meet your eyes. “And when I saw you in Madripoor, I was positive that it was just someone who looked a lot like you. It couldn’t have been you, I wasn’t that lucky.”

His left hand gripped your leg as he spoke, “But then you started talking and I would’ve known that voice anywhere. All I wanted was to be close to you.”

“Bucky, you almost broke my arm because I sucker punched Zemo.” He shushed you.

“All I wanted was to be close to you, but I’m also a violent person.” He brought his head up, locking his steel blue orbs with yours. “Then you kept talking and you were so smart. So beautiful.” His metal hand left your leg to cup your chin. “Every word out of your mouth mesmerized me, even when you were kind of insulting me.” His thumb stroked your jaw, traveling up to your bottom lip. “And God, the way you said my name.” Your nostrils flared and your brow raised.

“What? James?” You trapped your bottom lip in between your teeth, giving Bucky reason to pull it out with his metal thumb. Your tongue shot out to wet your lips out of habit and Bucky shot you a glare.

“Doll. What’re you doing to me?” He dropped his thumb back to your cheek as his eye flicked over your face. He brought his hands down to your waist, holding it tightly and pulling you closer to him. Your ass now rested against his right leg, and he transferred his grip to wrap around your blanket covered thighs. A squeal escaped your lips without your permission, making your face contort.

“When we were sitting at the bar in your gallery I wanted nothing more than to smother you with all my love and affection.” Your heart rate increased, you want that too. “I’m glad I wasn’t able to though.” Your stomach dropped, a feeling of rejection washing over you. You began to pull away from him, wanting to escape his touch. He gripped your legs tighter against his body, “At that time, I wasn’t what I should be for you. I’ll probably never be exactly what I should be for you, but I’m selfish enough right now that I don’t care anymore.” He twisted his upper body to face you.

“What are you talking about, James?” A visible shiver ran down his spine as you said his real name. He brought both his hands up to grip your face. The cool air added to the temperature difference of his hands.

“I’m talking about this.” It wasn’t a half a second later that his lips were on yours. It took you a second to respond, but you did with fervor. Your hands traveled to his neck to show him that you wanted this too. His fingers fanned out, cupping behind your ears to bring you impossibly closer to him. His tongue traced your bottom lip, seeking entrance which you denied playfully. He brought his thumbs to rest on your chin, applying pressure as he asked again. At this point, you didn’t care about the pardon, or Karli and the Flag Smashers, or Sharon and the Power Broker, or even Sam, Sarah and the boys. You could only focus on James’ lips that were molding so perfectly with your own. You eventually had to break apart, your fingertips coming to rest on James’ kiss swollen lips. You locked eyes with him again, his pupils blown wide, and the two of you laughed.

“Oh, that.” You traced his lips while holding his stare. “Is that why you haven’t been talking to me?” He nodded quickly, gaze drifting down to your lips again. He leaned forward wanting to steal another kiss, but you stopped him. “That’s not okay behavior, James. You can’t just not talk to me because you’re frustrated with yourself.” He hummed a noise of assent, kissing your fingertips on his lips. His palm came up to keep your fingers pressed to his lips as his eyes roamed your face. “What does this mean, James? You aren’t just going to get my hopes up and then walk away right?”  He pulled back from you, a look of disappointment crossing his features.

“I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel like that would be a possibility.” He took a deep breath, “After my time in Wakanda, after Shuri de-programmed me, I thought I finally had a group of people I could trust. Then, Ayo was able to remove my arm within the blink of an eye, but not the way that they had when they were tweaking it.” He rested his body against the back of the patio couch. “My therapist had been telling me that I needed to trust someone, and up until that point, I did. I thought I had people who fully trusted me as well.” He looked over at you, silent tears racing down his cheeks. “This clearly isn’t a good excuse, but I felt like you wouldn’t have trusted me either.” Your hands came up to his face, wiping away his tears.

“James, I’ve known of you for years before I met you. Remember how Sharon said I did that report on you in high school?” He nodded as much as your hold on his face would allow him to. “Well, that’s when I first fell in love with the idea of you.” His eyes widened as you continued speaking. “Then, I was lucky enough to meet you and it felt like everything fell into place. After Sharon and I ran off to Madripoor, I wasn’t sure if I was going to see you again, and I was okay with that because maybe you were better left as an idea.” You laughed as you looked down at your lap, dropping your hands from his face. “Then I got dusted during the Blip, which is a whole other thing and then Sharon said that you were in Madripoor.” You shook your head then faced him, eyes locking with his red rimmed pair.

“I would love to fall in love with you. And right now, I want nothing more than to let the trust we have for each other grow into something more.” A wide smile spread across his face and he bared his teeth at you, scrunching his face at the nose.

“I want that too.” He leaned forward slapping a sloppy kiss onto your lips, which you returned with equal intensity. When Bucky pulled back from you to catch his breath, he left his forehead resting against your own. Your breaths synchronized and he patted his hand twice on your outer thigh, signalling you that he was going to get up. “We better get some sleep.” He stood in front of you, offering you his hand. You smiled as you entwined your fingers with his metal ones.

Luckily, Cas and AJ were kind enough to share a room tonight so you could sleep in the other. Bucky’s hand never left your side as he walked you up the stairs. Once you had reached the closed door, he wrapped his arm around you, twisting your body to face him, back pressed against the cold wood of the door. He pushed his whole body forward, molding your bodies together as his hands hooked into the waistband of your sleep shorts.

“I’m glad that we talked, Y/N.” He pecked your lips, pulling back afterwards to stare at your face.

“I’m glad we did too, but what are you doing?” A nervous laugh left your lips and Bucky’s eyes followed the movement.

“You’re just so pretty.” He leaned forward kissing your cheeks, “I’m happy,” A kiss to your chin. “that I’ll be able to,” one to your nose, “call you my doll soon.” His lips lingering on your forehead before bringing his chin up to the top of your head, pulling you into him for a hug. You brought your arms up to wrap around his waist, your face pressed into the spot where his neck and collarbone met.

“Am I not already your doll?” Your question was muffled against his skin, but he heard you.

“Not until I specifically ask you. You can be mine without being my doll, but I want to wine and dine you before I feast.” Your brows raised again and your lips rolled inwards.

“Before you feast?” You were holding back a laugh, so Bucky pulled back, his hands gripping your shoulders, face serious.

“Feast.” He reached behind you opening the door. He gave you a quick smooch before pushing you into the empty room, alone with your thoughts. You had a harder time falling asleep that night. Bucky, on the other hand, had no problem, sleeping like a rock with a smug smile on his face.

You woke up to the sound of eggshells being cracked and forks hitting the sides of ceramic plates. Walking down the stairs and into the kitchen, you saw Sarah working over the stove while Cas was scrambling eggs. Sarah heard you coming down, ever the always aware mother.

“Hey, hope you’re hungry, ‘cause you aren’t leaving this kitchen without eating somethin’.” She watched as you peered into the living room, searching for Bucky’s imposing figure. “I think he’s down at the dock with Sam. They left real early this morning and girl, I swear to God if they’re messin’ with that water pump, I’m going to strangle the both of them.” You laughed, taking the plate of scrambled eggs that AJ was holding out to you.

“Did you tell them that the water pump wasn’t the issue?” She nodded as she stirred the eggs in her pan. “Then you know that they are, Sarah.” The two of you shared a laugh as Cas and AJ sat down to eat, as well.

“Y’all better hurry up before you’re late for the bus.” The boys quickly shoved their remaining food into their mouths, rushing out the door after kissing their mother goodbye.

“How do you do it?” Sarah’s head tilted, wondering what you were referring to. “Being a single mother and managing a business? Does it all get to be too much sometimes?” She could tell you were genuinely curious, so she sighed.

“It’s definitely challenging at times, but thankfully I have a good enough relationship with AJ and Cas that we’re able to get through pretty much anything. After we lost their Dad, I was all alone and scared. I’m still scared a lot of the time, scared that I’m going to mess them up, you know?” She paused a second to recollect her thoughts. “It’s just by chance that we live in this amazing community that helped me whenever I needed a little bit of assistance.” The conversation between the two of you fizzled after that, perhaps it was too heavy a topic for breakfast to handle. You followed her to meet a group of people at the marina, but the journey there wasn’t silent.

“So, I have a question, but you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to. Although I feel like if you don’t answer it, you’re kind of answering it.” You encouraged her to ask whatever she wanted to. “You and Bucky are a thing, right?” You coughed, unsure of how to answer. “That’s all the confirmation I needed.” Sarah smiled at you as your mouth struggled to form words.

“We are, but we aren’t?” Sarah gave you a look making you roll your eyes. “I don’t know he said that he was excited to see where this was going and then we kissed, so yes?”

“Oh, he looks like a good kisser.”

“Right? Just like he’s got the bone structure and lip plumpness ratio down to a T.” There was a brief moment of silence before the two of you burst into a fit of laughter. The walk down the marina dock wasn’t a long one, so you were able to see Sam and Bucky hunched over a pile of scattered parts.

“Uh-huh. No. No.” Sarah’s head began shaking as Sam was arguing with Bucky, who wasn’t paying attention to him. Instead, his eyes were roaming your figure, lingering on your face. His eyes darted to Sam before he greeted the two of you with a wave of his hand.

“I told you specifically that the water pump was not the problem, and yet, here you are.”

“Yep, Samuel.” Bucky teasingly berated, taking Sarah’s side.

“You’re in just as much trouble, you by-stander.” Your voice lilted into a playful tone as Bucky made a shocked face at you.

“In our defense, we were supposed to be done long before you woke up.”

“I don’t come up to the sky to tell you how to barrel roll, so don’t come down here and mess around with things you don’t understand.” Your fist came up to your mouth.

“Oh, that’s a-burn, Bird Brain.” You pointed a finger at Sam, clutching your stomach with your other hand as Sarah swatted the two boys away. Bucky stopped next to you, wrapping his metal arm around the front of your body, delivering a soft kiss to your temple. He left with Sam, arguing the whole way to the house while you stayed with Sarah, reassembling the water pump.

By the time you had gotten back to the Wilson house, Bucky was hauling his backpack strap onto his shoulder. You slowed your approach, holding your open palms in front of you, confused as to what Bucky was doing.

“Where are you going?” He turned to face you, a smile spreading over his face. His metal arm wrapped around your waist again, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I’m heading to New York, I’ve got some stuff to wrap up there. I want you to come with me.” You were taken aback, what about Karli and the GRC?

“We haven’t finished this whole thing with the Flag Smashers, or Walker. Bucky, we can’t just walk away from our responsibilities.” Bucky’s hands clasped around your shoulders.

“We aren’t, Y/N, I promise. Sam has Torres doing something with some signal do-dads and he’s going to call us the second he gets a lead.” He spoke calmly and you thought it over. At least he wasn’t trying to run away again, he was accepting that he had a real role in this. You could feel a shift coming, you weren’t quite sure what it meant, but you were hoping it was a good one.

“Okay, let’s go to New York.”

The two of you hadn’t even been in New York maybe twenty minutes when Sam texted Bucky that he had a line on where Karli was. Supposedly she was heading a takeover of the GRC meeting in Lower Manhattan. If being in New York as a wanted person was nerve wracking enough, now you were going to be surrounded by hundreds of government officials and some of New York’s finest. Bucky was on the phone with Sam, talking through the plan when your phone buzzed. Pulling the device out of your pocket, you saw Sharon’s name pop up.

“Heard you were having a bit of trouble with Karli again. Don’t worry, help is on the way, dear.” Your eyes rolled, still not over your argument before.

“You don’t need to be here for this Sharon.” You paused for a second, your left hand resting on your hip. “How did you even hear about this? Sam just now called Bucky, and I guarantee that he didn’t call you first.” Sharon chuckled on her end of the phone.

“You underestimate my reach, Y/N. I’ll meet you outside the building.” Your jaw clenched.

“Sharon, you said you didn’t want to help. What the hell changed that you’re so willing to put yourself in the middle of all this shit?” She was silent on her end.

“I figured you would want me there.” Well, shit what the fuck were you supposed to say to that?

“Lower Manhattan, keep quiet.” You hung up the phone before she could say anything else. You hated not talking to her, and being mad at her was next to impossible. This was your way of saying ‘I forgive you,’ and you knew she would understand. Bucky didn’t say anything as he watched you push your phone into the pockets of your jeans. He could tell something was off, but he could also see that you definitely didn’t want to talk about it right now. Instead he jerked his head for you to follow him, leading you through the streets of Manhattan.

The two of you could see the red lights illuminating the streets, letting you know that you were here. Bucky turned to you, holding his hand out to you, a single earpiece laying in the middle of his palm. As you took it, his hand drifted to your jaw, lifting it to face him. He placed a sweet kiss to your lips before nodding for you to stay behind him. You pulled the brim down on the hat you wore as you stuck to Bucky like glue. He led you through the barricade, one of the soldiers addressing him accordingly.

“Sergeant Barnes.” You made a face beneath your cap, holding back a laugh as Bucky came to a stop in front of you.

“Oh, Sergeant Barnes.” Bucky looked at you over his shoulder as his skin twitched. Your eyes widened. “Does that turn you on, James?” He wasn’t able to answer because of an interruption by Sam’s voice in your ears.

“By the way, I called in some backup.” An agent approached the two of you while Sam kept speaking. “Also, please remember that I can hear everything you say, Y/N. And I don’t need to know what makes the Tin Man tick.” You laughed at Sam’s statement as a twinge of pink ran up the back of Bucky’s neck.

“Excuse me, sir. Are you supposed to be here?” The agent’s hand came up to his hairline. A click sounded as the agent’s face began to glitch. “It’s me.”

“Sharon, what the hell are you doing here?” Sharon pointed an accusatory finger at you.

“Why didn’t you say that to her? The same people who want me in the Raft, want her there too. Or did you forget that?”

“Do I hear Sharon?” Sam asked as he listened in on your conversation.

“Unfortunately.” Bucky grumbled back.

“Hey Sam. I thought I’d get the band back together.” She threw a wink at you as she stepped closer to Bucky. Sam said something else to her, but you had zoned out to watch Sharon. “I hear pardons aren’t all they’re cracked up to be anyway.”

“Depends on the therapist.” Bucky said as he backed away from Sharon and closer to you.

“They’re going to move on the building soon. Be ready.” Sam brought you all back to the task at hand, switching into Captain mode. Bucky nodded to you and Sharon.

“Go with her.” You made a face at him, about to protest when he cut you off. “I don’t care. Stick with her, Y/N. Don’t get arrested though. We’ve got a date.” He wrapped his arm around the front of your waist, like he did at the Wilson house. He pressed a kiss to your temple, staying a little longer than necessary and giving your hip a squeeze before he released you. You heard glass break above your head as Sam crashed through one of the windows upstairs.

“You guys are going to have to do something. Don’t let ‘em out of the building.” You walked behind Bucky to enter the building, the metal detector going off for both you and Sharon. You shared a look with the woman.

“Oops.” Bucky pointed at a guard in tactical gear while he stepped forward.

“He’s one of them. I’ll get the evac.” He left before you could stop him, leaving you and Sharon to deal with the man he pointed at. The both of you followed him to the parking garage, where he was standing post next to two black armored vehicles. The two of you were waiting behind a pillar as you debated what to do.

“We need to stop him.”

“If we take him down now, they’re going to be suspicious and we are going to get arrested. Cool your jets, Y/N.” Your nostrils flared at her tone, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Why didn’t you tell Sam you were already coming?”

“What?” Sharon seemed startled by the question as if you didn’t catch the slip Sam said earlier.

“Sam said that he called in backup. I’m assuming he meant you because we’re the only four people he knows. So why didn’t you tell him you were already coming, or already here or whatever?”

“I didn’t think it was important.” She said dismissively, you could tell she wanted you to drop the subject, but you wanted the truth. Throwing a glance up to the guard, you saw him helping the GRC officials into the vans.

“Damn it Bucky, you had one job.” Bucky ran past you, grumbling a response as he loaded his weight onto a motorbike.

