#and in some jobs it was straight up dangerous.

[shadowmaat]

I try to be a "ship and let ship" person. I think Reylo is toxic and terrible, but some people thrive on that stuff, so have at it.

Unfortunately it turned into so much more than just a shippy thing, and as others have pointed out, that's in large part due to the virulent racism and misogyny that runs throughout fandom and the franchise itself.

I think if the Reylo stuff had just stayed within the fandom things might not have gotten so bad, but by choosing to follow that path in the movies themselves, the producer/corporation empowered the most toxic parts of Reylo fandom, encouraging an increase in the racism and misogyny and escalating hostilities between the Reylos and the rest of fandom. The "real" shippers, who were in it for the fun, got painted with the same brush as the racists clinging to their white power fantasies and everything went even deeper down the toilet than it already had.

Just to add gas to the raging inferno, while Reylo was being showcased, the former co-protagonists were sidelined, and Finn in particular was turned into more of a comic relief character than a hero. Poe got railroaded into the "I, a Man, know better than any mere fffemale" role, which is just as exhausting as the rest of it.

So yeah. Reylo is a prime example of what happens when a toxic fandom meets a toxic corporation which is only too willing to cave to fandom demands. As long as the (sub)fandom in question holds to the right ideals. A straight white pairing is the Hollywood ideal. Trying to pair a Black man with a white woman is dangerous and bad. And the portion of fandom that wanted a Black man and a Guatemalan man to hook up? Immoral! Forbidden! What will the straight white shareholders think??

The sequels trilogy was, IMO, a mess for a lot of reasons. Reylo was merely the match (ha) that set it on fire.

For the record: I think Kylo had a lot of juicy potential as a villain. His arc could have gone in so many interesting directions. The sudden need to pair him up with Rey hamstrung him. And her. And suddenly you have a big snarl of fishing line with no hope of disentangling it. It could have been so much more interesting if Disney and their producers had just had a little more spine. More meat for the actual Reylos, an empty plate for the racists, and the rest of fandom could have enjoyed the rest of the buffet. Instead they took a volatile situation and made it worse. Good job, Disney.

reylo was probably THE worst thing to happen to star wars. just had to drool over a genocidal 6 and help encourage the derailing of an entire trilogy. no luke skywalker shouldn’t have killed him bc it would have gone against his morals but he should have phoned a friend

[yeagersackerman]

work wife | r.braun.

reiner braun x fem!reader

!!: cheating (im sorry), heaaaaaavy smut, vaginal sex, sex at work (taking nsfw literally), oral male receiving, use of the word ‘sir’ a lot, slight public sex? but not rlly, creampie (oops), fingering, boss!reiner and secretary!reader, dirty talk, swearing!

“Good-morning, Mr.Braun.”

Your sickly sweet voice sent chills down Reiner’s spine as you sat, perfect posture with a disgustingly beautiful smile on your perfect face, at your secretary desk right outside his office.

He smiled down at you, swallowing thickly as his perverted eyes landed down your white button-up shirt to your cleavage, “Morning,” He managed to force out as he quickly sped into his office, practically slamming the door behind himself.

He let out a shaky breath as he swallowed yet again, attempting to coat his obviously dry throat. He placed his black briefcase on his large Oak desk, and planting himself abruptly onto his enlarged leather chair. He sighed loudly as he rubbed his tired eyes, the image of your perfect smile imprinted in his brain as he pulled his laptop out of his briefcase.

The rest of the morning was quiet as usual, Reiner occasionally taking a five minute break to peer out his massive office windows, displaying the bustling streets of New York, while he sipped his coffee. He loved this job—being a CEO at a tech company wasn’t easy, but was definitely fulfilling. It had its downs, but had many more perks.

Knock, knock, knock..

“Sir?”

Ah, the number one perk.

“Come in.”

The door creaked open loudly as your figure appeared in the doorway, a small smile on your face as you clutched a dozen files against your perfect chest.

“Some files from the weekend while you were away, sir,” You informed him, shutting the door behind you and walking towards his desk.

You placed them gently next to his laptop, your manicured nails on full display for him as you did so. This was the first time he’d seen your full outfit today—you rocked a tight, white button-up, a dangerously short pencil skirt, black tights and slutty black heels.

“Thank you,” He replied, not daring to even look away from your perfect frame as you smiled down at him.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” You chirped, walking slowly around his desk to the large windows, peering down at all the people just as Reiner does himself.

“Mhm.”

You glance over at the muscled man, just to be greeted with his eyes fixated on you. His large biceps were practically busting out of his white shirt, and his dress pants doing the same against his large thighs as he manspread.

