#and i could see others asking for help from dream with things that were not intentionally taking advantage but still had that effect

[navybrat817]

Heatwave

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: It's hot and you cool down with a sweet treat. You decide to give Bucky a treat, too.

Word Count: Over 2k

Warnings: Dirty talk, possessive behavior, oral sex (m. receiving, talk of f. receiving), reference to sex, humor, slight feels if you squint, reader is horny and down for Bucky Barnes (he's also a warning, okay?).

A/N: A SINday treat thanks to an ask from @buckyismysafehaven. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The heat was a bitch and had been for days. You were thankful that you and Bucky had the day off since the very thought of going outside almost made you sweat. You didn’t bother getting dressed, opting to sit around in your underwear near the air conditioner so you could stay cool. Your man tried to stay dressed after a cold shower, which lasted all of two minutes before he stripped off his black t-shirt and pants and muttered about how ungodly warm it was. Your poor super soldier ran hot without trying.

You sympathized. You really did but seeing him in a delicious pair of boxer briefs that left nothing to the imagination had you rubbing your thighs together. And him sitting on the couch with his legs open and head tilted back with his eyes closed, it was reminiscent of how he looked some days when you were on your knees for him. Only the clench in his jaw gave away how frustrated he was. You didn’t blame him for that at all since it was hot as balls.

Speaking of balls, you wanted Bucky’s balls in your mouth. And his cock. Sure, there were other things you could do, like read or clean. The two of you could watch a movie and cuddle if it cooled off a bit. Or you could suck Bucky so good that his eyes would roll back and his soul would briefly leave his body. You were certain your soul once went to some version of Valhalla after marathon sex with him.

Oh, what a fun day that was…

“Thanks for the popsicle,” you said, licking it from the bottom to top. You stocked up when you heard there was going to be a heatwave. It was a nice treat to help you stay cool and it didn't hurt that you could tease him with the visual innuendo if he opened his eyes. 

“You're welcome, sweetheart,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I can feel you staring at me.”

Of course, you were. Bucky was a looker, a stunner, an eleven out of ten, sin incarnate, something straight out of a romance novel, a walking and talking wet dream. Some days you looked at him and couldn't form a single thought. It was just noises and gibberish. 

“Because you’re hot,” you said, continuing to stare. He was honest to god one of the hottest men you had ever seen and you weren’t sure how you got anything done with him around. “Hotter than the temperature outside.”

The sweet treat melted in your mouth faster when he tilted his head and finally opened his eyes. His pupils dilated when you pushed it as deep as it could go. Your eyes didn’t water since you had more than enough practice taking him into your throat and the treat didn’t compare to his thickness. “I am hot,” he teased in a tone that bordered on cockiness, which you loved. Seeing him confident in his skin, in himself, that meant everything. “And you are so hot I’m about to lose my underwear. I don't know why either of us bother wearing any.” 

He had a point. Why did you two bother? Oh, yeah. Life and adulting and all of that other stuff that required clothing.

He smirked when you licked some of the sticky sweetness off your lips and let your gaze travel down his wide torso. “You should,” you encouraged, gesturing between his legs. “And when I’m done sucking on this popsicle, I can suck on your cock.”

His head fell back with a groan. It was fun being upfront with what you wanted. Life was too short not to be. “You want my cock in your mouth? In this heat?” he whispered, palming himself with a quiet hiss. 

Super soldiers and their sensitivity.

You hummed and slid off the couch, trying your best to look sexy as you moved toward him while holding the popsicle. Even if you looked ridiculous, he wouldn’t care since your mere presence seemed to turn him on. You were lucky you didn’t get a big head because of that.

Big head. Head. You wanted to give Bucky head. He deserved all the blowjobs in the world after the shit he had been through.

“I sure do. I want your cock no matter how you’ll give it to me. Morning, afternoon, evening, any day of the week that ends in ‘y’, and any month of the year that has at least 28 days,” you told him. It sounded like a joke, but you were deadly serious and he didn't laugh. If Bucky Barnes could fuck you all day every day, you’d happily accept that as your purpose in life and forever volunteer as tribute. 

He moaned, the same moan he let out when he recently went down on you. The taste of you drove him wild and he loved diving between your thighs to satisfy his hunger, especially when you sat on his face. None of that hovering shit either. He demanded that you sit on him like a fucking seat. Of course, you obeyed. It was the right thing to do. 

And if he died, he’d die doing what he loved… you. 

“And right now you want my cock in your mouth?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Not in your pussy, which I know is soaked?”

Bucky always knew the second you got wet. It was impossible to hide arousal from him. “Uh-huh. I want your cock in my mouth. Then I want it in my pussy, and maybe my ass after that.” His head snapped up so quickly you thought he’d hurt himself and you just smiled. It looked innocent, but there was so much sin underneath it. “That’s right, Bucky. I’d let you fuck my tight ass if you asked me nicely.”

You were in the camp that your ass was an “exit only” until Bucky entered your life. What could you say? The man made you want to be a whore, specifically his whore. So, if he wanted to fuck your ass and tease your pussy with a dildo of his size and shape, you’d beg for it and more.

“I’ll ask nicely like a gentleman,” he promised in a husky tone, his legs opening more so you could comfortably kneel between them. The man could be a gentleman, buying you flowers just because, holding open doors, and insisting on paying for dates. And then he'd turn around and fuck you like he was making up for lost time. “For now, how about I just wreck your mouth since you offered?”

You made sure he watched as you licked some more of your treat, his breathing heavier and his thighs trembling. Your thighs trembled, too, and your pussy ached. Sex may not be the best idea since it would heat you up and it was hot enough, but who said you couldn’t take another cold shower? Plus, bad ideas could be fun. “Yes, please. Wreck my mouth the way you need to,” you said, putting the popsicle back in your mouth for a second to keep it cold. “Think about how nice my mouth feels because of this.”

“Makes me wonder how quickly that thing would melt if I put it in your pussy,” he mused, making your eyes go wide. “But that could be messy and I'm not about to risk you getting an infection or worse.”

“I adore you,” you said. As horny as you could both be for each other, safety and consent mattered. “And agreed. No popsicle in my pussy today. Just let me keep licking it so I can cool off your gorgeous cock.”

“Let me have a taste,” he murmured, leaning down and cupping your face with tenderness he didn't believe he possessed some days. 

Your mouth was anything but cool when he pressed his lips to yours and slid his tongue past with no resistance. His tongue dueled with yours, heating you up from the inside out. It had you so hot that you whined when he pulled away, and you were happy that he looked as ruined as you. Kisses shouldn't be that powerful, but it was a power you shared together. 

“Now let me have a taste,” you whispered, your heart pounding as you kissed down his warm chest and stomach. 

He put a hand on the back of your head with a smile, not rushing you when you mouthed along his underwear. You knew he’d feel how cool your lips were through the fabric. “And my cock isn’t gorgeous,” he chuckled, his gaze softening. “But you look gorgeous taking it.”

You pulled back so quickly he whimpered. You made the former Winter Soldier whimper. Oh, that had you smirking and nearly dripping down your thighs. Or was that because he praised you? “Your cock is gorgeous. It’s the most gorgeous cock I’ve ever seen, and it’s gorgeous when it ruins my holes,” you said, helping him tug his underwear down far enough to free him.

You almost whimpered this time as you stared at it. Or was it staring at you? It was so thick and big, and you still didn’t know some days how you took him. You told yourself it was because you were made for him, which was the same thing he said to you. You loved everything he said to you. 

“I know, sweetheart. I know. I feel it, too.”

“‘Atta girl. I knew you could take it.”

“Gonna make me blow if you keep doing that.”

“This pussy was made for my cock. You were made for me.”

“You’re mine. All fucking mine.”

“I love it when you fall apart for me.”

“I love you.”

You loved the beautiful menace, too. 

He growled when you sucked the tip into your mouth. “Fuck, that feels good.” The precum was sweeter than normal thanks to fruity aftertaste from your frozen treat. You’d have to ask him later if he could try pineapple juice so you could test that theory. “And what do you mean the most gorgeous cock you’ve ever seen? That implies that you’ve seen other cocks,” he said through his teeth.

You almost giggled, but the extra growl he let out stopped you. Neither of you were virgins before each other, but he liked to pretend he was your one and only. You loved his possessive streak, and he was the only one who mattered. Another day you might egg him on so he’d fuck the brat out of you, but you chose this battle wisely with the heat being what it was, swallowing down your words the way you swallowed him down. The icing on the cake was the angelic look in your eyes as you did so. 

The same look that always made his hard cock turn to steel.

You pulled off to take one more lick of your popsicle when it began to melt faster. “How about this? Let me help you forget all about the heat while you make me forget that anyone exists outside of you,” you offered, smirking once more. “I’ll get you off before this melts.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And I get to fuck your ass bare, just like your pussy?”

You gasped, and you were lucky you didn’t drop the popsicle. Condoms existed, but Bucky didn’t like anything between you when you had sex and neither did you. Knowing he’d truly claim all of your holes had your head spinning in a way that had nothing to do with the heat.

“As long as it’s in front of a mirror so I can see your face,” you answered.

He seemed to contemplate that, his blue eyes sparkling when he brought your hand to his mouth and licked away the juice that dripped onto your fingers. You clenched around nothing, and he knew it. “Deal,” he sighed with a smile and slid back into your waiting mouth. “Now help me forget the heat, and I’ll make you forget about the rest of the world.”

And that was exactly what the two of you did.

So, yeah. Happy SINday, lovelies. 🥰 Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[sere1nnes]

︶︶︶﹕HOW HSR MEN REACT WHEN YOU'RE JEALOUS! PART 1

Pairing: Phainon x Reader Tags: Established relationship, fluff, jealousy (on your side), suggestive dialogue, feminine reader terms used

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶ ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ A/N: Sooo we are starting a new, shorter series bc I only ever have the energy to make oneshots these days 😞 especially with school + my original book in the works. Anyways, pls enjoy! I’ll be writing for Mydei next heh

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶ Chapter WC: 1.7k

PHAINON

Ocean blue eyes, witty humor, and a million-dollar smile— who wouldn’t be drawn to a man like Phainon? It’s as if he’s the epitome of a Xianzhou mother’s dream son. One notable thing about him is how charitable he is. Breaking your arms trying to carry a dozen groceries? He’ll offer to hoist them all up on one hand and incredulously (yet lightheartedly) ask you if that was all. Phainon will tell you that, no, he isn’t bragging! Yet he relishes in your shameless stare whenever you unconsciously check him out.��

He just naturally has the penchant for socializing. Whether old or young, everyone unanimously views him positively. Plus points for the aura he has as a Chrysos heir, of course. 

And so, it wasn’t much of a surprise to know that his popularity has extended to the young women of Okhema. I mean— you couldn’t blame them either— it wasn’t just about his looks or title. He was charismatic and outgoing– far from a broody man. But you couldn’t help but feel possessive; they knew him as their Deliverer, but he was your Phainon. You had to mentally slap yourself in the face. Calm down, it wasn’t like he couldn’t talk to anyone else other than you, either. 

You tried not to mind this underlying fact in his reputation, until…

You spotted Phainon in the plaza on your way to pick up a package. He stood by the fountain, basking in the sunlight, letting a small child swing on his arm like a monkey. “Me next! Me next!” A little girl exclaimed. “No, I wanna have a go!” Another huffed, crossing his arms defiantly.

“One at a time, everyone!” Phainon chuckled, lowering his limb for the child to hop off safely. “Don’t you all have to head home soon?” 

“Noooo!” They all whined simultaneously, shaking their heads. It would be time for supper soon enough, yet they were still brimming with hyperactivity. 

“Alright, alright! But just this once, okay?” He huffed. “Afterwards, promise me you’ll go.” 

“We promise.”

“I swear on my pet Chimera!”

You kept a huff of amusement to yourself, shaking your head as you leaned against a stone pillar. While waiting for your order of fresh goods, it didn’t hurt to observe your lover from afar. How he’d act when you weren’t around. Save for his more vulnerable side, there wasn’t much of a difference. Ever the puppy, wasn’t he? No wonder Tribbie called him “Snowy”, he really does act like his old pet.

However, your eyebrows began to furrow as a pair of ladies (gorgeous ones, at that) slid into view, nudging and kicking at each other. What could they need? For now, you decide to assess the moment silently.

“Oh, Timmy!” One of them called out, bending over with outstretched hands. Timmy, presumably her sibling, ran up to her, his tunic drenched from the heat and sweat. 

“He’s the most lively out of the bunch, let me tell you,” said Phainon, looking at the stranger. “A sister of his?”

The girls threw themselves into another fit of pinching and giggling. “Yeah, she is,” replied the other, clearing her throat. “You see, my friend here wants to ask for your—”

“Shhh!” She stepped on her heel in a painfully obvious manner, and a yelp of pain cut through the conversation. He didn’t pick up on the implication yet, however. 

Phainon stood there, unsure of how to respond, yet keeping his confused smile lifted. “Hm? Sorry, I’m afraid I couldn’t quite catch that.” He stared at the girls, trying to gauge their intentions. Did they want to ask him about Mydei? That wouldn’t be the first time it’d happened. 

But to her surprise, the first girl blurted out, “S–Sorry about that. I, erm, just wanted to thank you for taking care of my younger brother this entire time.” She blushed. “You know, you’re good with children.” 

In turn, he shook his head, replying modestly, “Oh no! Don’t know why they stick to me like glue. I honestly just entertain them every once in a while.”

“It’s ‘cause he always has snacks,” chimed in a boy holding a Droma toy. 

“And maybe that,” he chuckled, unfurling his crossed arms. 

The stall keeper blinked at you in concern as you stiffly gripped the parchment-covered carton. “Thank you for your patronage,” he murmured, scratching his nape as you bounded away from the counter. You had an uneasy feeling about this interaction. 

You stopped marching mid-way and came to terms with how borderline silly you must appear right now. They were still muttering in the distance, which came to your ears as chopped phrases. Calm down, maybe they just wanted to–

“Oh, [Name] is just a friend of yours, right?” 

Your heart sprang like a bow, jolting up your chest as Phainon looked taken aback by their query. Just a friend? Their audacity to word it that way! 

“Her?” His eyes widened. You watched closely. What would he say? Was he going to lie to these girls? Or perhaps downplay it in order not to hurt their feelings? Anxiety integrated with a sense of queasy anticipation coursed in your veins. You listened in, your breathing hitching–

“No! That’s Mr. Phainon’s girlfriend!” A little girl with a head bow answered eagerly. 

“You dumb-dum, she’s his wife!” Her playmate cried haughtily.

The duo– and even Phainon himself– were stunned by the sudden outburst. “I– Lord Phainon, you’re married?!”

He flushed into a pretty shade of pink as he answered with a squeak, “No, she’s my girlfriend. I don’t know where these children derive such imagination from–”

“But you told us she was your wife,” said a rather chubby sprout. 

“Are you even telling us the truth?”

The poor Deliverer’s face was gradually deepening beet red. Their saucer-eyed stares made him swallow bashfully. “Yes, yes, I am! But I didn’t mean it literally…!”

Timmy asked, “What does ‘liter ah lee’ mean?” And in turn, the children started repeating the question like a flock of parrots. 

The girls looked a bit embarrassed themselves. “We’re sorry… It’s been a pleasure, but um, well, we– we’ll get going now.” The first fumbled with her words. “Come along now, Timmy! Mother’s going to be furious once she sees your chiton tainted with dirt again!”

Now that the three of them have deserted the area, Phainon’s attention is finally undivided. He turned away with a weighed sigh, only to meet your dumbfounded gaze. 

“[Name]!” It was like all the color on his face re-emerged. He jogged up to you, endearment twinkling in his irises. “What are you doing here?”

“Just running errands,” you replied, heat pooling on the apples of your cheeks. 

“Ah, I see.” Phainon paused before clearing his throat. “You… didn’t happen to hear any of that, did you?” He asked softly. 

The aftermath of your envy still resided within your system, but you couldn’t help but suppress a muffled giggle.

“Hey, what’s so funny?” Your reaction provoked a pout from your boyfriend.

“To be honest, yes. I heard it all.” You replied, composing yourself. “And…” 

He tilted his head as he awaited the continuation of your sentence. “I’ll admit that I felt as if there was something fishy with those two.” 

“I hardly even know them,” said Phainon. “Neither did I understand their intentions initially. But one of the kiddos brought up how I always stored snacks for you in my pockets. It caught those girls’ attention.” 

His explanation lifted some burden off your shoulders, but you still felt a bit shaken from the encounter you had to witness. 

“Apparently.” You huffed. “They were quite confident at the beginning, too. Makes me wonder– they must be living under a rock if they’re that unaware of our relationship.” The slight strain in your tone wasn’t left unnoticed. You knew this, and so did he. You could only gulp as his lips contorted upwards.

“Hmm,” hummed Phainon, before a hint of mischief washed across his visage. “My love, were you, perhaps, a tinsy bit envious?” 

His low whisper sent wild goosebumps down your skin. “What?” You jarred, blinking a few times. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“That’s not fair,” you protested. “Who wouldn’t be jealous? I mean, imagine another man trying to hit on me. Wouldn’t you be riled up?”

The image you painted for him sparked a moment of pondering. “Well, yes… that would be most infuriating.” He agreed, but not without cheekily adding, “But I’m pretty sure no one dares offend a Chrysos heir.”

“Yes, but then people like them would be offending me.” 

He slipped his hand into yours, fingers intertwining like an intricate mechanism of gears. “Forget about them, starlight. Even if they were to dress up as you, I’d be sure to give them the cold shoulder each time.”

“It’s just that,” you managed to ease up further, but you couldn’t help but address one more thing. “Maybe I am a little possessive at this point. Especially when she gushed about you being some child whisperer while she ogled you up.”

Phainon let out a hearty laugh. “I didn’t happen to notice at that point yet. Your observation is astute as always.” 

“You are surprisingly popular with the youth, though.” A stray breeze wafted through your hair. Speaking without thinking, you remarked, “I think you’d make an excellent father.”

He sharply flinched and came to an abrupt stop, and you quickly realized the weight of what you had just said. “A what?”

 “O–Or a brother! An older brother, you’d be an amazing one!” It was as if you were taking L after L in terms of your dignity today. Digging a hole and burying yourself in it right now seemed like a fine idea– you grimaced as he opened his mouth to reply. 

“You’re already thinking about it, huh?” Phainon puckered his lips in astonishment. “I didn’t know those neighborhood rascals were growing on you.” 

“They’re not,” you flushed. “I mean, that isn’t a reason why.” 

“Is that so?” Phainon smiled with that usual boyish charm. But his tone suggested a deeper meaning. 

“That’s a shame,” he then leaned in to murmur sultilry, breath fanning against your ear. “But if you’re so fervent in your desire, I wouldn’t mind fulfilling it after I clock out today.” 

“Phainon!” 

“I’m kidding! Unless you want to take the offer seriously–”

As the two of you bickered and bantered into the sunset, the children by the fountain watched from afar, innocence and admiration etched on their countenances.

“Do you think they’ve kissed yet?”

“Of course not. Kissing makes babies!”

“Yeah, you’re right…”

a/n: I know Timmy isn't really a Greek name but it's an inside joke between me and a friend 😭 anyways is this a safe space to admit that this fic was a little self-indulgent divider creds @/cafekitsune

[elleoelliot]

if im not enough for you, you’re not enough for me

g. satoru x reader

1.4k words

——————

gojo satoru wasn’t used to feeling guilty. not at all. he was raised to never feel remorseful, never apologize, because nothing was ever his fault. he was raised to be prideful, confident in his "im always innocent" position in people's lives. he spewed out words without any regard of what they meant- not only did he think he wasn't saying anything hurtful, but he did not particularly care if it did hurt someone. he was brutally honest, he’d tell people, as if it made his actions perfectly okay.

then you appeared in his life. empathetic, careful with your words, (usually) saying the right things at the right times. you were the type to tiptoe and maneuver over broken glass while he would strap on some boots and start jumping around the glass, not caring who would get hurt in the midst of his fun.

you appeared in his life slowly, like water trickling out of a broken focet. he wasn’t looking for you, you just sort of. appeared. and he never questioned it. he let you into his life, and honestly, he couldn't have stopped you, anyway. you slipped through the cracks like a pesky bug, and you were there to stay. slowly, love bloomed and grew and you both knew that you had found your homes.

when you two started dating, it was confusing to others. you worked at a local bakery- it was your dream, actually, to own a bakery of your own. create your own menu and (painstakingly) wake up before the sun rises to bake your goodies and watch people smile as they enjoy.

that’s what satoru never understood about you- about life. the pleasantries of the smaller things you so enjoyed while he was an avid adrenaline junkie and adventurer. you made him slow down within the chaos of being the strongest. while you tried to help him see the calmer view of life from your perspective, he was stubborn and never tried to truly appreciate it.

he was the strongest, literally. he worked from morning to night, protecting all of japan with his strength while you stood in that bakery. the strongest, melted down into an icky, soft version of himself? he wouldn’t allow it. he was meant for greater, more mountainous accomplishments, in opposition to your “smaller” dreams.

the weeks leading up to the argument was rough. passive-aggressive banter between the two of you had erupted into something greater, an argument reoccurring as you both were stomping all over thin ice. he forgot to pick up milk, again. forgot about driving you to work when your car broke down. satoru had forgotten yet another date, which hurt the most. that left him on the couch for a couple nights.

but this- this was a stupid argument. something about him coming home at 2am each night, you having to wake up three hours after. no time spent together, his priorities obviously set as you tried to meet in the middle.

“i’ll push my shifts up further, during lunch- but satoru, you need to stop coming home so late. i quite literally never see you. you’re like a ghost in this house.”

“y’know, at least im doing something with my life. seriously. im the strongest, and you’re.. you.”

you paused, scrunching your eyebrows as your heart dropped to your stomach. ouch.

“..huh?”

“oh, c’mon, babe. im the strongest sorcerer there is, and my girlfriend.. works at a bakery?” he chuckled to himself. “i could do a lot better than you. it’s kind of embarrassing, actually.”

his words muddled into meaningless sentences, blurring together into one final conclusion- you weren’t good enough. his words had confirmed your deepest insecurities. your ears rang as the pain settled in like a dull knife, jabbing straight through your heart. and you looked at satoru, eyebrows still scrunched in disbelief.

your lips wobbled as you began to speak. “did you really.. just say that to me?” you ask, anger bubbling up and a lump caught in your throat.

“huh? sorry, im just being honest,” he shrugged, going back to scrolling on his phone. “not a big deal.”

tears rimmed your eyes as he could only brush off his words. ‘he could do better.’

and honestly, you knew it, too. the way prettier, more put-together girls would stare at him as you walked hand in hand. you’d squeeze his hand a little tighter, reassuring yourself that- yes, he was yours, no one else’s. but you weren’t so sure now.

you had spent so much time bettering yourself for satoru. you got back into the gym, you learned how to cook his favorite recipes and more. you took care of the house while he was away, cleaning and scrubbing to make the pain of his absence settle into a calmer sea. you grew out your hair, started to wear a little more makeup to match his appearance, and to make you stop belittling yourself when the other girls ogled at him. now, it didn’t feel like those things were done on your own volition to better yourself. they weren’t, because you did it all for him.

you cleared your throat, pushing the blankets off of you as you stood up from the couch.

“you- you’re seriously crazy if you think you can say things like that and just laugh it off,” your voice cracked, mouth twitching into a frown as tears dripped from your eyes.

and, for the first time, you saw satoru’s face flash with guilt- his eyes widening as he saw your tears as you clutched a pillow in your shaky fists. he dropped his phone almost instantly, standing up to cradle your face and wipe your tears.

“im leaving, gojo,” you spoke, pushing his hands away from your face, wobbly as you collected your things.

“wait- baby, i didn’t mean that, you know i didn’t. we can talk about this, you don’t have to leave-“ he pleaded, eyes stinging as you flashed him a look that would surely haunt him for the rest of eternity.

“n-no, nope. im not gonna let you treat me like this. for weeks, you’ve brushed me off, and every time, i say, ‘it’s okay, satoru.’ but this? this isn’t okay. none of it was ever okay. if you can really do better than me, then go. find someone else who’s actually in your league. if im not the one, you should’ve told me that a long time ago,” you said, eyes stinging.

“this is unfair. youre being mean. you don’t get to talk down on me and say that you’re ‘just being honest.’ i didn’t ask for that. i didn’t ask for you to fucking talk to me like im not worthy of your love or care. because if im not enough for you, i don’t know why im here right now.” you gritted your teeth as you pocketed your phone, wiping at your eyes.

“it’s like you barely even consider me as a part of your life. like you don’t even value this at all.” you sniffled, turning away to walk towards the front door.

“no, baby, i- im sorry, okay? i didn’t mean that, so please, just sit down and we can really talk about this- it’s not what i meant,” he pleaded, tugging at the sleeves of your hoodie as you slipped your shoes on. he could feel guilt crawling up his throat, strangling him as he reached out for you. he hadn’t meant that- no, just a few words he let loose when he got heated. he just didn’t want to give up his career for your less-than job, that’s all.

he didn’t feel the guilt when he let those first words slip- he thought it was fine. you two were arguing anyway, so it was just. fine. but when he saw your hurt expression, the confusion and pained look in your face- he knew he fucked up. big time. and he could feel the guilt clench at his heart, tugging it in all the wrong ways. he would do anything just to not lose you, and he let his pride win him over.

“please, don’t leave,” he spoke, his voice betraying him as it cracked.

you faltered for a moment, seeing his pleading face and teary eyes. guilt bubbled, but you knew better that to give in again.

“we don’t need to talk. i heard you loud and clear, so im leaving,” you stated, voice shaking but confident in the way you stood your ground.

and you left.

——————

popped this baby out in js a few minutes… sorry for any typos/grammar mistakes!

[withmyloveasyourgarden]

─ HOLD ME, CARRY ME SLOWLY

BOB FLOYD x F!READER

Summary: you and bob have been best friends through everything, so when you're a little too in your head over messing up, it makes sense that he would do anything you ask to get you back out of it. To make it better. It won't change anything, right? Only it does, and Bob realises at maybe the worst possible time, exactly why...

Warnings: 18+. Friends with benefits, smut (fem recieving oral and a vague mention of piv), brief fear of ruining the friendship and unrequited feelings, reader's got a fear of failure and withdraws into herself when she makes mistakes, small bit of angst, plane crash, brief panic attack

Word Count: 3k

A/N: another re-write of an old fic just to test out writing for bob before i dive into the much bigger fics i have planned!! please let me know what you think!

It starts as a way to forget.

To forget all the suffocating things like pressure and the crushing fear that comes with it of being a failure, a let down.

To forget that those stupid little mistakes you still sometimes make during training could be the reason you or one of your teammates don't make it home one day, and there'd be no one to blame but you when it happened.

It starts because you're best friends and you can't stand to see the other in any form of distress.

That when a training exercise goes so unbelievably wrong and you feel like it's your fault and he feels like it's his, he'll do anything to try and make it better because he can't bear the way your features get all haunted.

Drowning in memories of old voices telling you that you would never be good enough and the self-hatred that lingered like a ghost, insisting that they were right.

He'll do anything even if it means catching you as you stumble out of your jet, sealing himself to your side as you endure the tense debriefing followed by the quiet journey home. Murmuring softly whilst he all but carries you through your apartment, to your room, and sets you on the bed before sinking to his knees in front of you.