“We aren’t done with this, Sharon.” You pointed at her before she walked away from you. You watched as she ran into the guard then apologized profusely to him. When you caught up to her, she clicked a button in her hand, releasing a noxious gas in the guard’s face. You saw his skin being bubbling and sizzling.

“How’d you do that?” Your eyes hadn’t left the man in the car.

“Mercury vapor, amongst other things.” The two of you continued walking out of the garage, a helicopter started taking off from the helipad on the top of the building.

“Sam, that chopper’s about to take off.”

“Bucky!”

“I don’t fly, man. That’s your thing.” Sam groaned in the earpiece and then you saw him shoot out the window again, chasing after the helicopter. You walked alongside Sharon, following Bucky’s path after the NYPD vans. You got to the barricade just in time to see Scruff holding one of the cars back from falling off a ledge. You were too far away to be able to get to him in time to help, though. You stood next to Sharon as he was ripped away from the back of the car. Your heart dropped as your gaze went to Bucky, who was standing directly underneath the car that was about to crush him.

The crowd around you was holding their phones in front of their faces, at an angle that all they could see was the back of the NYPD van full of GRC officials screaming for help. As the car slipped farther and farther down the platform, your stomach churned more and more. Suddenly, the car stopped, hovering over the opening in the ground. You could make out Sam’s new wings on either side of the car. He pushed forward, lifting the car back to a safe position and then moving away, allowing the crowd to see him fully. The star on his suit glinted proudly as he stood still for a second. The crowd erupted in cheers for the savior. A man to your left cheered for ‘Black Falcon,’ but the man beside him corrected him before you had the chance to.

“No. That’s Captain America.” Red Wing left Sam’s suit to undo the locking mechanism on the back of the van and the GRC officials evacuated the vehicle quickly. Sam turned in the air, removing his shield from his back and throwing it at the Flag Smashers below, knocking them off their feet. At some point, you began moving toward the edge of the platform, ready to help and away from Sharon.

An explosion went off to your right, causing you to search for the source. Puffs of smoke were being thrown in the pit where Sam and Bucky stood and you could see Karli getting away in the confusion. Bucky’s voice rang through your ear.

“Hey. We’re underground. We entered the tunnel on William. Heading south.” You searched for Sharon so you could join up again, but you couldn’t find her. You could hear Sam telling Bucky that the Smashers had split up, and you knew that Bucky would’ve gone with Scruff to keep an eye on him, the unstable bastard. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Sharon crouched behind a stack of pallets, and your brows furrowed. She began whistling and then you heard Karli’s voice.

“Dovich? Is that you?” Sharon emerged from behind the stack, holding her gun in front of her.

“I’m disappointed in you.” Karli brought her gun up as well, speaking to Sharon as an old friend.

“That’s what I was gonna say.” Sharon brought her hands up in surrender, and your head tilted, what the fuck is going on? “You know, when you first came to Madripoor, you reminded me of a young me. I took you in, gave you an opportunity, and you betrayed me.” Oh hell no.

“Because you wanted to control a world that hurt you.” Karli lowered her gun but all her senses remained in overdrive. “But I wanted to change it. I’m not interested in power or an empire. I have bigger dreams.” Sharon scoffed, looking around, her eyes darting over where you were hidden behind a stack of boxes. Could it really be? Was Sharon really the person that you thought you knew?

“What, like this?” She stepped closer to Karli. “Come back and work for me again. All of you. We can make a difference together.” Sharon was trying really hard to convince Karli, but she wasn’t having it.

“You just want me because you need your muscle back. Without us Super Soldiers, how much power does the Power Broker really have?” Motherfucker. You zoned out a bit, trying to decide what to do. A male voice began speaking in French causing you to refocus.

“Four times, or--” You could see Batroc’s gun pointed at Karli and Sharon’s face was indifferent.

“I don’t do blackmail.” Sharon gripped her gun tighter, raising it quickly to shoot Batroc. Karli panicked and shot Sharon in the process. The gunshots were loud enough to give Sam an idea of where you were all located. You came out from your position, gun gripped in your hand as you stood closer to Sharon. Maybe you could salvage this situation before Sam got here.

“Karli, calm down.” You kept a tight hold on your pistol as you talked. “Look, I get it. You’re scared, but I’m going to need you to put the gun down.”

“I’ll put mine down when you do.” You could hear a slight shake in her voice. You tilted your head at her apologetically.

“You know I can’t do that.” You cast a glance at Sharon who was clutching her stomach, attempting to stop the blood flow. Karli gulped as she raised her gun again.

“Well, I can’t have any loose ends now, can I? You taught me that, Power Broker.” She sneered at a groaning Sharon. A blinding pain began radiating from your shoulder and your hand immediately when to the area. The force of the bullet knocked you off your feet, slamming your head into the ground.

“Shit, what the fuck Karli!” You could make out Sam’s figure coming up from behind Karli. You saw him process Karli standing over one dead body and two injured ones. The wheels began turning and he started speaking.

“So, what’s next, huh? You kill ten this time, then, what, a hundred? Where does it end?” He stepped closer to an agitated Karli. “Please, let me help you.” He kept his voice calm.

“Don’t try and manipulate me.” Karli approached Sam ready to attack. Their fight continued as she pushed Sam backwards.

“I’m not gonna fight you!” She knocked Sam down to the ground, with the swing of a metal bar.

“Stay down!” She shouted at him. You pushed yourself to your knees, adrenaline pumping allowing you to get to Sharon to help hold pressure on her stomach. You watched from over Sharon as Sam rose to his feet, holding his body in a fighting stance.

“I can do this all day.” She launched herself at Sam, throwing his body back into a bunch of cinder blocks. Sam held his shield in front of him, protecting from her punches.

“Fight back!” She shouted as she delivered blow after blow. Sam ducked low, grabbing onto her torso, using his thrusters to send the both of them flying. Karli used the momentum to push off the ground, to bring Sam up to the ceiling. You sat back on your knees, worry lacing your features.

Sam held one of her hands to his chest as she continued throwing the other into his shield. She gripped the top edge of the shield, using it to gain leverage. She pulled her hand away from his chest, tossing his body forward. The shield slipped from Sam’s arm and he laid on the ground, recovering from her attacks. Karli leant down to pick up her gun and you pushed yourself to your feet, ready to tackle her.

She raised her gun, aiming it at a now shieldless Sam. Karli hesitated, staring at Sam before committing to her cause, ready to kill Captain America. You were steadily creeping forward as she debated, but you could see the moment she decided to pull the trigger. Just before she could, a gunshot sounded from behind you. A gasp left your lips as Sam ran to hold Karli.

Your head whipped around to see Sharon leaning against the stack behind her, gun still smoking. Sharon shook her head at you as she holstered her weapon. Sam lifted Karli into his arms and carried her away from the both of you. You stood a good three feet away from Sharon, hand on your gun in the waistband of your jeans.

“When were you going to tell me that you’re the Power Broker.”

“What the hell are you on about now, Y/N.” Your brows raised and your mouth opened in shock.

“I was fucking here when Karli was talking to you, dumbass. Is that why you shot her? ‘Can’t have any loose ends,’ she said you taught her that, Sharon. What the fuck?” Sharon laughed at you.

“You’re imagining things, Y/N.” She rose to her feet and began walking away from you.

“Sharon, don’t fuck with me right now. How long have you been the fucking Power Broker?” You followed her up the tunnel and out to where you could see Sam lecturing a Senator. Sneaking around to a medical bag, you grabbed two pieces of gauze.

“I’m not the Power Broker.” Sharon rolled her eyes at you, leaning against a car behind the ambulances. You were about to say something else when you saw Bucky and Sam approach the two of you. They took in the two of you, an angry look on your face and an annoyed one on hers.

“You’re blocking my light.” Sharon bit out to Sam.

“We got to get you to a hospital.” Sam told Sharon as Bucky walked up to you, pulling your gauze away from your shoulder, checking your bullet wound.

“It’s through and through and you know they aren’t going to listen to you.”

“It’s not the worst thing that’s happened to me all week.” Your eyes glared at Sharon as you spoke. How long has she been doing this behind your back? Someone called for Sam’s attention.

“I think he’s talking to you.” Sharon said, turning away from the newcomer’s view. “Look, I’m sorry for how things ended down there.” Your jaw clenched but you remained silent. “For what it’s worth, the suit looks good on you.” She played a good victim, that’s for sure.

“Alright, can we get out of here, please?” Bucky wrapped his arm around your waist, leading you away from the ambulances and news cameras.

“I didn’t forget my promise either, guys.” Sam nodded at the two of you before turning to do his Cap duties. Bucky remained silent beside you, content with just being in your presence again.

He led you to his apartment, bringing you to the bathroom where he pulled out a first aid kit. He placed it on the countertop, placing his hands on your hips and lifting you onto the granite.

“You’re gonna need to take your shirt off.” He flipped the top of the kit open, searching for what he needed.

“Trying to get me naked already? At least take me to dinner first, Sergeant.” You winked as you peeled your shirt off. Bucky glared at you then quickly looked at your shoulder.

“This is going to hurt, just so you know.” He didn’t give you time to say anything else before starting to clean the hole in your shoulder. You hissed as stings radiated from the wound, cursing under your breath as he blew on it. “Alright, here we go.”  Bucky began stitching, returning your body to its former glory in his eyes. “How’d you managed to get shot?”

“I was attempting to get Karli to drop her gun.” You debated on telling Bucky what you learned about Sharon. “Who do you think the Power Broker is?” You asked gauging his reaction. His attention never wavered from his task. He soon finished with the front side of your shoulder, backing away and telling you to face the mirror. Bucky leaned forward, his hips pressing against your ass as he set to work on the exit wound.

“I have my theories. What about you?” You looked at the granite below, tracing the different lines, not answering for a few minutes.

“Mm, not really.” Was it naive to keep the knowledge to yourself? Probably, but this way you could deal with Sharon on your own and not have to involve Captain America.

“Y/N. You lived there for years, you’re telling me that you never encountered the Power Broker? Never worked for him before, procuring a particular art piece?” You shook your head as you felt him start to wrap your shoulder.

“No, I made sure that all my dealings were as clean as the illegal art trade could be.” Bucky nodded, closing the first aid kit and placing it back under the sink. He walked out of the bathroom and into his kitchen, pulling out a bottle of Advil. He shook two tablets into his metal hand and gave them to you along with a water bottle from the fridge.

“Take these and then go lay down. You need to sleep so your body can heal.” You could tell something was bothering him. You reached out to grasp his metal wrist.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Hmm?”

“Nothing. I’ve just got something to do.” You nodded.

“Do you want me to come with you?” His head shook back and forth in denial.

“No, I need to do this alone. I’ll be back soon. Whenever I get back you better be asleep in that bed.” He pointed at the door to his room. He walked up next to you, wrapping his arm around the front of your waist and giving you a kiss on your temple. “I’ll be back, doll. I’ve just got a few things to wrap up.”

He left soon after, leaving you alone in his barren apartment. It was easy to see that he hadn’t made it his home. Probably feeling like he had no reason to, no ties to anyone here. Makes it easier when you have to bug out in a pinch. You walked into his room, searching for a shirt to wear to bed. Finding one of his shirts hanging in his closet, you pulled it over your head after removing your bra. You took off your jeans, trading them for your sleep shorts from your bag.

You climbed into his bed, waiting for his scent to envelope you, but it never came. Has he ever actually slept in this bed? So you laid there, unable to fall asleep, too many thoughts swirling in your brain. How long has Sharon been the Power Broker? Did it start when you first got to Madripoor? Or was it after you were dusted and she was there alone for five years? None of this changed the fact that she needed to be stopped. The amount of influence she had was too great. Your phone buzzed on the nightstand next to the bed, so you rolled over to pick it up.

Court hearing with the Senators tomorrow at 8 A.M. for you. -Sam

You thought about the possibility of being welcome back into your own country and not being treated like a criminal. Thought of the possibility of going to work for the government again. Of working with Bucky and Sam. Of being with Bucky without having to look over your shoulder all the time, and it made you smile. Your phone buzzing brought you out of your trance.

Also, you and Bucky need to come to my house tomorrow. Sarah’s throwing a party, they got the boat finished so we’re celebrating.

That made your smile grow, you were happy for the first time in a long time. The lock of the front door clicked and you jumped out of the bed, grabbing your knife, ready for an attack. You waited behind the door to Bucky’s bedroom, then swung it open. Your hand came up to the intruder's throat and your mind switched out of attack dog mode when you saw Bucky’s raised brow.

“Is there a reason for this?” His eyes were red and he had tear stains on his cheeks. You flipped your knife back down and placed it on top of your jeans.

“Sorry. Are you okay, James?” He shook his head and you opened your arms to him. He walked into your embrace, before exhaling harshly into your uninjured shoulder.

“No, but I will be.” He backed away for a second, taking in your form. “Didn’t I tell you that you were supposed to be asleep when I got back? Also, is that my shirt?”

“Yes, you did and yes, it is. Do you have an issue with that, Sergeant?” He quickly shook his head back and forth, leaning down to pick you up by your thighs and tossing you onto his bed.

“Not at all, doll. You look better in it than I do.” He smiled at you as he stripped down to his boxers before climbing into bed with you. Bucky tossed his arm over your waist, pulling your body into his. He sighed contentedly, basking in the way you smelled.

“Sam got me a hearing for a pardon.”

“Oh yeah? When’s that?” Bucky’s voice was muffled because he had buried his face in your neck, peppering small pecks there.

“Tomorrow morning at nine. Are you going to come?” Bucky thought on it for a moment, before shaking his head.

“I have one more thing to take care of.” You nodded.

“They got the boat fixed and Sarah invited us to the party. Sam says we have to go, it’s tomorrow too. I don’t actually know what time though he didn’t say.”

“Alright, I’ll pick something up to bring after I finish my thing.” You turned to face him, a smirk plastered on your face.

“So, Sergeant does it for you?” You giggled as he groaned and removed his arm from your waist. His hand came up to run through his hair, scratching his head

“Are we doing this right now, Y/N?” You released a cackle of a laugh, nodding in response. “Oh that’s how you’re gonna play this?” He attacked your sides, beginning to tickle you causing you to react accordingly. Somehow, he managed to end up on top of you, in between your thighs. He stopped suddenly to watch as you writhed and giggled.

“What?” You started getting self-conscious, afraid that there was something on your face. Your hands came up to hide your face from him, but Bucky wasn’t having it. He took your hands away from your face by trapping your wrists beside your head. “What? Why are you doing that?” You questioned, only halfway serious.

“You’re just so pretty.” He leaned forward, his lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss that soon turned into something else. His hands traveled back down to your sides, resting on the bare skin showing from your shirt having ridden up. The temperature difference shocked you enough to make you gasp, giving Bucky the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth, escalating the situation.

Your hands came up to the back of his head, holding him in the kiss, guaranteeing that he wasn’t going anywhere. They made their way down his body to rest on his shirtless back. He pushed forward with his hips, the fabric separating the two of you becoming increasingly annoying. Bucky pulled back slightly, nudging you to open your eyes. There was a silent interaction between the two of you in that moment, neither of you was ready for anything intense, so the momentum slowed, but the energy level remained.

Bucky’s hands never left your body that night. Exploring and memorizing every ridge, every stretch mark, every piece of you that made you, you. You drifted your fingers over the scarred skin next to his arm, tiny feather touches that made him hum. Falling asleep in his arms was the easiest thing you ever had to do. And for Bucky, being able to hold you as you flutter asleep was beautiful. He watched as your face relaxed and all the tension left your body, allowing yourself to melt into his embrace. Bucky didn’t like to admit it, but he was a touch starved human being. All those years in and out of cryo and isolation gave his body plenty of reason to crave genuine human touch. And to have a human as charming and annoying as you was a dream come true, his doll.