“How was your weekend? You went away with your wife, right?”

Reiner couldn’t help but notice the way you spat the words ‘your wife’ when you spoke, your voice laced with venom at the mere thought of her.

“Oh, yeah, right, I did,” He answered, rubbing his blonde, wispy, beard, “Didn’t end exactly how we wanted though,”

“Oh?” You questioned, walking slowly towards his desk, your voice pushing him to elaborate. You slid your body onto his desk, your legs dangling off the edge as you stared down at him, “C’mon, Sir, I’ll promise to keep it secret,”

Reiner tried to ignore the way his eyes darted up your skirt as the flirtatious words sparked straight into his pants, “She accused me of cheating,” He laughed, shaking his head.

You didn’t reply this time, waiting for him to keep talking, though, your eyes never left his muscly frame.

“I was showering when she went through my phone, and started going off at me while I was in the shower. Even when I got out, she wouldn’t stop going on at me, and it carried on all weekend,” He chuckled, “Can’t get a minute’s peace,”

“Oh, Sir, that’s awful,” You pouted, trying to hide your smirk at the way Reiner tensed up as you ran your foot up his calf, “And did you?”

Reiner cleared his throat loudly as he stared up at you, his thick eyebrows furrowed, “Did I what?”

“Cheat.”

“No, God, no. No.” He insisted, trying to stop his mind from racing at the way your foot kept moving against him.

“But, would you?”

His heart nearly stopped at the words that fell past your plump lips. He could’ve fainted if it wasn’t for the pure excitement flooding through his system that kept his heart hammering in his chest.

“Sorry?”

You knew he knew what you meant by the way your smirk only grew on your face. Your expression was devilish as you stared down at him.

“I said. Would you cheat?”

Words failed Reiner as your foot changed its usual movements to trail up to his thigh. Now trying to hide his enjoyment would be 1000 times harder.

“Because it seems to me, Sir,” Your voice sounding all too sultry for his liking, “You’re stressed and unhappy, and someone isn’t taking care of your needs.”

Reiner’s jaw falls slack as the words reach his ears, your evil grin never once leaving your face as your eyes never left his own. Jesus, fuck.

“I-um, I don’t think this appropriate.” The angel on Reiner’s shoulder spoke, ignoring the way the devil was practically screaming at him to do something about your insinuation.

“Isn’t this what secretary’s are supposed to do?”

You tried to patch up the dirty situation with a faux reasoning, as you crawled from the desk to his chair, slotting your knee between his thighs and grabbing his tie. Pulling on it to bring your mouth to his ear, revelling in the way his heartbeat thumped against your fist.

“I’m just doing my job for you, Sir.”

Reiner mentally cursed himself at the pure lewdness of the situation he’d landed himself in, the mindless flirting had turned into something he’d only dreamed of while fisting his cock late at night with his useless wife sleeping next to him.

“You’re excellent at your job,” He managed to force out, his voice trembling ever so slightly.

“Then let me take care of you, Sir.” You mewled, planting tentative kisses against his cologned skin, loving the expensive smell.

Fuuuuuck.

He’d never been harder in his entire life as you nibbled at his ear lobe as you whispered about how good you’d take of him and how more relaxed he’d feel after you were done with him.

Knock, knock, knock!

“Mr. Braun? Can I come in?”

Those words once eliciting excitement in him, knowing it was you, now sparked panic in him as the voice of his male colleague rang from outside the door.

“Get under the table, now.” He demanded, his eyes wide with panic as you giggled cheekily before doing as he asked of you.

Reiner cleared his throat before speaking, “Come in.” Ignoring the way his heart hammered in his chest.

His colleague sauntered in, shutting the door behind him, “So, I’ve had an email from Microsoft saying they accept the meeting you’ve requested with the CEO about our new launch, which is great. However, Apple did decline as they aren’t looking for anymore shares at the moment, which is disheartening, but the M.D from the branch I called said he knew you, so he’d arrange for you to be the first on the list next time they’re looking for shares.”

Reiner blinked as the information was reeled at him at lightning speed, his head still full of what occurred merely seconds before he walked into the room.

“Um, yeah, that should be—“

His sentence was cut short as his heart flew to his throat. The feeling of his pants zipper being pulled down shut him up as he felt your manicured hands manhandle the bulge in his boxers.

“That should be fine. Thanks, um, Henry, yeah. Thanks.” Reiner stumbled, wanting nothing more than for the idiot to leave.

“You okay, Sir?”

Reiner nodded, swallowing thickly as you pulled his thick cock from his boxers, feeling your thumb rub over his tip, collecting the pre-cum on your delicate fingers.