Even if it means looking up into those wide, glossy eyes, the ones he swears contain more stars than he's ever seen in the sky, his usually steady hands trembling against the cold curves of your cheeks when he dares to cup them in his palms and all but begs you.

"What do you need– tell me how I can help?"

It's like the tenderness in his voice breaks you, like it snaps the last brittle piece holding your composure together as your eyes fly to his and you lunge. Your fingers curling into the collar of his flight suit, pulling until your lips are crushed against his, and his entire body burns when you moan raggedly into his mouth.

And god, it feels a little terrifying at first.

Because underneath the surprise and the heat of it all, buried under the way your kisses are making his head spin and his name being drawn out on the softest little sigh has his lungs stuttering dangerously, there's the muffled shriek of alarm bells.

A smothered warning that this all could end in awkward regret and a tense fracture in your friendship when you both have your heads screwed back on right.

But then you lure him from the floor, drag his body to slot against the warm cradle of your own as you fall back into the mattress with a breathy sigh before hooking your legs around his waist and rocking tight against him.

"Make me forget–please, Bob– make it feel good."

And like a fever dream, it all melts away.

His teeth are fastened to your flushed skin whilst he drags the zip of your flight suit down, fingers slipping past your underwear to sink inside the slick heat of you, stroking and curling like he instinctively knows exactly how to touch you just right, stretching you open whilst he licks the sweat from your neck.

Bob's more than a little addicted when you gasp his name, when you respond to his rasp of "I know, I've got you– that feel good?" with a desperate little nod as you rut into his hand. His shoulders stinging with the bite of your nails clawing for purchase, for some kind of grounding against the brutal flare of heat gathering low and fast in your belly.

Your pleasure reignites him. The praise falling in quiet gasps from your parted mouth has him flushing gold with pride, near feral with the need to please, to make you burn brighter beneath his hands and his mouth before he can even think of fucking you properly.

You nearly fly off the bed when he buries his face between your thighs, spine arching like a bow as he flicks his tongue against your clit before drawing it into his mouth.

He doesn't slow down, doesn't let you catch your breath, just pins you to the bed with one strong arm flung across your belly until you shudder apart with a choked cry, body trembling and his name cracking on your tongue like a prayer whilst he groans into you.

‘Make it feel good’, you had begged.

Yeah, he could do that.

**

It starts as a way to forget and it works a little too well on him because suddenly, Bob can't think of anything else but you.

The way you fight and the way you fly, hot-headed and reckless, like you carry death's will in your blood when you set those pretty eyes on any given target.

You're like a squadron's worth of energy and ambition, fired up to a boiling point and kept there for too long, just clawing at the chance to be aimed and let loose at whatever unlucky bastard decides to cross your path.

And where once Bob had only fretted about it slightly, more protective than fearful, a touch awed when he watched you despite his occasional reminders to reign when you got too heated, he now worries constantly about it getting you killed.

Worries enough that he can never settle until you're back with him, until that adrenaline and cut-throat desire to prove yourself dims in your veins and you go all soft and sweet beneath the cage of his body and the weight of him buried deep within you.

He doesn't get it at first.

Sure, he worried about you before but not like this.

There was always this deeply embedded trust in his gut that you would return. That nothing could ever stop either of you from flying at the other's side but now he can't fully reassure himself, his ability to concentrate on something other than the potential danger you're in is almost completely non-existent.

And it doesn't click until there's a mission that goes south before he can blink.

When there's tone blaring through the cockpit and he barely has time to bark a warning at Phoenix, let alone search for you, before everything explodes into chaos.

It doesn't make sense until there's multiple bandits and the squad is locked in combat everywhere he looks, gunfire and flame filling the sky, missiles that are sent careening towards their targets and jets dropping out of the air like flies when they collide, and suddenly he sees you there in the thick of it.

He'd recognise you anywhere.

Wreaking the kind of havoc that only you're capable of with such elegant brutality and making his heart bunch up with pride and fear behind his ribs. All wrapped up tight in what feels a lot like the one thing he swore he would never allow himself to be stupid enough to feel when what was between you wasn't anything more than a friend helping a friend.

But there it was anyway.

Swelling inside his chest like it had its own pulse, its own breath. A living, breathing thing that refused to be killed or at least quieted.

And before he can swallow the realisation, or even feel the rush of it through his veins, his world becomes a nightmare.

Everything he fears in the dead of night, that wakes him up shaking in a cold sweat and choking on a hoarse cry of your name, now coming to life directly in front of him.

He sees the bandit rear up behind you whilst your too preoccupied to notice, when your too blind with protective fury because Fanboy's calling for help and Bob knows that the second you hear it, that vengeful focus you get won't let you see any other danger but the one your friends are in.

Not even your own.

And if Bob screams, he doesn't hear it.

His ears are ringing too loud but he can taste your name in his mouth, the fear that warps and bites at it until it's something unrecognisable, he can feel the rawness of his throat like its shredding and bleeding and maybe he'll drown in his own blood before the agonising pressure of grief tightening around his chest can burst him apart entirely.

Because although Hangman is suddenly right there to back you up, he fires just a moment too late.

There is the bright flare of flames and the thick billow of smoke that eats along the enemy aircraft until it's impossible to see, but not before they manage to fire off a missile at you that tears apart a wing as if it was made of nothing more than paper.

And then you're spiralling, spinning out before his very eyes whilst an invisible hand thrusts itself violently into his chest and yanks the air from his lungs.

He can't even follow to make sure that you've ejected, he can't even demand it of Phoenix, though he knows by the devastated noise that is wrenched from her, she's debating it herself.

But the comms are still frantic, the hostile's fire hasn't relented anywhere near close enough that a search and rescue wouldn't cause more casualties and he knows you would be so fucking disappointed in him if he abandoned the squad to chase after someone who might be gone already.

Bob can't do anything except watch as you disappear from sight, eyes burning behind his glasses as he prays harder than he ever has in his life before Phoenix leads them back into the fight with his heart breaking and a sense of despair and helplessness that threatens to swallow him whole.

**

He can't land quick enough when it's all over.

Phoenix, at his insistence and already encouraged by her own concern, definitely comes in way too hot for the comfort of the people on the carrier but he just can't bring himself to care.

Not when his boots are hitting tarmac in record speed, helmet flung on the ground so he can frantically search through the endless sea of faces.

There's too much going on, too many voices, too many hands trying to stop him and check in, and just too many questions slamming against the walls of his skull.

Is she here? Is she still out there? Is she alive? Is she, is she, is she–

It's like the world goes in slow motion, the images all edged in fuzz and the sound of his quickening breaths roaring in his ear whilst his heart pounds and pounds. His stomach rolls violently all of a sudden, the sting of bile collecting in his throat and he's just about to fall to his knees, screw his eyes shut tight and beg for it all to stop when he hears it.

His name.

It's weak, strained and a little crackly, but he hears it. Snatches it tight to his heaving chest like it's his only lifeline, a solitary beacon in the darkness threatening to devour his vision and sink him into nothingness.

He lifts his head almost torturously slow, a little too scared to hope, a little terrified that it's only his imagination as shaky fingers shove his glasses up the bridge of his nose but no, there you are.

You're covered in grime and blood, hair limp around your face, and your flight suit hanging from your body in tatters whilst you prop yourself up between a grinning Hangman and an overly exasperated looking medic.

You're gorgeous. The most beautiful thing he's ever seen because god, you're right there.

Alive.

Only a few metres away and eyes so wide with concern for him as he stumbles forward in a daze before breaking out into a run.

"Lieutenant." The medic stammers as Bob barrels in your direction. "I tried to tell her she needs to be properly seen to, but she refused to move until you returned. Can you please–"

He doesn't hear the rest. He's too busy crashing into the open circle of your arms, folding you into himself as his hands sweep up your back and his nose buries into your hair to inhale the scent of you.

Here, safe with him.

There is a low, rumbling laugh then. Not mocking or teasing as he often hears it but knowing. Gentled by relief for not only you but Bob as well, and when the medic continues to huff about stubborn headed pilots, Hangman is quick to shoo them off, to follow behind and yell at anyone who dares to try and interrupt the moment you both so clearly need.

"Bob–" You're a little stunned by the intensity of his reaction he thinks, your voice slipping to something calm and quiet as you stroke a comforting hand through his hair and he shudders against you. "Bob–hey–it's okay, I'm okay."

"I thought I'd lost you." He manages to croak out, his hands searching blindly for your jaw, thumbs stroking the soot streaked skin, and then he's kissing you.

His mouth moving, fierce and desperate, against yours and he's pulling you closer, closer, closer whilst you cling to him and kiss him back just as hungrily, like you thought you'd never get the chance to again.

"I thought you were dead." He breathes into you, voice rough like he's still too wrecked to even say the words without breaking. "That you were gone just like that before I even got the chance to figure out– before I got the chance to tell you–"

"Tell me what?" You murmur.

You sound softer than he's ever heard you, breathless, a little kiss drunk, and it makes his chest swell with something impossibly tender. Warmth blooming like wildflowers behind his ribs.

It smothers the fear he expected to feel when this moment came, softening its jagged edges beneath the weight of everything that has led you here. The sheer emotion that grips his throat tight when he pulls back to be faced with the way your gaze shines at him, the gentle curve of your smile, sweet and adoring.

"That I'm in love with you."

You inhale sharply and if there's some nerves prickling beneath his skin, if he lets himself believe for even a moment that you'll withdraw, that you'll tell him this isn't what this thing between you is, then he's delighted to be proven wrong so soon.

Because you're suddenly looking at him in a way that makes him ache. Eyes sparkling in the steadily dimming light of evening, fingers touching his face like he’s something precious you've spent a lifetime longing for before a teasing smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

"So all it takes is me nearly dying for you to admit it, huh?" You muse, and Bob blinks, once, twice, in stunned confusion before his jaw goes slack.

"You knew?" He blurts, incredulous.

"No, I'm not a mind reader." You laugh, shaking your head, eyes gleaming with mischief before you shrug like you haven't just sent his mind reeling. "I had wondered though."

His brow creases at that, still-trembling hands dropping from your face whilst he levels you with a sharp glare. "What, so you thought you'd go and get yourself blown to fucking pieces to prove a theory? Are you ki–"

You kiss him before he can finish. Brush a hand down his arm until your fingers tangle with his, raising them entwined to rest against the rapid thud of your heart whilst your other slides tenderly over his jaw.

It's supposed to be a quick, soft thing.

Reassuring.

A mere graze of your lips against his, sugar sweet with apology.

But there's still the wild burn of all that adrenaline tearing through your chests, the fear, the shadows of death still hooked into your skin and suddenly it's like neither of you know how to stop. Like it would rip open a fatal wound somewhere vital if you were to even try.

So you don't.

You let Bob wind his other arm around you and press you close like he's trying to fuse you together permanently. Like if he folds you in tight enough, maybe you'd sink through his skin and between his ribs to nestle right up against his heart where he could keep you safe.

You let him kiss you until you feel flayed raw by the ache of it all, the reverence and the yearning and the sheer overwhelming enormity of love that he takes from you and pours back in turn. An endless loop of devotion that leaves you breathless and clinging to him.

"That was definitely not the plan, I swear." You gasp softly as his lips trail your jaw and the warm path of your throat. “But I can't say I'm too upset about it.”

He groans then. Buries his face deep into the crook of your neck and sags his weight against you, defeated as he huffs. “You're insane– you're going to be the death of me.”

You snort, grinning far easier than anyone who had almost died within the last hour probably should. "Would it make it better if I told you that I'm in love with you too?"

It does.

It makes his heart flare up, makes it go all giddy and chaotic in his chest between his stuttering lungs, and he's pretty sure he's all flushed cheeks and the world's most lovesick smile on his face that he can't hide no matter how hard he tries.

The kind that doesn't even dim when he kisses you again and again and again before pressing his forehead to yours.

"You could have just started with that, you know." He snarks lightly, barely any bite to it as you roll your eyes, sinking your hands into his hair to press him closer.

"Fine, let me try again. Bob Floyd?"

He's not sure how it's possible, but his smile splits even wider. "Yeah?"

"I love you too."

[fandom-geek17]

All the dreams of you: Part 2

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Fem!Doctor!Reader

Summary: Bob takes you on your first date, but things doesn't end the way he originally planned, wink wink! A continuation of this fic.

CW: 18+ MDNI! Smut. Unprotected P in V (wrap it before you tap it). Oral sex (fem receiving), dry humping, dirty talk, slight praise kink, a hint of cock-warming, Bob has a thing for heels. A LOT of horny Bob and horny Reader. Jake calls a drunk Fanboy a 'heap of tequila'. Alcohol consumption, Bob and Reader are not drunk, but other people are. Some angst in the beginning, but mostly fluff.

Author's note: This was supposed to be a cute, short final part of this series, 3-4k words at most. Then I got carried away. Anywho... Please read, like, reblog and comment! It looks like Bob Floyd is winning by a landslide in this poll. So I'll probably write him again next ;)

Word count: 9375

The second you and Bob broke apart; you could feel the eyes of Cyclone and Warlock boring into the back of your neck.

Shit…

Slowly, you turned around. Their expressions were unreadable. You could feel the redness creeping up your neck, but you refused to back down. The atmosphere around the tarmac stiffened as Cyclone slowly cleared his throat. Bob stepped up closer to you, his hand clasping yours. His warmth spread through you, calming the nerves that took hold of you again.

Warlock and Cyclone exchanged a look before turning back to look at you. “We’ll talk about this later” Cyclone muttered, walking back towards the control room.

Bob let out a long sigh, squeezing your fingers. “It’s going to be okay” he murmured.

“Yeah” you answered, even though you were far from sure.

XXX

By some miracle, or maybe pure stupidity, Maverick and Rooster had not only survived their fall from a plane, they had also managed sneak onto an enemy base and steal their plane, fly it back, and survive a dogfight. Okay, yes, Hangman did save their asses, as he pointed out about ten times over the coming evening.

Everything had turned out okay, everyone was alive and safe. The celebration at the Hard Deck that night was beyond anything you’d seen there. People sang, shouted, danced, celebrated. The drinks were flowing, songs played at an ear-splitting level. Rooster and Phoenix sang karaoke until 3 am, arms around each other.

You and Bob didn’t move more than a few feet from each other all night. His arm was glued to the back of your chair, alternating between letting his hand run up and down your arm and stroking your shoulder. His touch was so electrifying, sending shocks of warmth through you. You leaned your head on his shoulder as often as you could, just enjoying knowing you could. At least for now.

“Are you worried?” he’d asked quietly towards the end of the night as people finally started to leave. “About what they’ll say?”

“A bit…” you sighed.

“I’m not.” He said it so truthfully, with such conviction in his eyes, you couldn’t help but fall a little harder. “I don’t care what they say. I just want you.”

Whether your knees went all weak due to him or all the alcohol, you weren’t completely sure. Either way you leaned your forehead on his shoulder and sighed. His hands came to rest around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I am worried, but not as much as I want you. They can say whatever they want.”

“Come on, lovebirds!” Jake called from the entrance where he and Coyote were carrying a very drunk Fanboy. “Call it a night, already! I need help carrying this heap of tequila.”

Bob snorted. “Not strong enough?” he questioned in that very Bob way.

Jake looked both amused and offended at the same time. “Not sober enough, tweener! Now let’s go!”

You huffed loudly. “I guess you better go…”

“I’ll see you tomorrow. First for the court martial–”

“God, don’t call it that!” you groaned, covering your face with your hands.

“Then… For the best part of my day.”

A goofy smile played on your lips, butterflies chasing each other in your belly. “I can’t wait.”

XXX

Bob barely had to knock before the two of you were ushered into the meeting room. Cyclone and Warlock were already sitting down with a woman you vaguely recognized from HR. They had been quietly whispering amongst each other, but as soon as the two of you stepped foot inside, the voices quieted. Ironically, the voices of doom inside your mind grew even louder.

“Sit down, please” Cyclone instructed, face stony and unreadable.

Bob gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before you sat down. The nerves coiled in your belly, but you tried to stay composed, with an open, neutral expression, and not like someone who could easily walk out of here without a job. Worse, with some kind of report on her ass and with her medical license in danger for getting involved with a patient.

Warlock cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair, fingers interlacing over his stomach. “So” he started, eyes darting between the two of you like he was a parent about to lecture two teenagers caught in bed. Worst part, the analogy made too much sense. “Would either of you care to explain why Dr. Y/L/N was caught getting involved with a patient in broad daylight?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, heart thundering behind your ribcage. Your throat was drier than the Sahara Desert, and you were just about to open your mouth to try and answer when Bob beat you to it.

“First of all, sir, I would like to have it formally stated that I kissed her. Not the other way around.”

His two bosses exchanged a look as the HR lady jotted something down. Great… Now she was taking notes…

“Alright” Cyclone continued. “Has anything like this happened before yesterday?”

“No, sir” you answered honestly. Technically, it hadn’t. That kiss you were so tempted by in the infirmary never technically occurred.

Bob cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. He looked surprisingly composed for someone so easily flustered. But maybe that was the navy man in him taking over. “Nothing physical has happened between us, no. I bought Y/N flowers for her birthday, but we weren’t dating. Nothing had happened.” The two older men exchanged a look again, but this time you swore there was something more there, something…amused?

“Are you dating now?” Warlock asked, rubbing his chin.

Bob looked at you, a small smile playing on his lips. What even was the answer when you hadn’t even gone on a first date yet? “I asked her out to dinner before the mission” Bob answered, not taking his eyes off you. “She didn’t say yes until yesterday. So, I suppose the answer is no.”

“It depends on how well he behaves tonight” you tried, lamely going for some humor to lighten the mood.

To your surprise, it worked. Both men chuckled heartily, and Bob blushed slightly.

“Cheryl?” Cyclone addressed the lady from HR for the first time. She looked up from her notes. There was that weird smile on her face that people from HR always had. Like you could never be too sure on who’s side they were going to be on.

“We’ll transfer Lieutenant Floyd’s primary care to Dr. Andrews” she said, making another note. “Since this is so new and you technically haven’t broken any rules by hiding a relationship between a doctor and a patient, we’ll give you two months to decide whether you want to move forward with this relationship. If you do, you’ll need to formally declare it. Is everyone happy with that?”

You sat there, stunned, as the words replayed in your mind.

That was it?

Where was the judgement? The fire and brimstone? Where was the part where she walked out without a job? Transfer Bob’s care. Two months. Formally declare… That was it? No. This was too good to be true, it had to be.

“That’s it?” you questioned quietly, glancing at Cheryl for confirmation.

“For now” she confirmed, placing her stack of papers on the table.

“Do either of you have any questions for us?” Cyclone asked, leaning forward, placing his interlaced fingers on the table.

Bob’s hand flexed underneath the table, something content flashing across his face. “I don’t.”

Did you have any questions? No, not really? It just seemed so unreal that you could walk out of here with everything you wanted, everything you dreamed of. Like something out of a fairytale.

You shook your head. “No.”

“Well then” Cyclone said, making an effort to stand up. “You’re dismissed. Lieutenant Floyd, you along with the rest of your squad are given the day off to rest. You’re expected at 7 am tomorrow with the rest for debrief on the mission.”

“Yes, sir” Bob answered, standing up immediately, posture rigid.

“Dr. Y/L/N, you weren’t scheduled to work for the upcoming two days. We will see you bright and early in two days time.”

“Yes, sir” you imitated Bob, albeit not with the same military enthusiasm, more like someone slowly waking up from a dream.

Bob’s hand landed on the small of your back as he guided you out of the room. The warmth from him seeped through the thin material of your blouse, spreading like a balm, soothing and reassuring. Your stomach swooped like on a rollercoaster as your mind once again realized what all of this meant.

You were free! The two of you could do this! You could date! Find each other, no secrets, no sneaking around. Just you.

You managed to walk down half the corridor before all instincts took over. Grabbing hold of the lapels of his shirt, you pushed Bob against the wall and pressed your lips to his. A surprised ‘oumf’ left Bob in a huff as his hands found your waist, leaning into the kiss. Butterflies took flight inside you, tickling every inch of your body as your lips moved against his.

Bob’s grip on you tightened as the tip of his tongue gently caressed your bottom lip. Warmth flooded you at the sensation and you opened your mouth for him. His tongue had just started exploring your mouth with assuredness thar surprised you when the sound of people walking broke you out of your spell.

You pulled back just as a small group of aviators in training entered the corridor. Thankfully, they seemed too focused on their own conversation to notice the flush decorating the both of you, your heaving breaths, or the way Bob strategically placed his hands in front of his crotch.

“Pinch me” you whispered when the group had disappeared.

Bob chuckled, but gently grabbed a piece of skin on your arm and squeezed. The pain seared quickly before ebbing away, leaving only the confirmation that this was, in fact, real.

A stupid, giddy smile broke out across your face. “I thought I was walking out of there without a job” you confessed breathlessly, placing your hands on your hips. A incredulous laugh escaped you. “Like, I was really fucking sure of it!”

“But we’re okay” Bob assured you, hand coming to rest on your arm.

“We are!” you agreed, still smiling. “I’m really glad everything worked out.” It came out like a murmur, but so sincere, it made your heart hurt at your own confession.

“Me, too.” Bob gave you that small, shy smile that was so typically him. His eyes were alight with sparkles as he looked at you from under his glasses.

“And I’m really glad you kissed me.”

Bob laughed, quietly, like a giggle almost and his smile widened. “So am I.”

XXX

He’d given you his number before you parted, and you’d given him his address to pick you up. You lived in a small cottage near the water on Coronado. It had cost a lot, and you had lived on instant noodles for months after buying it. But it was worth it. You had bought it before taking the job on Top Gun, when you were still working as an ER resident at the hospital in San Diego. Your parents had helped somewhat with the costs, and you had been so incredibly grateful. Your aunt and uncle that also lived in the city donated some of their furniture to you. Some were bought from thrift shops. Some were even part of your old childhood bedroom.

The result was a mismatched but cozy home filled with nostalgia and care. There was a small deck out back, looking out towards the beach. The patio furniture was donated by an old neighbor. They had been old, beaten up, the paint chipping and the cushions in desperate need of reupholstering. You and your dad had spent an entire weekend fixing them up. It was small details like that that made you so proud of your home, even if it wasn’t the fanciest.

Taylor Swift was gently playing on your wireless speaker, filling the bathroom with an echo of hopeful love and fitting metaphors. A thin mist of steam was still clinging to the tiles, and the countertop was littered with makeup and jewelry. You had just finished applying a layer of lipstick when the doorbell rang.

Hmm…

A glance at your phone told you it was only 6:30. Bob wasn’t due to pick you up until 7 pm. You turned off the music and went to answer.

And yep, there he was. Standing on the front steps of your cottage, dressed so well in a pair of dark grey slacks and a dress shirt the same color as his eyes. His hair had been styled a bit more relaxed than when he was on base, a few strands falling and curling over his forehead. His glasses reflected the sunlight, lighting up his entire face as he stood there with a nervous grin on his face.

God, he was so hot. All done up, proper and perfect, yet there was this energy to him. You’d felt it at the Hard Deck when he leaned in, you felt it when you kissed him in the corridor earlier today. Something told you that there was more to Bob Floyd than the sweet, proper, innocent WSO everyone treated him as. And you couldn’t wait to find out.

As soon as you opened the door, the air caught in Bob’s throat. You were so incredibly stunning, it was actually unfair. Your hair was free and flowing, makeup done perfectly, slightly darker than he was used to, the white dress contrasting beautifully against your sun-kissed skin. The thin fabric clung to your breasts and waist before spilling out in a flowing skirt skimming halfway down your thighs. It was simple yet gorgeous, perfect for the afternoon sun. He’d just have to make sure he didn’t accidentally splash any red sauce later.

You were still barefoot, toenails painted some kind of iridescent white or pink color. Really fucking cute. He forced himself to not stare at the way your tits almost spilled out of your dress and look you in the eye as he spoke.

“I know I’m early” he said, his tone slightly breathless. “I got ready much earlier than I thought I would. Then I couldn’t stop pacing around my living room because I was just to fucking nervous, and I couldn’t sit still. I just- I had to see you.” He was rambling and he knew it, but he couldn’t help it. All the blood had left his brain.

But you just laughed, surprised and sweet, tilting your head to look at him. Those plush lips of yours caught between your teeth as you stared him up and down.

He clumsily held out the bouquet of mixed summer flowers in his hand, feeling the sweat gather between his hand and the wax paper wrapping. “These are for you.”

Your eyes lit up at the sight of them, a knowing tilt to your smile. “You keep buying me flowers” you commented, but took them gratefully, leaning down to smell their sweet fragrance.

Bob smiled nervously, looking down at his shoes, biting his lip slightly. “You deserve it.”

“Thank you. That’s sweet” you told him, stepping aside, gesturing for him to enter. “I’m not completely ready yet, but please, come in.”

His heart thudded harshly in his chest as he followed you inside. The first thing to hit him was the scent. It was a combination of you, your perfume, your handcream, but also something homey. Like a mix of laundry detergent, warm spices and the earthiness of the giant plant he could just make out in the living room.

“Why don’t you sit down?” you said when you entered the living room, gesturing towards the cream-colored couch. “I’ll be right back.”

As you disappeared up the stairs, Bob took the chance to look around the space. It was small, but really lived in, with mismatched furniture that somehow still worked together. The coffee table and TV bench seemed to be from the same set, both an off-white color. Then the bookshelf was made with a natural pale wood color, littered with worn paperbacks and hard spines. Medical textbooks, romance novels, fantasy books, some YA he remembered reading as a teenager, and a couple of mystery novels. There was also an array of knick-knacks placed amongst the books. Small statues, some childhood toys, family photos.

There were a lot of plants lining the windowsill, a basil plant, some flowers, and a cactus. The door to the patio was slightly ajar, letting in the afternoon breeze. It provided a small relief to the nervous sweat that was gathering at the nape of his neck and on his palms. He wondered what the rest of the house looked like. If it was as personal as in here.

He could hear you coming down the stairs and immediately straightened up, trying to look like he hadn’t just snooped.

“You know” you said brightly. “Since you’re here, you could actually help me with something.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bob wondered, feeling his throat dry up. You had added a necklace to the outfit now, a thin golden chain with three small stones hanging off it. It was simple, but fuck if it didn’t draw his attention back to your tits. He cleared his throat. “With what?”

You blushed slightly. “It’s a little silly, but I couldn’t decide on which shoes to wear with this dress. I’ve narrowed it down to two, but now I can’t choose. Could I show them to you?”

“Sure” Bob answered, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. If you were about to dress up in different heels for him, he might just combust.

You smiled affectionately before tottering off to grab them. He could hear you shuffle about a bit before returning, shoes now on. Oh God… It’s like the universe just knew what you in heels did to him. You strutted into the living room wearing a pair of white platform pumps, made with some kind of shimmering material that reminded him of the nail polish on your toes.

The matched really well with the dress, and they made your legs look spectacular, muscles working as you took a lap around the room in them.

“So, this is the first pair” you said, casting a glance at him over your shoulder. “I really like them, and they go well with the dress.” You sighed, looking down at them as you shifted your foot in different directions. “But I also really like the other ones.”

Bob couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t talk. There was no way he was going last the entire night. All he could think about you, looking so good, smelling so divine, he wanted to consume you. All he could do was watch, transfixed with your beauty.

“I’ll put the other pair on so you can see” you said brightly before leaving again.