You woke up before Bucky the next morning. You looked over at his face, tranquility lacing his features, unburdened with no glorious purposes. He was just your James. The two of you had separated sometime during the night, so you scooted closer to his frame. His metal arm is thrown across the pillow behind your head, giving you perfect access to his neck and chest. You glanced at the clock across the room, the hands telling you that it was seven thirty in the morning. If you wake him now, you could have at least thirty-five minutes of bliss, plus some heavy petting if you both were feeling cheeky.

You leaned forward towards his neck, placing tiny kisses from the base of his ear to the puckered skin of his shoulder. You were so focused on your task that you didn’t recognize the change in his breathing pattern.

“Good morning, doll.” If you could melt into the mattress, that would’ve done it. His fucking rasp grated you into a fine powder of a human. You hummed at him, not stopping your kisses, instead climbing up to his jaw and then to his lips. He turned his head and playfully laughed. “Nuh-uh, we’ve got morning breath, ya nasty.” You groaned, retreating from his figure completely.

“Fine, we will brush our teeth together and then come right back to this bed and you will love me, damn it.” Bucky laughed at you as you drug yourself into his bathroom. This was the type of bliss you wanted, and you only wanted to share it with a particular metal armed super soldier. It didn’t take long to brush your teeth, and you pushed on Bucky’s back to get him into the bed quicker. When he did get back into the bed, he was grumbling.

“I don’t know why we’re getting back in bed, we’re already up now.” He smiled as you glared at him. Bucky’s back was leaned against his headboard, so you swung your leg over his thighs, straddling his lower half. His hands rested on your waist as you brought yours up to the sides of his face.

“You frustrate me.” You said with a loving smile and tone before pecking his lips softly as he laughed. “What time do you have to leave for your thing?” You played with the strings of your sleep shorts as he answered you.

“Around eight-thirty, it takes me about thirty minutes to get there and it doesn’t open until nine.”

“I’m gonna be leaving around then, too. What do you wear when you’re going in front of senators to be pardoned for stealing a metal frisbee?” Bucky huffed a laugh, pulling you closer to him wrapping his arms around your back. “I’m thinking a crop top that says “Fuck You,” would that be too obvious?”

“Yeah, that one might be a little on the nose.” Bucky checked your shoulder as he spoke. “Your shoulder looks good, no infection, thanks to me.” He plastered a wide smile on his face afterwards. “Do you know what time Sharon’s hearing is?” You stiffened slightly at the mention of Sharon.

“Uh, no. Sam just told me my time and I haven’t talked to Sharon.” Bucky’s head tilted.

“Everything okay on that front?”

“Not really?” You went back and forth on what to tell him. You didn’t want to give him the extra burden of knowing what Sharon was. “We had a fight a few days ago and neither one of us has cooled off about it, so that’s a bit rocky.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” You shook your head, so Bucky just held you tighter. “Okay, you don’t have to.” He held you for a few more minutes, before backing away. “Alright we need to get ready.” You groaned, slackening your body, making everything about you dead weight.

“No. I don’t wanna.” You sounded like a child.

“You sound like a child.” Oh you whore, get out of my head, butt munch. Bucky said, pushing your body off his. He walked to his closet as you laid spread out like a starfish on his bed. Bucky had already picked out a shirt and put on pants whenever he walked back in and you were still laid on his bed.

“You’re gonna be late.” He leaned over your head, appearing to you upside down. His arms were resting on either side of your face, dropping down he pressed a kiss to your lips. “You’ve got to get up, Y/N.” He went to the other end of the bed, where your feet dangled off the edge. He grabbed your ankles and pulled you, you slid off the bed, taking the comforter with you. “Oh my god, this is pitiful, Y/N. You’re a grown woman!” Bucky shouted at you as he left the room.

The two of you parted ways after you got dressed, but not before Bucky wrapped his arm around the front of your waist and placed a kiss on your temple. You wondered why he did that so much, but you weren’t going to argue with the attention because you loved it. You walked up to the extravagant building that was bustling with people. Everything was white, you always wondered why that was. White represented innocence and America was anything but innocence. You ended up wearing your casual clothes for two reasons. One, you were being pardoned, why couldn’t you be comfortable for that? And two, you had somewhere to go after this and that was just as important as this court meeting to you. Walking into the courtroom, you took in all the faces in the seats. Your name was called immediately, so you approached the podium.

“Ms. Y/L/N, on behalf of the United States Intelligence Community, I’d like to offer you and your family our sincerest apologies.” You wanted to scoff, but you bit your tongue. “You’ve always been an incredible asset to our country. Today, we begin to set things right. We begin to repay some of the debt that is owed to you.” You bowed your head.

“Thank you, Senator. It’s been a long time coming.” You could see the Senator’s jaw clench, not used to being brushed off.

“And we’d like to offer you a full pardon. There might be an opening in your old division. Is that something that you’d be interested in?”

“Actually, Senator. I would like to thank you for that opportunity, but no. I’ll be working with Captain America.” The man’s whole body seemed to twitch.

“You aren’t authorized to make that kind of decision, Ms. Y/L/N.” This time you did scoff.

“Yeah, okay. Well thanks for the pardon.” You tapped the podium twice, leaning to walk away. “This has been great, I really feel like we’ve both said our peace. See ya later, Senator.” You walked out as you heard him calling your name. You pulled your phone out, dialing Bucky’s number.

“Hey doll! How’d court go?” You started walking to where you and Bucky had planned to meet after you got done with your respective tasks.

“Oh great! I’m working with Cap now.” You could almost see Bucky’s face.

“Wow, how’d you manage that?” You smirked.

“I can be very persuasive when I want to be, James.”

“Oh is that so, Y/N?” You could hear his smirk as he spoke. “Maybe you’ll have to be persuasive with me one day.” You laughed.

“James, I don’t have to be persuasive with you.” You caught sight of Bucky walking down the street with a store-bought cake in his hand. You held up your pinky finger wiggling it for emphasis, “I’ve got you wrapped around my finger.”

By the time you got to the marina that docked Paul & Darlene, you were buzzing with excitement. Bucky was giggling at your antics, you were practically bouncing in the passenger seat. As soon as Bucky got out of the car, Cas and AJ latched onto him. He went along with them, playing as if he was going to slam the cake into their faces. You walked past Bucky, hugging everyone who greeted you. Once you reached Sarah, you sat down on the picnic table for a second before taking off again. You stood to the side as you watched Sam take picture after picture with pretty much everyone from town.

Bucky stood next to you, chuckling about everyone’s reaction to Cap being from their hometown. One woman almost knocked Sam flat on his ass when she hugged him, a huge smile stretched over her face. You went back to the table Sarah was at, taking a seat next to her. Suddenly Bucky climbed on top of the table, holding his vibranium arm out with two children dangling off it. He was talking animatedly with his other as he told a story about Sam. You had zoned out just staring at him with the kids.

“You know, this could be you.” Sarah said as she leaned next to your ear.

“What could be?” You made a face at her.

“The kids, the community.” She looked over at Bucky, “That hunk of a man over there.” You slapped her shoulder softly before humming.

“I’ve thought about it, but that’s a two person decision and I don’t think either of us are at a point in our lives to raise another tiny human.” Sarah nodded, her features disbelieving.

“Just don’t let that one get away.” Her finger was pointed at Bucky who was playing with the kids at the edge of the dock. Bucky must’ve felt your gaze on him because he looked up, removing his dark sunglasses to lock eyes with you.

“Oh I don’t plan on it.” You smiled at her. You joined Bucky and Sam as they stood in front of Paul & Darlene, taking in the sunset reflecting on the water. Bucky wrapped his arm around your waist, pressing a kiss to your temple. You definitely don’t plan on it, you thought to yourself as you leaned into his embrace.

**********************

@londonalozzy @marvelofwitch @dramaticwittch @hellmoonsin @jn-wolf @youcancallmeishita @iabrokengirl @veroxloki @liveloudwriteloud @lainternettuale @angelofthetrenchcoats @rosiahills22 @peachymichu @sj-ficrecs @learisa @itsyagirl01 @simply-me-xoxo @ghoststudyy @taina-eny @japanrecs @sinfulhun-collapsedheart @isaordora @shutupstevie @sprsoldierfics @beachbabe925 @afuckingshituniverse @distinguishedgardenroadbonk @littlewhiterose @bcadc42 @tcc-gizmachine @imagines78643258 @mia-j-333

[gureishi]

gold rush

✧ — Summary: A chance encounter at the bar where you work. But is anything ever really a coincidence?

✧ — Pairing: Saeyoung x Reader

✧ — Rating: T (light cursing, bar setting)

✧ — A/N: This is probably as close as I’ll get to writing an AU. The way the characters are meeting is a little bit different, but we all know where they’re going to end up. This fic is set two weeks before the start of Deep Story.

chapter one

It was the beginning of a summer sunset—all reds and pinks and white hot light streaming through the windows and making you dizzy—when you saw him.

You didn’t believe in love at first sight or even fortuitous encounters. You thought coincidences were nothing more than accidents and miracles were just funny little bursts of brain chemicals.

And you weren’t interested in meeting anyone new. Your feet ached and your eyes felt heavy; you wanted an ice cold beer or a hot shower or maybe just a nap. But time twisted that day: worlds collided and the sun shone extra bright and your weary mind lit up in a way you’d never be able to explain.

You were standing by the bar when it happened. You had a faded blue rag in your hand, with which you were halfheartedly polishing a wine glass. The bartender (a friend, sort of) was telling you a story and you were gazing longingly at the door. A few more hours, you thought, until you’d leave—till you’d walk down the street with its overflowing trash cans and broken sidewalk, around the corner with its group of old men blaring music through their speakers, and home.

And as you stared at the door, it swung open—almost as if you’d compelled it with your yearning. You sighed and looked down at the wine glass in your hand, because it was slow today and on slow days, customers always wanted to talk.

You didn’t want to talk to anyone. You had no patience for conversation about the heat or somebody’s kids or their upcoming vacation. You wanted to lie on the floor of your bedroom in your underwear and stare at the ceiling fan till you stopped thinking about anything at all.

“Hey,” the bartender said (and her voice was a little too loud, like always, but you put on your best listening face for her). “Look at him.”

You didn’t roll your eyes, though you wanted to. She was younger than you and still found everything interesting—and ultimately you appreciated that about her. Instead, you tilted your head and peered through your lashes at the man by the door.

Ah, you thought (wildly, without knowing why). There he is.

He looked like the sort of person who never quite belonged.

He stood a little bit stiffly, his hands in his pockets—and then he waved at one of your coworkers and smiled, and all at once he seemed to fit in, after all. You didn’t know what to make of it.

“Cute,” the bartender whispered (standing on tiptoe to lean over the bar). “Don’t you think?”

“Oh,” you said, keeping your voice level. “Is he?”

You were a terrible liar. Your skin was screaming and your heart was racing; you felt as though you’d had the wind knocked out of you. The man strode casually across the bar and slid into a chair at one of the high-top tables, and you studied him. The bartender had called him cute, and your unsteady heart seemed to agree—but you weren’t even sure if it was true.

He wasn’t necessarily traditionally attractive. He was neither tall nor well-dressed: he wore jeans and a t-shirt that were both several sizes too big for him, and he had oversized headphones dangling around his neck. 

But his hair was a striking shade of red that you’d never seen before—it made you think fleetingly of childhood days playing under a sizzling sun and the sweet taste of lemonade. He wore glasses that suited his soft features, and behind them his eyes were startlingly gold. He looked up and your thoughts scrambled; you felt, for a moment, like you were swimming through thick liquid.

The bartender sighed, stirring your strange vortex of feelings.

“He sat at a table,” she said. “So he’s yours, not mine.”

Yours, huh? You felt vaguely nauseous.

Without a word, you grabbed a big bottle of water from the bin by the bar. Something seemed to have shifted inside you: it was the feeling of seeing the bus pull up when you’ve waited forever—the feeling of an eternity of biding your time coming to an end.

You had no idea why you felt that way.

You paused to check on a couple sitting in a booth as you made your way across the bar, but they didn’t spare you so much as a glance; they were staring silently into each other’s eyes, hands clasped on top of the table. And the man in the corner wasn’t looking at you—he was typing something on his phone, fingers moving so fast you swore they were blurry.

“Hey,” you said when you reached him. His fingers didn’t stop moving when he looked up at you—but your eyes met, and he smiled.

“Hi,” he replied (still typing). His voice was not at all what you’d expected: much brighter and more musical. He cocked his head to the side as though he were drinking you in, and you had the eerie sensation that he was reading your mind.

“Been here before?” you asked (knowing he hadn’t). He set his phone down and drummed his fingers against the table like he couldn’t quite sit still.

“Yeah,” he said. “You don’t remember me?” 

Liar, you thought. You took in his earnest expression: trust me eyes and a proud sort of smile. He wanted you to play along.

“Right,” you said, hands on your hips. “Didn’t I kick you out of here before?”

His eyes widened: a remarkable imitation of innocence.

“Me?” he trilled, sounding only mildly curious. “Impossible.” 

A lock of his hair fell over his forehead and you felt a fleeting urge to brush it away.

“I could do it again,” you said instead, raising your eyebrows. He looked you up and down (the back of your neck burned), and then he grinned.

“You win!” he exclaimed, bouncing in his seat. It was weird, you thought, that he was so excited not to have fooled you—but there was something about his almost childlike exuberance that made you feel pleasantly squirmy.

“Obviously,” you said. “I wouldn’t have forgotten you.”

You hadn’t meant to be so honest, but the words slipped out on their own—and you watched, horrified and delighted, as he flushed a funny shade of fuchsia.

“Really?” he asked, giggling (actually giggling). “Me, specifically?”

It would have been easy to say something biting, but you found that you didn’t want to.

“You, specifically,” you said.

And for an instant, his boldness seemed to slip away: his eyes softened and his hands stilled, and you saw another person entirely. It was someone somber and small—someone who’d been waiting to be told you, specifically for a very long time.

Your heart contracted.

Oh, you thought. Me too.

But the moment had already passed. He was grinning again, his eyes glittering. He winked roguishly, leaning forward.

“Whatever you say, babe.”

Oh, what was happening to you?

You glanced around the room: two other tables seemed to have materialized while you were talking to him. In a voice you hoped was level, you asked him what he wanted (just a soda), and then you slipped away to greet the new groups of people. In your peripheral vision, you saw him pulling a laptop out of his bag.

The sun had mostly set by the time you made it back to the bar. You could hear him in the corner, typing away.

The bartender caught your eye and beamed.

“What was that?”

You tried to avoid her gaze. 

“What was what?” You put the drinks on a tray.

She rolled her eyes dramatically as though she thought you were being incredibly difficult (and perhaps you were).

“You,” she said, laughing away your attempted ignorance. “Leaning all over the table and making puppy dog eyes.”

“I didn’t do that.” Did you?

“I felt like a real voyeur, watching you just now,” she said. She tossed her hair and you knew that she was teasing, but you still felt a little bit anxious. There was clearly something wrong with you.

“I hope you enjoyed it,” you told her drily. She waved you away; the ice was already melting in the drinks—and her laughter mingled with the sound of muted pop music drumming over the speakers as you strode back into the bustle of the bar.

You dropped drinks at your new tables first, and then you checked in on the couple in the booth (they were making out now, her legs in his lap). You knew that you were stalling.

But you didn’t trust yourself to go back to his table: you didn’t know what you’d do or say. It had been a long, hot summer—a long, dreary year. These days, nothing made you nervous—but the redhead typing furiously in the corner knocked you off balance.

When there was truly nothing left to do but return to him, you made your way across the room (too fast; too slow). You arrived at his side and your heart fluttered. His eyes were trained on his screen.

“I’m back,” you said, and your voice came out perky and loud. He looked up, then, his eyes taking a moment to refocus. Whatever he was doing, it seemed to require a lot of concentration.

Curious, you tried to peek at his screen, but he’d angled it so you couldn’t see. You wondered if he’d done that on purpose.

“Thank god,” he said, grinning crookedly. “I was lost without you.”

You set the glass, which was wet with condensation, on the slightly sticky wooden table. You should’ve brought a napkin or something.