“Yep, never better, Henry.” Reiner coughed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as you wrapped your lips around his tip, “I think I’m just, jesus, coming down with something.”

“Awh, man, that sucks,” Yeah something sure is, “I heard there’s something nasty stuff going around the office at the minute.

Some nasty stuff was definitely happening in this room that poor Henry had no idea about.

“Yeah, not ideal, but, fuck, what can you, uh—what can you do, huh?” Reiner chuckled, trying to not sound like a lunatic as you bottomed out his throbbing cock in your wet throat.

Reiner knew he was big—long and thick, and not one girl he’d ever been with had been able to take his whole cock down their throat. You were putting them all, including his wife, to shame.

“Yeah, you’ll just have to ride it out, buddy.”

He coughed loudly, attempting to add to his act, but also to cover the giggle you made around his cock at the accidental sexual joke Henry made. The rumble of your laugh against his cock nearly made him moan out loud if it wasn’t for the fact he was now biting down on his fist, his canines practically piercing the skin.

“Thanks, Henry, I’ll get back to Apple later.”

“Microsoft, you mean, Sir?”

Oh, jesus, get out!

“Yep. Microsoft. Thanks.” Reiner nodded, secretly revelling at the you bobbed your head up and down his length, your petite hands wrapped around the base as you licked and sucked at his angry, pink tip.

Henry left with a smile and polite goodbye, shutting the door behind him. Reiner didn’t waste anymore time.

He stood up from desk abruptly, grabbing you by the hand to stand up, pressing your small frame against his desk, your hands trembling as you anticipated his next move.

“You almost got me caught there.”

You peered up at him through your lashes, your eyes running with tears and your cheeks flushed pink, as a quiet, ‘I’m sorry, Sir’ slipped past your swollen, pink lips, glistening with his spit and his pre-cum.

He could’ve cummed at the sight.

“Y’know, that could’ve got me in a lot of trouble,” He informed you, his hand creeping up your neck to rest on your cheek, “I’m feeling awfully stressed and unhappy now.”

“Sir?”

“Do your job, if you’re so insistent.” He told you, “Be good and listen to your boss.”

“Yes, Sir.”

You wasted no time getting back on your knees, waiting for him take a pleasant seat back on his leather chair. You didn’t wait another second before wrapping your pretty lips around his cock like he’d asked you to. This time, Reiner didn’t have to pretend to act normal, so let his head fall back against the head rest as the feeling of your warm mouth surrounded him.

Your delicate hand once against resided at the base of his cock, pumping him along with attempting to take as much of cock as you did previously as you hollowed your cheeks against him.

“Don’t act all shy now, I thought you were a good secretary?” Reiner teased, placing a large hand at the back of your head, intertwining his fingers into your hair, pushing your head further down his cock.

He laughed lowly at the way your throat contracted around him, your trembling hand leaving the base of his cock to rest against his thighs as your nose brushed against his curly blonde pubic hairs, tears falling from your eyes at the sheer size of him in your throat.

Reiner hummed in delight as he slowly lifted your wet throat up and down his throbbing cock, feeling satisfied with your willingness to make him feel better. And by God, was he feeling better already.

You gagged around him as he began bucking his hips slowly into you—your throat not being prepared for the force of his cock.

“What? Can’t take it all of a sudden now that your boss is in control? Well that’s not very good of you? Shall I report you to HR for being such a slut?”

You shook your head against him as best you could before he pulled you off him, a string of spit connecting your heavy tongue to his leaking tip. You spluttered as you gasped for air, your throat aching ever so slightly as you looked up at your boss.

“Up.”

You did as you were told, standing up from the floor, rubbing your thighs together in order to get any sort of friction to your aching clit.

Reiner stood up and took a few steps towards you, his rock hard cock bobbing with every step he took. His large hands grabbed the backs of your clothed thighs, pushing them upwards as you instinctively jumped up onto the desk.

“Or, you know what,” He spoke lowly, grabbing at the fabric of your tights, “I could just punish you myself.”

Riiiippp!

You gasped as his pure strength tore a large hole in the crotch of your tights, leaving your slutty pink lacy panties on full display for his predatory eyes.

“But, Sir—“

“What, baby? You starting to regret your decision?” He teased, pushing the fabric of your panties to the side, chuckling at the way you gasped as the cold air hit your sweet sex.

“No, no, Sir. Wanna make you feel good.” You mumbled as your chest heaved as his thick fingers fumbled with your buttons of your white button-up.

“Good girl.” He mumbled as he pulled the fabric off your top half, biting his lip at the matching pink lacy bra that clad your intense cleavage he once ogled at, “Jesus.”