And…wow! Yeah, those were the ones. Nude-colored, mocha, one of those tapering heels, crossing straps closed with golden buckles, a glittering golden thread woven into the fabric. They looked too good. Those were the kinds of heels he’d insist you keep on as he fucked you into the mattress. Proper fuck-me heels.

“Those ones” he rasped out, voice thick with desire, rasping like a man who hadn’t had something to drink in days. His trousers were uncomfortably tight, his dick swelling at an alarming rate.

You caught the shift in his voice, looking at him with an intensity in your eyes that made his stomach swoop. “Yeah? You like ‘em?” There was a teasing tilt to your words, like you knew exactly what you were doing.

Bob nodded, throat tight, body humming with desire. “Mhm… They’re perfect.”

“Okay” you said with finality. “These ones it is.” You leaned against the edge of the couch, crossing your arms over your chest, your tits squeezing together. “You need some water, Bob?”

Water? “Uhm, no thank you?” he said slowly, feeling the air thicken in the room. “Why?”

You shrugged, a little too casually, looking like you were holding back a laugh. “You seem thirsty, is all…”

Oh, he was thirsty, all right. Just not for water. But this was not the time to yank you over his shoulder and carry you upstairs. Instead, he glanced at the watch on his wrist. It was time. Good. He needed a distraction, something to keep him from botching this date by not even making it to the restaurant.

He stood up. He was supposed to tell you that his car was waiting outside, then guide you like a gentleman out the door. Instead, he walked up to you like a dog following a scent, immediate, focused. He reached up, sighing heavily with desire as your perfume invaded him, surrounding him like a thick blanket.

His hand gently caressed the side of your face. The way you leaned into his touch sent his entire world spinning off its axis. Your skin was so soft beneath his fingers, and he so desperately wanted to see if you tasted as good as you smelled.

Come on, a voice in the back of his mind said. Get a grip!

“We should go” he whispered against your lips. “Before we lose our reservation.” It was a tug of war in his mind between doing the honorable thing by taking you out properly and doing the depraved, wanton thing by just saying fuck it. Literally.

You nodded slowly, but it was dazed, like you were picturing the exact same thing he was. “Yeah… We probably should.” Your hand travelled up his forearm before stopping at his wrist, holding just below where his hand cupped your face. Your eyes closed, seemingly on instinct as your breaths mingled.

Pure, intoxicating lust ran through Bob’s veins, but he summoned the last bit of willpower he had left and stepped back. Taking a deep, sobering breath, he gestured for you to walk ahead. You gave him a small, teasing smile. A silent promise of ‘later’ seemed to hang in the air as the two of you stepped out of your house and you locked the door.

The car ride was smooth, songs playing lowly on the radio, air conditioning blasting gratefully against his body, cooling the fire inside him until it was just a low simmer. This was the right thing to do. He wasn’t a caveman that pulled women into the bedroom on the first date, especially without even taking them out to dinner first. His mama raised him to be better than that. And he was.

Surely, he was.

“So, where are we going?” you asked brightly, fiddling with the clasp of your clutch.

For some reason, that stupid, stubborn blush returned to his cheeks. He turned the air-con up. “Uh- I made us reservations at Nonna Vittoria’s.” Was it cheesy to take a girl to his favorite restaurant on the first date? Probably. Maybe that’s why he was blushing so hard. But he couldn’t think of anywhere else to take you.

But you gasped, eyes lighting up in excitement. “No way! I love that place! I haven’t been in forever. Not since my friend’s birthday last year.”

“Oh” Bob breathed out slowly. “Good. That’s… Yeah. That’s great.”

You hummed in agreement, smiling morphing into something knowing, something sweet. “Their tiramisu is to die for, isn’t it?”

“It’s really good.” But not as good as I bet you taste. No! Stop it.

“I had almost two servings last year when Katie couldn’t finish hers, which wasn’t a good idea since I’m technically lactose intolerant. I thought my stomach was going to die the rest of the night, but it was worth it.” You looked at him with a sheepish smile for about two seconds before the two of you burst out laughing.

Bob shook his head slightly, still laughing with you. As a doctor, you should probably know better than to trigger an allergy knowingly, but he couldn’t exactly blame you. He’d do the same thing for their tiramisu. Or a tub of caramel ice cream.

“Maybe we can share a plate instead” he suggested. Because it was the logical thing to do to keep your stomach intact. Not because it sounded insanely romantic. Of course not.

“I’d love that” you answered, looking at him sweetly before turning to look out the window.

You arrived a few minutes later, being escorted inside and seated by the older woman who’d been hostess every time he’d been there. The restaurant was dim, lit by the faint flicker of gas lamps and candles on the tables. The color scheme was a rich, old Victorian inspired mix of creams, wood and reds. Rich velvet curtains and old paintings of the Italian countryside decorated the walls. A family portrait of the original owner’s family hung on one wall. Bob loved that touch. It felt more genuine, the way a family-owned business always does.

The table you were given was located further back in the space, away from the bustle of the tables closer to the entrance. It was private, quiet, perfect. The candlelight flickered, casting your face in an almost angelic glow, and for a while, Bob forgot how to breathe. The small constellation of freckles reflected in the candlelight. God, you were so beautiful. How did he ever get lucky enough to meet someone like you?

“I think I’m going to get a glass of red” you said thoughtfully, eyes scanning the wine list.

“Want to share a bottle?” Bob suggested, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

You looked up from the menu with a slightly puzzled expression, head tilting as you looked at him. “I thought you didn’t drink?”

A coy smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “What makes you think that?”

Your brows furrowed together. “You never drink at the Hard Deck?”

So you noticed… “I don’t usually drink if I’m working the next day. I don’t want to risk it clouding my judgement when flying.”

“You’re working tomorrow, though?”

Bob shrugged, feeling a little like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “It’s just a debrief…and this is a special night.” He said that last part with his eyes trained to his water glass. He really didn’t want to see if you were going to laugh at him or not.

Instead, you reached forward and placed your hand on top of his on the table. Your eyes were shining with affection, cheeks decorated pink.

“I think you might be the sweetest man I’ve ever met” you said quietly, but with every ounce of conviction in your voice.

“It’s just a bottle of wine” Bob answered, just as quietly, almost a murmur.

“No, it’s not” you insisted. You gave his fingers a squeeze before letting go and picking up your menu again.

The waitress came by and took your orders. Bob knew almost nothing about wine. Beer and whiskey were the go-to in Montana small town where he grew up. So, he let the waitress recommend something, and she was all too happy to suggest her personal favorite.

Conversation flowed so easily throughout the entire dinner. You talked about how he’d grown up on a ranch in Montana, how you’d grown up right here, just a 20 minutes away, how you were an only child whilst he had grown up with three sisters and one brother, how his sisters had always insisted on playing girls v boys soccer out in the fields because they knew they’d win, how you were captain of your high school volleyball team, how you’d kept playing in college, balancing that with being pre-med. You told him about the time you and your best friend Katie had tricked two of your other friends who were obviously into each other to be set up on blind dates just for it to turn out that their blind dates were each other. They had been really mad at you for a week before realizing that there was no other way to get them to admit. They were married today so it was worth it, you said.

Bob barely remembered eating his lasagna, being too busy being entranced by your conversation and the way your delicate fingers twirled the strands of spaghetti in your carbonara or the way you licked subconsciously at your fingers after breaking off and eating a piece of focaccia that was covered in a thin layer of olive oil and spices.

You did end up sharing a serving of tiramisu after your insistence that your stomach would be fine. Your spoons ended up clinking together a few times when going for the same bite, and Bob always caved, letting you have that one piece because he loved the way your eyes glinted with delight and appreciation.

When the waiter brought you the bill, you made an effort to reach for your wallet inside the clutch, but Bob snatched the small booklet before you even had a chance to look at the price. “Don’t even think about it” he threatened jokingly.

“I don’t mind paying” you insisted, still reaching for your wallet.

“Well, I do” Bob retorted, already placing his credit card in the booklet. “There’s no way I’m letting you pay on our first date. That’s just not right.”

He felt a sense of possessive, male pride engulf him at the way you blushed but accepted. It felt good, taking care of you, spoiling you. If you’d let him, he’d spend the rest of his life pampering you.

You exited the restaurant, feeling the gentle evening breeze crash over you. Sighing dreamily, you closed your eyes and absorbed it. “Want to go for a quick walk?” you asked with that gentle tone.

“That sounds nice” Bob responded, suddenly feeling nervous again. He also wanted to prolong this date as long as possible, but he wasn’t sure how or for how long. He just knew he wanted to spend every second with you.

You held out your hand in a silent question. Slowly, Bob reached out and took it, his larger hand engulfing yours. It was warm and soft, just like the rest of you, nothing like the way you had complained about them always being dry. They were perfect. It was insane how calm he had felt around you yesterday at the Hard Deck, but now he felt like nervous school boy talking to his crush for the first time.

The sun had settled lower on the horizon as you walked down the street. Like everything on the island, it was never far from the water. Salt mixed with the breeze the closer you got. The ocean glittered in the distance where the water met sand. The beach seemed to expand for miles from the bench where you had settled, still hand in hand.

Bob’s heart lurched in his chest and landed somewhere in his throat when you tilted your body to lean your head against his shoulder. The scent of your shampoo wafted towards him, with him risking a small inhale of the stuff. God, you smelled good, all your products seemed to be perfectly coordinated in scent as well. Vanilla, coconut, and something that was just so unmistakenly you.

There was no way to tell how long you sat there, leaning against each other, sometimes speaking, but most times just sitting in comfortable silence together, enjoying the company and the view of the ocean.

The sun had slowly started to descend behind the ocean waves when Bob finally looked at his watch. He gave a disappointed sigh.

“Do you need to head home?” you asked, understanding immediately. There was something disappointed in your tone, but mostly it was laced with understanding, which he was grateful for. If there was anyone else that understood the commitment to weird schedules at work, it was someone who had worked the graveyard shift at an emergency room.

“I probably should” Bob said slowly, looking down at you from under his glasses, feeling the need to hold on and never let go. “But I don’t want to.”

You hummed quietly, pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere. We can have dinner at my place tomorrow. I’ll cook.”

His eyes lit up at the offer. “Promise?”

“Promise.” You stood from the bench, holding out your hand to him again. “Let’s get you to bed, Lieutenant.”

You probably hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, with that flirty tone. But it did, and now poor Bob could only imagine all the other ways you could put him to bed.

The car ride back was silent, tension thicker than to the restaurant. His hand had found its home on your thigh, just toeing the line of where the fabric of your dress skimmed your thighs. If he moved even an inch lower, he’d be met with your scorching skin.

You really wanted him to move, just an inch or two. His fingers were calloused from work, and you bet they would feel fucking spectacular touching your most sensitive areas. There was no denying that this was without a doubt the best date you’d ever been on. No one else had cared to ask you so many questions about you, about your life, brought you flowers, acted like the proper gentleman, paid, took you on a romantic sunset walk.

Bob Floyd was the whole package, and you really, really liked him. There was another word to describe it. But you didn’t dare use that one. Not yet.

The way one of his hands effortlessly maneuvered the vehicle to take you home, whilst the other rested on your leg, warmth seeping through was so incredibly hot. His hair had gotten messier in the wind, curls sweeping along his forehead, glasses slightly foggy from the humidity. Contentment and heat swirled like a pool of possibility in his eyes every time he looked at you, as if he was so grateful to have you, but also wanted to much more at the same time. And you did, too. There was so much you wanted to do, with him, to him.

But there was no rush, you knew that. You didn’t make a habit of sleeping with guys on the first date, but you were tempted. God, you were tempted.

Your cottage appeared far sooner than you’d liked. If you could, you’d freeze time and live in this bubble forever. But the way he’d jumped at the opportunity of a stay-in date, there was a good chance you’d have many more evenings like this.

The gravel on the driveway crunched under the tires as the car came to a stop. He sighed again, hand flexing involuntarily around your leg, like he was steeling himself for something. “I’ll walk you to the door” he said, voice an octave deeper than usual. He stepped out and walked around to open the door for you, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes followed the motion of your legs as you got out.

Bob Floyd had a thing for you in heels, and you planned to milk that piece of knowledge as often as you could.

His hand rested on the small of your back, fingers tangling slightly in the fabric as he helped you up the small set of stairs to the porch. The porchlight cast his face in a golden glow, illuminating all his features. He was so handsome, so sexy, and he towered over you in that way that made you feel all wanton.

The hand on your lower back came to rest on your waist, squeezing into the flesh. Possessive, but not uncomfortable. His other hand came to cup your cheek. The blue in his eyes darkened as he looked at you through hooded lids.

Your stomach swooped in anticipation as your own hands came to rest on his chest. The beating your chest intensified as Bob leaned in, lips hovering over yours, just waiting for…something. There was so much tension between you, it was almost palpable. Like one more movement might cause an explosion.

“Kiss me” you breathed, surprising even yourself.

Bob’s lips crashed against yours like a missile at an enemy aircraft. The tension in your body exploded, crashing and burning. You melded yourself against him, feeling your bodies slotting against each other like they fitted perfectly. He was so firm, yet soft and warm at the same time. You could taste a mix of wine from dinner and coffee from the tiramisu, and it was glorious.

His lips moved against yours like a man starved, with so much longing that you wondered how he managed to hold back throughout the entire dinner. His hands pulled you impossibly closer, and he let out a small groan as you fisted the collar of his shirt.

Slowly, like he couldn’t bear to let go, Bob broke the kiss. His lips were red and swollen, eyes blown, chest heaving for air. His hand came to tangle in the hair at the base of your neck. You let out a tiny hum, leaning into the sensation, and Bob made a gruff sound in response.

“You’re so beautiful” he whispered into the night, which had gone dark by now.

“So are you” you whispered back, searching those dark blue eyes of his.

He leaned his forehead against yours for a second before coming back to look at you. Heat spread throughout your body at the intense look in his eyes, pooling in your stomach. “Well…” he said slowly. “This is goodnight, I guess.”

“Yeah” you agreed, hands still fisted in his shirt, no conviction in your voice. “Goodnight…”

“Goodnight…”

“Goodnight…”

A few seconds passed in a complete, thick silence where you just stared at each other before Bob cupped your face with both his hands and yanked you into another searing kiss. A moan escaped you at the way his tongue teased your bottom lip. Almost on instinct, you backed into the doorframe, letting him engulf your entire body as he pressed himself closer to you. His glasses dug into you, the metal leaving imprints on both your faces. The glass fogged from the harsh breaths released through your noses.

He groaned into the kiss, hands clinging to you with desperation. You could feel his cock, hard as steel, pressing into your lower belly. The sensation caused pure, unfiltered horniness to flow through you, making your legs tremble as your clit throbbed in anticipation.

Bob was the first to pull away again, swearing under his breath. He looked almost pained, and you bet it had something to do with the pulsating pressure against you. Never before had you seen a man struggle so much with his self-control. It was as hot as it was endearing.

Only problem? You were so fucking sick of fighting it.

“I have to be up early tomorrow” he breathed, more like a reminder to himself than to you.

“You do…” you agreed, voice conveying nothing but the want for him to stay. Your dress clung uncomfortably to your skin. All you wanted was to rip it off and feel his skin against your own.

“I don’t want you to think I only took you out for sex” Bob whispered against your lips, nipping slightly at them.

“I don’t” you assured him. “And I don’t make a habit of sleeping with guys on a first date.”

He nodded, closing his eyes, steeling himself for that final goodbye when…

“But I really want to invite you in. If you want to.”

Bob opened his eyes again, more black than blue, searching your face so desperately. You could feel yourself getting wetter by the second, your body screaming for his attention. “I’m really trying to do gentlemanly thing, here.”

You didn’t answer, instead you reached up and let your thumb stroke his bottom lip, feeling the plush, moist skin. Bob inhaled sharply at the motion, pressing himself closer. He took one last look at your mouth.

“Screw it.”

He crashed back into you, tongue plunging into your mouth. He licked into it like he owned you, hands finding purchase wherever he would reach. As his lips left your mouth to press a line of heated kisses down your neck, stopping to nip at the sensitive skin behind your ear, you searched your clutch blindly for your keys.

When you finally found them, you broke the kiss, turned around and tried to unlock the door. Bob pressed himself against you, hands fisting in the fabric at your waist as you fumbled with the lock.

As soon as you heard the click, he practically yanked the door open for you, pushing the both of you inside. You dropped the bag and keys without ceremony, turning back around to face the man that looked like he was seconds away from combusting. Pulling him back into a fevered kiss, you started leading the way to the staircase. It was a fumble between heated kisses, giggles at misaligned steps and shallow breaths, but you soon made your way to the bedroom.

The door swung open, but you didn’t give Bob a chance to take in the space before yanking him towards the bed by the beltloops in his trousers. You tumbled down in a mess of tangled limbs, landing on the comforter with a huff.

Bob continued his earlier exploration of your throat, pressing open mouthed kisses that left a trail of saliva and goosebumps in their wake. The sensation was overwhelming, and you wrapped your legs around his waist on instinct, pressing him closer to your heated core. Bob groaned into your neck.

“Fuck” he muttered. “You’re everything.”

Feeling boldened by his compliment, you yanked his shirt loose from the confines of his trousers. You fumbled with the buttons, working them open as he ran his hands up and down your body. They trailed along your waist, squeezed your hips, caressed over your ribcage, just under your breasts, cupped your face as he leaned in for another kiss.

When the shirt was finally unbuttoned, he sat back on his knees and took it off without you having to ask. Jesus Christ… His body was glorious. Strong and muscled, but in an understated way. Freckles decorated his collarbones, a thin layer of fine dark blonde hair decorated his chest. Barely there, but very soft-looking.

“God, you’re hot” you whispered, licking your lips as you took in his impressive physique. A pink blush spread over his cheeks and neck. He looked away for a second. “I’m serious” you insisted. “Now, come here!”

You yanked him back down to you, kissing him again. It was all tongue and teeth, both of you moaning into it. His skin was scorching to the touch as he caged you in, arms resting on either side of your head.

Your underwear pressed damply and uncomfortably to your soaked core, insides clenching around nothing as the bulge in his pants brushed you again. You tilted your hips upwards, chasing the sensation. A gasp escaped you as he hit that perfect spot over your clothed clit. Bob groaned into the kiss, his hips finding a rhythm as he humped against you.

The sensation was amazing, but it was nothing compared to what you knew waited. God, you wanted the real thing, for him to fill you up, stretch you out, pressing his cock against your G-spot.

“Dress. Off” you panted pushing the fabric upwards. “Take it off.”

Bob paused, a hint of caution in his eyes. “Are you sure?” he asked, voice husky.

“Never been more sure of anything” you assured him, a hint of impatience to your tone. “I need to feel you, right now.”

Bob chuckled, kissing your forehead in a way that was way sexier than it had any right to be. “How about I go down on you first?”

That nearly caused your brain to short-circuit. Heat flooded your core at the very idea. Images of him between your legs had haunted most of your fantasies and dreams for the past weeks, ever since you met him, really. “Fuck” you swore breathlessly. “Yes, please.”

Bob smirked before helping you sit up and reached back to unzip the back of your dress. You wasted no time pulling it off and tossing it to the side where it landed in a heap on the floor. His eyes landed on the white lace bra you wore underneath. Innocent and sinful at the same time. Then his eyes drifted lower to find the matching panties, completely soaked through.

“Holy fuck” Bob said quietly. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“Just being you” you praised before unclipping your bra and letting it fall.

Your nipples pebbled in the air hardening in a way that was almost painful. Bob practically whined at the sight before pushing you back down on the bed. His lips closed around one, tongue swirling around the hard bud. Your back arched off the bed as you moaned, completely lost in the sensation. Your hips chased his friction again on instinct as his fingers toyed with the other nipple.

He released the aching bud with a wet plop, kissing his way over to your other nipple before giving it the same attention. You ran your fingers through his now messy hair, holding him in place over your chest. He groaned and moaned into your skin, pressing himself as close as he could. The sound vibrated through you, straight to your clit.

Bob’s glasses were almost completely fogged up when he pulled back. That didn’t seem to stop him though as he pressed kisses down your stomach, slowly working his way down. He stopped to press wet kisses along the top of your panties, causing your hips to buckle. There was no way he couldn’t smell your arousal down there.

He leaned down to press a kiss to the soaked fabric and your entire body jolted.

“Oh my god!” you gasped, handing coming to rest on the top of his head.

“Sensitive?” he teased, smiling into the wet fabric of your panties. You could feel the warmth of his breath even through the soaked lace, and it almost drove you insane.

“Shut up” you groaned, body arching as he pressed another kiss to your core.

“I’m taking these off now” Bob informed you, giving you a chance to protest. When you didn’t, he hooked his fingers into the fabric and slowly peeled them down your legs.

The cool air hit your hot flesh, working almost as well as the vibrator you kept stashed in your nightstand. But before you could dwell too much on that, Bob leaned in and licked a long stripe up your slit.

“Want me to take the shoes off?” you teased, already knowing the answer.

“No” Bob muttered against your skin. “Leave them on.”

You called out his name, body contorting with pleasure as he dove in again, tongue swirling around your clit. The sensation caused more goosebumps to break out over your body. It was electric, the way his mouth just seemed to know you, how to lick you, how to suck your clit just right.

“You taste so good” Bob muttered into your pussy, diving back for more.

He licked over your clit again and again like a man starved again, lips closing around the bundle of nerves to suck on it. White, hot pleasure seared through you like a burn that was immediately cooled and satiated by even more licks. He moved down to lick and kiss around your entrance before plunging his tongue inside.

“Oh shit!” you cursed loudly.

The pleasure pooled inside you, growing stronger and stronger with each second. Your belly tightened, you pussy clenched around his tongue. His nose bumped your clit a couple of times, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on. It was too much. It was all too much and not enough at the same time. Your nipples ached, clit throbbed as he went back to sucking it harshly.

As if he knew exactly what you needed, his fingers came up to tease slightly around your entrance before pushing inside. God, the intrusion was glorious, stretching you just right.

“Fuck, you’re soaked” Bob moaned incredulously, glancing up at you through his foggy glasses. “Is all this for me?”

“All of it” you moaned breathlessly as he worked his fingers in and out of you. “All for you! Please, baby” you begged. “Please suck on my clit again.”

He groaned, leaning his forehead against your hip bone. “So needy, so fucking hot!”

But he did as asked, diving back in and pulling the sensitive flesh between his lips. Your thighs closed around his head, locking him in place against your throbbing pussy. Your legs landed over his shoulders, heels digging into the skin of his back. Bob groaned loudly into your pussy, the vibrations sending you into overdrive. You did it again, experimentally, and his groan was even louder this time.

You moaned in tandem with him as his fingers worked your G-spot, pushing against that spongy spot inside you. Your entire body thrummed, so ready to snap. He flattened his tongue over your clit and pressed, doing you in completely.

“Bob” you panted. “I’m gonna–” But you didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence as the pleasure washed over you.

The orgasm tore through you like wildfire, soaking his mouth and fingers. Everything pulsated, blood thrumming in your ears as you screamed out your pleasure, entire body contorting off the bed.

When it finally slowed down, body spasming with aftershocks, Bob kissed his way up until he finally reached your mouth. The taste of you lingered on his lips that were soaked with a mix of your arousal and his spit. You both moaned into the kiss, his hands snaking under to cup the nape of your neck.

“You’re really good at that” you praised, causing that adorable blush to return to his cheeks.

“Thank you” he whispered. “I just wanted to be good for you.”

“Oh, you were.” You pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “But I still want to feel you inside me. Is that okay?”

Bob choked slightly, but nodded quickly, staring at you like you hung the sun and stars. You reached down to unbutton his trousers, him helping you to peel them and his underwear off, his cock bobbing in the air. His shoes and socks came next, until he was completely naked before you.

He was big. Like big, big. Hard, flushed, dripping with pre-cum, jutting out proudly. Your throat dried up at the sight. How on earth were you going to make that thing fit inside you? You were certainly gonna try.

“Do you have a condom?” Bob asked breathlessly as he looked between his own member and your pussy.

You shook your head, bringing his body closer to you again. “I’m on the pill. I’m clean, I haven’t been with anyone since my last test.”

“My last test was clean, too” he responded, voice filled with wonder and mirth at the same time. “But you know that.” He was given regular STD checks as part of his health evaluation by the navy. So you did know that. “Haven’t been with anyone either.”

“Good” you said and yanked him closer, plunging your tongue into his mouth. He released an ‘oumf’ into your mouth and reached down to give his length a few slow pumps.

With a reverence that made your heart swell, he aligned himself with your pussy and slowly pushed inside. Your responding moan caused his entire body to shudder. “Fuck!” he gritted out. Your pussy practically swallowed him, sucking him in, clenching around him like it was a full-time job. “You feel incredible.”

He felt incredible as well, pulsating inside you, filling you up so completely. After a few seconds, he started to slowly move, pushing himself in and out of you. Your hands came to claw at his shoulders, legs locking around his hips.

With every thrust he found that spot inside you so perfectly, shooting pleasure throughout your body. His pubic bone rubbed against your clit in a desperately teasing way, like someone itching just beside that spot you needed it most. It was maddening, but at the same time, you didn’t want it to stop.

“You feel so good inside me” you panted out, nails digging into his shoulders as he pushed even harder. “Filling me up so well. Feels so good!”

Bob bit the skin of your collarbone. A surprised but delighted gasp left you as his tongue soothed the sting. “You feel fucking incredible” he grunted, hips snapping into yours, filling the air with the sound flesh against flesh and soaked squelches. “You’re so tight! I don’t think I’ll last much longer. It’s too good!”

Craning your neck, you caught his lips in a wet kiss, tongues mingling and battling for dominance. His hand snaked down to push your hips down into the mattress, hips chasing pleasure even more intensely. Every drag brought you closer and closer again, hips canting up to meet his.

His hand moved, fingers trailing over your hip bone, over your mound before finding your clit. The calloused pads of his fingers pressed against you in perfect circles, pleasure shooting up your spine.

“Can you come again?” he asked gruffly, working your clit with that military precision.

“Yes!” you panted. “Keep touching me like that!”

He groaned loudly when your pussy clenched around him. “I’m really close” he warned, face contorting in concentration.

“I want you to cum inside me!” you begged. “Want you to fill me up!”

Bob whined loudly, burying his face in your neck as his orgasm overtook him. He hit that spot perfectly one last time and you followed him, bodies shaking together. Warm ropes of cum decorated your insides as he emptied himself inside you. His tongue licked a long stripe up the side of your neck, tasting the salty sweat that had pooled there.

Your hips snapped together in aftershocks for a few seconds before you stilled, lying together, noses brushing each other’s skin, him still inside you, softening slowly. You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, in a perfect bubble of aftercare. He pressed loving kisses to every inch of skin he could reach, whispering in your ear how good you were for him, how perfect.

When he finally slipped out of you, his cock was completely soft, his cum running down your ass cheeks soon after. “Sorry” he murmured. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Next door to the right” you mumbled, still soaking in the feeling of being so perfectly fucked.

“Are there clean towels in there?”

You nodded absentmindedly, fingers trailing over the coarse hair on his arms. “In the small cabinet by the shower.”

He disappeared for a minute before returning with a clean hand towel. With a smile that could only be described as loving, he gently wiped you clean, careful to go from top to bottom. Then he helped you to the bathroom, staying outside as you peed, before getting himself cleaned up as well. You gave him a spare toothbrush to use for the night. He helped you change the soaked sheets before climbing into bed together.