“Are you sure you don’t want something stronger?” you asked, arching your eyebrows. You didn’t say the next part—why come to a bar just to drink Dr. Pepper?—but his smile widened, and for the second time you got the sense that he knew just what you were thinking.

“I don’t drink alcohol,” he said, flicking the wrapper off the straw and taking a sip. He drank soda, you thought, the way college kids drank liquor: hungrily. “You wanna know why I’m here,” he added. His eyes were piercing.

You gestured at his laptop (wondering what sort of program he could possibly be running to make it hum like that).

“I could take a wild guess and say that you’re working.”

He laughed.

“You get me.”

“What are you working on?” Again, you tried to peek at his computer; this time he shut it with a firm snap. Then he leaned in conspiratorially, his eyes twinkling.

“If I told you,” he whispered in a voice that dripped with provocation, “then I’d have to kill you.”

God. You should have expected no less. You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms; the Bond act did nothing for you.

“Sure,” you muttered. “That’s what they all say.” 

He paused, taking in your defensive posture—and then he burst out laughing. You'd gone from charmed to annoyed in a heartbeat—and now the ringing sound of his laugher was melting the tension from your shoulders. You weren’t sure what to make of it.

“Do you, uh…” he stammered breathlessly, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Do you get that a lot?”

“It’s a vibe,” you told him. “Guys who think they’re cooler and more interesting than they really are.” Oh, you didn’t mean to antagonize him—but something about the way he was looking at you egged you on. He rested his chin on his hand and you couldn’t help noticing the thin white scars that dappled his fingers. Huh.

“So you think I think I think I’m interesting?” He was looking in your eyes again. Your knees felt weak.

“I think I…have other tables,” you said. And it was true: it was fully dark out now, and people were trickling in, looking around expectantly for someone to pay attention to them. You needed a break from him or you’d drown (oh, but there was a part of you that wanted to pull up a chair and stare at him till he looked away).

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. You couldn’t put your finger on why, but it sounded like a challenge.

You smiled because you didn’t know what to say. Talking to him was like skating on the surface of a pond that had just iced over: thrilling and precarious. You darted away (and by the time you’d made it to the other side of the bar, his eyes were back on his screen). It was louder in here now; you couldn’t hear him typing anymore.

You quickly checked on the couple in the corner (still ignoring you) and then greeted two large groups of people around your own age. One was friendly and probably already drunk (they ordered a round of shots); the other was stiff and rude. You suppressed a sigh as all eight of them ordered drinks that weren’t on the menu; as soon as they’d sent you away, they called you back to make several changes (because people like that always did).

Martini with a twist, not a gin fizz, you chanted in your mind as you shimmied through the crowd of people who’d gathered around the bar. Your mind was tired and hazy (and the man in the corner wasn’t helping; all your nerves seemed to be firing randomly, making your skin feel too tight).

You typed the order into the POS, trying to ignore the redhead in your peripheral vision; his table was just an arm’s length away. The bar was getting noisier now, and the familiar cacophony of music and voices soothed you and made you sleepy.

And then, in the midst of the sea of sounds: “Hey.”

You felt his eyes on you at the same time you heard his voice. You turned to see him watching you, your heart doing a little dance behind your ribs.

“What’s up?”

He smiled lazily and rested his chin on his hands.

“Don’t forget the martini,” he said.

For a moment, you stared at him—and then it dawned on you. Martini with a twist, not a gin fizz. You’d definitely just put the order in wrong.

“How’d you know that?” you asked, eyeing him suspiciously. His face gave nothing away.

“How’d I know the order, or how’d I know you’d forget it?”

“Either,” you said (giving in, leaning on his table). “Both.”

“I’m a good listener.” His grin was too big (almost wicked): he was enjoying this. “I’m a good watcher, too.”

And that did seem to be the case. His penetrating eyes seemed to take in everything: a whisper of someone’s hair against their skin; a brush of fingertips beneath a table. You wondered what exactly he saw when he looked at you; you wondered what he’d say if you asked.

“Thanks,” you said. “Can you just hang out here all night and do my thinking for me?”

“I wish,” he muttered, sounding a little bit awkward. You got the sense that he meant it. You were starting to form a response when the bartender caught your eye—and you sighed, remembering that you needed to intercept her before she made the wrong drink.

“I’ve gotta—”

“Go,” he said.

You slipped from his side back into the crowd, but your thoughts seemed to have gotten stuck. You heard his voice in your mind as you spoke to the bartender; you imagined he was watching you as you ran some drinks (but you checked, and his eyes were glued to his screen).

The friendly drunk girls called you over and convinced you to do a shot with them (which wasn’t really allowed, but nobody followed that particular rule). The rude table complained that the music was too loud and the AC was too high. The couple in the booth finally asked for their bill.

Time—too much time—passed before you found yourself free again. You paid out the clingy couple and turned to face the dimly lit room, and your heart skipped a beat.

Your redhead was standing, tapping his fingers idly against the table.

“You’re leaving?” You darted to his side, relieved you’d caught him—anxious that he’d almost left without saying goodbye. “You gonna disappear into the night and never return or something?”

He grinned, but his cheeks were pink. He picked up on your sincerity whether you wanted him to or not.

“I’m going to the other side of the universe,” he said. He was slinging his bag over his shoulder, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He’d left a wad of cash on the table (it looked like way too much). “If I don’t get lost in space, I’ll be back for you.”

The bottoms of your feet tingled. It felt strangely intimate to be standing face-to-face like this.

“What’s your name?” you asked. “So I don’t forget you this time.” You winked, because you wanted him to think you meant it lightly—but something dark passed across his expression anyway. That scared him, you thought. He’s afraid of being—

But he was already smiling wider; the moment of solemnity was gone before you could acknowledge it.

“If I told you,” he said, “I’d have to—”

“I’m leaving!” you declared, turning away from him with as much flair as you could muster. He cackled, and then his hand shot out and closed around your wrist.

Time had been moving in strange swirls and eddies all night; now, it stopped altogether.

“Oh,” he said. “Uh.”

His hand fell as you turned to face him. He hadn’t meant to touch you, you thought: he’d done it impulsively, instinctively—and something had snapped. A line had been crossed. His face was very red.

“Seven,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse and weak, like he’d just been burned. “You can call me Seven.”

“Like the number?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “That way every time you count you’ll remember who I am.”

You would’ve rolled your eyes if anyone else had said something like that to you—but he stood so awkwardly and spoke so earnestly that you thought he might actually have meant it.

“I count a lot,” you told him. “I hope you’re prepared to be on my mind at least once an hour.”

He smiled and leaned forward and for a single, wild moment you thought he was going to kiss you.

Instead, he whispered in your ear. His breath gave you goosebumps.

“You’re the one who should be prepared,” he said. “Once I’m in your mind, you won’t be able to get rid of me.”

Before you could respond, he’d pulled back; he was retreating, lifting a hand and giving you an energetic wave.

“Bye, then,” he trilled. And then he said your name.

You were quite sure you’d never mentioned it.

“Oh—” you started to say—but the door chimed, and he was gone. 

It was over.

Rocking back on your heels, you looked wearily around the bar. Everything was normal: the chattering of people and the beat of a song that had already played three times that night. It was almost as if nothing had happened.

But you couldn’t forget.

You went through the motions, because you had to: you spoke to people and brought drinks and cleared tables and thought about bright golden eyes. More people gathered around the bar, but the tables cleared out quickly—and you dutifully wiped them down and blew out all the little candles and imagined you were anywhere but there. You counted money with stiff fingers and collected your cash tips and bid goodbye to the bartender and wondered if it was still hot out.

It turned out that it was.

You nudged open the door with your hip and the heat hit you like the big, dangerous ocean waves you’d only ever seen in pictures. It was late (early, even) and the street was nearly empty; another bar across the street buzzed vaguely and the air shimmered with late night summer wetness. Wishing you were already home, you ran a sticky hand through your hair and turned the corner onto a street that you knew was always empty.

Except it wasn’t. 

Someone was there.

Oh, you thought (frantically, irrationally). It’s him. 

You could barely make out the figure in the darkness, but he was the same general shape as your mysterious redhead. He was the right height, and his hair was wild, and—

Your heart raced. Had he waited for you after all?

But then the figure stepped forward and the streetlight shone in his eyes. They were the color of a clear sea after a storm.

You cursed yourself for hoping; you felt as though you’d been sucked dry. The stranger looked just enough like your redhead, but also altogether different: his hair was bright white and he stood perfectly still, like a predator lurking in the shadows.

And for no good reason, you had the sense that you were meant to be the prey.

The man smiled—almost a smile, one corner of his lips quirking upward. You wanted to say something (what?), but he was already turning away. He walked slowly, like he wasn’t in any hurry—but two steps were enough: he disappeared into the darkness on the other side of the streetlamp.

You were left alone with the tingling in your toes and the feeling that you had been caught.

A coincidence, you told yourself firmly (but you retraced your steps, deciding it would be safest to take another route home). Or maybe just my imagination.

You turned onto your block and unlocked the front door to your building and squinted against the fluorescent lighting. The people around you, you thought, believed in fate and miracles because these things made them feel better about their otherwise ordinary lives. But you didn’t agree: time marched endlessly forward, and there was nothing to be done about it.

Oh, and yet—

You pushed open the door to your apartment (dark and hot as always), kicking off your shoes and fumbling for the light. You knew better than to believe in the things that made your friends pretend that life was softer and sparklier than it really was. You did.

But the air tasted different now. You knew it—irrevocably, inexplicably—whether you wanted to believe it or not. 

Tonight, around sunset, everything had changed.

[sabraeal]

Consider: Obi is green-red color blind

A Color by Any Other Name

Written for @aeroplaneblues for a surprise birthday gift! Many months ago she mentioned wanted to see a colorblind Obi, and I said, WELL WHAT A GOOD EXCUSE TO WRITE THIS PROMPT JOANNA GAVE ME. I hope your birthday is a good one, filled with a lot more nice surprises!

“Are you ever going to introduce me to your guard friends?” Suzu asks around a mouthful of dumpling. “Or are you embarrassed?”

To say Obi is unprepared, would be an understatement; there’s a pork bun lodged between his teeth, his gloves not only coated in pig grease but also far less effective against steam than he’d thought they’d be back when he’d just grabbed a plump little blob off the stall. He’d laughed off Suzu’s concerns about protective equipment; after all, if smiths use leather gloves, they’ve got to be just as good as an oven mitt.

They aren’t. Not to mention the roof of his mouth starting to have a real good think about peeling off and having a vacation. Maybe even with someone who doesn’t eat entire dumplings straight from the basket.

“Wha?” he manages eloquently, nearly drooling spicy meat drippings onto the street.

“I know I’m not cool like they are,” Suzu continues, warming to his new thesis. If his sudden flush of confidence is any measure, he’s spent more of time composing his arguments for this than Obi’s ever seen him work on his actual defense. “And I’m no good with a sword. Or fists. Or really any implement that isn’t a scalpel, and any opponent that isn’t already anesthetized. But I am very smart.”

There’s a thoughtful pause before Suzu adds, “Some people do enjoy that, you know.”

What Obi knows is that this kid tried this conversation on for size in front of Yuzuri, and she didn’t even bother to warn him as a courtesy. See if he buys her any more meat-on-sticks when she’s ‘left her purse in the lab’ now.

“That’s not--” he takes a hurried minute to swallow-- “not what’s happening. I didn’t...”

Even know you knew I didn’t work for the pharmacy. His teeth clamp shut around that winner, and its friend, I didn’t think you lot would want to hang out with a bunch of men without degrees. Not only would that encourage Suzu to make a scene right here, right now, but if it got back to Jirou-- well, if he thought Suzu could turn any day into a disaster, the lieutenant would make that seem like a vacation.

“I didn’t think you wanted to,” he settles on instead. Similar enough in feel, if...creatively edited. “You scholar types tend to flock together.”

“Well, sure,” Suzu murmurs, stymied, “but we’re friends too, aren’t we? If all my friends are your friends, then all your friends should be my friends.”

Only an academic could talk about arithmetic with that amount of confidence, especially the kind that involved transitive properties and letters, and all sorts of things that made Obi’s head spin.

“Well,” he hums, one boot scratching his calf. “You would know.”

Suzu whirls on him, staring down his long fox-snout of a nose. “You mean it? You’ll really...?”

“Sure. If that’s what you want.” He twitches his shoulders, more casual than he feels. “It’s fine if it’s you.”

There’s always been a lazy lilt to Suzu’s eyes, but it disappears now, all the sleepiness gone to surprise. “Me? You wouldn’t want to bring anyone else?”

“Well, definitely not Kazaha.” The glares he’d get bringing that twiggy pedant into the guardhouse might be enough to drop him dead on the spot. “And Yuzuri would be too popular.”

Suzu grimaces. “The number of admirers she’d get from a wink alone...she’d be unlivable.”

He can see it now, her ponytail bobbing with a buoyant glee, giggling through every painstaking penned line from her fan club-- “Think of all the bad poetry.”

“Honestly, that might make it worth it. At least I’ll feel better about not knowing the difference between a quartet and a quatrain.” Suzu takes a thoughtful bite of him bun. “And you couldn’t bring Shirayuki, of course.”

“Right.” Not a one of them could be trusted to keep their lips sealed; she’d hardly have to take a breath and someone would call her Obi’s lady, or ask how they met, or whether she’s still Mistress behind closed doors--

But Suzu wouldn’t know any of that. “Wait, why?”

“Well...” He has the grace to look chagrined about it, whatever it is. “You know. Her hair...?”

“Oh.” Obi shrugs. “Sure, I guess.”

“You guess?” Suzu stares. “Shirayuki has a non-zero amount of stories about being kidnapped for looking like a candied apple, and you guess there might be a fuss about bringing her ‘round to the guardhouse?”

“Well, none of you acted weird about it,” he snips, hiding his annoyance behind a bite of dumpling. “There’s no reason they will.”

“Of course no one at Lilias acted weird, Obi!” he squawks, arms flailing as he talks. “You couldn’t pay them to look at anything but their own project. But when a bunch of normal men with eyes and, uh, other working appendages see a cute girl with red hair and a soft voice, they’re gonna go crazy!”

His palm hooks around his shoulder, thumb digging into the hard knot at his collarbone. “Aw, come on. It’s not that special.”

“Not that--?” Suzu whips around, eyes round as dumplings. “Obi, she’s the only person I’ve ever seen with red hair.”

“You don’t get out much,” Obi deadpans. “No offense.”

“That’s not--” Suzu grunts, throwing up his hands-- “She’s the only person anyone’s ever seen with red hair!”

“Her dad’s is kind of red.” That observation wins him an unimpressed look, one that says you’re missing the point. “And Yuzuri had blue hair when I met her. That’s way more interesting--”

“It was dyed!” Suzu wobbles over to a wall, sitting with his head in his hands. “Shirayuki has a hair color so rare that the birth records in Clarines haven’t noted it in more than fifty years! And you think Yuzuri dying her hair with woad is more impressive.”

“Well, even her natural color is brighter than Miss’s. Not--” he waves a hand between them, quelling-- “that Miss’s hair isn’t nice enough. But I’d think that people would pay more attention to that.”

“...Brighter?” Suzu murmurs after a long moment, stilted. “Obi, could you tell me what color that sign is, right over there?”

“The one for the tea shop?” He wrinkles his nose. “Why--?”

“Just...indulge me for a moment.”

“All right.” He squints up at the moon cresting over a wolf’s head. “Blue.”

“Right, and, um, that coat over there.”

“Yellow.”

“Right.” Suzu’s voice is tight, stressed. “And what I’m wearing?”

Obi squints. This one’s a little harder, but he’s confident when he says, “Green.”

“Ah, right.” Suzu stands, a unsteady on his feet. “That would explain that, then.”

Obi blinks. “Explain what?”

“Obi,” Suzu begins, with all the gravitas of both a grim prognosis and a terrible joke. “You can’t see colors.”