“Please, Mr.Braun.” You whined, pulling his tie down to push him close to your body, “‘Need you.”

Reiner didn’t need you to say anything else before his fingers flew to your core. The slick that pooled from you eliciting a groan from his lips as he pushed a thick finger inside you.

“You dirty, dirty girl, so fuckin’ wet for me and I hadn’t even touched you.”

You whined against his neck as you grasped desperately on his tie, pulling it slacker and slacker the more you tugged on it.

He soon pressed a second finger inside your sloppy folds, indulging in the way you cried out lewdly against his shoulder, mumbling about how wet you’d gotten for him by just sucking his cock, making his throbbing boner twitch against your thigh.

“Please, Mr.Braun, need you,” You whined, arching your back against him as he abused your sweet spot over and over again.

“Gotta stretch you for my cock, baby, be patient.”

You pecked at his neck and nibbled the skin of his ear once more, moaning into his ear as he thrust his fingers repeatedly in and out of you, scissoring them to stretch your little pussy for his large cock that dribbled pre-cum on your black tights.

His thumb soon found your aching clit as he began to rub delicious circles against it, loving the way your moans upped an octave at the sudden added pleasure. He couldn’t ever get this out of his wife, you were something else. Someone he knew he wouldn’t just fuck once.

“Mmm, gonna cum, Sir!”

“Yeah? Gonna cum for your boss? Fuckin’ slut.”

His words pushed you over the edge as you came hard around his digits, throwing your head back, whining his name loudly.

“Shut up,” He mumbled, grabbing your chin harshly to meet your gaze, “Don’t want Henry coming back, do we?”

You shook your head as your orgasm still flooded your body like electricity through your veins as you finally came down from your high.

You didn’t even get chance to catch your breath before a large hand wrapped around your neck, pushing your back against the desk and forcing your legs up into the air. Your breath hitched as you felt his tip nudge your entrance, watching as he gathered your slick over himself, jerking it over his length before lining himself up with your tight hole.

He sheathed himself inside you slowly, his grip around your thighs tightening as he pushed his length deeper and deeper inside your tight pussy. His eyes flickered shut as his head lolled against your knee, swallowing to cure his dry throat as you pulsated around him.

He hadn’t even got himself full inside you yet, let alone fucked you properly, but he knew you’d be the best pussy he’d ever had.

“Jeeeesus, you’re so fucking tight.” Reiner groaned, his hips finally meeting your ass as he bottomed out, “Fucking hell.”

You were cock drunk already—he hadn’t even moved his throbbing cock and you looked fucked out before he’d even started. You should’ve known he’d be big by the sheer surface area of his muscly body.

Reiner took his time with you to began with. Pulling out slowly before snapping his hips forward to plunge into you, loving the way you’d whine each time he’d nearly pull all the way out and how’d you moan as he pushed himself all the way back inside you.

“Reiner, please,” You begged, the first time he’d heard you say his first name sent shockwaves to his cock, “Fuck me, please.”

“Yeah?” He started, his pace picking up ever so slightly at your request, “You gotta answer my questions correctly first.”

“Mmmm,” You whined, grasping at his hard bicep through his shirt, your face contorting in pleasure at the feeling of him inside you.

“Are you complaining?”

“No, no, no, Sir, never,” You answered quickly, shaking your head, your glossy eyes meeting his dark ones.

“Mm, that’s what I thought,” He retorted back, “So, what time do I like to be out of the office?”

“S-six pm, on a weekday, and four on a weekend.” You replied, breathing heavily as his pace stayed painfully slow.

“Good, why specifically early on a weekend?”

“So, y-you can go home and watch the b-baseball game.”

“Correct.” He grunted as he snapped his hips ever so slightly quicker than before, gnawing at his lip at the way your moans picked up.

“When did I join the company?”

“8th April 2017, Sir. One year before me.”

“How do I like my coffee?”

“Black, with a splash of cold water to n-not burn your tongue, Sir.”

“What’s my favourite drink?”

“A cold beer after work or a hot peppermint tea when you’re sick.”

“How do you know if I’m in a bad mood?”

“Your back is tensed up and your eyebrows are furrowed, and you’re always using your hands when you talk. Shows you’re a-angry.”

His cock twitched at the way you answered so quickly, secretly loving how much you idolised him.

“When did I get married?”

“D-don’t care,” You fired back. He knew you knew when he did, as you refused to look at him for a few weeks afterwards, showing your annoyance at the situation.

He chuckled at your words, stilling his hips against your ass, “That’s not what I asked you, princess,”

You whined, “Please, Sir, I’m sorry, I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

You couldn’t help the way your cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the way you knew nearly everything about him:

“5th December 2020.”