“I’ll set an alarm so I can get up in time to change at home before work” he whispered into the quiet bedroom as you settled into his waiting arms.

You nodded sleepily, nuzzling the warm skin of his neck. “You’ll be back for dinner?”

“Of course” he said happily. “Can’t miss our second date.”

“Good” you yawned. “I can make this really good pesto baked salmon with honey-glazed brussels sprouts and white rice.”

You swore you could hear Bob’s stomach rumbling at your words and suppressed a smile. He chuckled at his own body betraying him and pulled you in for a soft kiss. “Sounds perfect. Goodnight, doctor.”

“Goodnight, lieutenant."

[c4tluver02]

flat tire

wc: 2.9k

summary: On your way home you get a flat tire, good thing there just so happens to be a cute boy outside that can help you out!

cw: feminine!reader, no use of y/n, i have no idea what its like to get a tow truck so if its wrong no its not, fluffyyyyy <3

The heat that fills the inside of your parked car almost makes you retreat back into your AC filled work space. Key word almost. 

The need to get home and change into pajamas overruled any irritation from the hot stuffy air. You quickly turned the air up and made your way home. But when you were at a stop light you noticed the next exit you needed to take to get home was closed off due to road work. The sigh that escapes you is heavy, another thing that fuels your irritation. There's another way home, a longer way, but still a way. It takes you through a few fancy neighborhoods that have speed bumps and large neon green signs that tell you children run around. It makes the route another 10 minutes to your already too long of a drive but it's all you got.  

Trying to make the most of it you allow yourself to look at the nice homes, the ones you’ll probably never be able to own. But they do say to dream big, right? 

The houses are decorated with summer trinkets, it being mid July everyone was outside and in their pools. Which these big houses definitely have and you even see some of them due to the fences they have. Tall white wood as an excuse for a wall to keep privacy, but really they want you to see their fancy big backyard with the huge pool and additional hot tub. It’s easy to look into the homes as they all have large windows that no doubt allow beautiful light to surround the room. Maybe you shouldn't have given yourself the luxury of being nosy, now you have another thing to be upset about. 

And because you were too busy looking at the homes you don't realise the glass bottles that litter the ground, beer bottles broken and some normal ones sitting on the sidewalk. You can feel your back tire lower before you hear it. Your other three tires barely make it through to let you park close to the sidewalk. 

Of course one of those rich assholes had some party and didn't pick up a single thing outside. Out of sight out of mind. Now you’re the one paying for it, along with the heat, and the road work. Speaking of heat you’ll have to get out of your cool car to go knock on some door to ask for a phone. That brings a whole new type of stress to you, the idea of someone in this neighborhood actually helping you. They’d probably assume you're trying to sell them something and shut a door in your face. 

Now that you’re out of your car you can hear the music coming from a backyard. It’s two houses in front of you and all you could think is if you were paying this much for a house your neighbor better be silent. But right now, in this moment, you’re thankful for it. 

Walking up to the gate that matches the basically see through fence, you can see a guy in the pool. He’s got a net in his hand, seemingly cleaning the leaves that fall from his tall trees, and you can see his head move slightly to the music. 

When you try to knock on the wooden gate it’s nowhere as loud as it needs to be to block his music. Yelling to get his attention seems like the worst thing to do but it’s really your only option. 

“Excuse me!” You say with a loud voice. 

You say nothing more since he gets out of the pool. Thinking he heard you but instead he grabs a beer from the cooler that sits next to his pool chairs. He shakes his head trying to get water out of his ears and it makes his hair rise as well. His beer doesn't match the bottles that popped your tire which you are automatically thankful for. If you had to tell him some loser left out glass and it was him you for sure wouldn't be able to use his phone. 

This next attempt you say another “excuse me” but it’s added with some slight jumping on your tippy toes. Hoping your head is seen over the gate so he could be more aware of your presence. 

And thankfully it works! His head turns quickly to the noise but the half of your head that’s showing is what makes him walk over to you. 

“Uh, hey?” Now that you can finally see him up close you can see the water drip off of him. The muscles in his arms are highlighted by the sun along with the bright pink sunburn he's gaining. 

“Hi. My, um, my tire went out. Well I drove over glass. But I didn't even see the glass in the road because, erm, I wasn't looking. I mean of course I was looking at the road but- Sorry my tires popped and I need a phone to call someone.”  

With everything going on the last thing you thought about was how you were going to ask for help and maybe that shows. The whole thing coming out barely coherent but his nodding along makes you think he got the jist. 

“You need to call a tow truck?” He asks, his voice is nice and low. Very calming for your situation right now. 

“I think? I dont know I’ve never had a flat tire. Do you know how to fix one?”  The ideas are coming into your head and then your mouth spits them out just seconds after. It’s probably very unhelpful for him. 

This whole conversation has been had through the gate but Steve feels okay to open it. Letting you and your problems in for him to deal with. You give him a quiet thanks and make your way to the chairs that sit under an umbrella. 

“M’sorry to bother you but I heard the music and you’re already out here.” The apology is sweet but all Steve can see is your long legs that poke out of your skirt. You have a nice white top on and flats that match the skirt. 

You’re really no better thought, his tan skin and nice hair has you in a daze. One you’ll blame on the heat later when you overthink everything you're doing right now. The hair on his chest is the cherry on top, he looks very good almost like you caught him at the perfect time. 

“It’s okay, do you know if you have a spare tire?” He asks, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. The way he pushes the corner of the towel into his shorts makes them go lower, exposing more of the hair that travels downward. 

“Um, no I don't.” You say sheepishly, it comes out after a beat of silence and you pray he can't see you ogling at him. 

“Okay then you probably should call a tow truck.” He gives a light laugh. His mood is great for the fact that some girl just interrupted his chill pool day. 

And when he turns his loud music off you feel like you could hear a pin drop. It’s too silent now, and you’re unsure what to do. Maybe ask to use his phone, or ask for his number, neither of which you are feeling brave enough to do. 

“Yeah, you’re right. I should call.” Is what comes out, along with a nod to further your agreement. 

He gives you a motion that says ‘lets go’ as he walks towards the sliding glass doors that lead inside to the kitchen. The heat has basically dried him off already, only a few drops of water fall as he walks. His back is like the stars in the sky, practically hundreds of little moles fill it up. 

Once you both make it inside you stop squinting your eyes and his sunburn looks almost 10 times worse than it did outside. It makes you wonder if he can feel it or if the heat took over his whole body. 

“I can go get a phone book to see what the number is?” Steve has a feeling you wouldn't know it even if this had happened to you before. Being inside must make you feel better as you let out a sigh of relief. 

“Yes please, I’ll just wait here.” You say rocking back and forth on your feet. That gets you a smile from him and thankfully you were planted there or else you might have completely collapsed. He’s extremely pretty and he’s being very nice to you. It’s a lethal combination for a girl. 

When he comes back he’s already flipping through the pages. And then he puts it on the counter which makes you think he’s found it, you step closer to him but he doesn't move away. His finger runs along the page as he continues searching and you can smell the chlorine on him along with a hint of sunscreen. How did he burn when he had sunscreen on? 

“Ah! Okay here it is, the phones just on that wall.” He points to the wall behind you with one arm and the other stays put on the number you need. 

“Thank you.” You seem very shy to Steve, a bit of a different attitude than when you were a rambling mess asking him to fix a stranger's tire. 

Still he gives a small ‘mhm’ with another beautiful smile. This time you had the wall behind you to hold you up. 

When you pick up the phone and dial the numbers you can feel his eyes on you. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed. It makes his biceps pop out more and his hand comes up to push his hair back from his eyes. 

The call doesn't take long at all but apparently you're a good 40 minutes away from the only tow truck in this town. It won't be here for a second and if they need to take the free way that's under construction then it might be even longer. If this cute boy wasn't here you’d bang your head against the wall. 

“So, they won't be here for about an hour. But, um, thank you for your help, you’re truly my life saver.” You give him a smile that will be stuck in Steve's head for days. 

“Where are you going? They aren't here?” The way his voice is laced with confusion almost makes you laugh. 

“I mean you probably want to get back to what you were doing?” 

“I was just cleaning, nothing important. You can stay, if you want. I don't wanna force you to be here or anything” His strong start and kind finish is what finally gets a laugh out of you. 

“Okay, I’ll stay, thank you.” 

“Did you want to go back out? We can sit by the pool.” All your brain is thinking is “cute boy in pool” and because you don't want to speak to him in caveman all you do is nod. 

He slides the door open and lets you walk out first, you think you might explode when you get home. Before he walks towards the pool he grabs a towel and sits it by the edge, giving you a nice spot to sit so your legs don't burn from the ground. 

Steve gets fully in the pool though. Only his arms come out to hold himself to the wall of the pool, he’s very close to you, any closer and he’d get you wet. 

“So how did your tire go out again?” Steve remembers but he just wants to hear you talk. 

“Well, I was looking at the nice houses and I didn't realize there were beer bottles broken in the road and I drove right over them.” The pout on your lips is driving him a little crazy, your legs gently kicking back and forth are what take his eyes away from you. 

“Yeah there was a party down the street a few days ago, they never clean their mess.” His scoff is just loud enough for you to hear. 

“I never even take this way, but the exit I take was closed so I had to take the long way.” You couldn't say why you explained this all to him but you felt like you should explain why you were in a  random area. 

“Well at least I was out here, m’glad I could help.” His shoulders are getting redder by the second, it makes you want to scoop some water onto him. 

“Oh me too, it was you or probably some mean old person who definitely wouldn't have helped me.” 

Steve feels like he’s laughed 10 times within the last 5 minutes talking to you. “There are so many mean old people in this neighborhood you truly got lucky.” 

You continue to giggle with him, a nice few seconds of silence passes between you two. Just the sound of the water moving around your legs and the birds chirping. It’s not awkward like you’d think it would be, just relaxing in the moment. 

“You do know your shoulders are like completely burnt right now right?” 

“Shit, are they? I swear I put on sunblock.” He does what you've been wanting to do and splashes some water on himself, not that it will block the sun but maybe help the skin feel cooler. 

“Want me to go get it so you can reapply?” You saw it sitting near the cooler that was full of beer earlier. And really if he asked for your help you couldn't deny, he’s done so much for you after all. 

“Yeah if you don't mind.” 

Getting up is not easy in a skirt, especially when a boy is lower than you are. Steves lucky you turned just before his cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red from seeing the white underwear you sport. 

When you come back Steve steps out to reach the stairs of the pool. Both of you are ankle deep now at the top stair and he turns his back to you. His skin burns when you touch it and you're not sure how he didnt feel it coming. Steve knows, you have distracted every single one of his senses. Your perfume, your short skirt, your long legs hitting his arm in the water, and your cute giggle. Everything about you knocks him off his game. 

Once you are done applying the cream to his back he flips around and this time you give the bottle to him. Any more of your hands on him and you might not be able to get them off. He can do the front anyways. 

“You need any?” He asks, putting it on his shoulders in a sloppy way that leaves white streaks. 

“Maybe on my arms.” Your shoulders and chest are covered by your t-shirt but having burnt arms would be awful, you’re thankful he thought to ask you. 

Before even thinking your arms are stretched out to meet him. You could do it yourself but now they are already out. He doesn't protest though, complying with your silent ask with the gentlest of hands. They rub the lotion in completely, unlike his shoulders, and it feels nice. When he reaches your hands– the lotions pretty much all rubbed in– he continues holding onto it. 

You scoot back to your spot and he walks down to his. An action that would probably be easier without his hand in yours but no ones saying anything different. And when you hear a loud honk outside both of you flip your heads. You can see a big truck with a long chain attached to it. 

Steve's hand lets go of yours and it’s crazy how quickly you already miss the feeling. He gets out just as fast to dry off as you take the towel you were sitting on to dry your legs. He wraps the towel back around his waist and you put your flats back on. 

The tow truck guy, you now know to be named Dave, tells you he’s just gonna attach your car to his. A simple thing that won't take long at all, and that he could even drive you back home. The fact that your time with this cute boy was over is soul crushing, it was probably written all over your face too. Maybe he could tell. 

“So, you think I could get your number? I mean I think it’s the least you could do.” He says playfully, his hand blocking the sun from his eyes. He looks dreamy right now. 

“Oh totally, I’ll need someone to drive me around won't I?” You finish with a grin that is transferred automatically to Steve. 

He leaves you alone with Dave for a second to grab a paper towel that has his name and number written on it in chicken scratch. 

“Thank you, Steve.”

“No problem, would you call me to let me know you made it home safely?” Of course he wants to know you made it home safe, but maybe he also just wants to talk to you even longer. 

You nod a ‘yes’ to him and Dave’s voice booms from his truck asking if you’re ready. Knowing he doesn't have all day to wait around you hop in the car and put your seatbelt on. Steve only smiles as he makes a phone with his hand to remind you to call him, as if you could even forget. 

[spencersmopbucket]

Infidelity | Fred Weasley

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader Summary: How did you ever expect to get over Fred? Themes & Warnings: toxic exes, possessive!Fred, jealous!Fred, swearing, smut, situationship, cheating, angst kinda, reconciliation!!!

Your bed was cold. Unpleasant. The sheets didn't feel right, the pillows felt too lumpy, the air felt flat and dead. The man beside you had curled up on the other side, not facing you, not sparing any attention at all. Cormac had been able to get you to be his girlfriend, and after that, he stopped trying. Stopped paying attention.

You huffed, bunching the blankets up around your face, trying to keep warm.

Your mind immediately flicked to him. Just like it always did. Just like it had for years and years. Fred. He was an uttered secret in your mind, something you kept deep below the surface. Things hadn't ended kindly -- you didn't want people to know he was a constant thought.

You didn't want people to know that the two of you had slipped a couple times. Slept together, fell asleep in the same bed, then scrambled out of it the next morning pretending to hate each other. But the temptation was just too great. You loved Fred, you feared you always would. Your soul, your body, they were so thirsty for him that sometimes it made moving on seem absolutely impossible.

Sighing, your eyes flicked over to Cormac again before you slowly climbed out of the bed. Your feet hit the cold floor and you hissed quietly, biting your lip to keep from making any noise. If Cormac woke up, he’d ask where you were going. And you’d have to lie. Again. Not that he’d care much. He just hated being embarrassed. Hated the idea of you being anywhere else but here, in his bed, his room, his girlfriend. Even if he barely touched you anymore.

You pulled your jumper on over your thin sleep shirt, fingers trembling as you fumbled with the sleeves. The Gryffindor crest caught your eye in the dark -- a gift from Fred, once. You swallowed hard.

You shouldn’t.

You really, really shouldn’t.

But you were already turning, already creeping to the door and easing it open with practiced silence. The corridor was empty. Quiet. You knew every step, every stair to take without creaking. How many times had you made this exact walk before?

A warm hand on your wrist made you help. A second hand quickly covered your mouth, swallowing the small noise, before familiar body heat and the scent of cologne enveloped you.

“We had the same idea then, love?” His husky voice said amusedly, voice low and borderline a whisper.

You froze for a breathless second, heart thudding in your chest so hard you thought it might give you away completely. His grip was firm but careful, like he didn’t want to hurt you -- just keep you quiet.

Fred.

Of course it was Fred.

He always seemed to know. Always seemed to be there, lurking in your shadows like some devil you couldn’t shake.

He pulled his hand slowly away from your mouth, fingers brushing your lips like he couldn’t help himself. You sucked in a sharp breath, dizzy from his closeness, from the heat radiating off him in the cold corridor.

“I nearly screamed,” you hissed, swatting at his arm half-heartedly.

Fred only smirked, not the least bit apologetic. “And wake McLaggen? Bit rude when you’re sneaking off to see another man.”

You glared at him, but the effect was lost given how your cheeks were already burning. “Shut up, Fred.”

He hummed, leaning closer, nose brushing your temple. His voice dropped even lower, raspy and intimate, the kind of sound that lived in your dreams.

“Make me.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse stuttering. You could feel the way he was looking at you -- even in the dark, his gaze felt heavy. Possessive. Like you were something he had every right to want.

“Fred…”

He reached down, fingers curling around your wrist again, thumb sweeping over your pulse point.

“Can’t sleep without you,” he admitted softly, voice losing some of that teasing edge. It was rawer now. Honest.

You exhaled shakily, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment. That was the worst part about all of this. That was the reason you always came back.

Because he meant it.

And you did too.

You cracked your eyes open, finding his waiting for you, dark and glinting in the corridor’s shadows.

“Yours or mine?” you asked, voice small.

Fred’s mouth curved slowly into something dangerously pleased.

“Ours tonight.”

He tugged you gently, and you went willingly.

Because you always did.

The walk to his dorm was familiar. The whispering, his strong arms lifting you over creaky parts of the stairs because he knew you were too clumsy to get over them. Finally, he opened his door and nudged you inside, shutting it behind him. The door clicked shut, muffling the castle’s nighttime hush. Your heart beat loud in your ears as Fred’s shadow loomed behind you, tall and certain in the dim glow of the dying fireplace.

You took one step in and stopped, suddenly hyperaware of the space, the silence, the truth of what you were doing.

Of what you always did.

Fred’s hands found your hips from behind, warm and sure. He didn’t rush you. Didn’t speak. Just held you there for a second, thumbs sweeping slow circles through your clothes. You could feel the way his chest rose and fell behind you, steady and calm, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

And for you both, it kind of was.

He leaned down, nose brushing the side of your neck, breath fanning hot across your skin. You shivered.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, voice half-rough, half-gentle.

You swallowed, words catching in your throat.

“I know.”

Fred let out a quiet hum of disapproval. His fingers tightened on your hips for a heartbeat before he pulled back just enough to tug you around to face him.

You didn’t fight him. You never did.

His gaze flicked over your face in the low light, taking you in with that intensity that made your knees feel weak. Like you were the only thing he saw.

“Gonna fix that for you,” he said simply.

And that was it. No question. No plea. Just a promise.

He tugged you closer until you were flush against him, and you pressed your face into his chest, inhaling the scent of his skin and cologne -- smoke, cinnamon, and something that was unmistakably Fred.

His arms wrapped around you so tight it almost hurt, but you melted anyway. You always did.

One hand threaded into your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp. The other slid beneath your jumper, fingertips brushing the skin of your lower back. You flinched at the cold contrast, then relaxed when the heat of him chased it away.

“Fuckin' McLaggen. Letting you freeze,” he whispered, his voice getting lower just a little at the edges.

Your breath hitched.

“Fred…”

“Don’t go back there.” His voice was firmer now, that possessive tenseness creeping in. “Don’t let him touch you. Don’t even think about him when you’re in my bed.”

Your chest constricted painfully.

You nodded. Barely. But you did.

Fred let out a shuddering breath, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Atta girl,” he whispered, voice low and raw. “My girl.”

Your heart broke and healed all at once.

Because you always were.

“What about Angelina?” You asked, trying to keep the jealousy from your voice.

Angelina was Fred's new girlfriend, similar to how Cormac was for you.

Fred tensed. Not all at once, just the kind of slow, creeping tension that stiffened the arm around your waist, made his breathing stutter for a second against your hair.

You pulled back slightly, enough to look up at him. Enough to see the way his jaw flexed.

“Don’t,” he said quietly.

You searched his face. “I’m just--”

“Don’t say her name here.” His voice wasn’t angry. It was something worse: tired.

You blinked, caught off guard. “But she’s your girlfriend, Fred.”

He exhaled through his nose, stepping away from you just a little, just enough to scrub a hand through his hair in frustration. He looked like someone who was being held together by threads -- threads that you, unknowingly, just tugged on.

“Yeah,” he muttered, gaze flicking to the fire. “And McLaggen’s your boyfriend, right?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

It wasn’t the same and you both knew it.

Fred turned back to you, eyes a little shinier now, though he masked it well. “We do this every time, Y/N. You ask about her, I ask about him. Then we go quiet, pretend this didn’t happen, and crawl back to them.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight.

“I didn’t come here to talk about Angelina,” he said, voice gentler now, broken in a different way. “I came here because I can’t sleep unless you’re next to me. I came here because I want to hold you until the sun comes up and pretend like we’re not fucking everything up.”

His voice cracked. “Because for a few hours, you’re mine again. And I’m yours. And it’s the only time I ever feel like I’m doing something right.”

You stared at him, heart aching, eyes burning.

“Do you love her?” you asked quietly.

Fred looked at you for a long, excruciating beat. Then:

“No. You know I don't.”

You didn't respond. Fred stepped closer again, hands framing your face, forcing you to look up into his eyes. He searched yours, looking for answers to questions that you didn't quite know.

“But you love that ridiculous git. Even though he treats you like rubbish.”

Your breath stuttered, caught somewhere between a sob and a scoff. “Don’t talk about him.”

Fred’s thumbs brushed your cheeks, rough but gentle. He tilted your face, refusing to let you look away.

“Someone has to,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “He doesn’t see you. He doesn’t hear you. I do.”

Your lip trembled. “Fred--”

His voice cracked again, rawer than before. “I always do. He doesn't even try.”

Silence fell like a heavy blanket. His forehead pressed against yours, and you both stood there, breathing hard, your tears mixing with his breath.

Your hands fisted in his shirt without thinking, clutching him like he was the only solid thing left.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I hate that I can’t hate you for this. I hate that you keep going back. I hate him for getting to hold you in the mornings when you’re warm and sleepy. I hate him so fuckin' much. The bastard has everything I want and everything I couldn't keep.”

“Fred, please…”

“Just tell me.” His voice dropped to a desperate whisper. “Tell me to be done. Or tell me to fight for you. Just fucking tell me what you want.”

He shook slightly. Your nose bumped his.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Because you didn’t know.

Fred let out a pained, broken laugh. “That’s what I thought.”

Your eyes lifted to meet his watery ones. He was gorgeous in this light -- red hair illuminated by the moon, eyes staring at you intensely, yearning on every inch of his face. Pink lips, flushed cheeks.

You couldn't help it. You did this every single time.

You kissed him.

Your lips crashed into his so suddenly it knocked the breath from both of you. For a heartbeat Fred didn’t move, stunned by the raw desperation of it. Then he groaned, low and guttural, and kissed you back like a man starved.

His hands fisted in your hair, dragging you closer until your chest pressed tight to his. Your fingers scrambled at his shirt, pulling it up and over his head with shaking urgency. He barely broke the kiss to help, mouth returning to yours hungrily, teeth clashing, tongues tangling in a heated, messy battle.

Fred pulled back just enough to gasp, voice wrecked. “Bed. Now.”

You let out something between a whimper and a laugh as he all but hauled you backward, half-lifting, half-dragging you to his mattress. You fell onto it in a tangled heap of limbs, giggling breathlessly until he followed you down, weight pinning you deliciously.

He kissed you again, slower for a moment, savoring, like he needed to memorize your taste. Then his mouth moved, jaw, neck, collarbone, biting, sucking, soothing with hot, open-mouthed kisses that left marks he didn’t even try to hide.

“Fred--” you gasped, arching as his teeth scraped your pulse point.

He smirked against your throat. “That’s it, love. Say my name. Scream it if you want. He won’t hear.”

You shoved at his chest playfully, but he caught your wrists and pinned them above your head with one strong hand. The other trailed down, slow and deliberate, over your ribs, your waist, your hips -- making you shiver.

“Prettiest girl. I don't deserve you.. But McLaggen does even less.” He sneered, voice low and filthy.

He kissed you again, harder, teeth tugging at your lip before soothing it with his tongue. His free hand slid under your shirt, pushing it up until you had to help him get it off. His eyes devoured you, hands mapping every inch like he couldn’t believe you were real.

He didn’t bother being gentle now -- he didn’t have it in him. You didn’t want gentle. You wanted him.

His fingers dipped into your waistband, tugging your bottoms down with a smirk. He cursed when he saw you, eyes darkening further.

“Look at you,” he rasped, voice reverent and wrecked all at once. “So fucking perfect.”

You squirmed under his gaze, biting your lip, whining when he didn’t touch you right away.

“Fred,” you breathed, needy and ruined.

That did it.

He slid his hand between your thighs, fingers teasing before finally pressing where you needed him most. You cried out, hips bucking, and he grinned, lips red and swollen from kissing you raw.

“I know, love,” he murmured, watching you intently as his fingers worked you open. “That’s my girl.”

Fred’s thumb brushed maddening circles over your clit while two fingers curled inside you, slow at first, exploring. Your hips bucked, a strangled sound leaving you, but he just pinned you harder with his free arm, refusing to let you shy away.

“Easy,” he murmured against your neck, voice dark, low. “Let me feel you. Just relax.”

You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. He shuddered at the bite of pain.

“God, Fred, please.”

He pressed in deeper, fingers crooking deliberately to find that spot inside you that made your legs shake. Your mouth fell open on a sharp cry.

“There it is,” he rasped, lips dragging hot and wet along your collarbone. His teeth grazed your skin. “Fuck -- look at you. Look how you fall apart. Got my name all over ya.”

You writhed against him, shame and want and relief mixing into something molten. He watched your face the entire time, eyes so dark they were nearly black, blown with lust and something deeper, something greedy.

“You gonna cum for me, love?” he asked, breathless, tone that perfect blend of cruel and desperate. “Right on my fingers? Gonna soak me like a good girl?”

You whimpered, biting your lip hard enough to sting. He didn’t like that -- he brought his thumb up to tug your lip free, smearing your spit.

“None of that,” he scolded. “Let me hear you.”

You let go of the broken moan you’d been swallowing, back arching. He rewarded you with faster thrusts, fingers driving in and out of you, thumb working your clit in tight, filthy circles.

“Fred, I--fuck--I’m--”

“Cum,” he cooed, voice cracking with how badly he needed you to. “I got you. Let me have it.”

You broke with a sob, body seizing as pleasure tore through you. Your walls clamped down on his fingers so tight he swore, forehead dropping to yours. He watched you come undone like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

“That’s it,” he groaned, breath fanning your lips. “Good fucking girl. That’s my girl.”

He didn’t stop right away. He kept fingering you through it, gentle but relentless, dragging every last tremor out of you until you were boneless, whimpering, clutching at him for mercy.

Finally he slowed, pressing his soaked fingers against your clit one last time, making you twitch. He grinned, eyes dark with satisfaction.

“Sensitive?” he mocked softly. He pulled his hand back and studied his fingers glistening with you.

He sucked them clean, staring you dead in the eyes the whole time.

“Taste better than I remembered,” he said hoarsely. “And I remembered everything.”

You let out a choked laugh, half mortified, half ruined with desire.

Fred kissed you slow, deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue before pulling back just enough to breathe:

“Not done with you yet, love. Not even close.”

Fred pulled back just enough to look at you, hair falling over his forehead, cheeks flushed. His breath was ragged as he studied you, like he was barely holding it together.

“On your knees,” he rasped. It wasn’t a question.

Your stomach flipped, heat surging at the command. He waited, eyes locked on yours, giving you the barest nod of permission. You slid off the bed, settling between his legs on the floor. The cold stone bit into your knees, but you barely felt it. Your whole body thrummed with the need to please him, to have him.

Fred let out a shaky breath, leaning back a little to give you room. His voice dropped, rough as gravel:

“Fuck, look at you. Prettiest thing I ever seen. Always were.”

He palmed himself through his boxers, already hard as a rock, the thick outline straining the fabric. Your mouth watered at the sight.

“Go on,” he urged, voice teeming with want. “Get me out, love.”