*

It’s not the first time Obi’s played hound to his prey’s fox, but there’s something distinctly unsettling about it being Suzu that leaves him lagging behind, unsure of himself. Especially with the way he scurries through the concourse, bounding toward the mess hall with this idea caught between his teeth like chicken feathers.

“I can see colors just fine,” Obi informs him with far less confidence than he’d like. “Some of them are just hard to tell apart. Weren’t you and Yuzuri arguing yesterday about whether salmon is orange or pink?”

Suzu waves a hand at him, dismissive. “That’s different. Salmon’s both orange and pink, and what color it looks most like has to do with the composition of your eye-- and it’s pink by the way, with orange undertones--”

Between the two of them, Obi knows who he’d trust to know their colors. “Uh-huh.”

“You can’t make out red and green, which is different entirely, and--” the doors to the mess burst open beneath his hands, a noise lost in the din of a hundred scholars trying to share the same table-- “YOU GUYS WON’T BELIEVE WHAT I JUST FOUND.”

The whole of Shidan’s lab-- minus the man himself-- have taken up right by the door, bags and coats piled to save them their places on the bench. Suzu makes short work of the pile on his seat, haphazardly shoving them to the floor as he sits.

Kazaha peers at him and ventures mildly, “A new way to avoid finishing your thesis?”

“No,” Suzu hums between his grit teeth, “but I have found out--”

“I don’t think we need to do this,” Obi murmurs, handing Miss her muffler. “It’s not--”

“Obi,” he intones with far more gravitas than his name has ever strictly deserved, “can’t see colors.”

“Not at all?” Kazaha turns those sharp eyes to him, like he’s a specimen under glass. “Just black and white?”

“I can see just fine,” Obi huffs, tossing Yuzuri her coat before he slides onto the bench, knee knocking into Miss’s in a way that puts his heart through its paces. “Suzu is just making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Is that so?” he hums with a grin. “Then what color is Shirayuki’s hair?”

He stifles a sigh. It’s best to put all this to bed now, before he’s stuck playing what’s this color for the next two years. “Red.”

“What’s the point of this?” Yuzuri yawns, already bored. Obi shoots her a grateful look, glad that at least one of them isn’t going to play Suzu’s game.

It’s too bad he’s already puffed up with unearned confidence, like an evolutionist at a botany lecture. “And what’s the color of Ryuu’s cloak?”

He knows it by heart-- how could he not, when the two most important people in this city wear matching ones-- but still Obi glances up, anticipating a trick. Ryuu stares back, confused and guileless. “Blue.”

“Great, good.” Suzu’s grin stretches from ear to ear. “Now what color is your scarf?”

Obi’s fingers knot in the fabric, the weft tickling the pads of his fingers. “Well, it’s...sort of reddish, isn’t it?”

This is the wrong answer.

“It makes so much sense,” Yuzuri murmurs in wonder. “You really don’t know how ugly Suzu’s outfits are. That’s why you still hang out with him.”

“Hey!” Suzu pouts. “That’s not very nice.”

“No, that has nothing to do with color, it’s the cut.” Anxiety spikes through him. “But wait, it is red isn’t it? My scarf?”

“No,” Miss murmurs at his side, cheeks flushes. “Obi, it’s...it’s green.”

He stares down at it, trying to imagine what that might look like. “Green.”

“It looks very nice on you!” Her small fingers wrapping in the fur at his elbow. “It’s your color, really.”

“Oh, sure,” he murmurs, faint. “I guess it matches my eyes.”

“Hey, what do you mean ‘it has nothing to do with the color?’“ Suzu’s hands fly to his hips, brows drawn tight over the long line of his nose. “My clothes are just fine.”

“They aren’t.” Obi leans in next to him, grin feeling thinner than it should. “But I hang out with you anyway, which means you know we’re really friends.”

Kazaha rubs at his chin, where his ode to Shidan’s goatee is failing to thrive. “You know what this also explains?”

Obi blinks. “What?”

“All the black.”

It’s not Kazaha that says it, oh no. That would be too merciful for a mortifying moment out of his life. Instead it’s low and feminine, and when Miss Kiki leans out from the other side of Miss, it’s like a siren emerging from the depths, teeth bared to tear a man to shreds. “What an interesting thing I’ve learned today.”

“Miss Kiki! How--?” He gulps. “Why--?”

“I came to deliver a message from Wirant,” she drawls, too pleased. “And it seems I’ve earned myself a fine tip.”

“No,” he breathes. “You can’t-- you’re not going to tell Master, are you? Or Sir?”

“Oh,” she hums, looking particularly hungry for manflesh. “I certainly will.”

*

“Oh, there there.” Miss pats his back, the sensation lost among the dozen layers of clothing between them. “I’m sure Kiki won’t tell them, not until you’re ready! You asked her not to.”

“I think that just means,” Obi mutters, voice muffled by his arms and the wall he’s throwing himself over, “that she’ll just enjoy telling them more.”

“Ah...” He doesn’t need to see her to know her grimace. “Yes, that’s...probably right.”

He lets out a heavy, dramatic sigh. It helps a little. So does a bit of flailing.

“They won’t make a big deal out of it,” Miss says, changing tack. “It hardly changes anything! I’m sure they’ll just forget as soon as she tells them.”

He peeps one eye over his elbow. “That’s easy for you to say, you haven’t spent the last half an hour playing What’s That Color.”

“Well,” she wheedles, “they are scholars.”

Obi groans, loud and long, which doesn’t help; but it echoes out over the rooftops, returning back to him, which does.

“How...?”

Miss hesitates, a gloved finger pressed to her lips. He sighs, already braced for the onslaught-- how didn’t you know? how did you go so long without knowing your colors? how do you find people if you can’t even tell what hair color they have--?

“How did you notice?”

Obi lifts his head, unblinking. “What?”

“How did you notice?” Miss repeats, more firmly this time. “You’ve spent your whole life this way, haven’t you? It must have taken something really special to realize there was more than what you see.”

“Uh.” It’s nice that it’s darker here, that it’s cold. He has perfect legitimate reasons to be flushed. “Well, it was Suzu really. He mentioned that--” his teeth clamp down around his words, not letting them out without a hasty edit-- “that people think your hair’s pretty special, and I said I didn’t get why...”

Miss stiffens beside him, a statue that breathes, and he hastily adds, “Not that you aren’t special, Miss. It’s just, the red...”

“Right.” The words comes out stilted, strange. “You can’t see it. You actually...haven’t ever seen it.”

A silence settles on them like a wool blanket; not one of those nice ones at the castle, or the fleecy ones Miss stockpiles like one day the North might run out of sheep, but the itchy, coarse-woven ones of his childhood. Uncomfortable and smelling faintly of animal.

“So,” he coughs, fixing his gaze out over the city. “What did Kiki want?”

“Oh...” Miss shifts, mouth pulling into a guilty grimace. “She came to tell me that the Queen Dowager has invited me to dinner. Tomorrow night.”

His brows raise. “Well, well.”

“Don’t,” she murmurs, head giving the barest shake. “It’s not like that.”

“Are you sure?” He shouldn’t press, but if he doesn’t, no one else will. “After you told Master--”

“I told him a list of reasons why I thought I would be a better ally as a friend, and not as a...” Miss loses steam, letting her words sigh into the air. “I’d like to believe this has to do with my work with Phostyrias.”

He watches her, careful. “But do you?”

“I don’t know,” she says, which is as good as any no.

*

Obi’s barely stepped into the Protector’s solar when Master asks, “What color is my jacket?”

His head swivels, delivering a glare so flat carpets would be jealous. Miss Kiki only hums, shoulder lifting in a disinterested shrug. “I said I was going to tell them.”

Fair enough.

“It’s blue,” he deadpans, flopping onto the cushiest divan. He’s too long for it, his boots spilling off one arm a idling over the floor. “Apparently I can see that one just fine.”

According to Miss, at least; she’d unearthed a slip of a book from the university’s library, outlining the limits of his sight. Little Ryuu had pored over it for a day before showing up at his door, flushed faced and nervous.

Garrack always told me I had nice eyes, he’d admitted, lingering at the threshold. I was hoping you could see them.

Cross as he is about the whole thing, Obi can’t regret that. He might not have Miss’s hair, or Suzu’s coat-- thankfully-- but Ryuu’s eyes would always look true to him.

“But not red.” Master’s mouth twitches, far too entertained. “Or green.”

“I do see them,” he protests. “They just...don’t look very different to me.”

Just another shade of yellow and brown, if those books are right. Which they are, since he’d always thought so. Subtly different, like the way Suzu and Yuzuri fought over salmon, or Master and Miss Kiki would dither over chartreuse. Just enough that he’d been able to eke by on keeping his mouth shut and a fondness for black.

Still, there’s nothing worse than finding out something new about yourself this late in the game. Especially when--

“What about the curtains?” Master inquires. “Can you see those?”

--Especially when it’s so endlessly entertaining to everyone else. “I can see them,” he grumbles, sinking further into the cushions. “Just because I can’t see some colors doesn’t mean I’m blind.”

“Then what about the note?”

Obi rolls his gaze to where Sir perches at his desk. “Huh?”

“To our red-haired guest.” Sir coughs, a flush working its way up his neck. “It’s just-- you wrote that.”

“Oh, His Grace told me that one.” A lifetime ago, it seemed. “‘The red-haired girl, you’ll know her when you see her, I’m sure.’“

Master winces. Obi can admit his talent doesn’t lie with impressions, especially ones of dour old men.

“Right,” Sir presses, voice oddly tight. “But you don’t see-- I mean, how could you find a girl that looks just like everyone else?”

“Ah...” He grimaces, scrubbing at the top of his head. “Well, I just looked for the girl who didn’t belong. It--” he hesitates, suddenly aware of Master’s eyes on him-- “didn’t take very long.”

Master’s frown belongs above one of those prie-dieu, to remind penitents that forgiveness isn’t absolute. “What is that supposed to--?”

“So what does she look like?” No one could say that after a decade of dedication, Miss Kiki doesn’t know how to do her job; she deflects Master’s brewing sour mood with the ease of a professional. “What does her hair look like to you?”

“Uh.” He clears his throat, tugging at his collar. “I wasn’t lying when I said I bought my scarf to match...”

There is a stillness to the room that is too much, too pitiful. Much as he hated it, Obi would much rather be a joke than a charity case.

“Huh,” Sir grunts, gaze still fixed to his neck. “Now I wonder what we all look like to you.”

“Well, I sort of wonder what you all look like to yourselves.” Obi let a sigh float wistfully through his lips. “At least I know that me and Miss still have the same eyes.”

There’s silence again, but this one buzzes, filled with words no one dares to say.

“What?” he laughs, nervous, pulling himself upright. “Don’t we?”

Sir grimaces. “Ah, Obi...”

*

Miss is quiet when they walk the walls home that night, the winter stillness making the silence and heavy as any drift. Her mouth is pursed, not with anything like anger, but something closer to consideration. As if there’s words back there she’s sorting through, trying to compose a thought that just won’t come.

Well, she should know: she won’t get anywhere if she doesn’t air a few of them out to look at. “Something wrong, Miss?”

She blinks, shaken out from wherever she gone away. Her mind palace, maybe. Suzu’d told him about those once, with busts and painting and curtained alcoves. What she’d do with a place like that, he couldn’t imagine, but if anyone asked, he’d put his money on hers having apothecary drawers instead, and gardens too. The kind with half crumbled walls, ivies curled around every stone. Cluttered desks piled high with books, and one of them with curtain drawn to let its owner nap the afternoon away.

“Oh,” she breathes, finally. “No, no. Nothing’s, um, wrong. I was just...thinking.”

He lifts a knowing brow. “So something is wrong.”

“That’s not what I said,” she informs him, primly. “I was going over my meeting with Haruto, and...”

Her lips snap shut around the words, distress narrowing her eyes. “And...?��

“She didn’t know about my work,” Miss huffs, arms wrapping tight around her chest. “Or, she did, but only what Zen had told her. Which...”

Was far less than the whole of it. He’d heard that part of her argument that night, try as he might not to. “So she invited you as Zen’s ally?”

“No.” The word is colder than any he’s ever heard fall from her lips. “That I wouldn’t mind-- I’m still trying to be his ally, after all, and if she saw me as an asset...” She shook her head. “No, she wanted to meet his...paramour, even if she didn’t say as much.”

Obi grimaces.

“And even that wouldn’t be so bad if...” Miss took a deep, steeling breath. “When I came in, after all the curtsies and pleasantries, she said, your hair is just as red as he said it was.” Her knuckles are white where they wrap around her elbows. “All those years, all those letters, and the only thing he thinks to tell his mother is that my hair...”

The rest is lost in a sigh, a cloud of mist swirling off the wall.

“It must really be something,” Obi deadpans, gaze following it off the edge. “Since it makes all these people forget how smart you are.”

She’s watching him; he can feel it as she sidles up to where he stands, hands unclenching from her arms and splaying on the crenellations instead. “Obi, you really can’t...?”

Miss hesitates, falls silent. He lets her; she’s put enough words in the air to sort through, and now all she needs is time. Obi’s happy to give it to her.

Especially since there’s a rabbit down there in the dark. A small one, moving slow, hind legs churning like clockwork winding up. It’s nose digs into the snow, snuffling around, searching--

“Can you really see better?” Miss asks, startling him back to the wall. “In the dark, I mean. That book said you could.”

“Well, after the past couple days, I’m a little shaky on what’s normal.” He jerks his chin over the edge. “Can you see the rabbit down there? Right by that sapling?”

She blinks, pressing in close. “The what? It’s just...dark out there.”

“Well,” he says, grin tight on his lips. “There’s your answer.”

Miss settles back on her heels, one hand already cupping her chin. “It makes sense. Without the distraction of color, your movement tracking must be much more acute...”

Obi only half-manages to stifle a laugh. “Seems like it definitely distracts everyone else.”

Miss goes quiet; almost too quiet, enough to make his teeth sit on edge. The seconds tick by, and Obi might play at patience, but it’s not in his nature. He glances down, just from the corners of his eyes, but Miss is already watching him, eyes strangely shuttered.

“Obi,” she says, so clear his name rings in his ears. “You don’t...? My hair, it’s not...” Her mouth works, quiet, before she manages, “It’s not anything to you?”

Anything special, she means. Because that’s what he said so stupidly last night, nothing special.

She’d tied it up tonight, finagling the strange looping knots that were partial to the queen’s court, but already some of it’s worn loose, slipping from its pins. “It is,” he murmurs. “I like it.”

She huffs, unimpressed. “But you can’t see it, not really.”

“Of course I can see it,” he laughs, weary. “Maybe not the color, but that’s fine. I like it because it’s yours.”

She ducks her head, and Obi might not be good at colors, but he can see her cheeks flush in the lamplight.

“Miss.” Her gaze lifts to his, no longer shuttered, just full. “Can I ask you something?”

Her breath catches. “Anything.”

“Be straight with me,” he pleads. “We do have the same eye color right?”

*

“Obi!” Miss‘s laughter bubbles bright with betrayal as she hops down the stairs after him. “Obi, please--”

“Let me grieve, Miss,” he grumbles, hands shoved in his pockets. “I’ve been a real champ about the rest, but let me have this.”

“Obi!” She catches him round the wrist, mouth twitching as she turns to him. “Is it really so bad that they’re gold?”

“No,” he mutters sullenly, shoulders slumped enough that with two stairs between them, they’re nearly the same height. “It’s just...”

Her eyes flutter wide with curiosity. “Just...?”

“It’s fine enough that they’re unique.” He spits the word with more venom than it deserves. “I just I wanted this one thing in common.”

“In common?” Miss blinks. “You mean, me and...?”

Obi would lay down his life for his mistress, but even she can’t ask him to do this, to lay down his pride for her to walk on.

“Oh!” She flusters, limbs fluttering in the air between them. He’s half-tempted to turn away again, but she grabs his face and holds him steady, her cold, slender fingers caught behind his jaw. “Just-- just one moment...”

“Miss?” he wheezes. This is entirely too close, too much--

“Yes!” He breath flutters over his lips, her own parting in a celebration of teeth. “That’s it. I see it. There’s a little, right there.”