“Good girl.”

You huffed angrily at the mention of his wife, rolling your eyes. Reiner didn’t take your annoyance unnoticed, he quickly rewarded you for your correct answer.

His pace changed from desperately slow, to dangerously fast. You gasped and moaned loudly, your sultry voice filling the room. Reiner picked your lulled head up and smashed his lips against yours, quietening your moans with his mouth. His own groans filling your mouth as he pushed his excruciatingly large cock in and out of you, one hand around your neck and the other gripping your waist, pushing your body down onto him as he fucked you.

“Fuuuck, baby, you’re creamin’ all over me,” He whispered in your ear, as he peered down at the milky, white ring of cum that appeared around the base of his cock, as his hand trailed down to rub circles on your aching clit, and the other grasping at your breasts as they spilled out of your bra with every harsh thrust he gave.

“Mr.Braun,” You wailed, wrapping your legs around his waist as he continued to destroy you with every snap of his lips, the disgustingly pornographic sound of your soaking wet pussy squelching around him filling the room.

His fingers worked wonders against your clit as within seconds of him starting to abuse your bud, you felt the stir of your second orgasm approaching. Your eyes squeezed shut as your nails clawed down his back through the fabric of his shirt, whining and whimpering at the sheer amount of pleasure the perfect man was bringing you.

“She could never make me feel as good at this.”

That was it. He didn’t even bother trying to quieten your moans as you squirted around him. The slippery liquid drenching your thighs and his abdomen as you orgasmed hard, your toes curling in your heels and your back arching off the desk. The idea of his wife never being able to pleasure him like you did made you tingle inside.

“Oh, fuck,” He mumbled as he picked up his pace ever so slightly, his thighs trembling and hips slacking as he came shortly after you. His head nuzzled in your neck as he groaned your name into your shoulder, biting and marking the skin as he pushed his load further into you.

Your legs ached as he let them down from his grip and onto the wooden desk he’d just fucked you on, pulling his softening dick out of you with a hiss. Your chest heaved slightly with each breath as your body relaxed after the pleasureful abuse it just endured.

He tucked himself back into boxers and zipped up his dress pants, and fixed his fully loosened tie, covered in your spit and a few drizzles of your slick on the tip of it. He handed you your shirt in silence as you buttoned your self up, your eyes never leaving the floor.

Once you clothed yourself, you stood up from his slick covered desk, ignoring the way your legs shook. Reiner took a seat at his leather chair, staring up at you with a devilish expression.

“Thank you, I feel a lot better,” He smirked, “You’re excused.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Before you could get far, a firm grip on your wrist pulled you backwards abruptly with a yelp, landing you on his chest, a feverish kiss pushed against your swollen lips. Reiner’s tongue danced in your mouth after pushing past your bottom lip, as his large hand tangled in your hair.

He pulled away soon after, pressing one last loving peck to your spit covered lips before beckoning you out the door—hair a mess, skirt creased and your tights ripped underneath them but giggling nonetheless as you shut the door behind you.

-

“Excuse me, do you know if Reiner is on a call?”

Your head snapped up at the sound of the female voice in front of you. Anger and jealously instantly filled your senses as you stared up at the woman at your desk.

“Oh, hello, Mrs. Braun.” You faked a smile as your eyes glided over the poorly dressed woman, admiring her awful fashion sense and lack of confidence as she quite obviously showed her intimidation against you.

“Hello,” She replied back, “So, is he busy?”

“He most definitely was earlier, but let me double check for you, ma’am.” You alluded to your secret relations, a spike of excitement filling your heart at the thought of her naiveness, as you stood up from your chair, adjusting your skirt to hide the large hole in your tights.

You knocked on his door loudly, “Sir?”

Your sickly familiar voice filled his ears as he smirked widely at the previous memories of your day filled his head, “Come in.”

The door swung open to show your beautiful frame, an evil smirk your face as you moved to the side to reveal his wife stood behind you. Reiner’s heart dropped to his stomach at the sight.

“H-honey, what are you doing here?” He stuttered, panic filling his body at the thought of her possibly finding out about his affair.

“I thought I’d bring you some coffee, and to discuss some things.” She smiled, referring to the argumentative weekend they had experienced.

“Oh, how lovely. Black with cold water?” You spoke up.

His wife’s face dropped, “Oh, um, no. A latte. Do you not like those?”

Reiner couldn’t help but watch as your smirk grew wider and wider at his wife’s disappointed expression.

“No, no, honey, I love them.” Reiner lied, already disliking the thought of the milky coffee.