Your fingers trembled as you hooked them in the waistband, tugging them down. His cock sprang free, flushed dark, already leaking.

Fred hissed when the cold air hit him, then moaned outright when your hand wrapped around the base.

“Jesus -- yeah. Just like that.”

You stroked him slow at first, savoring the weight, the heat, the way he twitched in your grip. Fred watched you with hooded eyes, his chest rising and falling fast.

“Open that pretty mouth,” he ordered, voice lower than you’d ever heard it.

You obeyed, lips parting, eyes locked on his. His jaw flexed.

“Good,” he praised.

You flattened your tongue against the tip, tasting him, licking away the salty pre-cum. Fred swore, one hand shooting out to tangle in your hair.

“Don’t tease. Take it.”

You slid down further, mouth stretching to accommodate him, your tongue slick against the underside. Fred’s breath hitched, fingers tightening in your hair hard enough to make your scalp sting.

“Fuck -- just like that. Mhm.”

Your cheeks hollowed as you sucked harder, bobbing your head, feeling him hit the back of your throat. He let out a strangled moan, hips bucking up.

“Ah,shit. Easy, love. Or we're gonna have a mess on our hands, yeah?”

You only sucked harder, moaning around him just to feel the way he jerked in your mouth. His head fell back, a vein standing out in his throat as he tried to hold on.

Your hands came up to his thighs, nails biting in, pulling him closer. Fred looked down at you then, eyes wild, voice broken.

“Look at you,” he choked. “On your knees for me. Wish that nasty git could see you.”

He thrust shallowly into your mouth, controlling the pace, panting. His thumb brushed your cheek as if to soothe you even while he used you.

Before you knew it, he pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop.

Fred didn’t give you time to question why he’d stopped. He hauled you up by your arms so fast you nearly stumbled. Before you could catch your breath, he was handling you and shoving you forward onto the mattress.

Your cheek pressed against the cool sheets, heart hammering. You felt him behind you, the hot, heavy weight of his cock dragging between your thighs as he kicked your legs farther apart.

“Look at you,” he hummed, voice low and wrecked. “Dripping for it.”

You gasped when he dragged the swollen head through your folds, smearing wetness all over you. A rough palm landed on your ass, squeezing hard.

“Bet you’ve been thinking about this every time he fucked you,” Fred sneered, lining himself up. “Bet you wished it was me stuffing this pretty cunt instead.”

You barely managed a whimper before he pushed in, slow but unrelenting. Inch by thick inch, stretching you so wide you saw stars.

“Oh--fuck--” you choked out, fingers fisting the blanket.

Fred just groaned, sinking to the hilt. He didn’t give you time to adjust, he drew back almost all the way and snapped his hips forward, making you yelp.

“Listen to you,” he panted, leaning over your back so his chest pressed to your spine. His hand fisted in your hair, wrenching your head to the side so he could nip at your neck. “Making all these little sounds. He never made you this loud, did he?”

He pulled out again and slammed back in, harder this time. The force made the bed frame creak.

“Tell me,” he demanded, punctuating each word with a thrust that made your knees tremble. “Tell me how he can't do this. How disappointing McLaggen is.”

You tried to answer, but all that came out was a ragged moan.

“Yeah,” Fred breathed, teeth scraping your earlobe. “That’s what I thought. Can’t even form a fucking sentence. 'S alright,” he chuckled, raspy with effort. “I know my girl. I can take care of her. He can't.” He whispered roughly.

One hand slipped between your thighs, finding your clit and circling it just enough to make your whole body jerk. You were so close it was humiliating.

“Already about to come? Christ. Missed me, then.”

His hips snapped into yours again and again, deep, punishing strokes that hit every sensitive spot inside you. His fingers worked your clit mercilessly, the slick sounds obscene in the quiet room.

“Take it,” he ordered, voice gone hoarse. “Take every fucking inch. 'S all yours anyways.”

You cried out when he bottomed out again, the angle so deep it stole your breath.

“Merlin, you feel good,” Fred groaned against your shoulder, rutting into you faster now, the rhythm filthy and relentless. “Missed you so bad.”

Your thighs started to shake, pleasure winding tight and electric. You knew you weren’t going to last.

“Go on,” he rasped, feeling you clamp around him. “Make a mess of yourself. Gonna send you back to your boyfriend with it all over you.”

Your orgasm ripped through you so hard you saw white, your whole body clenching around him as you wailed into the sheets.

Fred cursed under his breath, hips stuttering. He pulled out just enough to see his cock shining with your release before slamming back in, chasing his own end.

“Fuck -- gonna fill you up,” he snarled, voice almost sounding punishing. “Gonna watch it drip out of you when I’m done.”

A few more rough thrusts and he was coming, grinding deep as he spilled inside you, breathing ragged in your ear.

Neither of you moved for a moment, the only sound your mingled gasps. Fred’s hand smoothed over your spine as he finally pulled out, a hot, wet ache spreading between your thighs.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “You’ll be the death of me.”

Fred stayed pressed against you for a long moment, his breath still uneven against your skin. Then, with a groan, he rolled onto his back, dragging you with him until you were sprawled half on top of him. His fingers traced lazy circles over your spine, his other hand pushing sweat-damp hair from your forehead.

“Christ,” he muttered, voice still rough but slipping back into that familiar, teasing lilt. “McLaggen could never.”

You snorted, though the sound was muffled against his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m right,” he corrected, squeezing your hip. “Bet the tosser doesn’t even know where the clit is.”

“Fred!” You swatted his arm, but he only grinned, unrepentant.

“What? Just stating facts, love.” His thumb brushed your lower lip, his smirk softening into something warmer. “And since we’re being honest, you’re far too brilliant to waste on someone who probably still pisses the bed.”

You rolled your eyes, but he caught your chin, tilting your face up to his. His expression was suddenly serious, the playful glint in his eyes giving way to something deeper.

“Come back,” he said quietly. “Properly.”

Your breath hitched. He didn’t need to elaborate -- you knew what he meant.

Fred’s mouth curved, just a little. “I’ll even share my Chocolate Frogs.”

“Now that’s true love,” you deadpanned.

He barked a laugh, pulling you tighter against him. “Damn right it is.”

You snuggled into his chest, the thought of getting back together flickering through your head. The questions, the doubts, the possibilities. You and Fred had been in this weird situationship and cheating on your relationships with others for months, but you'd never actually come close to reconciling. Before now.

“... What about Ang--”

Fred cut you off, an honest look on his face.

"Over," he said simply, fingers tightening ever so slightly on your hip.

“But she--”

Fred rolled his eyes.

“I don't care. I'll break up with her tomorrow. Merlin's sake, I'll knock on her dorm door tonight if it means you'll come back to me, love.”

Your breath caught. That was the thing about Fred -- when he was serious, really serious, there was no mistaking it. No jokes, no deflection. Just this, his hands on your skin, his gaze locked onto yours like you were the only thing in the world worth looking at.

A beat. Then, quieter:

“Stay.”

It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t even a plea. It was a promise, one he’d been waiting months to make.

You swallowed. “What if we’re just… bad for each other?”

Fred barked a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Lovey, we’re terrible for each other. But I’d rather set myself on fire than watch you pretend to be happy with someone else.”

“That’s--”

“Dramatic? Probably.” He shrugged, unrepentant. “Also true.”

You stared at him. He stared back, unflinching.

“I love you, Name. I don't even care to keep pretending that Angelina means bollocks to me.”

Your breath hitched. Fred never said it first. Never this plainly. Not since before everything went wrong.

His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. The usual mischief in his brown eyes had burned away, leaving something terrifyingly vulnerable.

"Say something," he murmured. "Preferably that you're dumping McLaggen's sorry arse tomorrow."

A hysterical laugh bubbled in your throat. "You're unbelievable."

"And yet," his thumb brushed your lower lip, "you're still here. In my bed. Again."

The unspoken question hung between you.

“You're the only thing that's ever been real for me. Real, serious, and not a joke,” Fred said, his voice only slightly higher than a whisper. “I fucked it all up, I did. But I'll be different. I'll be better, yeah?”

The words hung between you, fragile as spun glass. You could count on one hand the times Fred Weasley had admitted to being wrong - and never like this. Never with his hands shaking against your skin.

Your throat tightened. "You don't have to be better. Just... be here."

Fred's breath left him in a rush, his forehead dropping to yours. "Christ, you can't just say things like that," he muttered, but his arms were already pulling you closer, his lips pressing desperate kisses along your jaw. "Makes it bloody impossible to pretend I'm not completely gone for you."

You carded your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. "When have you ever pretended?"

"Point," he conceded with a shaky laugh. Then, softer: "Stay?"

It wasn't the first time he'd asked. But it was the first time you let yourself believe it.

"Yeah," you whispered. "Yeah, I'm staying."

Fred's smile could've lit up the whole of Hogwarts.

He pulled you tighter, wanting you closer in his arms, as if making sure this moment was real and not a dream. He peppered kisses along the crown of your head, lips still stretched into a grin.

"Gonna be insufferable about this, you know," he murmured against your hair. "Properly obnoxious. Flowers at breakfast. Notes in your textbooks. Might even start attending Charms on time just to stare at you."

You snorted, pressing your smile into his chest. "Now I'm reconsidering."

Fred's arms locked around you like iron. "Too late, love. You're stuck with me." A beat. Then, with a wicked chuckle: "Though if you wanted to get unstuck and then stuck again--"

“Fred.” Your tone was warning.

The silence again. Comfortable silence. His body was warm, so much warmer than the lonely shared bed with Cormac. He was like walking sunshine, always had been, and still lit your world up even at night. He held you gently, like fragile treasure, but tightly, as if you'd slip away.

The silence only lasted another five minutes before he broke it again.

"So," he said, fingers drumming excitedly against your hip. "This means I can finally crack McLaggen in his big, dumb lug of a head then?"

You groaned into his chest. "Merlin, give it rest."

"I will!" Fred protested, rolling to pin you beneath him, his grin wild in the moonlight. "Right after I--"

"No."

"--just one little hex--"

"Fred."

"--maybe just a Bat-Bogey to start--"

You silenced him the only way that ever worked, kissing the smirk right off his face. Fred melted into it with a happy sigh, his hands sliding up to cradle your face like you were something precious.

"Fine," he murmured when you broke apart. "I'll only maim him slightly."

You thumped his shoulder, but you were laughing. And when he gathered you back against him, his laughter vibrating through your chest, you realized with startling clarity:

You'd missed this. Missed him.

The thought should have terrified you.

Instead, you only burrowed closer.

And just like that, it was settled. No more hiding. No more McLaggen.

(Thank fuck for that.)

Fred did get him though. Detention for two weeks and bruised knuckles.

[augustjoy]

You’re a star.

Based on the following ask: I was actually thinking of a reader who was training to become an actress and she worked part time at a dinner theatre as a waitress and would fill in for the actors sometimes but Hotch only knows that she's a waitress there and not that she's an understudy bc she forgot to tell him for whatever reason. So one day the team decides to go to the venue for some kind of bonding event and Hotch expects to see the reader as a waitress there but instead gets a surprise when she comes out onto the stage all dressed up in her costume and starts singing. Okie so when researching for this fic I saw that a popular dinner theater is currently showing Rogers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella (which was made into a movie in 1957, later redone with Brandy!) …and the music in it is BEAUTIFUL, so I ran with it…that is the show that our lovely reader will be standing in for.

Aaron Hotchner x Aspiring Actress! Fem Reader Fluff   Word count: 2122

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, unspecified age gap, explicit language, Hotch is in awe of you, proud Hotch, FBI Team bonding, aspiring actress reader, fem reader, singer reader, waitress reader, probably some theater inaccuracies (I was a choir kid y’all, sorry), tooth rotting fluff, BAU team speechless, reader wears makeup, has hair long enough to put up, and wears dresses for the show, reader is described to have a feminine voice, let me know if I missed anything! You are responsible for your own media consumption - if these warnings are triggering or potentially harmful, DO NOT READ.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

Broadway had been your dream since you were a little girl. You’d gone to see Wicked, Les Misérables, The Phantom of the Opera, The Lion King, and more recently Hamilton and Aladdin. Every time you sat in one of those theater chairs, you vibrated with excitement, you shined with a childlike wonder then, and even still now. You’d begged your mom to put you in singing lessons after seeing your first musical at just 8 years old.

You’d been in choir all through school and theater both in and out of school. Your mom was your biggest cheerleader, always backing you. So, when you told her you were planning on going to college in New York City, she hadn’t been even the slightest bit surprised. She helped you film audition tapes and sent them into every performing arts school you could think of. You’d sent in applications and auditions to Carnegie Mellon, Ithaca, NYU, and Julliard. Any of which would have made you happy, but when your acceptance letters came from Ithaca and NYU, you’d had to make a choice.

NYU had been incredible, you’d met tons of incredible people, had opportunities to do some off-Broadway shows, but you’d yet to have your big break.

--

Which brings you to now, you recently finished your master’s program, and you were working at a dinner theater. It wasn’t ideal, but this was a place that many people had been found. Even last week your coworker James got offered a role in a Broadway show. They’d told him an audition tape wasn’t needed, that they had seen all they needed to right here.

This job was great, you may be a waitress but getting to sing and perform in front of a crown, to bring them joy, it was everything you’d wanted. The theater had done Newsies last month, which meant not a ton of female cast members were needed, but this month, they’d decided on Cinderella. You had been over the moon, you wanted nothing more than to get a decent role, more than the ensemble, so when you were cast as the fairy godmother you were thrilled…but then you’d noticed you’d also been listed as Cinderella’s understudy.

You couldn’t believe it. Both were great parts, and understudy meant opportunity.

--

Here’s the thing about being a twenty-something year old living in/near New York City, everyone thinks you’re either some uppity content creator, or they think you are a naive aspiring actor/artist. You’d been a cliché the moment you’d stepped foot into this city, so when you met Aaron, you may have bent the truth just a little.

He knew you went to NYU, and he knew you were a waitress and where you worked…he’d even heard you sing a few times here and there (in the shower mostly). But you may have neglected to tell him about wanting to pursue a career on Broadway. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him, you just didn’t want to be that girl. You didn’t want to come across as the young dumb girl, broke in New York. Not when you had been asked out by the handsome older man who had a highly successful career.

You and Aaron had been seeing one another for about six months now. You hadn’t gotten to spend that much time together, given that he had to travel so much for work, but that was okay. You knew his work was important, and it didn’t bother you. He’d always made sure you felt loved and like you were the only girl in the world.

--

It had been about two weeks into the new show, people had been singing your praises as the fairy godmother, telling you how wonderful you were. You were riding on a high, and while you finally wanted to share that with Aaron, they’d been called away on back-to-back cases, and you didn’t think it was an appropriate conversation to have while he was actively hunting serial killers.

So, you’d kept it to yourself…and when Kiera, the girl playing Cinderella got a case of tonsillitis, resulting in her needing a tonsillectomy, you were asked to step in.

“Well, Kiera is out…so looks like you are no longer the understudy. Are you good to go on tomorrow?” The director asked.

“Me?” You pointed at yourself. “I mean, yes. I-I’m ready!”

“Good! Now, go see Sheryl for a costume fitting.”

“Thank you!”

--

Aaron had been home yesterday when you’d got off work. He texted you telling you they’d caught the guy and were home safe. He’d even called you to talk about your week and how things had been going.

You could tell he was stressed, and you didn’t want to add to that, so you’d let him know work had been busy and that a coworker had called in sick, so you’d been picking up some extra shifts…not a total lie. You would tell him, soon.

--

You’d been practicing all day, your lines, the songs, with and without your costars. You wanted to be perfect, going out there as the lead. It had kept you so distracted, you’d forgotten to check your phone.

Aaron: Hey sweetheart I hope you are having a great day. I miss you, come over tonight?

Aaron: They are forcing us to have a team outing tonight, the BAU and Cyber Crimes together.

Aaron: Something about team building. It is however at the theater…so hopefully I will see you!

Aaron: I could drive you home tonight, so we can spend some time together. Text me back when you can honey.

He was a little nervous, you were typically good about replying to him, especially around your break…which was typically right about now. Aaron tried to shake the worry from his thoughts, he’d likely see you soon.

--

“Why do we have to go to this thing?” Emily huffed.

“Team building, I guess.” JJ replied.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad!” Penelope attempted to lighten the mood. “I heard they’re showing Cinderella, so at least it is something we all know!”

The rest of the team joined in the conversation as they entered the theater, waiting to be seated at a table. Aaron was scanning the floor for you, surely you’d be around serving guests…

“Which one is she?” Dave questioned.

“She’s not-I don’t see her.” Aaron whispered back.

“Is she in the show?” Dave asked.

“I don’t think so, she never mentioned being in the shows, only serving.” Aaron shrugged.

The teams were seated, each person handed a menu as well as a program for the show. While they looked over their menus a petite woman walked out onto the stage to provide instructions and expectations for when the show began.

“Please ensure all cellular devices are either off or on silent. When your servers arrive, they will take the entirety of your order now, as well as provide paper and pens for if you are to need additional food or drinks throughout the evening, this is to minimize talking. We will have a fifteen-minute intermission, which you can utilize to check your devices, use the restroom, and place additional orders. The program provided to you withholds the individuals performing in tonight’s show. Please note that our Cinderella has fallen ill, but no need to worry, her amazing understudy has stepped in. Last thing, please enjoy the show!”

Aaron’s gaze scanned over the program, immediately finding your name listed next to Fairy Godmother, shock took over his expression and Dave was quick to notice.

“She’s the fairy godmother.” Aaron said quietly.

“Wait! She’s in the show?” Penelope squealed.

“Did you say she’s the fairy godmother?" Spencer questioned, and when Aaron nodded, he added “Um, she’s listed as Cinderella’s understudy.”

Aaron’s jaw hit the floor. He couldn’t believe that you were the lead. He had heard you sing before and he knew how wonderful your voice was…he also knew that you’d gone to NYU for musical theater, thanks to Penelope. He just wasn’t sure why you hadn’t told him. Work had been keeping him especially busy lately, so maybe he just missed it.

--

The lights dimmed and places were taken. You’d felt nervous initially, but ultimately you were so excited to be doing this. The cast had begun with the prologue off stage; your first song would be In My Own Little Corner.

Aaron and the team watched in awe. Everything about this production had been incredible, the costumes, the sets, but most notably you and your singing. So far he’d see the maid costume, but truthfully, he was most excited to see you dressed up in the ball gown, he knew you’d look like a vision.

And when transformations began, he was proved right. There on stage you had gone from the milkmaid to a princess, and he was speechless. You looked so beautiful and then when you began singing It’s Possible as your character was making her way to the ball.

The show went on a bit longer before intermission, your character transformed back into the milkmaid, poorly treated by her stepsisters and stepmother.

During intermission you finally checked your phone, you wanted to see if your eyes had deceived you, or if Aaron and his entire team were really here tonight, watching you perform for the first time.

4 New Messages

Aaron: Hey sweetheart I hope you are having a great day. I miss you, come over tonight?

Aaron: They are forcing us to have a team outing tonight, the BAU and Cyber Crimes together.

Aaron: Something about team building. It is however at the theater…so hopefully I will see you!

Aaron: I could drive you home tonight, so we can spend some time together. Text me back when you can honey.

As you read them, another message came in.

Aaron: You are absolutely breathtaking, had I known you were in the show I would’ve brought flowers. I love you, break a leg sweetheart.

You: I’ll explain everything after the show! I love you so much Aar.

--

People were scrambling, times were being called out, signaling that it was time to take your places. Upon reentry, the first song was your own, one where Cinderella would reminisce on her time spent with the prince.

The song entitled He Was Tall, and while you sang it, Aaron fell in love with you all over again. He could see his teammates glancing over at him throughout the evening all with warmth and understanding of the love he was exuding due to your performance. He just couldn’t help his amazement; you’d had such poise and grace as you floated around the stage. Your voice was that of a princess, there was no other way to describe it, this part had been made for you.

Looking around he could see the way you’d captured the hearts of every patron in the theater. They were all hooked on every word that escaped your lips, completely enraptured. The show continued on through the prince’s pursuit of his lost princess, he’d gone around with the glass slipper and when he found it fit you and only you, the proposal scene began, quickly slipping into the wedding and then the exit.

By the end, Aaron’s eyes were misty, and the room had erupted in cheers, most people had been standing, giving you and the rest of the company a well-deserved round of applause. When it came time for bows, you and the prince had been nudged forward to bow together and the whole room ignited, they had gone wild for your talents…and Aaron couldn’t be more proud.

Finally, the stage cleared, and people sat to finish any remaining food or drinks, but Aaron stood in wait. Hoping you’d come out soon to see him. When he was just about to give up, Dave nodded behind him, signaling someone was there.

Aaron turned to see you, still in your wedding costume, he was stunned.

“Hey Aar.” You smiled.

“Hi sweetheart.” He said, quickly pressing his lips to yours and pulling you into a hug. “You were incredible honey! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You’ve been so busy with work, I just didn’t want to add anything to your plate.” You shrugged.

“This, you, sweetheart, you can tell me these things. This is the stuff I want to know. This is the kind of thing that makes my days better. Have you always been in the shows here?” He asked.

“Not always, mostly ensemble work. This was my first big one.” You began, “I didn’t tell you about the acting because I didn’t want to be another cliché girl in her twenties, moving to New York to pursue acting.”

“You aren’t a cliché honey. You’re a star.”

Hotch Taglist: @bernelflo @pastelpinkflowerlife @just-moondust @khxna @crimesthatnooneaskedfor @juninnyxriddle

[conelluwrites]

I LOVE YOUR FANFICS! Can I request Dom Female reader x Sub Gihun with fluff and smut? Thank you :3

Find Somewhere Pure (An Island In The Sky)

Ao3 Requests open!! Words: 2.8k Warnings: Pre-s1, one line of suicidal thoughts, paid sex (this man is unable to be called a prostitute idc), age gap (Gi-hun is 46-47 here, reader is in her mid 20s), cunnilingus, vaginal sex (raw), no creampie, post-sex cuddling Other: I am in your walls to give you a kiss for this anon, I love the idea of subby Gi-hun. I went with a softer dom reader, look at his lil face I could not hurt him even if he begged. If you want a harder dom reader with pre-s2 Gi-hun, just lmk! My very vocal cat refused to leave me alone for a majority of this, does she know??? She did seem to enjoy lounging and watching Squid Game, maybe she's a Gi-hun girlie. I'm gonna nap now lol

Gi-hun has, by all accounts, had a pretty shit day.  His mom got onto him, he lost at the tracks, and now his face hurt like hell from those damn loan sharks finding him.  His mind was a swarm of shitty, self deprecating thoughts- he’s a shitty son, a shitty father, a shitty human being.  The world would be better off without him leaching from it, maybe he should just walk out in front of a damn train and make everyone’s lives easier.

“Sir?”  He’s brought from his thoughts by a kind, soothing voice.  “Are you okay?”  He glances over at her, his brown eyes looking at the young woman in disbelief.  She’s younger than him, he’s not sure of her age of course, but surely she can read the room and realize he’s definitely not okay.  She looks like she’s in her mid-20s, still able to see the good in the world, he supposes. 

“I’m fine,” he lies, his problems are his own.  He doesn’t want to vent about his issues to some woman, even if she’s looking at him with those concerned eyes of hers and acting like she could ever understand what’s on his mind.  “Don’t worry about me, okay?”

She nods to herself, pulling out her phone and scrolling on it for a bit before looking back over towards him, “are you in need of money?  I can help you out.  If- if you need it, of course.”

His eyes widen slightly- a young thing like her offering money?  It’s not unheard of or really unwelcome, but he’s not in any place to take out another loan regardless of how tempting it is with her sweet voice and pretty eyes.  “I can’t take out another loan, sorry.”  He scoots away from her just slightly, a physical manifestation of the barrier he’s putting up.

“A loan?  Sir, you misunderstand.  I’m not asking you to take out a loan, I’m just asking for your company.”

His breath catches in his throat.  What?  Is this some kind of nightmare turned dream he’s having?  Maybe he passed out in the damn train station…  “My company?”

“Mhm.  Nothing more, nothing less, really.  Just let me treat you to something.  Let me take all that stress away.”  He hates himself for finding her offer tempting, but he doesn’t outright turn her down.  He just scoots back into his original position and looks at her to see if there’s any sign of deception in her eyes, to see if any microexpression gives her away as anything but the honest woman he wants her to be.  “I promise, no trickery here.  I’ll pay you for your time, won’t do anything outside of your comfort zone; I want to take good care of you.”

“You don’t even know my name, if I’m dangerous, if I-”

“If you were dangerous, you wouldn’t hesitate to take me up on my offer.”  She interrupts, “as for your name, I figured that would naturally come out, yes?”

A beat of silence.  She has him there, if he weren’t such a stand up gentleman, he would have taken advantage of super an opportunity nearly sitting prettily on his lap.  Then he nods, his eyes ever so slightly gazing down the rest of her body before back up to her face.  She’s cute, too cute for someone like him.  “Gi-hun.  Seong Gi-hun.”

“Seong Gi-hun, hm?”  She taps the side of her head before winking, “guess that’s a name I’ll have to commit to memory.”  She then introduces herself, sticking her hand out.

He feels a flicker of a smile on his lips at her finger tapping gesture, “guess I’ll have to commit yours to memory too.”  He takes her hand.  He feels a bit self conscious as his rougher one grasps her softer one, but he shakes it off.  He’s not about to overthink this- this thing that’s happening.

She shakes his hand, a grin beaming up at him.  “We have a deal, Mr. Seong.  Come on, let’s go back to my place.”  She doesn’t release his hand, instead she stands while still holding it.  He feels his palms grow sweaty, sure he’s not some virgin who’s never been around a cute girl before but it’s been so long…  He swallows almost audibly before standing up and nodding.

“Sure, let’s go.”  He curses himself for the slight stutter in his voice, but when she doesn’t bring it up or laugh he feels relief wash through him.

The walk to her place isn’t very long.  Gi-hun can’t help but think, though… Giving his company to a young woman for money?  She talks about her likes, her dislikes, the fact she was nervous he was gonna turn her down, and how she’s never actually done anything like this before despite how practiced it all felt.  He offers some of his own likes and dislikes, trying to not overshare on what exactly would help him relax  despite the fact he knows that’s what she wants- or what she claims she wants at least.  He also admits he’s never done this either, he’s never even had an opportunity like this before.  He feels himself relax more and more, even laughing genuinely as she cracks a joke and nodding in interest when she points over to an alley where she says she’s seen stray cats before- she even says that she’s fed them on occasion.  

Her place isn’t very big, it’s a modest little thing though he knows he’s in no position to judge her or even think about her housing arrangement given his own.  She unlocks the door, shoos him inside and follows him in before locking the door.  There’s a brief moment of fear at the sound cause what’s he gonna do if some guys appear out of nowhere and demand money from him.  But when she ends up fidgeting and gesturing over to the open bedroom door, he replaces that fear with something else…  Not excitement, not quite.

Her bedroom is comfortable and her bed even more so.  Her bedding is already turned down and the curtains are drawn closed.  She stands beside him before getting on the bed herself.  She sits down, crossing her legs and looking up at him.

“So, Gi-hun,” he loves the way she says his name, “you mentioned that you like being on the bottom?  You want me to ride you?”  