He blinks. “A little what, Miss?”

Her teeth flash around the word, “Green.”

It’s cruel to throw a starving dog a bone, but he snaps it up anyway, heart nearly clogging up his throat with hope. “D’you mean it? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Really,” she promises, her nod serious and officious as any she might give Little Ryuu. “There’s a thread, right around the middle. Green. Just like mine.”

“Oh.” His own hands raise, leather muting the feel of her skin, but-- Master always told him about the red thread that bound him and Miss together, that drew them toward their fated meeting, but this-- Obi will take this too. “Thank you, Miss.”

She smiles, eyes shining bright in the lamplight. “No, Obi, it’s my pleasure.”

Not much different between green and red to him, anyway.

[drabbles-mc]

Language

Neron ‘Creeper’ Vargas x F!Reader

@redpoodlern requested more Dad!Creeper and honestly I was more than happy to deliver on that haha. And thank you to @garbinge for always helping me pull together all of my ideas!

Warnings: language, mentions of alcohol, Creeper being a big ol’ softie with his kiddos

Word Count: 3k

A/N: This definitely takes place in the same universe as Like Father, Like Son because I’m a big fan of the family dynamic that I was sort of starting to build there. If no one has any objections that’s probably going to be my default HC for my future Dad!Creeper fics unless stated otherwise haha. I just love the idea of him with a pack of kids.

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The kids had one week off from school. One week. Seven days. Technically only five if you weren’t counting the weekend. You didn’t want to take the entire week off of work when you would be out on maternity leave in a couple more months, and as much as Creeper wanted you to be taking it easy, he said that if you really wanted save your time off for your leave, he would gladly keep the kids with him for the week.

“You and the guys can’t be doing,” you glanced around to make sure the kids weren’t in the room, “You and the guys can’t be doing serious club shit while they’re there, okay?” you knew that Creeper was always careful, but you also knew that some of the other men in the MC with him weren’t quite as cautious.

“Never, mama,” he leaned in and kissed your cheek, “Don’t worry. We’ll hold it down. It’s been a while since they got some time with their uncles, anyway.”

“Alright,” you nodded, taking a deep breath, “Go round up the gremlins, then,” you laughed, “They should each have their backpack with stuff in it.”

“Givin’ ‘em homework on their week off?” he chuckled.

You shook your head, “No, no. Just stuff to do if they get bored at the clubhouse. Coloring books, matchbox cars, whatever else they can fit in there.”

“Pfft,” he shook his head, “like we’ll ever let them get bored,” he let out a whistle, “Let’s go, homies! Time to roll out.”

Their footsteps thundered through the house as all three if them came booking it down the hall, each with their backpacks either on their shoulders or dangling from their hands. Both you and Creeper laughed at how excited they were to spend some time with their dad and their entire squad of uncles at the clubhouse.

“Which car you taking, baby?” you asked him.

“Just figured I’d take the van. It’s got all their stuff in it already.”

You smiled, nodding as you grabbed the keys off the counter and tossed them to him, “Alright, no doing donuts with it.”

He chuckled, “If they ask I won’t be able to tell them no,” he was about to say something else when his phone started going off in the pocket of his kutte. He reached and took it out, brows furrowing slightly as he answered, “Yea? Yea I’m about to head out. We’ll talk about it when I get there,” he shook his head slightly, “Alright yea,” with a huff he hung up the phone.

“All good?” you arched one eyebrow.

He nodded, “Yea. They act like I’m not gonna see them in twenty minutes. What the fuck is that important that it can’t wait?”

You shot him a glare, “Neron! Language, please.”

“Shit, sorry.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

He smiled sheepishly, stepping in close to give you a kiss, “I’m sorry, I love you, and I’ll call you later, mama.”

“Mhm,” you laughed as you playfully shoved him towards the door, “Tell the kids they gotta keep your boys in line.”

“They don’t even need me to tell ‘em.”

Very few things rivaled the excitement that the guys felt when they saw the minivan rolling into the scrapyard. Seconds after Creeper threw the van in park, all of the kids came sprinting out. His son leapt out of the passenger seat as his little sisters came tumbling out the back. It was quite the scene watching them walk up with their father, looking like quite the entourage all together.

“Wifey let you take the real whip today, huh?” Angel said with a laugh as he pulled Creeper into a hug.

He chuckled, “Anything for the wolfpack,” Creeper watched as his kids made their rounds to say hi and hug each of the men that were outside the clubhouse waiting for them to arrive.

Angel looked over at the minivan, “Still can’t believe she let you put those fuckin’ stickers on there, bro,” he laughed.

“Yo,” he smacked Angel in the chest, “No swearin’ in front of the kids,” he paused, “What do you got against the stickers? I think they’re cool.”

“Guess I just never thought that your soccer mom van needed fake bullet holes.”

“That’s what keeps it from being a soccer mom van,” he tapped the side of his head with a knowing look, like he had cracked some sort of code.

“Right,” Angel laughed and shook his head before turning his attention to the kids, “Brandon! Get over here! Let’s see if you’re taller than me yet, dude.”

Creeper turned and saw that the twins were already trying to take Hank down to the ground—a goal that they’d had ever since they were little toddlers. Every time they saw him, they got closer and closer to being successful but they weren’t quite there yet. He had one hanging off of each arm as he tried to walk across the yard without falling over onto them. Creeper laughed as he watched the shenanigans unfold, and they’d only been there for about two minutes.

“Alex! Ava!” he shook his head slightly with a smile, “Give Uncle Hank a break, alright? The man has work to do.”

“They’ll be taking him to the ground soon enough, man,” EZ laughed as he let Hank struggle with the two little girls.

“Make sure you’re filming it,” Creeper responded with a laugh as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“How’s Y/N?” EZ asked.

“Pregnant,” he looked over at EZ and laughed, “Nah she’s good. Working this week, so we got some extra help around here.”

“She’s still working?”

He nodded, “Oh yea. She’ll work till the baby pops outta her,” he shook his head, “I don’t know how she fu—” he caught himself, “I got no clue how she does it, man.”

“Pregnancy one of those things you get better at the more you do it?”

He laughed, “Why don’t you ask her next time you see her?”

“Hard pass,” he shook his head, laughing.

Creeper was glad that he had an entire team of guys to help him try to tire them all out, because it wasn’t an easy task in the slightest. At one point he was fairly certain that he lost them in the depths of the scrapyard and when he did finally find them, they were running around and playing hide and seek where all the scrapped cars were kept. The only thing that kept him from having a heart attack at the sight of it was knowing that none of the cars had any glass left in them that the kids could cut themselves on. But the three of them had easily turned the scrapyard into their kingdom.

“C’mon, lunch time,” he called out to them and they all hesitated, not quite ready to give up the game. Creeper sighed, “Chucky made lunch for you guys.”

That was all it took. Their eyes lit up and the girls almost pushed their brother to the ground in an attempt to beat him back to the clubhouse. Creeper shook his head as he followed them, egging them all on.

“C’mon, B-Dawg, use those legs!” he called after his son with a laugh.

“Knees to chest, Brandon!” Angel joined in as he watched the three of them race up the steps of the clubhouse.

Soon enough, the three of them were all sat at one of the tables inside the clubhouse. Chucky beamed at them, “The Vargas Trio,” he brought their plates over, “I hear you’re keeping us company for the week.”

“Dad said we get to come every day,” Ava said as she shoveled a spoonful of food into her mouth.

“Eat first, then talk, lil mama,” Creeper chastised her with a small smile as he shook his head.

Creeper sat at the table with them, casually drinking his beer as he watched the three of them tuck into the lunch that Chucky had made for them. He knew that Chucky loved when the kids were around—he became the ultimate chef and babysitter once those kids set foot on the property. There wasn’t a single thing that he wouldn’t do for those kids and Creeper could tell just by the way that Chucky seemed so at peace as he watched them sitting around the table together.

“What d’you guys say?” he asked them as he nodded towards Chucky.

“Thank you, Uncle Chucky,” they all said in unison.

The warmest of smiles spread across Chucky’s face as he nodded, “The pleasure is all mine.”

By late in the afternoon, the kids were finally starting to run out of steam. The girls were sprawled out on the floor of the clubhouse, art supplies strewn everywhere as they worked through entire sketchbooks’ worth of paper with Chucky. Brandon had been lurking at a safe distance as he watched some of the guys work in the scrapyard. The idea of breaking things apart was intriguing for many reasons to an eight-year-old boy, but he always listened if one of the men said to back up or not touch something. Every now and then, though, Creeper would let him take a crack at something with the hammer and the excitement on his son’s face was contagious.

The two of them walked back into the clubhouse to get a couple water bottles for themselves and the rest of the guys outside. Creeper was behind the bar, handing them over to his son while also trying to get a good look at what Alex and Ava were up to with Chucky. He smiled at the way the three of them seemed to exist so peacefully together. He hoped that the twins would always get along as well as they seemed to so far.

There was the quiet snapping sound of a pencil point breaking, followed by Alex tossing it to the side and huffing, “Fuck that.”

The entire clubhouse fell silent. Creeper’s eyes went wide as his jaw dropped slightly and Chucky looked over to him, trying to figure out what he was supposed to say or do. Creeper set one last water bottle down on the surface of the bar before addressing the issue.

“Alex? You good, babygirl?”

“It’s like the bazillionth time my pencil has broken.”

He wanted to be amused but he knew that you’d kill him for not talking about the whole language issue, “Alright. I hear you. But…but you can’t be talkin’ like that. Where’d you even hear that, anyway?”

“You,” all three of his kids replied in unison.

He exhaled sharply through his nose as he pressed his lips together into a thin line, trying to figure out what the right way to go about this was, “Look,” he waved for his son to follow him as he walked over to his daughters, “You can’t be talkin’ like that, okay? Those are grownup words. Whatever you do,” he rested his hand on her shoulder gently, “Don’t say that in front of Mommy,” he looked amongst the three of them, “And if it slips, you tell her that Uncle Angel taught you that, alright?” they all nodded and he let out a tiny sigh of relief, “Good. Okay.”

That was the last thing he said about it as he nudged Brandon’s shoulder and they went back to collect up the water bottles and bring them outside. The girls went back to their drawings and Chucky decided that there was nothing left to do but follow suit.

“Uncle Chucky?” Alex asked without looking up from her paper.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Why don’t you talk like they do?” she continued to fill in the cartoon coloring page, “Daddy says they’re grownup words but I never hear you saying them.”

“Speaking like a grownup doesn’t interest me in the slightest,” he smiled at her before returning to his own paper.

It was a week filled with antics. The clubhouse was covered in coloring pages of every cartoon and Disney character you could possibly think of. All of the guys had gotten their nails painted by the twins at least once. Brandon got his own Romero Brothers work-shirt and now he never wanted to take it off. Every single member of the MC was tired in a way they never remembered being tired before. Nap time was something that everyone partook in, even the adults, because they all needed the rest.

You took a half day on Friday so you could spend some time with all of them at the clubhouse. You liked seeing the kids running around having a good time with the guys, and truthfully you missed the nights you’d stay late with Creeper there. Late-night partying hadn’t been something the two of you had done in a long time, but none of that compared to the sense of joy you felt as you heard your daughters very intensely explaining the entire plot of both Frozen movies to EZ, who sat and nodded along, a very serious look on his face.

You smiled, making your rounds to say hello to the guys before you made your way over to Creeper who was sitting at the bar. He smiled, standing up to place a kiss to your lips and then to your belly before offering you his seat. You took it without hesitation, always happy to be off your feet for a few minutes.

“How’s the week been?” you asked as you glanced around the clubhouse.

He nodded, “Good. The guys will be sleeping for a week straight once the kids go back to school,” he laughed.

You smiled, nodding, “I bet.”

“It’s been nice having them here. Keeps things from getting to serious.”

“Yea,” you chuckled, “I’d imagine that it’s a bit harder to have a serious argument when all of your tables are covered in drawings of Olaf and Moana, and everyone’s nails are painted hot pink.”

“I kinda like it,” he held his hand out for you to inspect, “But I think purple is more my color.”

You laugh, nodding, “Oh, for sure, baby.”

The two of you were chatting when all of a sudden you heard a series of thuds, followed by Ava softly, but very clearly, saying, “Fuck,” as she rubbed her skinned knee.

You looked over at your husband, staring daggers, “Neron, I swear to god if—”

“It wasn’t me, mama, I swear,” he held his hands up in surrender.

With a sigh you rose up from the stool and made your way over to your daughter. You looked at her knee—it was scraped but it wasn’t bleeding. She also wasn’t crying which was a good sign. You asked if she was alright and when she said yes, you asked your follow-up question, “Where’d you hear that word, sweetie? Because those aren’t words that you should be using.”

Creeper held his breath as he waited for her to respond. Ava looked at you, and with no hesitation she responded, “Uncle Angel.”

You whipped your head to look at the biker in question. His eyes were as wide as you’d ever seen them. He tried to sputter out a denial, some kind of defense, but he couldn’t string the words together. He couldn’t believe that he’d just been thrown under the bus like that, especially by the girl who not even an hour beforehand said that he was her favorite uncle.

Calmly, you rose to your feet and smoothed out your dress. Creeper recognized the look in your eye and he knew that Angel was in for it. He felt bad, but not bad enough to step in and tell you the truth of the matter. It was a little deal in the grand scheme of things, really.

“Baby,” Creeper called after you, “Baby I can handle—”

“It’s fine, Neron,” your tone was dangerously even, “I just wanna talk to Uncle Angel for a minute.”

He knew that that meant you did not want to talk, “Mama, really—”

“Bring the kids outside, please. We gotta start heading home anyway.”

At that point he knew that he wasn’t going to convince you. He scooped Alex in one arm and Ava in the other, “Alright, let’s go, babygirls,” he nudged Brandon gently towards the door, “C’mon, lil homie, let’s pack the car up.”

Once the clubhouse door shut behind them, you turned your full attention to Angel. You picked up a stray coloring book and rolled it the same way you would a newspaper, and smacked him with it, “Angel Reyes!”

“Ah,” he held his arms to block your swings, “Y/N, hear me out!”

“You will not,” you smacked him again, “be teaching my six-year-olds how to cuss,” you hit him with the book once more for good measure, “Got it? Pregnant or not I will beat your ass.”

He held his hands up in surrender, “Okay, okay. Sorry, querida. Didn’t realize that they picked things up so quick.”

You pointed the rolled up coloring book at him accusingly, “Better start realizing it.”

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded.

You looked at him for a few seconds before giving a nod of approval and dropping the book back onto the table, “Good. Alright then,” you stood on your tip-toes and kissed him on the cheek, “Glad we’re on the same page. I love you.”

“Love you too,” he shook his head slightly as he followed you out of the clubhouse.

He said goodbye to the three kids as they piled into the minivan before pulling Creeper to the side, “Why’d Ava snitch on me like that, bro?”

Creeper chuckled nervously, running his hand over his head, “About that. I…I might’ve told them to blame you if they slipped up in front of their mom.”

“What the fuck, Creep?”

“What? You tellin’ me you wouldn’t do the same shit?”

He paused for a moment before laughing, “Yea, probably. But still,” he gave him a light shove, “Messed up turning my own nieces and nephew against me like that.”

“Technically just turning their mom against you a little bit,” he chuckled.

“I feel like that’s worse.”

“It’s definitely worse,” Creeper clapped him on the shoulder, “Well. Better get ready. Next vacation is gonna be for the whole summer.”

Angel laughed as he hugged Creeper, “Can’t wait.”