His wife smiled happily as she entered the room to press a sweet kiss against his cheek. You couldn’t help but watch as he cringed slightly at the feeling of her lips against his face as yours had been earlier on.

“What’s that on your tie, honey?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, bringing his wife’s attention back to you, as his eyes widened in a panicked state, “So messy, aren’t you, Sir? Clearly I need to fix you a new one, hm?”

Reiner nodded, gulping thickly at the thought of his wife seeing your cum all over his tie, “Yes, um, thank you. That would be perfect.”

His wife smiled at you as she turned around, her back facing you, to stare at the view out of his window, “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

Reiner’s eyes stayed fixated on your frame as you lifted your skirt up ever so lightly to reveal your soaking wet panties and cum covered thighs from when he’d filled you up so deep, feeling a tent rise in his tight dress pants once more, knowing the second his wife left he’d have you again.

“It sure is.”

GODDDAMNNNN

im hot and bothered even writing this jeeeeez

[honeydippedfiction]

Red Zone {JB9}

Genre: Slow Burn-ish, Comedy, Fluff, Romance, & Tension.

Synopsis: Y/N has spent weeks teasing Cincinnati’s golden boy, Joe Burrow, making him work way harder than he ever has for anything. But Joe doesn’t back down from a challenge—especially not when it comes to her. He’s all in, and the longer she keeps him waiting, the more he realizes… yeah, he’s down bad.

The real question?

How long before Y/N slips up and realizes she’s just as gone for him?

Warnings: Heavy Flirting & Tension, Joe Being Down Horrendous, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn (but Barely), Mild Language, Slight Possessiveness

Themes: Push & Pull Romance, Athlete x Support Staff, Man Falls First, Man Falls Hard, Confidence vs. Vulnerability, Football Setting, But It’s About Them.

WC: 9.6k

A/N: This does switch back and forth from your pov and Joe's pov. They will be separated by the orange banner.

Taglist

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

Joe Burrow was in trouble.

Real, undeniable, can’t-think-straight trouble.

And the cause of his suffering? You.

It started small—just stolen glances here and there. At first, he told himself it was nothing. Just admiration. But then admiration turned into distraction, and now distraction had turned into full-blown infatuation.

Joe was down bad.

It didn’t make sense. He’d met beautiful women before. Dated some, even. But you? You weren’t just beautiful. You were effortless. He noticed it in the way you moved, the way you carried yourself—never shrinking, never trying to impress anyone, just being. You had this energy about you, something magnetic that made it impossible to look away.

And damn, did he look.

A lot.

Like right now, for example. You were walking across the practice field, hauling a bag of footballs over your shoulder, curls bouncing as you moved, skin glowing under the late afternoon sun. Joe knew he should be focusing on drills, but how the hell was he supposed to do that when you looked that good just existing?

"Yo, Burrow, you good?" Ja'Marr Chase's voice snapped him out of his daze. Joe blinked, realizing he’d been gripping his helmet in a death grip, eyes still locked onto you like you were the end zone in the Super Bowl.

"Yeah," he muttered, clearing his throat. "I’m good."

Ja’Marr followed his gaze, then smirked knowingly. "Man, just talk to her."

Joe rolled his eyes. "It’s not that simple."

"Uh, yeah, it is. You’re Joe Burrow."

Joe huffed, adjusting his wristband. "And? What does that have to do with anything?"

Ja’Marr shook his head with a laugh. "Boy, you are gone."

Joe didn’t bother denying it. Instead, he jogged over to where you were setting up equipment, heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the heat.

"Need some help?"

You looked up at him, arching a brow. "With what? My job?"

Joe grinned, ignoring the way his pulse kicked up from just being near you. "Hey, just trying to make your life easier."

You scoffed, but he caught the tiny smile playing at your lips. "I’m good, QB1. You should be stretching or whatever it is y’all do before practice."

"I was stretching." Joe placed his hands on his hips, giving you his best innocent look. "Stretching my ability to be a gentleman."

You laughed, shaking your head. "That was corny."

"Yeah, but it got you to laugh," he shot back, smiling like he’d just won a game.

You shook your head, going back to work, but Joe wasn’t done yet. He lingered, watching the way you bit your lip in concentration as you sorted gear. He wondered if you even realized how fine you were. Did you know how bad you were messing with his head?

"You know," he started, "I’ve been thinking…"

"That’s dangerous."

He chuckled but pressed on. "I think you should let me take you to dinner."

You froze for a second before glancing up at him, skepticism clear in your eyes. "Take me to dinner?"

"Yeah." His voice was softer now, more serious. "Just you and me. No football, no equipment… just good food and good company."