He feels heat rush to his cheeks and his eyes widen, he looks away from her and then back again.  She’s so blunt, he doesn’t hate it.  He knows if he were in her position he’d be a mess so her being more straight forward is extremely welcome.  Still, to admit that he wants her to ride him is hard so he just gives a single, sharp nod.

“Words, baby.  I need to hear it.”  Fuck, her voice goes back to that soothing, calm tone that she first used.  It sends a hit of arousal straight through him.

“Yes, I want you to ride me.”  He confirms verbally, he removes his jacket, putting it on the chair near the desk.  “Please…?”  He adds, his voice much quieter than when they were talking about his likes before.  He’s not uncomfortable in a bad way, no- no… this is uncomfortable in a perfect way.

“Good boy.” She praises, patting the bed next to her.  She watches with her bottom lips tucked before her teeth as he joins her.  She crawls onto him, wasting no time in getting comfortable.  Her shorts ride up her thighs a little, Gi-hun’s eyes immediately dart down to take in the new expanse of skin regardless of how tiny it is.  He’s never been called a good boy, not in a space like this, but it’s amazing.  He can feel his cock twitch in the confines of his jeans as she settles on his lap.  One of her hands rests on his shoulder while the other goes to brush hair from his eyes.  “Such a good boy, telling me what you want.  What else do you want, hm?  Tell me.”

His mouth opens and closes, it’s hard for him to be up front about his desires but the look of care on her face as her hand cups his cheek makes him want to give her exactly what she wants- wants to tell her exactly how he wants to relax.  “I want you to ride me, praise me, and comfort me after I come.”

It’s her turn to feel flushed, sure it’s exactly what she expected but to hear it from his lips directed at her makes her feel needy.  She’s determined to focus on him rather than herself though, she wants to make him smile.  She has no reason to want him so badly, but something about him just called to her.  “I’ll do it for you, baby.  I’ll ride you until you come hard and then hold you close, all while praising you for being such a perfect man.”

Perfect man.  He loves the sound of that even if he knows he’s far from it.  “I’ll be your perfect man.”  He murmurs, leaning in slightly.  He doesn’t want her to feel cornered, doesn’t want her to feel forced to kiss him.  But when she mirrors his actions, leaning in until her nose brushes his and their breaths mix, he closes the distance.  His chapped, rough lips slant over her softer ones.  He suppresses a groan as her fingers slip into his hair, he’s so touch starved that it sets his body on fire to feel her so close to him.  Her chest presses against his, her hips give a subtle, testing movement against his lap.

“You’re so good.”  She murmurs against his lips, pulling away just enough to speak, “so deserving of this.  You deserve to feel good, baby.”

He lets out a small noise before kissing her again, his hands on her waist to hold her close.  He slowly pushes his hips upwards, humming when she gasps into the kiss.  She has him wrapped around her finger already, he wants to hear that praise more and wants to hear more noises from her.  He moves his hand to her hips and starts to push against ehr more urgently.

“You needy, baby?  Feelin’ needy for me?  Use your words, yeah?  Make me know you need me.”

“I need you.  Please, I need you.”

“Undress me then.”

His hands immediately slip under her shirt and tug it over her head.  His eyes fly over her breasts- fuck she’s perfect.  He unclasps her bra and kisses at the skin, tossing the bra over to the corner.  She arches so wonderfully, her own hands going to slide his shirt off of him.  Down boy, he tells himself to no avail, he’s too excited now.  He needs to feel her skin on his, so he holds her close.  He buries his face in her neck, kissing right below her ear and pushing himself upwards.  “Need you, need you, need you…”

She giggles, running her fingers through his hair and holding him close.  “Need you too, baby.  I want you to feel so good, feel so good ‘cause of me.”  

Fuck, fuck, fuck- he’s cock is so hard for her  He moves her from his lap, laying her back and tugging her shorts off with her panties.  “Need t’make you feel good, lemme make you feel good.  Please, please, need t’make you come for me.”

How can she deny him when he sounds so damn desperate that his words run together.  She spreads herself for him, holding her legs open as he dives in greedily.  His hips move against the bed as she moans at her taste.  His tongue laps at her slick slit, one hand holding her hip while his thumb on his free hand circles her clit.  He eats her out with fervor, smiling against ehr heat when she threads fingers through his hair and lets out a mewling call of his name.  His cock leaks in his boxers as he grinds against the bedding.  

His thumb slides over her clit in tight, quick circles as his tongue delves into her.  He could die happy right now, his face buried in her sweet cunt and her fingers pulling him even closer.  Her hips buck up against his face, chasing her pleasure.  

“That’s it, come f’me.”

“Gi-hun.”  She whimpers, “you’re such a good boy, such a good fuckin’ boy for me.”

He groans as her slick coats his tongue as she falls apart on him. So good, so fucking good.  He pushes himself closer to her drenched cunt, burying his face even harder against her.  “Good, you taste s’good.” He rumbles against her pussy.

When he pulls away, she immediately tugs him up to kiss him deeply while pushing at his pants with her free hand.  He gets the hint and pulls his pants down, palming his needy cock through his boxers.  “Get on your back.” She says against his lips, pushing him slightly away from her.  He pulls off his boxers, grunting as his cock springs free.  The cool air of the room makes it twitch, pre-cum beading up.  “You’re so perfect, Gi-hun.”

She strokes him slowly, kissing his neck as she moves to straddle him.  She rubs his sensitive head against her slick, dripping slit and bites her lip as she sinks down onto his cock.  Her walls flutter around him as he hilts within her.  Her legs tremble slightly as she starts to move, burying her face in his neck while her hands rest on his chest.

“Feels so good.”  He grunts, his hands trembling on his waist as he ruts upwards slightly.  “Not gon’ last long, sweetheart.”  Every time his balls nestle against her ass, his cock pulses with need.  Every pulse of his cock makes her gasp and moan.  Fuck, they move in perfect sync with each other.

“Don’t need you too, this is about you.  You deserve this.”  She whispers, biting softly where his neck connects to his shoulder.  The sensation causes him to hold her down on his cock as he pushes up desperately into her.  He’s not entirely focused on making her feel good in this moment as he closes in on his orgasm, but the way she’s letting out breathy whines of his name and kissing up his neck makes him feel like he’s doing something well.

“Boutta come, sweetheart, gonna come.”  He taps her hips desperately, as much as he would love to spill himself within her, he’s not ready for the commitment that comes with something like that.  She gets off of him and strokes his cock, looking deep into his eyes.  He grunts, groans, and then his cock pulses out cum.  It hits his chest and abdomen before dribbling down her still-moving hand.

He pants heavily when he’s spent, watching her with lidded eyes as she grabs one of their shirts from the grounds.  She kisses his cheek and jawline as she cleans up his cooling cum, cooing praises that echoing in his ears just barely audible through the pound of his heartbeat.

“You did so good for me.”  She murmurs, tossing the shirt aside once more and lying next to him.  “I’m so proud of you, Gi-hun.  I’m so proud.”

He hesitates before turning over and resting his head on her bare chest.  He puts an arm over her abdomen and tangles their legs together.  “Thank you.” “I’ll pay you in the morning, for now I just wanna sleep.” “That’s fine.”  A moment of comfortable silence passes between them.  “Can we maybe do this again sometime?”  He asks, kissing her neck delicately.

“Of course, I’d love that.”

He relaxes against her further, nuzzles under her ear and rubs her side lovingly.  He could get real used to something like this.  Not that he’s in any type of space to have a relationship- but it’s still something he finds himself wanting.  He wants to spend longer with her, he’s thankful she’s not kicking him out or changing up how she’s speaking to him. 

“Sleep now, Gi-hun.  You deserve it, you deserve this.  You deserve to feel good.”

He wants to disagree, wants to tell her that he’s not ready for their time to end yet, but instead he just tilts her face towards him and kisses her softly.  It’s not the deep, desperate kiss they had shared earlier, it’s a sweet one.  She kisses him back, cupping his cheek and holding him close.

“In the morning I'll fix you some breakfast and we can talk prices, but for now just rest.”

“I…”  He swallows, “I don’t want this to end.”

“I know, sweet thing, but just rest.”

He doesn’t have it in him to fight much longer, not when her fingers start to comb through his hair and she hums some song he doesn’t know the real lyrics of.

[charliegyrth]

Unspoken - 1 of 2

We Both Know I'm Getting Fat

“Ryan, what’s wrong?” My boyfriend stood in the doorway. I hadn’t heard him come home.

I spun around, forcing a smile. “Nothing. I was just looking at my reflection.”

That was true. Nothing suspicious about that.

“But why were you standing like that?” Charles asked.

“Like what?” I played dumb.

“Sticking out your stomach like that. Were you pretending to be pregnant or something?”

“No. Just fat.”

“You were pretending to be fat?”

If I was going to save face, I had to act casual. “Yeah. Doesn’t everybody do that when they’re in front of a mirror?”

“I guess,” he said. “Do you think you’re getting fat?”

I didn’t answer. He interpreted that as embarrassment, which I guess it was.

“Oh, honey.” He walked over and placed his hands on my narrow hips. “We all get a bit chunky over the holidays. Honestly, I can’t see it at all.” He rubbed his hands along my sides, pinching at the skin. “Nope. No changes. And I would know.”

He didn’t need to tell me this. If I had softened up even a little bit, I’d be the first to notice. All my life, I’d dreamed of gaining weight. Getting a big, manly belly. Growing man tits. I’d never had the courage, though. Probably never would.

That’s why I always stuffed towels into my shirt or pushed out my stomach in front of the mirror. Just a bit of wishful thinking.

I felt embarrassed that my boyfriend had caught me, but I also felt a weird sense of optimism. Charles had brought up the subject. Not me. This was my opportunity to see how he really felt.

“What would you think?” I asked. “If I did get fat?”

“I’d be here for you.” He kissed me on the forehead. “I’d help with a diet plan if you wanted. Take you to the gym. Whatever you needed.”

“And if none of that worked?”

“Well, I’d love you anyway. You’re my guy.”

We sat together on the bed. I always felt so skinny next to Charles. He was pure muscle. Five inches taller than me, too. Just raw, masculine strength. Tough around everyone else (the straightest-acting gay guy you’ll ever meet) yet so kind and gentle to me.

“Would you be attracted to me?” I asked. “If I got fat?”

He kissed me again. “Always.”

“Even if I was obese?”

He held my shoulders, warming me up in his muscular arms. “Always.”

“If I was like 500 pounds?”

“Even if you were a thousand pounds,” he whispered in my ear.

Chills ran through me. I had an erection, but I prayed to God that he didn’t notice.

***

The next day, I was getting ready for work when Charles’ phone buzzed on the counter.

“Could you get that, babe?” he called from the other room. He was in the middle of shaving.

It was a spam call, so I quickly hung up. But I also saw the web page that he’d left open on his phone. He hadn’t touched his phone all morning, so it must’ve been from last night. It was a Google image search for “intentional male weight gain.” The results showed a series of before-and-after photos of hot men (mostly with their faces obscured) growing beautiful bellies and wide asses.

I couldn’t believe it. That’s the kind of thing that I would search for if I was home alone and wanted to pleasure myself. Of course, my searches would be a bit more specific than that. I had a usual roster of gainers that I sought out, the ones who reminded me of myself. I mostly looked at Tumblr videos of muscular guys like Charles feeding ex-twinks that I could project myself onto.

The fact that Charles had typed in this specific phrase told me two things:

One, he knew that I was into gaining weight. (I guess I was more transparent than I thought. And I guess he saw my hard-on.)

And two, he had an open mind about it. He wanted to support me and, even if he wasn’t interested, he at least tried to do some research.

“Who was it, babe?” Charles asked as he walked shirtless into the room. As buff and handsome as ever.

I nervously closed out the search and put his phone back on the table. “Just a spam call.”

“Figured. I freaking hate those.”

I opened my mouth to say something, desperate to get this all out in the open, but the words never came out.

***

That day, I had the biggest lunch of my life. My afternoon schedule was pretty open, so I thought it would be a good time to experiment a little at the McDonalds next to my office. I was going to pack my stomach full of greasy fast food and see how that felt.

I got a bit ambitious (three combos). I ate one in the restaurant and took the other two to go. But when I got in my car, engulfed by that greasy, slightly gross smell, I couldn’t stop myself. In no time at all, I tore through both burgers and all the fries, left the trash on the seat next to me, and drove back to the office.

I was so freaking bloated for the rest of the day. I let my belly poke out as I walked around the office, hoping people would notice. No one did.

When I got back home, Charles was already fixing up dinner. Chicken alfredo. It smelled amazing. Super buttery.

He welcomed me with a kiss and asked about my day. I didn’t tell him about my McDonalds lunch, of course. I also didn’t tell him I was way too full to enjoy his dinner.

But I finished my entire plate anyway. Felt really proud of myself. And when he offered seconds (which he’d never done before), I immediately said yes.

We snuggled together after that and watched a movie on Hulu. I was painfully stuffed. Great feeling.

I guess I fell asleep halfway through the movie. When I woke back up, Charles was back in the kitchen doing dishes.

“Let me help,” I offered. “Least I could do after your amazing dinner.”

“No thanks. I’m in a cleaning mood right now.” He gestured toward the kitchen cabinets. He’d moved around a lot of our stuff. He got like that sometimes. He was a bit OCD, but in a charming way. “You can take out the trash, though.”

I grabbed the bag and immediately noticed that my McDonalds wrappers were lying at the top. “Did you clean up my car?”

“Yup,” he said.

I gulped.

So he knew that I’d binged during lunch. I waited for him to say something about it, but he didn’t. Just kept washing the dishes as if nothing had happened.

***

My fast-food lunches because a regular occurrence. Every day that week, I went to a different place. Sonic on Tuesday, Subway on Wednesday, Panda Express on Thursday and Friday. I really pushed myself, too, ordering a bit more each time.

I felt stuffed and guilty and incredible.

I never told Charles what I was doing, and I never let him see any of the trash afterwards. (Learned my lesson.) Still, I had a feeling that he knew.

I could see it in the way he grinned at me when I got home. In the way he glanced down at my stomach when he thought I wasn’t looking. In the way he licked his lips after kissing me, as if he was trying to guess what I’d eaten.

And I definitely saw it in the way he watched me at dinner. I couldn’t tell for sure, but it felt like he was keeping a mental tally of how many bites I took, gauging the increase in my chewing speed.

There was something incredible erotic about how unspoken this all was. I loved the excitement of wondering if this was all in my head. Perhaps it was. Perhaps I was reading way too much into his glances, and that possibility really turned me on.

After two weeks of overeating (still no physical changes yet, aside from a pretty constant bloat), I decided to test things. See how far I could go before Charles said something.

When we were watching a movie together, after I’d stuffed myself with dinner, I turned to him and asked, “Do we have any ice cream?”

He smiled. “No. But I can run to the supermarket if you want.”

“That’s okay,” I told him, though I made my expression look super disappointed.

“Really. It’s not a problem. I’ve seen this movie before.”

“I really shouldn’t,” I said, still looking disappointed. Honestly, I didn’t want ice cream at all. I had no more room in my stomach. But that wasn’t the point. The point was to see if Charles would insist on it.

“I think I’ll get some,” he finally said. “We need more toothpaste anyway.”

“You’re the best. Rocky road and mint chocolate chip, please. Oh, and French vanilla, too.”

“You got it.” He was grinning from ear to ear as he hurried out the door.

That was when I knew for certain. Yup, he was totally onboard with watching me get fatter.

He returned (surprisingly fast) with three cartons. “Which one do you want now? I’ll put the others in the fridge.”

“How about rocky road and vanilla? I like to mix and match.”

I couldn’t see his expression, but I could hear him chuckle.

After a few seconds, he came back in with two of the cartons, a bowl, and a spoon. I bypassed the bowl and ate straight out of the carton. Vanilla first. “Fuck. This is amazing.”

In reality, the taste was just okay, and my enjoyment was far outweighed by the pain in my overloaded stomach.

I guess I moaned (more from pain than pleasure), because Charles’s face lit up. He scooted closer and wrapped his arm around my shoulder.

“Want some?” I asked with my mouth full.

“Naw. I’d rather just concentrate on the show.” He was staring at me, not the TV.

“But I thought you said you’d seen this before.”

“I was wrong,” he said, eyes locked on my mouth. “This is brand new for me.”

Read Part 2 tomorrow.

[heldbybarnes]

artist!reader helping bucky see the world in color again after spending so much of it in the dark😭

AHHHHHH. I almost didn't write this it was so adorably painful.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

----------

He told you once that the world looked gray.

You’d asked him—half asleep in the orange haze of a late afternoon sun—what his favorite color was. He’d shrugged, then said, “I don’t really have one. Everything’s just… dull.”

And your heart ached.

Because Bucky Barnes had survived the worst kind of darkness, and even though the war was over and the trigger words had lost their grip, there were still pieces of him trapped in grayscale. Still corners of his mind where the light couldn’t quite reach. Still mornings when he’d wake up and stare at the wall like it might swallow him whole.

So you painted him a sunrise.

Not a small one. A massive, untamed canvas that took over half your apartment’s living room. Layers of warm tangerine and coral bled into lavender, soft gold kissed the corners. You didn’t show it to him right away. You let it dry. Let it breathe. Let it become what it needed to become.

And then, when he came over one evening—wet hair from the shower, hoodie sleeves pushed up, boots tracking the rain in—you pulled the sheet off with a quiet sort of reverence.

“This is how I see you,” you said.

He blinked. Once. Twice. Like he didn’t know what to say. Like his brain couldn’t reconcile the softness of it all with who he believed himself to be. His fingers twitched at his sides.

You didn’t push. You never did. Just watched as he stepped closer, eyes wide, lips parted.

After a long moment, he whispered, “Why?”

You shrugged. “Because you deserve to know that even after everything—there’s still beauty. And you’re a part of it.”

He didn’t answer. But he kissed you like you’d given him something holy.

It became a ritual after that.

You’d paint while he sat nearby, reading or cleaning his weapons or just watching. Sometimes you’d hand him a brush. Sometimes he’d take it and do nothing with it but hold on, like touching the same tools you used might anchor him in the same world.

He liked mixing colors. You’d catch him quietly swirling blue into white or smearing charcoal into sienna until it looked like a storm. He never painted anything recognizable. Just shapes. Moods.

You never made him explain them.

One night, you turned to find him staring at your palette like it had all the answers.

“I used to dream in color,” he said, barely above a murmur. “A long time ago. I’d see my ma’s apron—she had this one with little red cherries—and I could smell her cooking. Steve’s sketchbook was always covered in graphite, but he’d draw with these colored pencils I gave him once. And then…”

He didn’t finish. You didn’t make him.

Instead, you slid your stool over and dipped your fingers into a pot of gold paint. Gently, you pressed a fingertip just below the corner of his eye.

A shimmer of color on a war-worn face.

He let out a broken breath. Then he did it back—dipping into a pale blue, swiping it along your jaw.

You smiled.

On your birthday, he gave you a painting.

It wasn’t framed. Just a thick canvas, roughly textured and chaotic. The strokes were messy and the colors didn’t blend right, but you could see what it was—an outstretched hand holding a bouquet of wildflowers, each one jagged and imperfect and real.

“They’re for you,” he said, voice tight. “They don’t grow right. Not for you. But they’re yours.”

You didn’t need them to be perfect.

You saw what he couldn’t: the effort behind every stroke, the thought in each crooked stem, the courage it took to try. It was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever made for you. Because it was him. Messy. Earnest. Still learning how to believe he could create something soft.

You stepped forward, one hand sliding around the back of his neck, the other resting over his heart.

“They’re perfect,” you whispered. “Just like this.”

He kissed you then, forehead to forehead, breath trembling against your lips like he was scared it would all disappear if he looked away too long. You held him until his chest stopped heaving, until the shaking in his hands stilled.

After that, he started bringing you little things.

A crumpled leaf he said looked like burnt umber. A photograph of the sky when the clouds parted just right. A piece of sea glass he found on a walk, edges smoothed into softness.

“I thought you'd like this shade,” he’d mumble, cheeks pink, as if you might laugh at him.

You never did.

Instead, you’d place each treasure on the shelf above your workbench, letting them gather like proof of his healing. Proof that the world was becoming more vivid through his eyes.

One night, wrapped in blankets and tangled limbs, you traced your fingers down the center of his chest and said, “You know, I think you’re made of color.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” You kissed the dip between his collarbones. “Carmine for your anger. Indigo for your grief. Ochre for your steadiness. And maybe… maybe there’s a little blush pink in there, too.”

He groaned softly, trying not to smile. “Don’t make me blush, sweetheart.”

“You already are.”

He rolled over and pinned you to the mattress, laughing into your neck, but there were tears in his eyes.

Because for so long, all he’d known was red—blood, fury, war.

But now you were showing him how much more there was.

How many shades a heart could hold.

The first time he said “I love you,” it was in your studio. You had paint on your hands, music low in the background, your brush still mid-stroke when he stepped behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist.

He pressed his lips to the crook of your neck and whispered, “I love you.”

Just like that.

No fanfare. No trembling buildup.

Just truth.

You turned in his arms, searching his eyes, and found no gray left in them—only deep, clear blue and the faintest ring of gold where the light caught.

“I love you too,” you breathed, and the world bloomed around you like a garden in full color.

Years later, when people asked him about you—about the strange, lovely artist he followed like a sunflower tracks the sun—he’d say the same thing every time.

“She painted me back to life.”

And maybe he was right.

But you knew the truth.

He’d always had color in him.

You’d just helped him see it.

[mrblackhood234]

MY WIFE FROM HELL (Dem!Wonyoung X Male Reader)

Well you are a demonologist, you have studied different kinds of demon and participated in paranormal activities, you have a partner named Taehyun, both of you are paranormal experts so whenever there's a paranormal stuffs going on in someone stuffs and the church refused to help or unable to, they called for people like you.

"You know taehyun, I somehow wonder how beautiful a demon girl can be?" You asked eating a burger

"They are definitely one heck of a beauty but they are so demonic that it'll scare the shit out of you" Taehyun said

"Yeah, they will drain you down to the last spiritual power of yours being gifted with a skill that can talk and travel through hells door and is something so terrifying" you said

"Not all of the demons are that bad my love" a woman spoke behind you surprising both of you

You turn your gaze towards the woman so as taehyun and both of you were surprised to see the beauty she has making your heart skip a beat

"Some of them just wanted to explore the earth and maybe.... Find a suitable human to make it theirs to keep" she sad leaning closer to you

"And who are you?" You asked blushing

"Your cute, I can see something very special in your eyes, a gift that no one could ever dreamed of.... A power to open the gates of hell and talk to highest demon and a gift to visit the heavens.... A gift so rare that God might have given to someone so pure..." She said and lower her shades a little

You stared into her eyes and saw it glows as you felt that you were pulled back into a unknown place where everything is forgotten, destroyed, burned down, a scent of burnt things surround the environment then you saw the demonic figure at the distance, it was a figure of a woman, she has four large devil wings and two big horns at her forehead and her eyes were like a burning fire.

She stood in 5 foot and 8 inches tall and her presence alone gave you the creeps making if for you hard to breathe then she walk towards you and you wanted to run but every ounce of your strength depleted and you cannot move an inch, everything is frozen as she get near your heart kept beating rapidly and then you finally saw her appearance she is the same woman who spoke behind you earlier, her face and body were covered with black stripes and she has sharp fangs and then she cupped your cheek.

"a rare human like you shouldn't be in the hands of Michael nor Lucifer, I will make you mine. I'm sure the highest doesn't mind. Now go back!" She said

Then you back to the reality and saw the woman standing in front of you and Taehyun who look so confused on what's going on.

"You..." You spoke

Then she kisses your lips surprising you and Taehyun then she places a finger in her lips winking at you

"Keep it a secret my dear, no one has to know" she said "My name is Jang Wonyoung, pleased to meet you Mr. L/n Y/n"

"Uh yeah..." You said

"I'll see you later, goodbye handsome" She said and wink at you and bowed at taehyun and walk away

"I have a bad feeling about her Y/n" Taehyun said

"Same" you said

~•~

It was night, you are inside your bedroom sleeping each corner were covered in darkness the only source of light you have now is moonlight that passes through your window. You felt an urge to wake up making you open your eyes and found yourself sitting at your bedside your eyes shifted in every corner feeling an unknown presence surrounding your bedroom then you sighs and spoke

"Whoever you are show yourself, I'm not scared of you" you said

A giggle echoed the surrounding and revealed a woman leaning to the wall with her arms crossed to her chest, right foot leaning to the wall and other one on the floor.

"Jang Wonyoung isn't it?" You spoke

"Glad you remembered" Wonyoung appeared out of nowhere

"What do you want from me?" You asked

"from you? Well nothing, I don't need anything fancy I just want you" Wonyoung said

She then crawl towards you and straddle your legs cupping your cheeks staring deeply into your eyes, her eyes glowed like a fire and you can feel the heavy presence she's releasing the moment you met her gaze it feels like you were being taken somewhere, a place unknown to mankind then she giggles admiring your facial features.

"So what do you say y/n? Want to become mine?" Wonyoung said

"Why are you doing this?" You aske

"Well I like you young man, ever since I met you back at the hell's fiery pit, you, a teenage boy freed a demon like me from the other demon grasp and gave me eternal power beyond one's imagination.... I'm sure you remember me young man" Wonyoung said

You then remember a certain memory from your past. It was when you use your gift to travel somewhere far from he human realm, a place where souls of human go after their death. A couple asked for your help to free their daughter from being possessed by the demon, out of pity, you used your gift to travel to the place that they called hell, while wondering you encountered so many demons and different kind of creatures and that leads you to meeting a female demon who's being punished in the fiery pit.

She was begging for your help, at first you didn't want to because she's a demon but your kind heart leads you to freeing her from the fiery pit and ask her help to find the young girl who's lost in hell. She did help you and you manage to find her and save her but the female demon asked for one more favour to you and that is to find the book hidden somewhere within the depth of the place they call the hidden ocean of hell.

You manage to find the book and gave it to her and she smiled and hug you and you remembered what she said.

"You know boy, I like you should I marry you if I ever came to human realm?" She said

You chuckles and thought she's lying so you decided to go along with it

"Sure why not? I'll be really happy to marry a beautiful girl like you and you better not cheat on me or I'll exorcise you!" You said

"I won't, I give you my word for it" she said "if I ever see you I will find you and you cannot get away from me"

"I won't dare" you said

Then she kissed your lips and you felt something engulf inside your heart and she helped you leave the hell and you finally remembered her and now she's here in this human realm, inside your bedroom, straddling you cupping your cheeks and she's here to meet the end of your bargain.

"now do you remember me?" Wonyoung said

"Wonyoung?" You said

"hi honey, I came here to marry you, meeting the end of our promise" Wonyoung said

"I thought your lying" you said

"I'm not and you will not get away from me" Wonyoung said

You smiled "I won't dare to"

"I love you y/n" Wonyoung said

"I love you too Wonyoung" you said

Then you guys shared a deep passionate kiss as you pull her closer succumbing to the feeling that has been sealed away for years. You and Wonyoung made love together, showing the deep affection you guys have for each other, sealing the deal off, that night Wonyoung became yours to keep, yours to love, yours forever.