[waka-chan-out]

Mine - June 6

minors dni

post-timeskip, obviously.

word count: 2.3k

content warnings: fem!reader (they/them pronouns used), dom!kindaichi, implied past relationships with mattsun and makki, oral (f. receiving), exhibitionism, hair pulling, lots of dirty talk, praise, some teasing, lots of pet names, “good girl,” one (1) spank, masturbation, not really edging but brief orgasm control if you want to call it that(??), finger sucking, cream pie, technically cum play?

welcome to project gemini, where we’re celebrating the birthdays of our lovely haikyuu boys born between may 20th and june 21st. first up is kindaichi yūtarō, whose hair and demeanor have completely changed since high school. your former classmates have decided to share you for one night.

another shoutout to my darling @kitastowel for the banners because oh my god i love them

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Kindaichi asked, stroking his thumb over your cheek. You raised an eyebrow and smiled.

“I’m not gonna back out now.” You inhaled heavily as his fingers trailed down to your throat, lightly squeezing. There was an intense possessiveness in his eyes, one you would have never expected to see from him.

“Are you two sure?” he asked, lifting his gaze from you to the men lounging on chairs against the wall. Hanamaki shrugged and Matsukawa rolled his eyes. Their faces were settled in a neutral expression, almost bored. Like their former underclassman wasn’t about to have his way with their best friend.

It was honestly a joke at first. Makki had asked Kindaichi if he was still a virgin, and the poor boy had turned bright red, the same way he did back in high school. He wasn’t able to answer before Matsukawa cackled and offered you to him.

“They’re good in bed. You’d have a great time.” You smacked him, but the subtle, almost hungry expression on Kindaichi’s face made you want to take him up on the offer. You had the sneaking suspicion that he was a completely different person than he had been in high school.

“Just get on with it,” Matsukawa said. Kindaichi leaned closer to you, grip shifting to your jaw.

“Let me know if you need me to be gentler,” he said. Hanamaki and Matsukawa burst out laughing.

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll need to. Come on, Kindaichi, we’ve got shit to do.”

Kindaichi didn’t seem to even hear them, leaning in and pressing a firm kiss to your lips. You were surprised by the aggression. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, moving like he already knew everything you wanted and needed. Without thinking, your hands fisted in the front of his shirt and you pulled him down on top of you. He followed you easily, bracing one arm over your head and wrapping the other around your waist. He nipped at your lower lip and you gasped. He swallowed the breath and deepened the kiss. Heat rushed through your body and you wrapped your legs around his waist, wanting him as close as he could possibly get.

It was . . . good. So good. You could feel the kiss in every inch of your body, coursing through you like electricity. You couldn’t believe this was the man that had stumbled over his words every time you offered to toss for him during late night practices and barely looked at you when he took water bottles from you during games.

“Man, I’m glad I invited you in here, Kindaichi. Are you just gonna kiss them the whole time?”

You broke the kiss and glared at Matsukawa.

“Are you gonna shut up? You set this up.”

“Geez, you’re defensive. He’s that good, huh? Better than me?”

“Miles.” Matsukawa rolled his eyes. Kindaichi chuckled and leaned down, moving his lips to your neck. You gasped as he left open mouth kisses along your jawline and stopped right under your chin, sucking harshly. You tugged on his hair and he hummed, nipping lightly at your neck.

“Kindaichi, let’s go,” Makki snapped. Kindaichi lifted a middle finger at the men and tugged at your pants. You helped him work them and your underwear down and he readjusted, pushing your knees apart with firm hands.

“Kindaichi, you don’t—“

You lost your train of thought as he buried his face between your legs and closed his eyes. He pushed your leg up and wrapped his arm around it, lapping and sucking at your clit with the aggression of a man starved. Your back arched and you buried a hand in his hair. The feeling was overwhelming, coursing through your entire body in the same way his kisses did. You couldn’t sit still, legs shifting and head tipping back as he hummed in satisfaction.

“Fuck, Yūtarō,” you breathed, carding your fingers through his hair. You felt him smile against you and he glanced up, hungrily meeting your eyes. The sight made you smile, letting out a shaky breath as you tipped your head back and leaned into the feeling. You were already close. You could feel your heart racing and your breathing picking up.

There was laughter coming from the other side of the room. Matsukawa and Makki were talking quietly, only offering you two the occasional glance. You rolled your eyes. This was their idea, so what the hell was the deal.

Kindaichi’s tongue circled your clit and his arms gripped you tighter. His mouth somehow knew exactly where you needed him, chasing your release with every movement of his mouth. Something about the way he glanced up at you, the way he hummed in pleasure at seeing you falling apart on his tongue, the way his lips moved even more enthusiastically, it all combined to send you over, back arching and legs shaking as you exhaled a groan. You could feel Kindaichi smiling against you as he rode it out, not slowing until your hand was jerking at his hair. He sucked on your clit one last time before sitting up and leaning close to your face.

“If they aren’t going to pay attention, I’m just going to fuck you now.” You smiled and he pushed up your shirt, warm hands sending shivers down your spine. As you scrambled to get it the rest of the way off, he shrugged off his. He leaned back down the kiss you and you fumbled with his belt, eventually getting his pants undone and palming him through his briefs. He captured your lips in a heated kiss and ground down against your hand. You whimpered and grasped at his clothes, trying to pull them down. He huffed a laugh and stilled your hands with his own.

“Shh,” he muttered. “Good girls are patient, right? You want to show them you’re a good girl?” You swallowed and nodded. He smiled, tugging his waistband down. “Good. Now let me take care of you.” You wrapped your legs tight around him once more and tried to pull him close to you, but he grabbed one knee and pushed it back against the bed. He glanced between his legs and dragged his cock against you, making you whimper. A sadistic smile crept onto his face.

“Louder, sweetheart,” he said. You looked up at him in surprise before he sunk into you. Your head tipped back and you let out a breathy moan. His smile grew. “That’s my girl.” He gripped your hips and rolled his forward, drawing another noise from your throat. You could see him glance over at Makki and Matsukawa, who were still whispering.

“I thought you guys wanted to watch me fuck them?” Kindaichi said. Matsukawa laughed.

“Well, you aren’t making much of a scene, are you?”

Kindaichi huffed in annoyance and looked down at you, still slowly shifting his hips. The look in your eyes seemed to make him smile, so he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. He whispered in your ear, quiet enough that only you could hear.

“Flip over for me, love.” He withdrew from you quickly and you sighed at the loss. You readjusted quickly, settling face down on the bed. Kindaichi shifted behind you so he was facing your two former classmates and patted your ass, seemingly encouraging you to do the same. You moved and looked up at the men, who raised their eyebrows at the new position. Kindaichi’s grip was gentle, but the movements asserted a dominance you wouldn’t have ever expected from him—at least, not before you had kissed him for the first time.

The pads of Kindaichi’s fingers sunk deeper into your skin as he sheathed himself inside of you again. He groaned and you buried your face in the mattress, bracing yourself from the sensitivity. You were still coming down from your previous orgasm, body humming with heat. He was so deep inside of you, so close to where you needed him that you couldn’t resist tipping back onto him a bit. He hissed and landed a sharp slap on your ass.

“What did I say about being patient?” You huffed a breath and dug your hands into the sheets. “Tell me what I said.”

“Good girls are patient.” Your voice came out much weaker than you wanted it to.

“Are you a good girl?”

You nodded.

“Then act like one.”

You looked back at him and saw his eyes were deadly serious. He held you flush against his hips with a bruising grip.

“Do you want my cock or not?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Please,” you begged. Kindaichi tugged on your hair, pulling you back against his chest.

“Don’t ask the ground. Let them see,” he said, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up. Matsukawa and Makki seemed bored earlier, but the look in their eyes was nothing like that now. There was surprise, arousal, and a little bit of unease. They weren’t expecting this. None of you were.

“There you go.” Kindaichi’s mouth was right against your ear. You could feel every syllable to the tips of your toes. “Now ask nicely.”

“Please fuck me.” The words sounded pathetic coming from your lips. Your voice was strained and the very sound of it made the other two men sit up straighter. You felt Kindaichi smile.

“Good girl.”

He ground his cock into you, pressing against a spot inside you that made a sob leave your lips. It hurt, and felt so good, and you couldn’t believe that it was him, the little first year that Makki and Mattsun had teased for being shy.

“Look at them. See how hard they are?” You glanced down at their laps and, sure enough, Kindaichi was right. Each had a noticeable bulge in their pants and looked almost dizzy from the lack of stimulation. Kindaichi smiled against your ear. “You want them to stroke their cocks for you? Want them to get off watching you get fucked?”

You choked out a groan and nodded.

“Ask nicely,” he snapped. You swallowed and fixed your gaze on the other men.

“Please,” you said, voice unsteady. “Wanna watch you come.”

Matsukawa let out a shaky breath and Makki was undoing his pants before you finished your sentence. As quickly as you had spoken they had their hands wrapped around themselves, pumping at the same pace Kindaichi’s hips were snapping.

“There we go. Look at that. Three men getting off because of you. How’s it feel?”

Before you could respond, Kindaichi reached around you and began circling your still over-sensitive clit. You let out a strangled sound and your head tipped back against his. His breath came heavy and hot in your ear, harder now with the desperate sounds he was pulling from you.

“God, what a good girl. You’re gonna make me come. Do you wanna come with me?”

You nodded and Kindaichi immediately stopped moving, holding you close. You whined, but he shoved two fingers in your mouth and pressed down on your tongue.

“Use your words.”

You shook your head and closed your lips around his fingers. He shoved them deeper into your mouth, making your eyes water.

“Use. Your words.”

“Please. Please make me come.” The words were slurred and sloppy, almost embarrassingly so. Kindaichi laughed and slowly rolled his hips again, keeping his fingers hooked in your mouth.

“You asked so nicely,” he muttered. You could see him turn to the other men from the corner of your eye. “I want them to watch me come inside you. Do you want that?”

His thrusts found a new, steady pace, dragging all the breath from your lungs. You moaned around his fingers and attempted to nod.

“Yes,” you stammered, eyes closing as his other hand returned to your clit.

“Come here,” Kindaichi said. Your brows furrowed, but you heard shifting fabric and a handful of footsteps before Kindaichi’s fingers withdrew from your mouth. You opened your eyes to find Makki and Matsukawa standing over you, cocks in hand. They continued stroking themselves, looking tired and out of breath. Matsukawa reached out to run a hand through your hair, but Kindaichi smacked him away.

“No,” he said. “They’re mine. You can watch.”

“Are you serious?”

“Who’s the one with their hand around their dick and who’s fucking them?”

Matsukawa’s lips pinched together, but not before he let out a quiet groan.

“Fuck,” Kindaichi breathed, burying his face against your neck. “I’m gonna come. Ask me to come inside of you.”

“Please,” you whimpered. “Please come inside of me. I’ll be good.”

“You are good, aren’t you? My good girl. You’re gonna let them come on you too, right?”

You nodded furiously and bucked against Kindaichi’s hand. The hand on your clit was too much, but just enough at the same time. You were close, so close. You were sure when he came off push you right over, leave you shaking, make you—

“Oh, fuck,” Kindaichi groaned, arm wrapping tight around your chest as his hips stuttered and he spilled inside of you. He was hot and felt dizzyingly good, and it made you follow right after him, moaning in a way you didn’t realize you could. Your eyes squeezed shut and your hands flew to his arm, trying your best to steady yourself. Matsukawa came next, and Makki close behind, spilling over your face and chest, strained groans ringing in your ears.

When your body relaxed, Kindaichi’s grip softened and he withdrew from you, hissing a bit as he did. The only sound in the room was panting and you opened your eyes to see Kindaichi holding your shoulders, gazing carefully at your face.

“You okay?” he asked. He ran a thumb over your bottom lip, through the mess the other men had made, and slipped the finger between your lips. You wanna tongue over the digit as you nodded, gazing at him with watery eyes. He smiled and withdrew his hand, pressing a firm, affectionate kiss to your lips. When he broke the kiss he glanced up at Matsukawa and Makki, whose chests were still heaving. A grin spread across his face as he absentmindedly stroked a hand through your hair.

“Virgin, my ass.”

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[quiet-onset]

Opening Up

Pairing: Frank Castle x Black!reader

WC: 4.5k+

Warnings: slight angst, 18+, IF YOU ARE NOT 18 OR OLDER, DO NOT INTERACT!! Unprotected sex (no glove, no love guys), female-receiving and male-receiving oral, overstimulation, mild choking, very slight d/s

Frank Castle was never one for opening up. The last time that happened — it wasn’t pretty. He’d lost the people he’d cared about most. So, he kept himself closed off.

That is, until he met you.

In that dark, dank bar, full of criminals and gang leaders, you stuck out like a sore thumb. Compared to the meatheads surrounding you, you were a delicate flower. A rose that grew from the cracks in the sidewalks, refusing to bend or break for anyone. Stunning brown skin complementing a little baby blue dress that made Frank’s mind foggy, you sat at the bar and made friendly conversation with the bartender. 

Frank had come to the bar loaded with a single pistol and his bare fists, prepared to take down as many of those criminal fucks as he could. He didn’t even break a sweat because he knew he could handle every man in that bar with one hand tied behind his back. But he hesitated — Frank Castle hesitated — when he saw you.

Unfortunately for him, Frank was a hard man to miss.

He hadn’t been in the bar for too long before he was surrounded. Not that it mattered much. He took on man after man, brute after brute, with no fear in his heart. Hell, some men ran out as soon as they witnessed the sheer force that Frank unleashed. He fought until it was just him, you, and the bartender. Frank, battered and bloody, turned to the bartender, “You know why I’m here? Huh?”

The bartender, instead of using his common sense, immediately grabbed the gun he kept under the counter. Frank did the same, flicking off the safety as he tried to get a clear shot. The bartender scurried around the bar and grabbed you, nudging the barrel against your temple. “One step, and I’ll blow her fucking br—”

Just as quick, you grabbed his wrist and reared your elbow into his gut. As he groaned and doubled over, you snatched the gun from him and threw it on the floor near Frank.

When Frank lowered his gun with a stunned look on his face, you turned to him. In a quiet voice, sweet and smooth like honey, you shrugged and said, “I took a self defense class.”

That was when he knew he’d have to rethink the whole ‘not opening up’ thing.

Months later, you found yourself in Frank’s small apartment in the Bronx. You knew what he did, of course. He’d come home late at night many times with cuts and bruises that you’d gladly patched up. He still couldn’t help feeling like he didn’t deserve your presence. Like he wasn’t worthy of your kindness and patience. But of course, in normal Frank fashion, he kept it to himself.

You noticed him getting a little distant, more than usual. There were no more of the small things. The hand on your lower back as he passed you in the hall. The cute little pet names he always called you but would never admit to. He even stopped reaching for you at night when he came home late. You hated seeing him close in on himself, and you were determined to get to the bottom of it.

When Frank walked in at three in the morning, you were wide awake with a cup of tea in your hands. Despite his sore, aching muscles and wishing he could just be numb, his heart warmed at the sight of you in his t-shirt and jacket. Legs folded under you as you pulled the jacket sleeves into your hands, he gazed and wondered why someone as gentle and kind as you would ever give him the time of day. He paused in the entrance, clearing his throat. “I didn’t think you’d be up.”

“I wanted to wait for you.” You set your cup on the coffee table as you look at the gash on his lower torso. “You’re hurt.”

He chuckled quietly, slightly wincing when he touched it. “I’m always hurt.”

“Let me patch it up for you.”

“I can do it.” He reached for the first aid kit you kept in the side table, but you placed your soft hand over his bruised, calloused one.

“I know. But let me.”

Frank heaved out a sigh, knowing that he couldn’t say no to you. The tension between you was thick as he walked around the table to the couch. His heavy boots clunked against the hardwood floor until he stood tall above you. As he looked down at you, you took his hand in one of yours and his bicep in the other, pulling him gently down to sit next to you.

He watched you closely as you opened the first aid kit. As you pulled out the alcohol and a wad of gauze, he leaned forward and reached under the table. “Frank, sit back.”

“I am, just give me a second.”

When he leaned back with a bottle of brandy and some painkillers in hand, you chuckled and shook your head. “How long has that been under there?”

“You kidding?” He finally cracked a small smile. “I’ve got bottles stashed all over this place.”

You gently wiped the wet gauze across the gash, pausing when he took a sharp breath of air. You smiled up at him before focusing again on his wound. “You sure you don’t have a problem?”