You tilted your head, studying him. "Why?"

Joe exhaled, running a hand through his curls. He could lie, play it cool, act like this was nothing. But the truth was, it was everything.

"Because I can't stop thinking about you," he admitted, voice low. "And if I don’t at least try to take you out, I’m gonna lose my mind."

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by his honesty.

For a long moment, you didn’t say anything, and Joe swore he could hear his own heartbeat in the silence. Then, finally, you smirked.

"You’re really down bad, huh?"

Joe let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. "You have no idea."

You let that hang between you for a second before grabbing a football and tossing it to him. "Well, keep thinking about it. Right now, you got a job to do, QB1."

Joe caught the ball with ease, but his eyes never left yours.

"Yeah," he murmured, smiling. "I do."

And as he jogged back to practice, he knew one thing for certain—this game he was playing with you?

He had to win.

---

Joe was spiraling.

It had been three days since your little conversation on the practice field, and he was still thinking about it. About you.

The way you had smirked at him like you knew you had him wrapped around your finger. The way your voice had dropped just a little when you called him down bad—like you enjoyed watching him squirm. And worst of all? The way you didn’t give him a straight answer about that damn dinner.

You had him in a chokehold, and you weren’t even trying.

Joe wasn’t used to this. He was Joe Burrow. Starting quarterback. A whole NFL franchise depended on him to be calm under pressure. But when it came to you? He was fumbling every time.

"You look stressed, man," Tee Higgins said, plopping down next to Joe in the locker room after practice.

Joe sighed, running a hand down his face. "I am stressed."

Ja’Marr, who was lacing up his sneakers, snickered. "Lemme guess. It’s about her."

Joe shot him a glare. "Her has a name."

"Yeah, yeah," Ja’Marr waved him off. "But the point is, you still stuck on that dinner thing?"

Joe huffed, leaning back against the locker. "She didn’t say no."

Tee raised a brow. "She didn’t say yes either."

"Exactly!" Joe groaned. "She’s messing with me, man."

Ja’Marr laughed. "Or maybe she’s just making you work for it. You’re used to girls throwing themselves at you, but she’s making you earn her attention. You know, like a real one."

Joe already knew that. It was one of the reasons he liked you so damn much. You weren’t impressed by the usual charm, the usual Joe Burrow Effect. No, you were different. And that made him want you even more.

But how the hell was he supposed to get your attention when you were so damn good at ignoring the fact that he was losing his mind over you?

He needed a plan.

And then it hit him.

---

The next day, you were in the equipment room, sorting jerseys when a familiar voice made you pause.

"Y/N."

You turned to see Joe standing in the doorway, looking entirely too good in his hoodie and joggers, curls slightly damp from his post-practice shower. He had a look in his eyes—intense, determined.

Lord, here we go.

"You stalking me now, QB1?" you teased, turning back to your work.

He stepped closer. "Maybe."

You looked up, surprised at his boldness. "Oh? So now you’re admitting you’re obsessed with me?"

Joe let out a soft chuckle. "I never denied it."

Your breath caught for half a second. He was playing a dangerous game, and the worst part? You kinda liked it.

Joe leaned against the counter, watching you. "You never answered my question."

You sighed, but the smile playing on your lips gave you away. "What question?"

"Dinner." His voice was lower now, laced with something unreadable. "You, me, somewhere nice. No football talk. Just us."

You bit your lip, pretending to consider it. "Hmm. I don’t know. I do like watching you sweat."

Joe stepped closer. "Oh, trust me, I’m sweating."

Your heart flipped. Damn it, why was he so smooth?

He tilted his head, searching your face. "Come on, Y/N. One dinner. Let me prove I’m serious about this."

You held his gaze for a long moment, pretending to be unfazed. But inside? You were unraveling.

Finally, you exhaled dramatically. "Fine."

Joe’s brows lifted. "Fine?"

You smirked. "Yeah. One dinner. No promises after that."

Joe grinned like he just won the lottery. "That’s all I need."

As he walked out, a victorious swagger in his step, you shook your head with a laugh.

Joe Burrow was down bad.

And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to like it.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

You were in trouble.

Big, undeniable, what-the-hell-did-I-just-agree-to trouble.

Joe Burrow had been flirting with you for weeks, testing the waters, waiting for you to bite. And up until now, you had been so good at keeping him at arm’s length. He was Joe Burrow—star quarterback, franchise player, a literal golden boy. And you? You were just the equipment girl, someone who spent more time making sure shoulder pads were strapped on correctly than entertaining the advances of NFL players.

But Joe?

Joe was relentless.