Morning comes, you woke up and found yourself inside the bedroom all alone, you sat up and look around and found no one you sighs and maybe Wonyoung only came to meet the end of your promise your heart aches

"I guess it's just a dream then" you said and sighs

You decided to fix yourself but your bedroom door opened revealing Wonyoung who's wearing your white polo shirt and it looks so good on her your heart beats faster as happiness take over you

"hi honey, you are asleep and I prepared breakfast" Wonyoung said

You chuckles and stood up then pulling her closer

"oh what's this?" Wonyoung smiled

"nothing, I love you Wonyoung" you said

"I love you too honey come on, let's go down" Wonyoung

You and Wonyoung ate breakfast together and you guys shared stories and you asked her where have she been and she told you what happened and you also told her that you have been waiting for her to show up but when your about to give up she came around.

"you must've missed me huh?" You asked

"a lot" Wonyoung chuckles

~•~

You were back at your work, paperwork's about places full of haunted things and your phone rang, you took it and it was an unknown number you answered it

"hello?" You answered

"hello is this Mr. Y/n?"

"Yes this is y/n speaking" you answered

"Can you help us? My daughter.... I heard that you are best in this field" she spoke

"Fine, just tell me the address and I'll come right there" you said

The woman told you the address and you called Taehyun. You started your car and taehyun came with you then you drove to the address the woman have given you. Wonyoung is scribbling on the paper when her eyes glowed red and she felt a spark in her chest.

"This fucking demons!" Wonyoung stood up

You arrived at the designated place with taehyun, you knocked on the door and it was opened by a woman, she look like she's been awake for days now and she seems like she's tired

"Are you Ms. Clara dean?" You asked

"Yes please come in" Clara said

You and Taehyun went inside and she lead you upstairs

"She's inside the room, we tied her up so she cannot hurt anyone" Clara said

"Let me take a look on her" you said

She let you in and then you saw a girl sitting in the bed then she turn around she was smiling widely then Clara smirks and lock the door

"you said she's tied up?" You said

"She just locked us out" Taehyun said

"Oh shit" you said

Then the girl jump on you and Taehyun. Clara went downstairs and pulled out a note book slashing your number that was written on the notebook.

"Sorry young men, she just need something to eat" then she left the house to buy something

Clara went out of the gate but she was choked up by Wonyoung who's eyes glowing red

"Where is my husband little demon?" Wonyoung were burning in fury

Clara were surprised to see Wonyoung

"Jang.... Wonyoung...?" Clara said

"you dare kill more people? I'll fucking send you back to hell!!!" Wonyoung said and threw her to the wall of the house

TO BE CONTINUED.....

[cherry-holmes]

From Salt, Iron, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮: A Supernatural Series

(Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader)

Part 15: Carry On (Finale)

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: You and Dean promise forever. But a lot of things can still happen in the middle.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Previous chapter

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Word count: +7.3K

Warnings: Author chose not to give warnings to avoid spoilers… but there are a lot of things going on.

A/N: Just before we started with the end… I wanna thank all of you who have been reading and supporting this story. Every like, every reblog, every comment, all of it means a lot to me! Really. Thank you for waiting so patiently every episode. I did my best to bring you something special and funny and exciting.

Now this is it. The final part. I hope you don’t hate me lol but let’s be honest, what’s Supernatural without a bit of angst and drama and a lot of chaos!

Gracias gracias gracias! 🙏🏻

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You arrived in a time not meant for you, blinking under harsh electric lights, the hum of engines in your ears, the weight of two centuries of history collapsing into your bones. But Dean was there, and he was holding on. That was all that mattered.

The first few weeks were chaos. The Men of Letters bunker felt more like a crypt than a home. You had trouble sleeping. You kept checking mirrors, half-expecting to see a corset or your father's scowl.

But Dean never left your side, he tried everything to make it easier and lighter for you in every sense. His arms hold you at night and his eyes were your guide and your anchor during the day.

Sam helped you get paperwork forged. Castiel handled the Enochian rituals to anchor your soul in this time. Jack became practically like a son to you. His innocence and curiosity echoed something deep within you, making it easy to feel connected to him. The urge to protect him came naturally, pure, and instinctive.

You returned to hunting. The adrenaline of every salt-and-burn case surged through your veins like the most natural thing in the world. You were brave, and with each hunt, you grew stronger, sharper, more confident.

He proposed one morning out of nowhere, after not-so-casually pulling the Impala over in the middle of a quiet bridge somewhere along the road. The early sun painted the sky gold behind him as he stepped out and came around to your side.

Then, without a word, he dropped to one knee and opened a small, worn velvet box. Inside was a simple gold ring, old and a little scuffed, with a single pearl in the center. It was beautiful.

Dean looked up at you, nervous in that way he rarely let anyone see.

"This isn't 'cause of fate, or because somebody upstairs said so," he said. "I'm asking you because I want to. I choose you, every damn day. Not because I have to. Because I get to. You're it for me, deer."

And the same day of your—technically—200th wedding anniversary, Dean was wearing one of his best FBI suits, and you were in a simple but beautiful white dress that made you look like something out of a dream as you walked down the improvised aisle in the bunker. His throat caught the second he saw you.

Sam and Charlie stood as Dean's best men. Sam looked proud, a little misty, and Charlie wiped a tear when Dean kissed your hand at the altar.

Eileen was your maid of honor, signing your name in her palm before squeezing your fingers tightly. "You got this," she mouthed.

Castiel officiated the ceremony. He stood between you, still a little awkward in the way only Cas could be, holding a leather-bound journal of lore in his hands like scripture.

"I have no legal authority," he admitted, tilting his head. "But I do have... grace."

Dean chuckled, soft and warm, and took your hands like they were the only thing anchoring him.

"I bind your souls," Castiel said, his voice steady, solemn, almost reverent. "Not by the law or tradition of men, but by celestial grace. By love freely given."

Dean and you promised forever to each other.

He looked at you like the world could end again and he'd still say yes.

Everyone who loved the both of you was there.

Bobby clapped Dean's back. "'Bout damn time, kid."

Claire handed you crushed wildflowers and hugged you hard. Jody cried. Donna brought pie. Garth and Bess came with their kids, beaming.

Jack practically glowed, watching you both with that unshakable, childlike awe. "This is what family looks like," he whispered to Castiel, who stood nearby.

The bunker's war room had been transformed for the night: string lights looped along the arches, mismatched chairs pushed aside to make a dance floor, and Charlie hacked the jukebox to play a mix of classic rock and your favorite oldies.

There was pie—so much pie—and beer, and everyone seemed to be having the time of their lives. It was like witnessing a one-in-a-million wonder of nature: a bunch of hunters celebrating love and actually enjoying an evening. No blood, no hunts gone sideways. Just... people, laughing, dancing, and talking about nonsense.

You brought that for them. That was the truth.

Your first dance as a married couple wasn't rehearsed. It didn't need to be.

Dean held you close, swaying slowly in a wide circle in the middle of the war room. The music was soft and old-fashioned, one of those scratchy classic rock ballads Dean loved but would never admit made him emotional. You laughed into his shoulder when he spun you too fast, then settled into him again as the room blurred around you.

Everyone gave you space. They didn't need to be told, hunters understood sacred ground when they saw it.

Your cheek pressed against Dean's chest, and he kissed the top of your head without a word. He hadn't expected this in his life. Not really. Not love like this, or peace. And definitely not a future that he could deserve.

Later that night, from across the room, Sam watched with a quiet smile, a half-full beer in his hand as Eileen and you laugh over something he couldn't hear.

Dean came to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder in companionable silence for a moment.

Then Sam spoke, voice low and honest. "I'm sorry, man," he said. "For keeping where she was from you. For not saying it sooner."

Dean glanced sideways at him. "You did what you thought was right. Cas too. And maybe you were right. Maybe if I'd gone sooner, it wouldn't have ended like this."

He took a long sip, then added, "But I'm not mad. We brought her back. That's what counts. I forgive you. Both of you. I mean it. I probably would've done the same if it was you."

Sam turned to him. "Thanks, man."

Dean shrugged. "You're my little brother, Sammy. We've lost too damn much to keep score."

Sam's smile was tired, but genuine. "I still can't believe you're married."

Dean huffed a laugh. "Yeah. Me neither."

They looked over at you again, now with your arms linked with Eileen, your cheeks pink from laughter, your head tipped back in joy.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "So... you and Eileen, huh?"

Sam looked down into his beer, just a little embarrassed. "Yeah. I mean, maybe. I think... I think I could have something there. Something real."

Dean nodded slowly. "Good. You deserve it."

Sam bumped his shoulder against Dean's, quiet affection between brothers who had walked through hell and still found their way back.

"I wish mom and dad were here," Sam said after a moment.

"Me too, Sammy" Dean replied, almost in a whisper. "Me too."

They stood like that a little longer, watching you laugh, the music playing, the lights glowing soft overhead.

Finally, the party wound down slowly, like the embers of a long-burning fire.

Laughter faded to murmurs, footsteps turned toward the stairs. One by one, everyone made quiet goodbyes, hugs, back slaps, half-sung congratulations.

You had invited everyone to stay, of course. "The bunker has room," you'd said more than once. But no one took you up on it.

It wasn't spoken aloud, but there was a gentle, mutual understanding between all of them.

You and Dean deserved this night.

Jack was the only one who hadn't caught the drift.

"But the bedrooms are right there," he said, completely serious, pointing down the hall. "Why wouldn't we all just stay here together?"

Dean blinked, mid-sip of a final beer. You watched the internal panic rise in his eyes as he tried to formulate a G-rated response.

Luckily, Castiel stepped in, placing a firm hand on Jack's shoulder. "Jack," he said, voice calm but final, "I'll explain it on the way."

Jack frowned, but nodded, already full of cake and a little sleepy. "Okay."

Sam and Eileen were the last to leave. She hugged you tightly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear and whispering, "I'm so happy for you."

Sam lingered, just a few seconds longer than necessary, looking around the war room like it was the first time he'd seen it in years. He turned to Dean. "Don't mess this up," he said softly.

Dean smirked. "Not planning on it."

And then they were gone.

The silence that followed was strange but sacred. You turned and looked at where Dean was already digging into a leftover bowl of pie.

"I thought you said you were full," you said, crossing to him.

"I lied," he said, mouth full, grinning like a teenager.

You picked up a second spoon and sank it into the pie, bumping shoulders with him as you shared the same bowl in companionable silence.

Then Dean set the spoon down, licked the syrup off his thumb, and said, "You really did it."

"Did what?"

He gestured vaguely around. "All of it. You were supposed to marry some lord in a mansion, wear diamonds, ride carriages. You changed that for a son of a bitch who lives with his brother in a dusty hole in the ground and the only thing he has to his name is a 1967 Chevy."

You looked at him for a moment, soft and full of love, and brushed your fingers along his jaw. "No," you said gently. "I chose the bravest, most loyal, and selfless man of all time. I change that for something real."

Dean blinked, something in his throat catching, like maybe the pie was just a little too sweet now.

"You sure know how to hit a guy right in the feels, Mrs. Winchester," he leaned forward and kissed you, slow and deep, one hand cradling your face like you were still a miracle he hadn't earned.

And then, without another word, he stood up and scooped you into his arms.

You yelped in surprise, arms flying around his neck. "Dean!"

He grinned. "What? I’m your husband. I'm allowed to carry you over at least one threshold."

You laughed into his shoulder, the bunker blurring past as he carried you down the hallway, toward the room that was now not just his, but yours too.

There, the lights dimmed and the door shut.

For the first time in a long time, you weren't running from death or fate or ancient curses.

You were just a husband and a wife.

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The years that followed were a blur of adrenaline and ache: hunts, ghosts, demons, witch covens, and ancient gods. Apocalypse threats came and went, each one chipping away at the world you thought you could build together.

Dean was your husband, your partner, your sword and shield—but also your greatest vulnerability. And you were his.

You were each other's Achilles' heel. It made you dangerous, and sometimes a bait. It also made you incredibly strong.

There were days you begged him to let you sit one out. There were nights he held your trembling body after a hunt, whispering promises like, "We're gonna make it. You and me." And you'd nod, because you had to believe it.

But deep down, you both knew the universe didn't give happy endings.

Not in this life.

You lost Bobby. He died saving you. Burned alive in a barn filled with cursed objects. Dean never quite forgave himself for that.

Then you lost Charlie too. Her laugh still haunts your dreams.

But Castiel... Castiel was the worst. He gave himself for you. For Dean. Again.

You remember the moment he was pulled into the Empty like it was branded into your soul. Dean hadn't cried like that in years. You didn't say anything, just sat on the floor beside him in the bunker hallway, his face buried in your lap like a child. His knuckles were bruised from punching the wall.

"I told him not to," Dean whispered once. "I told him we'd find another way."

And you said the only thing you could. "He always found his own way."

There were wins, too. Hunts that ended with pie and beer and motel sheets tangled around your ankles. There were mornings when Dean kissed your neck and murmured, "You're still the best damn thing I ever hunted down." And there were moments when, just for a second, you believed you could outsmart fate.

But the road never ends. Not for long. One by one, your people disappeared. Some to death. Some to other worlds. Some to peace.

You lost Jack, but you watched him grow into something beyond any of you. The Nephilim gone cosmic, God dethroned, the world finally quiet.

Now it was just the three of you: Sam, Dean and Claire Winchester.

Still driving. Still hunting. Still standing.

Dean still holds your hand when you fall asleep. But you've noticed the way he lingers in his silences lately, like he's already hearing the end of the song.

But you weren't afraid anymore. Because if Death couldn't part you then—if time and angels and reapers and broken vows couldn't undo you—then whatever comes next will have to fight harder than hell to tear you apart now.

You and Dean Winchester. Married across centuries. Lovers in the middle of the apocalypse. You were never meant to last. But somehow... you still are.

Still choosing each other. Every damn day.

And you weren't the only ones: Sam and Eileen found something close to peace too, tentative at first, then radiant. A love forged not in fire but in quiet resilience. You danced at their small wedding in the bunker, the jukebox playing Zeppelin because Dean wouldn't let it be anything else.

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SOME YEARS LATER

The four of you had found your own family traditions. And for Dean, nothing ever beat the annual pie fest.

He'd talk about it for weeks before the event—and wouldn't stop talking about it for weeks after. He always made it his mission to hit the best stalls, try the weirdest fillings, and hunt down the rumored bourbon-crust apple masterpiece. He was like a kid in a candy store, hands sticky with cherry, laughing until his cheeks hurt, making fun of Sam for being too "health-conscious" to try the pecan-bacon monstrosity.

You had taken dozens of photos: Dean holding up a slice of pie like it was Excalibur, Sam grumbling in the background, Eileen sneaking whipped cream from a can when Dean wasn't looking.

It was your tradition. A little slice of normal in the middle of all the chaos you still lived through.

That same evening, the peace broke—like it always did—with a hunt. A backwoods vampire nest, half a town over. Dean was already sharpening his machete before the sun had fully set.

"I think I'll sit this one out," you told him, curling a hand gently over your stomach. "Period cramps. I'll stay and have a rest."

Dean gave you a crooked smile and kissed your forehead. "Want me to bring you back a slice of that weird lavender-lemon thing you liked?"

"Bring back your whole self, and I'll consider it."

You kissed your husband goodbye and watched the Impala roar out of the parking lot, its familiar rumble fading into the night.

When you shut the door behind you, you turned—and saw Eileen walking out of the bathroom, holding a small white stick wrapped in a piece of toilet paper.

"Oh God," you whispered. "Is it done?"

"It is," she said, voice quiet.

"And...?" Your voice cracked with nerves.

That morning, you and Eileen had made a quick escape to the nearest pharmacy to buy one pregnancy test. While the brothers were out grabbing some takeout breakfast, it felt like the perfect chance to take it... just a little secret between the girls.

And now, she just smiled—wide, trembling, excited—and turned the test toward you.

"It's positive," she said softly.

Your breath caught. And then you rushed toward her, wrapping her in a hug before either of you could stop the tears.

There was a baby Winchester on the way.

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Hours passed, and Eileen soon drifted into an exhausted sleep.

You, on the other hand, somehow couldn't.

Not just from the emotion of it all—but because something in your gut was screaming. That awful sixth sense you'd learned to trust over the years, the one that hunters never ignored. Your chest felt tight, your hands clammy, sweat prickling the back of your neck.

Something was wrong.

You didn't know how or why, just that the stillness of the motel room felt off. Suffocating.

Eventually, the tension became unbearable. You grabbed your phone, your fingers trembling as you dialed Dean. No answer.

You tried Sam. Still nothing.

Eileen stirred beneath the covers, the movement of the mattress waking her just enough to notice your pale, stricken expression in the glow of the bedside lamp.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?" she signed, her brow furrowed.

"I don't know," you whispered, voice thin and tight. "I just... I have a bad feeling."

You waited five more minutes.

Then you stood up, grabbed your coat, and slipped your angel blade into your boot. Your gun went into the pocket of your coat.

"Stay here," you told Eileen.

"No way," she signed back sharply, already on her feet. "I'm coming too."

You didn't argue. You knew her too well—she wasn't about to let you go alone. And deep down, you were glad. If something had happened, you'd need her at your side.

You took Sam's car, drove like hell. Your hands gripped the steering wheel until your knuckles went white. The night swallowed the road, trees whipping past like shadows from another world. You kept checking your phone, hoping, praying for a call back. Nothing. Just the silence.

The GPS led you to the outskirts of the small town, down a gravel road leading into the woods.

That's where you saw it.

The Impala, parked and empty. Headlights dimmed, driver's door open. One machete discarded in the mud.

You and Eileen leapt out, weapons drawn. The scent of blood hit you first: metallic, thick, undeniable. Your heart pounded, eyes scanning everything. And then...

There, not far from the treeline, sprawled across the ground like a broken doll, was Dean. Blood seeped from beneath him, pooling into the dirt. Sam was crouched over him, his face streaked with blood, mud, and the worst kind of panic.

"NO! No no no... Dean!" You dropped to your knees, grabbing his face. It was cold. Too cold. "Wha—what happened? Dean!? DEAN!" you cried out, panic eating away every thought, every breath. You shook him, desperate, trying to wake him. But he was pale, his features slack and lifeless.

"He was thrown back... into that pole... he hit his head, and then it went through him," Sam said, his voice cracking. "There's... ther— there... is a lo—lot of blood."

Behind you, Eileen was crying, her whole body trembling with helplessness and shock.

"Dean... baby, please, wake up!" you begged, voice trembling with desperation and fury. It wasn't fair... not after everything the two of you had been through. "DEAN, PLEASE! WAKE UP!"

Your hands cupped his cheeks, fingers slipping in blood, but he didn't flinch. His skin was so cold. His head lolled just slightly to the side, and his eyes closed.

Sam crouched beside you, his hands on your shoulders now. Gentle, but firm.

"He's gone," Sam whispered, his voice wrecked, choked. "He... he told me it was okay. He said it was time. That he was at peace."

You turned on him, eyes wild, the scream already in your throat. "No, no, Sam—NO! Don't say that! He's not gone! He can't be... he promised me! He promised me forever!" your sobs cracked through the forest, breaking something in all three of you.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, voice cracking, the guilt all over his face. "I... I tried to stop it. I couldn't..."

You threw yourself over Dean's chest, weeping like the sky might shatter open with you. Your hands fisted in his coat, clinging to the last pieces of warmth. "Please," you whispered, your forehead pressed to his. "Please don't leave me, Dean. You can't leave me now."

Behind you, Eileen slowly approached, her own eyes swimming with tears. But then her expression changed. She dropped to her knees beside him, her trembling hands brushing along his neck and jaw, then resting lightly over his ribs.

"What—what is it?" Sam asked, watching her movements. You looked up too, through blurred vision.

Eileen didn't answer immediately.

Her brow furrowed. She pressed her fingers more firmly just beneath Dean's jaw, then again on his neck. Her hand shifted to the side of his chest, near the wound. She suddenly gasped and signed something quickly.

"She felt something," you translated, barely daring to hope. "What did you feel?"

Eileen's lips moved now.

"A pulse," she mumbled.

Your breath caught. "What?!"

Sam leaned in instantly, his own fingers searching under Dean's jaw, near the carotid. "Oh my God. It's weak, but it's there."

You cried out, half-sobbing, half-laughing. "He's alive! Sam... he's alive!"

"He must've gone into hypovolemic shock," Sam muttered, already stripping off his jacket and pressing it around the wound in Dean's side. "The pole went through him, but missed his heart..."

"We can't stay here," you said, snapping back to yourself. "We need to move. Now."

Sam wrapped Dean tighter, lifting his upper body as you cradled his head. "We're getting you out of here, Dean," you whispered through tears. "I'm not losing you. You hear me? I won't let you go."

And this time, even though Dean didn't answer,

you knew he heard you.

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Hospitals have a silence that isn't quiet. It's full of hums, distant footsteps, beeping machines—the muffled sounds of suffering behind white curtains and locked doors. You'd memorized all of it by now.

For two months, you walked these halls like a ghost. You hardly ate, barely slept. You cried quietly when the nurses weren't looking, and curled up in the corner of Dean's room, your hand always resting somewhere on him: his chest, his arm, his fingers. As if your touch could anchor his soul. As if your skin could whisper, Don't leave us, Dean.

The medical prognosis didn't help your nerves. Not at all.

The doctors had done everything: stabilized him, patched what could be patched, cleared internal bleeding, repaired two cracked ribs, and closely monitored the swelling in his brain, hooked up to machines that hissed and beeped in steady rhythm, the only sign he hadn't fully slipped away.

He was alive, but in a coma. Like a story paused halfway through a sentence.

"He might stay in that state for days, months, or even years," they said. "And if he does wake up, there's a possibility he may never walk again."

It was beyond heartbreaking. Sam was devastated. Eileen, too.

But you? You were shattered. A hollow version of yourself, barely held together by stubborn hope and the memory of his green eyes and warm voice reserved only for you.

During the first two weeks, no force on Earth could tear you away from Dean's side. You barely left the room. Sam and Eileen took care of you, bringing clean clothes, homemade food, doing everything they could.

But it wasn't enough. You needed rest. Especially when none of you knew how long this wait would last.

"Claire," Sam said one afternoon, gently pressing a hand to your shoulder. You hadn't realized you were crying again.

You blinked up at him, your palm still over Dean's heart, feeling the slow, artificial rise and fall of his chest.

"You have to eat something," Sam said. "You need to rest. You need to take care of yourself."

"I know," you whispered. "But I just... can't."

He knelt beside you. "You have to. Not just for you." His voice dropped, eyes flicking down to your midsection.

You swallowed hard.

"I'm not asking you to be okay," Sam continued, his voice catching. "I know none of us are okay, but... more than anyone, you have to take care of yourself. I'm gonna take care of you... you and the baby."

You lowered your gaze and slowly placed a hand on your belly, fingers trembling slightly as they pressed against the soft swell beneath your sweater.

It still felt unreal sometimes, life growing inside you while the man who helped create it hovered between worlds.

"I didn't even get to tell him," you whispered, more to yourself than to Sam. "We were so careful, we weren't even sure we wanted... but I was going to tell him that night. When you both came back."

Sam nodded, swallowing hard. "He would've been happy. Scared shitless, probably, but happy."

A broken smile ghosted across your lips. Sam rested his hand over yours and gave it a quiet, reassuring brush.

"If there's one thing I know about my big brother, it's that nothing keeps Dean from the people he loves. Not death, not time, not even a coma."

You closed your eyes and leaned into the contact for a moment, drawing strength from your brother-in-law's quiet conviction.

"I know, Sammy" you murmured, and looked back at Dean's still form, his face pale but peaceful under the soft light. "I know."

Sam, along with Eileen, kept his promise to take care of you. And, of course, you did your best to take care of yourself and the pregnancy.

Around your sixth week, you finally allowed yourself to spend a little time at the bunker—just enough to take a proper shower, eat real food, and even sleep in your own bed for a night or two.

Dean was never left alone. You, Sam, and Eileen created a rotation schedule to make sure someone was always at the hospital, watching over him 24/7.

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By the time your first trimester came to a close, you had started to feel more human again. Your energy had slowly returned. The nausea faded enough to let you eat without fear. You had a small bump now, just enough that Dean would've joked about you smuggling a small melon under your shirt.

That day, Sam had gone with you to your routine checkup. You cried when the doctor played the baby's heartbeat through the monitor and confirmed what he had suspected since the last visit: there were two of them, fast, strong, and yours.

Sam had smiled—genuinely—for the first time in weeks. You'd even laughed a little, feeling something like hope settle back into your bones.

There weren't just one, but two little babies growing inside you. Two tiny lives made by you and Dean. It was beyond magical.

You and Sam walked back through the hospital corridors toward Dean's hallway. You couldn't wait to see him and tell him about the twins—even though you knew he probably wouldn't hear you.

But the moment you rounded the corner, everything changed.

Eileen was outside his room... crying.

Not just sniffling. Crying. Shoulders shaking, hands pressed to her face.

Your chest tightened.

"Eileen?" you asked, voice barely a whisper. You felt the tea slip from your fingers and hit the floor.

Sam almost ran toward her, grabbing her by the shoulders. Eileen looked up at him, eyes red, and then she shook her head at you. "I—I don't know what's happening," she signed and spoke at once, breathless. "They rushed in. Alarms started going off. The monitors—something changed."

Sam pushed forward instantly, his protective instincts kicking in, and you grabbed his coat for balance as you followed him. Through the glass window of Dean's room, you could see the chaos: doctors crowding the bed, nurses moving fast, a crash cart nearby, someone shouting orders you couldn't hear.

"No," you breathed, backing up a step, your hand flying instinctively to your stomach. "No. No. Not now."

You tried to go in, but Sam caught you.

"Let them do their job," he said, his voice shaky but firm. "We don't know anything yet."

But you did. You felt it. Something in you shifted, deep and primal. You didn't know if it was the pregnancy, your soul, or something else—but something was happening. The space in your chest where Dean lived pulsed ardently.

And then, through the chaos, you heard it.

Not from a monitor. Not from a doctor. A cough. One rough, guttural sound. Then another. Like someone reaching for air after being pulled from the bottom of a deep, frozen lake.

The staff paused. All of them. The chief nurse leaned down, checking Dean's pulse.

And then, slowly, he stirred.

You shoved past the door before anyone could stop you. Nurses said something you didn't hear. Sam was calling your name behind.

But all you saw was Dean—his eyes blinking open against the harsh light.

"Dean?" you said, stepping to the bed.

His head turned slowly, dazed and confused.

"...Deer," he rasped.

That one word cracked you open like thunder.

Tears blurred your vision as you were dragged out of the room.

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Hours passed, and the only thing you could do was walk back and forth like a caged lioness. Every time a doctor walked by, you nearly jumped. Sam tried to sit you down. Eileen brought you water. You didn't even remember drinking it.

They wouldn't let you in. Not until they stabilized him, not until they knew for sure what had just happened. They needed to run tests—brain activity, reflexes, oxygen levels. All of it.

But none of it mattered to you. He was alive.

He had said your name.

He had seen you.

You sat in one of the rigid hospital chairs, one hand on your belly, the other clenched into your lap so tightly your nails left crescent moons on your palm. Sam sat across from you, staring at the floor, his leg bouncing restlessly. Eileen stood nearby, arms crossed, chewing the inside of her cheek like she might tear it open.

No one said much. No one could.

Until finally, a doctor stepped into the waiting room. Older. Gray-haired. Tired, but smiling.

"He's awake," he said.

You burst into tears instantly. Sam hugged you before you could even stand, and then you were on your feet, nodding at the doctor like your life depended on it.