“I’ve got a lot of problems, but drinking ain’t one of them.”

He pulled the cork out of the bottle and took the pills with a quick drink as you reached for the needle and thread. Frank was used to being wiped down and stitched up, but he never seemed to get used to having you do it. His heart always pounded against his chest like the beat of a war drum. It was uncomfortable in the best way — the kind that pushes you out of your comfort zone. 

“What was it this time?” You asked softly.

“Human trafficking ring.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah.” His breath hitched as the needle passed through his skin once more. “There’s still two more sects to deal with, but I figured I should stitch this up first. Can’t help anyone if I’m dead.”

You chuckled and wiped away the remaining blood, finishing up his stitches. “Frank Castle finally learned to think rationally? It’s a miracle.”

Frank felt the tension between you melt away as he chuckled at your teasing and giggling. “You think that’s funny, huh?” Ignoring the pain in his abdomen, he swung his arm around your shoulder and squeezed you tight. “You got jokes now, is that it?”

Soon, the laughter died down and the silence set in. Just you and him, staring into each other’s eyes. You could feel his impending apology radiating off him as you leaned just a bit closer. “I was worried about you.”

“I know.”

“You can’t just shut me out.”

“I know.” Frank grabbed your other hand. “I’m sorry.”

You paused and glanced down at your intertwined hands. It was such a stark contrast — the scars and calluses on his large hands while your rich brown skin was smooth and soft, free of almost any marks. Still, you believed that was why you worked together. You supported each other in unimaginable ways. And as crazy as it sounded, you weren’t sure what you would do if Frank disappeared from your life. It was a beautiful feeling to love someone like that, but it still made your heart drop to your stomach during moments like these. “Don’t do it again.” 

He smiled down at you. “Yes, ma’am.”

Your eyes flickered down to his lips as he leaned in closer. “You gonna kiss me now?”

“I was planning on it.”

“Good.”

The first kiss was short and gentle, Frank’s apology to you. The second was a bit more intense. His tongue dragged across yours, and it was so excruciatingly intoxicating that you couldn’t help but move closer to him. Frank pushed his jacket off your shoulders and flung it onto the floor behind the couch. Suddenly, you both needed to be as close as possible. You helped him get his clothes off, leaving him in his boxers. 

Frank realized then that you were staring at his scars, as you usually did. He wasn’t insecure about them, but they were reminders of the things he did. Sometimes, they brought back memories he’d rather not relive. So, you, being intuitive, always paid special attention to them. You delicately ran a hand across his pecs and down his torso, scratching lightly over his scars — but carefully avoiding his stitches — as you placed wet kisses along the column of his neck. That combination never failed to make his breath hitch in his throat. 

Then, suddenly filled with the urge to make you feel good, he cupped your sex with his large calloused hand. The heel of his hand pushed into your clit, and you were putty in his hands. He felt your body shudder as you let out the sweetest sigh in his ear. “Let me take care of ya.” He said in a quiet, gruff voice. 

You let him gently push you back onto the couch, your chest heaving as Frank lowered himself onto the floor. Looking up at you, his entire world, he couldn’t have felt luckier. You went to pull him back up, worried about his stitches, but he only pushed your hands back. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Just let me do this for ya.”

His hand travelled up your bare thighs, pushing up the end of his T-shirt to reveal your simple cotton panties. As Frank marveled at the wet spot that began to soak through them, you squirmed shyly. “If I’d known this was gonna happen, I’d have worn something better.”

“Whaddya mean? This is perfect.” His hand pressed into your inner thigh, he ran his thumb across the wet spot with a hum. It was a light touch, not enough pressure for any real satisfaction but just enough to evoke a gentle sigh from your lips. “You’re perfect.”

Slipping his fingers under the waistband, he pulled them down your thighs and tossed them over his back. He wasn’t sure where they landed — he was too preoccupied with the goddess before him. 

It took a lot to get Frank Castle on his knees, yet you seemed to do it effortlessly. Just a simple gesture and he was on his knees, ready to praise you, to worship you and your body. He briefly wondered if this was what it was like to have a religious awakening, but he couldn’t see past what was before him. All that talk with Murdock about sin and faith, right and wrong, it all went out the door when he met you. How was he supposed to understand any of that when the gods walked among them — you sitting before him as living proof?

He was pulled from his trance as you placed a hand on his cheek. “Hey, you okay?” You asked softly.

Looking up at you, he nodded before placing his hands under your knees and pulling you forward. “Better than.” He replied gruffly. With your legs over his shoulders, he lowered his face to your pussy, licking one long, thick stripe from your opening to your swollen clit. “Just hold onto me.”

You knew Frank was going to take his time with you when he started slow. As much as you loved the way Frank would sometimes bury his face so far into you that he could barely breathe, you preferred when he slowed down, breaking you down until you were whimpering nonsense above him. There was something more intimate about it, like he was finally allowing himself to be vulnerable. And although you could only catch glances of his hypnotizing eyes, gasping and writhing as his tongue brushed through your folds and licked up all you had to offer, you saw Frank become himself. He was no longer the Punisher or a veteran or a suffering widower. He was simply Frank.

And what a marvel he was. 

To the edge and back, over and over, Frank brought you teasingly close to release time and time again. Whether it had been thirty minutes or three hours, you couldn’t tell. You could only focus on the way he stared at you as he flicked at your clit, picking up speed. You whined when he slid a single finger into you, realizing he wasn’t going to look away. He wanted to see you come. 

“You gonna come for me?” Frank asked, his voice thick with lust. You couldn’t do much but moan and nod your head as he curled his finger inside you, pressing on the soft spot inside you that had you seeing entire galaxies behind your eyes. “Atta girl.”

He removed his finger, making you pout, but they were quickly replaced by his tongue. As he licked into you, his nose began to nudge at your clit, and you were clutching to the couch cushions. Somewhere between heaven and earth, Frank noticed your scrambling and reached out his hands. You intertwined both your hands with his, holding onto him as he pushed you closer and closer toward the edge. It wasn’t long until the coil snapped, and heat flooded up your body as you released on Frank’s tongue.

Still, he swept his tongue over your lips and across your labia, not minding the way you convulsed and squirmed and whimpered above him. He let out a groan at the sight of you, a thin sheen of sweat on your brown skin. Slipping his hands from yours, he reached up and took your breasts in his hands. He massaged them tenderly and pinched at your nipples as a small blissed out smile graced your lips. 

Then, with a renewed fervor, Frank wrapped his lips around your clit and flicked at it with his tongue.

You let out a loud gasp as Frank tried to wretch another orgasm out of you so soon after the first. Eyes shooting open, your hands flew to cover his on your breasts, once again desperate for something to ground you. 

“Frank,” You whined, “Frank, I can’t—”

“Sure you can.” He said, lifting his head for a moment. He rested his cheek against your inner thigh and watched as your hips began to buck ever so slightly, missing his contact. “See? You wanna come for me again, dontcha?”

Of course you wanted to. Without thinking twice, you reached down and took a light hold on his short, dark hair. He chuckled at your enthusiasm, making you giggle — which became a gasp when he flattened his tongue on your clit. “That’s a good girl.” He mumbled into you.

It didn’t take long before you were struggling to control your hips. Not that he minded. You were bucking into his mouth, reveling in the way your clit slid across his tongue. Frank let you do this for a while, enjoying the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Then, the begging started, and he nearly came in his boxers. “Frank, please! Oh god, it’s too much, but I’m so close — baby, please!”

How could he deny you when you sounded like an angel? He held your hips down with one hand and quickly slid two fingers into your wet heat, curling them to rub on your G-spot. “I want you to come for me again, sweetheart. You can do that, can’t ya?” Just as quickly, he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked. Frank felt your walls tightened around his fingers, and, almost like it was pulled out of you by an invisible force, you came harder than the first time. Your legs tightened around his head and began to shake as you cried out, gripping tightly onto Frank’s hair. You couldn’t even tell how loud you were with all the blood rushing in your ears, but Frank was sure he heard someone bang on the wall. 

Tough, he responded to the neighbor in his head. 

Then, finally letting up on you, he kissed up your torso and your breasts to your lips, running his tongue across yours. You moaned at the taste of your juices and pulled him closer by the nape of his neck. When you both pulled away for air, you palmed him through his boxers. “It’s my turn now.” You said, pecking his lips once more before lowering yourself to the ground. 

“Baby, you don’t have to.”

“And miss an opportunity to make you feel good? No, sir.” You answered playfully as you took off your shirt and threw it behind you. 

Although you noticed the way his dick twitched at that last sentence, you decided to save that for another time. Right now, you just wanted to remind Frank of how much you love him. 

Getting comfortable between his legs, you pulled his dick out of the confines of his boxers, admiring the way it slapped up against his torso. You lowered your head to drag your cheek across his length. One hand in your curls and coils, he gave you a small smile. “God, you’re pretty, y’know that?”

“Even like this?”

He shuddered and gave a weak chuckle as your warm breath fanned across his hard cock. “Especially like this.”

Gently, you lifted and licked a broad stripe on the underside of his cock. After a small smile at the groan he let out, you took the head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it. Just as he began to catch his breath, you decided to slowly take his entire length into your mouth. You did your best to fight off a smile as Frank’s eyes rolled back, letting out a silent moan. You knew how much he loved it when you started slow — it gave him an opportunity to just revel in the hot, wet feeling of your throat, instead of just chasing after his own release. 

He knew how much you liked it, too. There was just something about being able to reduce Frank Castle to moans and groans that pushed you to take him down your throat over and over again. It was an agonizingly slow but euphoric process. You spent a bit of time licking at his head, then you let him watch your lips stretch around his cock, fighting your body’s need to gag at the intrusion. You’d stay there as long as you could, enjoying the way Frank had to clutch onto the couch cushions to control himself and not thrust into you, and finally, you’d come back up. With a swirl of your tongue around his length for good measure. 

It wasn’t until you looked him directly in the eyes with his dick deep in your throat that he had to pull you off him. At first, you were confused and thought you’d done something wrong. Then you watched his eyes shut tight as he used his free hand to harshly grip the base of his cock, staving off his orgasm. He was met with your mischievous smile when his eyes opened once more. “You are gonna be the death of me, girl.”

You wiped a line of spit off your cheek, “Well, I think that’s a great way to go.”

“C’mere.” With a quick chuckle, he pulled you into his lap and kissed you like his life depended on it. And maybe it did. With your delicate hands on either side of his face, he was suddenly worried about losing you. Not to some criminal or tragic accident, but to his own stupidity. So many times he’d missed out on things that could have been good for him, and he still managed to find the one person who understood him effortlessly. Almost like telepathy, you were both in tune. He knew he couldn’t find that in anyone else — and even if he could, he didn’t want to. He wanted you. He pulled away from you and pressed his forehead against yours. “I love you.”

Your brow furrowed for a moment as you looked in his eyes, searching for whatever he was feeling. And you found it — the same fear you had, of losing each other. You smiled gently and stroked a thumb across his stubbly cheek. “I love you, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Always.”

You kissed him once more, moaning as he circled his tongues around yours. His calloused hand slid up your back and into your coils to pull you as close as he could. As you readjusted on his lap, you felt his hard length press through your folds ever so slightly. You let out a loud whine at that, but Frank only shushed you, sliding his hands back down your body. “Shh, it’s okay. I got you, baby. Lift up for me.” You lifted your hips, so Frank could take hold of his dick and drag it through your juices. He pecked you on the cheek when you let out another sigh, giving himself a few strokes before holding the head at your entrance. “Slide down slow, yeah?”

You nodded at his direction, grateful for them as you slowly lowered your hips. You felt the tension in your body roll away as you slid onto his hard cock. Your eyebrows knit together and your nails digging into his shoulders, you could hardly focus on anything besides how completely Frank filled you up. Soon, you’d completely sat down, and Frank was quite literally balls deep inside you. You finally managed to look up at him, “Is this okay?”

“Okay?” Frank scoffed, the rare playful look in his eyes. “I can barely control myself, sweetheart. You’re so fucking tight.”

You bit your lip, holding back a moan as you began to grind into him, “I like when you feel like this.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Your breath hitched as the head of his cock just barely grazed your G-spot. “Like to remind you it’s okay to feel good.”

At that, Frank couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his hand around your neck and pulling you down into a kiss. All teeth and tongue, he squeezed lightly when you pulled away. “You’re so good at that, aren’t ya?” He grunted, feeling your cunt tighten around him. “Taking care of me? You’re too good to me.”

Then, he started to thrust up into you, knocking wind out of you. Your moans were getting louder with every thrust — the only thing you could hear was the wet sound of Frank’s cock sliding in and out of you with his grunts and groans matching his pace. “Frank,” You called out, “Baby, I’m close!”

“You come whenever you want to, sweetheart. Be a good girl and come all over my dick, okay?”

As if on command, the coil in your stomach snapped and white hot pleasure filled you. You buried your face in Frank’s neck as your juices slid down his cock and dripped onto his balls. Then, he lifted your hips just enough to give him space and began to thrust up into you again, fast and hard. Through the loud slaps of skin, he heard you let out a laugh mixed with a moan, the overstimulation too much for your mind to comprehend. “Why do you always do this?” You laughed through a whine as you tightened your grip on the couch behind his head. 

“What can I say?” He groaned as your pussy fluttered around him. “I like making you come.”

He turned his head to suck on the spot on your neck he knew drove you insane. You cried out when he placed a bite there at the same time his cock found that sweet patch of euphoria deep inside you. “Was that your spot right there?” He grunted as he repositioned you ever so slightly to ensure that his cock would hit it again. He gave you one hard thrust to make sure, letting out a loud groan when your pussy contracted once more. “I think I found it, baby.” He said teasingly. “Hold onto me.”

From there, you were along for the ride. In and out, in and out, his dick slammed into your G-spot over and over, pushing you closer to the edge. Frank was getting close, too. With your body pressed against his and your hot, wet cunt tightening with every other thrust, he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. But even as he felt his balls begin to tighten as they slapped up against your ass, he was only thinking about how to give you the best orgasm. 

In less than a second, he had one hand on the nape of your neck, lightly squeezing on those pressure points that made your vision hazy in the best way. His other hand snuck between your bodies and began rubbing small, tight circles into your clit. All the while, his thrusts never let up. The white-hot pleasure was surrounding you from all sides, and you knew it would all bubble over in a matter of moments. 

Frank turned his head to whisper in your ear. “I need you to come for me one last time, sweetheart. You can do that for me, right?” He circled your clit faster when you nodded, letting out a loud whine. “Atta girl. Just be a good girl and let that pussy grip my cock, alright? Then I’ll fill you up just how you like it.”

It only took one, two, three more thrusts before you were falling off the edge. Harder than all your previous orgasms, your entire body was trembling. You heard Frank’s whispers of praise, but all you could focus on was the way his cock twitched inside of you. You used what little energy you had left to squeeze your cunt around him one last time, pulling Frank over the edge with you. His deep grunts and groans were music to your ears as he thrusted all his come into you, hard and slow. 

Then, he lowered your hips slowly so you could rest your legs and sit in his lap. You rested on Frank’s chest and he wrapped his arms around you, absentmindedly tracing shapes into your back as you both caught your breath. Every now and then, your pussy would flutter with aftershocks of your last orgasm, making Frank hold back a few groans. With your hands around his neck as played with the little hairs at the base, you turned your head to look at him. “How are your stitches?”

“Surprisingly sturdy.” He replied with a short, exhausted laugh. “Thanks, doc.”

“Anytime.”

Frank let his head rest on the back of the couch as he turned to look you in the eye. “Y’know what, sweetheart?”

“What?”

“We should get married.”

“Right now?” 

“Right now. I know a guy.”

A smile spread across your lips. “We should probably shower first. I don’t want to be stinky in our wedding pictures.”

“Who said there’ll be pictures?”

“There will be pictures if I have to take them myself.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart. As long as I can make you mine.”

You traced a small heart on his cheek. “I’m already yours, Frank Castle. Forever and always.”