The doctor held up a calming hand. "We're still running a few final tests, but... honestly? It's a miracle. There's no spinal damage, no internal complications we can see. He's responsive, speaking clearly, and so far, has full motor control. All things considered... he's not just alive. He's fine. Remarkably fine. Frankly, I have no medical explanation for it. He's got some kind of angel watching over him."

Sam let out a shaky exhale and sank back into the chair, his hand over his face. Eileen covered her mouth, tears welling in her eyes.

You couldn't move for a moment. You just stared at the doctor, blinking hard.

"Can I—?"

He nodded. "Go ahead. He's asking for you."

You didn't wait another second, and stepped right into Dean's hospital room. The beeping of machines still filled the space, but it was steady now, reassuring, rhythmic and alive.

Dean was lying there, propped up against the pillows, still pale but awake. His green eyes were open and soft when they landed on you.

And even though his voice was raspy and his body clearly exhausted, his smile was still the same, only yours.

"Hey, sweetheart," he whispered.

You broke completely. You rushed to his side, trying not to throw yourself over him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, your face buried in his neck. You cried ugly, shaking sobs, but this time, they weren't for grief. They were for hope and joy.

"I thought I lost you," you choked out.

"I know," he whispered, hand curling around yours. "I'm sorry."

You pulled back just enough to cup his face, brushing a tear from his cheek with your thumb. "No. Don't be. You're here, you're alive, that's all that matters for me."

Dean exhaled with relief, his eyes searching yours, trying to make sense of everything. Then his hand drifted toward your belly, almost absently at first. His brow furrowed when he noticed the noticeable roundness beneath your shirt.

"What...? Are you...?" he choked out, his expression shocked, almost comically so.

You nodded, placing your hand gently over his. "I was going to tell you that night. That's why I stayed behind. I wasn't sure yet, but Eileen helped me with the test."

Dean's eyes flicked down again, and he looked visibly confused.

"You're... showing," he murmured. "I mean, really showing."

You hesitated, tears gathering in your lashes again.

"You've been in a coma," you said softly. "For two months. I'm at the end of the first trimester."

Dean's breath hitched. Two months.

He leaned back into the pillow, eyes wide as he tried to process that... tried to imagine all the days that had passed, all the things he'd missed. His hand stayed on your stomach, but his gaze slowly drifted toward the window as the weight of your words settled over him.

"I missed that much," he whispered. "I missed... your first ultrasound? The cravings? You feeling the baby move for the first time?"

"Don't worry about that," you said softly, brushing your hand through his hair. "You're awake now, and there's still so much we can experience together. For example, they're not kicking yet, just fluttering... like butterflies."

Dean blinked hard, then gave a teary, crooked smile. "Wait... them?"

Now it was your turn to chuckle, eyes blurring with tears of joy as you cupped his face in your hands.

"We're having twins, Dean."

Dean's eyes widened, and he blinked a few times like he hadn't heard you right. You could've sworn one of the monitors showed his heart had just skipped a beat.

"Twins?" he croaked. "Like... two? As in, double trouble? You're tellin' me I pulled a double shot?"

You laughed, tears slipping down your cheeks.

He shook his head, staring at your belly like it was a live grenade. "Man... Winchesters really don't miss, huh? Hell of an aim."

You snorted, covering your mouth. "Seriously, Dean?"

"What?" he shrugged with that crooked little grin, though his eyes were already glassy. "I'm just saying. Two in one shot? I should get some kinda medal for that."

You leaned in and kissed him. "Your reward is diapers, baby monitors, and zero sleep for the next five years."

Dean let his head fall back on the pillow dramatically. "Son of a bitch."

But then he looked at you again. Looked at your belly. And something shifted in his face, something soft and awed.

"Twins," he whispered again. He laughed softly, wincing a little, but still laughing. Then his gaze drifted toward the ceiling, his expression sobering.

"When I was out... I don't know how to explain it," he said quietly. "I wasn't dreaming, but it wasn't dark, either. And I didn't see Cas and Jack exactly—but I felt them. Like... light. All around me. They didn't talk the way we do, but I knew what they meant."

"What did they say?" you whispered, barely breathing.

He looked at you again, eyes shining. "That everything was going to be okay. That it wasn't my time. That you needed me... but I needed time to heal."

A sob tore from your chest as you leaned down and kissed him, soft, grateful, full of tears.

"They are watching over us," you whispered. "They bring you home."

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Two weeks after Dean woke up, you all returned to the bunker.

It wasn't the dramatic fanfare you'd imagined—no banner saying "Welcome back from the dead" (though Dean joked about making one)—but it was the kind of homecoming you'd prayed for during every hour he lay in that hospital bed.

You all moved through the bunker slowly that night. You unpacked bags. Eileen made tea. Sam sorted through mail no one had checked in weeks. Dean disappeared into the garage for a moment, just to check on Baby, he said.

When he came back, he found you curled on the couch, a baby names book open on your lap. He sat beside you, quieter than usual.

"Thinking about names already?" he asked, running his thumb gently over your leg.

"A few," you smiled. "One of them might be pie-related if you don't start contributing."

He chuckled, then fell quiet again. After a pause, he said, "I think I'm done."

You looked up. "With what?"

He met your eyes. "With hunting."

The words hung in the air. It wasn't shocking, but it was... heavy.

"All those years, I thought I was only good at one thing. Chasing monsters, moving from motel to motel, dealing with all the crap that's on this world. But now..."

He reached out and placed a hand gently on your stomach.

"I've got two little reasons to stay alive. And a bigger one sitting right in front of me."

You blinked back tears as he added, "I want to learn how to be normal. Or at least... Winchester-level normal. I want to build cribs, burn pancakes, and when they cry at 2 a.m." His eyes drifted to your swollen belly again, heavy with emotion.

"And most importantly... I don't want them to grow up the way Sammy and I did. I want them to just be kids. To be innocent and happy. To go to college if they want to. I wanna give you a nice house, peaceful mornings, pretty dresses."

He paused, swallowing hard.

"I spent my whole life thinking I wasn't worthy of that. But I wanna try. I wanna be just a daddy. And your husband."

You leaned down, cupping his face in your hands, your forehead resting gently against his.

"You already are my husband," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "And even if you burn every pancake, I'll still think you're the best daddy these babies could ever have."

Dean let out a breathy laugh, his eyes shining. You kissed his cheek, and he closed his eyes, your touch anchoring him to the new life you were both building together.

Later that night, as the four of you sat down for dinner, Dean told Sam and Eileen about his decision.

He didn't give a big speech. He didn't need to. But when his eyes met Sam's, something passed between them: a chapter closed.

"Actually," Sam said, reaching for his wife's hand, "Eileen and I have been talking about making that change too."

Eileen gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Sam let out a soft, uncertain laugh, rubbing a hand over his face.

"I mean... we've all lived a tough life. And after what happened to you..." he added, looking at Dean with soft eyes, then at you, then back to Eileen, "We'd be risking the chance for real peace, for something we know will never truly end. We've given too much of ourselves to this world already. I think it's time to settle down and start living for us. For the family we've found."

"As long as we have each other," you said quietly, your voice calm but full of meaning, "everything will be fine. We'll learn to live... not just survive."

Your voice held steady, but underneath it was the weight of hope, history, and all the blood it took to get here.

Sam looked at you. Then at Dean. Then at Eileen. This was family. And it was still growing—inside of you... and maybe, soon, inside of Eileen too.

"Yeah," Dean said, reaching across the table for your hand. "It's time we try."

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LAWRENCE, KANSAS

The air smelled like fresh grass, barbecue smoke, and chocolate frosting.

The garden behind the Winchester house was alive with color—balloons bobbing in the summer breeze, streamers tangled in the branches of the oak tree Dean once swore he'd cut down but never did. Paper crowns and Nerf swords littered the yard. The faint sound of music played from a Bluetooth speaker balanced precariously on the porch railing, and children's laughter echoed like music across the field.

Liam and Alice Winchester were turning eight, and it was impossible not to see Dean's grin mirrored in both of them.

Alice raced across the yard with a sparkly purple cape trailing behind her, shouting spells in mock Latin at her cousin Jules, who was dramatically "dying" behind a pile of plastic swords. Liam, ever the quieter twin, sat with his Uncle Sam and his cousin Oliver by the cake table, building a detailed fortress out of leftover party boxes, clearly explaining the strategic defense points. Dean had a tear in his eye watching them, he blamed it on the smoke from the grill.

The families had built their lives side by side. Literally.

Dean's auto shop—Winchester Bros. Auto—sat just a few blocks from the house, a cozy space filled with old engines, restored Chevys, and a red toolbox Liam had already claimed for himself. Sam, on the other hand, had taken a quieter path, working a remote university administrative job he genuinely loved: books, ethics, structure. He was still the walking encyclopedia, now with a mug that read "World's Best Daddy."

They were neighbors now. Brothers and best friends who had fought through Hell—literally—to get to this life.

Their homes were protected, of course: salt lines at every door, hex bags stitched into curtains, devil’s traps painted beneath every rug, sacks of salt under the ground surrounding the properties. That part never really went away. And even though they never hunted again, not in the old sense, they still kept the weapons sharp and the angel blades oiled, just in case.

The kids knew about monsters. Not in bedtime stories, but in the gentle way parents tell you about fire or broken glass. They knew what a devil's trap looked like. They knew how to call for Uncle Castiel… even if Cas didn't answer anymore. But more importantly, they were just happy kids. With science fairs at school and scraped knees and bedtime songs sung off-key by their dads.

Eileen emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of lemon cupcakes, her five-months-pregnant belly already showing as she prepared for the arrival of little Julia.

Sam watched her, utterly in love after all these years. She still signed as she spoke when she was excited, her words dancing in the air.

"Presents in ten minutes!" she called, laughing as the children groaned in unison.

You stood next to Dean near the grill, watching your daughter braid her hair with glitter ribbon while your son examined a fake sword like it was a museum relic. Dean slid his arm around your waist, pulling you close. You leaned into him easily, your safest place in the world.

"Remember when we thought we'd never get here?" you said softly.

Dean nodded, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Every damn day. And yet here we are, birthday chaos and frosting in my hair."

You laughed, then stilled for a moment, catching sight of an empty spot under the old oak. There used to be a time when every celebration held a missing chair. You never stopped missing them: Castiel and Jack, Charlie, Bobby... But somehow, their presence was woven into everything good.

You still had dreams of Cas sometimes. In light, just like Dean said. Not a voice, but a presence. A peace.

And even now, Jack sometimes found a way to send little things, signs. Fireflies that danced in impossible patterns. Coincidences too perfect. A child's laugh that echoed strangely like his.

Suddenly, Liam tugged on Dean's hand.

"Daddy! Come see what Jules and I built!"

Dean smirked. "Is it gonna explode?"

Liam grinned back. "Only a little!"

Dean turned to you and kissed your cheek. "This. This is the good stuff."

"Go," you smiled. "I'll keep an eye on the burgers."

He jogged off after his son, laughter carried in the breeze. You watched your husband, your children, your family. No sign of monsters, no apocalypse, no final hunts.

Just life.

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Special thanks the ones on the Tag list❤️

🏷️Tag list: @thej2report | @mostlymarvelgirl | @anniebannanie0315 | @kr804573 | @britneynicolel | @globetrotter28 | @mandee7 | @cassiecourtemanche | @hobby27

[moonyskarma]

THE GOOD (AND THE BAD)

TRANSCRIBED MEMORY LOG :: J.A.M.I.E AI SYSTEM Voiceprint ID: APOLLO ▇▇▇ Timestamps: ▇▇▇

001.

[begin audio transcription]

Nat suggested I start doing this... "audio diary" thing. Says it helps her. I'll give it a shot. She gave me a book of prompts, so I guess I'll answer the first one.

"When did you first realize you're important?" ...okay.

[clears throat]

I think I was five, maybe six, when I realized I wasn't just "one of Thor's brothers." I remember running through the throne room, barefoot, and tripping. I slammed right into one of the golden pillars. I was terrified that Odin was going to kill me, especially when I saw the black shadows seeping into the cracks, coming from my hands.

One of the guards picked me up. Didn't say anything, at first. But then he didn't call me "your highness," or "prince," like I was used to call me. He called me the shadow's son. I asked what he meant, and he said I'd learn soon enough. Called me "little shadow" from then on.

Spoiler alert, Odin found out. I won't go into detail on that.

[end audio transcription]

002.

[begin audio transcription]

Tony and I were in the lab today, and we just started laughing so hard our work was forgotten. I don't even remember what he said, he's just so fucking funny. We just go back and forth and back and forth—getting on everybody's nerves but each others. Finally, someone that can match my sarcasm.

[end audio transcription]

003.

[begin audio transcription]

I still feel sick—like I can't breathe, like someones taken my lungs and squeezed them. It's been two days.

So, we were on the run. Like, fugitives of the state kind of on-the-run. Me, Steve, Natasha, and Steve's friend Sam. I don't think Sam really trusts me, not after what he found out about me. Whatever.

Anyways, we were in this car. And then there's a weight on the roof. Gods, I could feel him before I even saw him. I knew it was him—I don't know how. I just knew. He ripped the fucking steering wheel out of the car, and then everybody's shooting.

But when I saw him... when we were face to face, I lowered my gun. And then Steve hit him or something, and—and he went flying, mask falling off. And I saw his face for the first time in, well, years.

I couldn't help myself. I knew he wouldn't recognize me, wouldn't know me, but I called his name anyway. He stared at me, like he was trying to remember. And then he said "Who the hell is Bucky?" and I think I stopped breathing.

I should've fought harder to bring him in. But we don't know where he is right now—he's probably being wiped again, after seeing me. HYDRA'll make sure no memories of me resurface. They know I'm his only weakness.

[end audio transcription]

004.

[begin audio transcription]

I can't believe what happened today. He's safe. My—...Bucky is safe. We got him. Everything else has gone to the dogs, but Bucky's safe. They're transporting him to Wakanda right now—apparently there's some technology there that can get rid of the brainwashing.

I swear, his voice will be replaying in my head until I see him again. "Thank you for saving me," he said. I told him it was nothing. He said it was everything. I told him I would've saved him if it was the last thing I did, and he smiled but it didn't reach his eyes.

Those eyes. Those ice-blues i've been dreaming about for almost four years.

And then I almost starting crying, because he trusted himself enough to touch me, sitting in that white lab room, just the two of us.

The Avengers are fractured, though. They chose sides. Everything's a mess, and Tony isn't talking to me. I've called him probably over a hundred times by now.

But—it's okay, y'know? Everything's okay now.

005.

[begin audio transcription]

I don't think I've ever laughed that hard in my life.

It was... "family night," as Tony likes to call it. Started off with a big meal around the table—Wanda and I cooked. Then, after too many drinks, someone suggests karaoke.

Who was going to tell me Tony can sing? Anyways, then we watched a movie.

For some reason, Steve chose. His favorite movie, for whatever reason, is The Sound of Music. Bucky grumbled in my ear about wanting to watch Lord of the Rings, of course.

For once, nobody said anything when Bucky and I sat right next to each other. Guess nobody noticed when he pulled a blanket over our laps either—wait, wait, no, don't make that weird. Oh gods, if Tony hears that, I think he might actually make having the lights on mandatory.

I don't think anything's better than that, though. Just me, and my family. We've been through hell, but we came out alright on the other side, didn't we?

[end audio transcription]

:: files saved. J.A.M.I.E out.

013 . back to the 𝓐lphabet 𝓐rchive .ᐟ

[kenntoria]

synopsis ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ you talk about your husband like he is a dream and, frankly, your coworkers think that you are making him up. that is until your husband shows up.

you talked about your husband all the time.

nanami this nanami that

“oh, my husband makes the best lunchboxes”

“he stayed up to help me with my report”

“he walks me to the station when i stay late”

you weren’t annoying about it. not really. just a little too consistent. always saying things like “he’ll pick me up after work today, we’re going to get pastries!” and showing off texts that made your coworkers tilt their heads and squint.

kento nanami sounded fake.

a little too nice. a little too attentive.

and when you tacked on the fact that he was hot — “blond, tall, glasses, kinda quiet but really handsome, you know?” — people at work started to think that maybe you were pulling everyone’s leg.

just a little.

not out of malice — no, never that — but maybe you were lonely. maybe you just needed a sweet little fantasy to get you through the day. who could blame you?

because no way someone like nanami existed. not the way you described him. it just didn’t sound real. not in this world. not in this economy.

but you never let up.

you beamed like a lovesick fool when your phone lit up with his name. you refused to make afterwork plans on fridays because that was “friday pasta night with kento.” you sighed wistfully every time someone so much as mentioned a bakery and then whispered, “kento always remembers my favorite,” like you were in some fairytale.

you weren’t smug about it either. it was just… relentless. like you were trying to manifest it into reality.

and maybe it would’ve stayed harmless water cooler gossip — “hey, what do you think her husband actually looks like?” or “maybe it’s just her roommate who makes all the food?” — if you hadn’t mentioned that he’d be picking you up from work one day soon.

“he’s on leave,” you’d said, head bent over a spreadsheet, smiling to yourself. “wants to take me out for dinner. he’ll be here early. maybe you’ll see him.”

you said it innocently. with that dreamy lilt you always got when his name was on your tongue.

but that set off everyone.

bets were placed. theories floated. some said he’d never show. others swore they’d catch you whispering to your reflection in the hallway like a crazy person. one guy from accounting said he saw you with a facetime open to a picture of a k-pop idol and he swore it was nanami. it was all harmless. mostly.

people just didn’t believe it.

until the elevator doors slid open.

and nanami stepped out.

he wore a tan wool coat, fitted slacks, button-up half undone at the throat — all that fine-tuned, elegant masculinity that seemed sculpted into place. hair slicked back, wristwatch glinting, and an expression that was all quiet restraint, the kind that turned heads on instinct.

and his eyes — sharp, deep, familiar — scanned the room once, then softened the moment he saw you.

“you ready, sweetheart?” he asked.

your coworkers went silent.

someone dropped their pen.

you lit up instantly. grinned, grabbed your bag, waved at everyone with a cheery, “see you tomorrow!” like this wasn’t the most monumental moment of vindication in the history of your office.

nanami took your coat from you before you even shrugged it off fully. guided you with a hand on the small of your back. leaned in and brushed a kiss to your temple so naturally that your coworker audibly gasped.

he glanced up then. noticed the sea of frozen faces.

“good evening,” he said politely, like he didn’t just obliterate the collective doubt of your entire floor with one gentle peck.

you left with him. smiling, chatting, looping your arm through his as he opened the door and held it for you.

and behind you — a stunned, stunned silence.

“…so,” someone whispered, finally. “that was nanami?”

“the nanami?” another croaked.

“that man’s real?”

“she wasn’t even exaggerating,” came the hollow, awe-struck reply. “she was under-selling him.”

and in the elevator, nanami turned to you and smiled, faint but amused. “you were right,” he murmured, “they really didn’t believe i existed.”

you snorted and leaned into his side. “i told you. now they’ll think i made you in a lab.”

“i wouldn’t be bothered by that,” he said, tugging you closer, kissing your knuckles as the doors closed. “you did a perfect job, if so.”

[robinismywifesworld]

Ms. Manager (No Dating Rule!)

Saja boys x Female! Reader

Summary: Other men really need to stop hitting on you or they're gonna lose their minds.

Warning: Saja boys, possessive! saja boys, jealousy, yandere behaviour, oblivious! reader, dumb! reader, crybaby? reader, death (not reader or the saja boys), grammatical errors probably and incorrect spellings, english is not my first language, probably more.

Author's note: The first part reached over 3,000+ notes in just two days (I don't know if that's a good thing or not) but thank you nonetheless! This happens before the first part. This is not proofread lol

Part 1

Coming into the Korean pop music business as a group's manager wasn't exactly what you planned that would happen to you, it wasn't the job you dreamed of but it paid rent and the boys you were looking after weren't that bad, they were extremely clingy and a tad over protective for someone they appointed as their manager for 6 months. It was unexpected but the 5 boys seemed nice enough that immediately made you accept their offer as their manager, their looks were just bonuses.

Apparently, being their manager also requires you to bring them food (Baby said so) and while they offered to come with you, you disagreed because you didn't want to disrupt their dance practice. They gave you their money, of course.

So that's why you were currently in the supermarket, pushing the trolley as you tried to remember what it was that the boys liked to eat. It seemed only Baby loved the hot sauce after getting a free taste on one of the few times they came with you to the shops.

"You can buy what you want with the money too, pretty." they said before you walked off, handing you a butt load of money that wouldn't be able to fit in your wallet.

And that's what you did, throwing your favourite food after food inside the trolley with a giddy smile before stopping to think what your boys liked.

A tap on the shoulder interrupted you from your thoughts making you turn around to see an admittedly handsome man who seemed about your age, ginger hair, brown eyes and fair skin. He's a foreigner, that much was obvious. You blink in surprise and confusion, "Uh, hello? something wrong, sir?" You asked, voice laced with its usual softness and trying to speak in english.

The male cleared his throat, "Uh.." he was momentarily distracted by your looks and cute voice. "Uhm, ye-yes... I-" He cleared his throat again.

You raised an eyebrow, 'Is he alright?' you thought.

"I think you're really pretty and... I was wondering if you'd like to go on a date with me..." He finally says, cheeks tinted pink. British.

Your eyes widened, feeling your own cheeks heat up at his words and accent. This is the first time in years since someone had asked you out, someone this handsome and has a british accent! That's practically the sexiest accent in the world, at least that's what your friend said to you.

"Oh! My name is Brandon, I'm not from here and I just... I thought you very pretty and I'm rambling.." He stammered out, face reddening even more. "I don't know, I just- I wanted to try and have a friend... it doesn't have to be a date-date, just a friendl-"

You don't have an understanding of the whole english language but you definitely got the gist of that.

You interrupted him with a kind smile, "I accept!" You exclaim, trying to hide your excitement.

Brandon smiled back, "h-here... my number, call me? I mean w-we can meet tomorrow for that date.." He said as he handed me a piece of paper with his number that he wrote before walking towards me.

You gave him a nod and a small wave as he walked away with a skip.

You opened the door to the boy's dance rehearsal, carrying three bags of food (the two bags were for you). The boys stopped their practice and immediately went to fight each other on who could help you, practically pushing each other away before Abby grabbed the bags from your hand with a charming smile, "I'll handle them for you, pretty." He said as the rest scoffed.

"Thank you!" I smiled, "So how's practice going?"

Jinu sighs at the question, moving to stand beside you. You could practically smell him with how sweaty he is, no- you could smell all of their musky smell. "It's fine," He huffs, trying to cover up the fact that it was not doing well at all with how much the rest of the guys stressed him out a lot.

"I did tell you I could hire a dance instructor for you guys," I hum, trying to ignore their scent.

Baby rolls his eyes, "Don't. I don't want other people in here." He mutters. I don't want you talking to anybody else, especially if it's a guy.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it," Romance reassures as he took the place on the other side of you. "Just watch us and look all beautiful for us... okay, Ms. Manager?" he adds with a flirty smile, placing a hand on your shoulder.

Mystery nods his head at what the heart shape haired male said.

I pout, "I just want to be useful, I am your manager after all..."

Abby chuckles, "you are useful, pretty girl. You're taking care of us right now, buying us all these food. You've been a good girl for us." He praised as Jinu hums in agreement.

Your cheeks heated up, they always seem to like mentioning everyday that you've been a good girl and it never stops to make your heart skip a beat.

Such a good girl, you like touching my muscles, don't you?

Thank you, pretty girl. I'm so proud of my good girl.

Don't stop doing that, it feels good... that's right, good girl.

The next day came by and you were giddy, all excited that the others couldn't help but notice it when you came by for another day of dance rehearsals.

Abby moved to flex his muscles, intentionally growing closer to you as the thin shirt made his abs more prominent. "What's got you all excited?" He questioned with a raised eyebrow as he looked down at your form.

"Well yesterday... a guy asked me out!" You exclaimed, "He was sooo handsome and he has this british accent that it just made my heart melt!" You place a hand on your chest for good measure.

The others stopped whatever it is they were doing to look at you, an unreadable expression plastered on their faces before Jinu gave you a small smile which was obviously fake but you didn't notice, practically buzzing with excitement.

"Is that so? I'm happy for you!" He says as he gave you a pat on the shoulder.

"We're actually going at this restaurant in town tonight and I'm gonna be wearing the prettiest dress," You giggle as Mystery grits his teeth in annoyance, trying to stop himself from barking angrily at whoever's taking you out.

They can't believe you had the nerve to just go on dates with some nobody, you were their manager so that practically means you're theirs. So that pretty dress you own is reserved for their eyes only. Who cares if that guy has an accent? They know they're much better than whatever nobody you found on the streets.

The day rolls by, the Saja boys couldn't focus on whatever dance routine they had to do because they have one goal in mind;

getting rid of the bastard who had the audacity to steal their pretty girl.

It was easy trying to find the guy you were going on a date with because you told them his description and where you were meeting, oblivious to their plans. They know you wouldn't accuse them of doing something because you were dumb like that and they love it.

Jinu was dressed as a waiter that they ganged up on to steal his clothes and his soul while the rest waited outside in a dark alleyway. You were still at your apartment, getting all dolled up for this ugly nobody who could never compare to their majestic beauty.

How did you ever find this piece of shit handsome?

The raven haired male plastered on a fake smile as he approached Brandon who looked nervous and sweaty, Jinu was glad he came here extra early. "Hello, sir. I just wanted to inform you that a pretty, young lady is waiting for you outside." he said in perfect english as the ginger male looked up at him in surprise before nodding his head to stand up, following after him.

Brandon looked confused as he was led to a dark and secluded place, he looks around. "Uh, where-" he turns to face Jinu and lets out a gasp, seeing 5 pairs of glowing eyes- yellow embers with orange slits that are razor-thin- glaring down at him from the shadows.

The brit lets out a nervous chuckle, stepping back. "I-is this a joke, mate? It's not really funny..." He mutters before his back felt the dirty and cold stone wall.

"You really thought you could take her... from me? from us?" one of them growls as they moved closer to him.

"Don't bother screaming for help, no one's here but us." another whispers tauntingly before they all simultaneously pounced at the male who let out a scream with other people none the wiser.

"I- I got stood up..." You whimper, having just gone to the restaurant and waited for hours for the guy but he never game. "I waited for him but he didn't come..."

You were in their house, practically dashing over to them in tears. They bit back the smile as you melted into a puddle in Jinu's arms who coo-ed and rubbed your back gently as you cried.

"A-and I was all dressed up too... h-he's such a jerk!" You sobbed, hiding your pretty face in his chest.

"It's gonna be okay, [Your name]" Abby moves towards you, fingers moving to take your chin, tilting your head to look at him so that they could see your pretty face even with the make up running down due to your tears.

Romance gave you a smile, "Besides, you've got us. You don't need some other guy to go on a date with, we're here for you." He said softly. "Oh look, you're ruining your make up now... but don't worry, you're still the prettiest girl in the world."

Mystery nods, "And... being on some date with a nobody would only deter you from your job as our manager... who's gonna take care of us now if you're gonna go off going on a date.." he mumbled, trying to act all upset.

You sniffle, "y-you're right... I- I'm suppose to be your manager... you guys are my priority." you mumbled as you wipe your tears away but the crying never stopped.

They all smirked, unknown to you. That's right. They are your priority and no one else.

"So you better not be getting into some dates again," Baby reprimands with an annoyed huff.

Because you're ours, pretty girl.