And now, because of that damn smirk and those ridiculous blue eyes, you were stuck in a situation you had no business being in.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face as you paced your apartment later that night. Your phone sat on your bed, Joe’s contact pulled up on the screen. He had texted you about dinner—nothing extra, just a simple, Pick you up at 7?

Like this was normal.

Like you weren’t freaking out.

You hadn’t even said yes to dating him. Just one dinner. But the way your stomach had flipped when you saw his name pop up on your phone? Yeah, you were in deep.

You weren’t about to make this easy for him, though.

So, after taking a few deep breaths, you finally texted back:

"Fine. But if this food is trash, I’m never letting you live it down."

Joe’s response came almost instantly.

"Noted. I’ll pick a spot worthy of impressing you."

You stared at your screen, shaking your head with a smile. Damn him.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Joe was losing his mind.

The second your text came through, he nearly fist-pumped right there in his living room. She said yes. She actually said yes.

It wasn’t a confession, it wasn’t a relationship, but it was a win. And when it came to you? Joe would take any win he could get.

"You’re smiling at your phone like a high schooler," Sam Hubbard teased from across the room.

Joe rolled his eyes, tossing his phone on the couch. "Shut up."

"Man, you got it bad," Sam laughed. "Who knew Joe Cool was capable of being this whipped?"

Joe ignored him. He didn’t care. If being whipped meant getting a chance with you, then fine. He’d take it. Because truthfully?

You were worth every bit of this madness.

---

The next evening, Joe stood outside your apartment, hands shoved into his pockets as he waited.

And then you stepped out.

And damn.

You weren’t even overly dressed—just a simple, fitted dress that showed off just enough, curls framing your face effortlessly. But to Joe? You might as well have been a damn supermodel.

He blinked, momentarily speechless. "Wow."

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. "What?"

"You look…" He exhaled, shaking his head. "So fine."

Your smirk deepened. "You are down bad."

Joe grinned. "And I’m not even ashamed."

As you slid into the passenger seat of his car, Joe couldn’t help but think—yeah, he might be in trouble.

But for you?

He’d risk it all.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

You had to admit—Joe Burrow had taste.

The restaurant he picked wasn’t one of those over-the-top, flashy spots where people went just to be seen. No, it was intimate, warm lighting casting a soft glow over the tables, a quiet hum of conversation filling the air. It was the kind of place where the food actually mattered—not just the aesthetics.

Damn it. He was already impressing you.

Joe pulled out your chair for you, something so simple yet so unexpected that you blinked at him for a moment before sitting down. He didn’t say anything about it, just gave you that small, satisfied smile before taking his own seat.

"You’re really pulling out all the stops, huh?" you teased, picking up the menu.

Joe leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. "I told you, I’m serious about this."

You met his gaze, expecting cockiness, but all you saw was honesty. And that? That was dangerous.

"Guess we’ll see," you murmured, scanning the menu to avoid the intensity of his stare.

Dinner was… nice.

Too nice.

Joe was easy to talk to, and despite your best efforts, you found yourself relaxing around him. He asked about you—not just the generic, surface-level stuff, but real questions. How you got into working for the Bengals, what you wanted to do next, what kind of music you liked.

"I figured you had good taste, but you really listen to Mint Condition?" Joe asked, grinning as he took a sip of his drink.

You raised a brow. "Why do you sound shocked?"

"I don’t know, I just…" He shook his head, smirking. "It’s just so fine."

You groaned, throwing your napkin at him. "No. Absolutely not."

Joe laughed, catching the napkin midair. "What? I had to say it at least once!"

"You are so corny," you muttered, but you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

Joe leaned in, his voice dropping just slightly. "Yeah? But you like it."

And there it was again—that thing he did. The way he looked at you like he already knew how you felt, like he could read every single thought running through your head.

It should’ve been illegal to be this smooth.

You picked up your drink, taking a slow sip just to give yourself a second to think. "Mmm. Jury’s still out."

Joe just chuckled, sitting back. "Take your time. I’m patient."

That was the problem.

You weren’t sure you were.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Joe had been on a lot of dates before. Some good, some forgettable. But this?

This was something else.

He couldn’t remember the last time he cared this much about what someone thought of him. He was used to women being into him because of who he was. The quarterback. The fame. The whole Joe Cool persona. But you? You didn’t give a damn about any of that.

And that’s why he had to have you.

As you walked out of the restaurant together, the night air cool against his skin, Joe hesitated for the first time all evening. He didn’t want this to end.

"Let me take you home," he said softly.

You gave him a look. "Is that your smooth way of inviting yourself up?"

Joe smirked. "Nah. I just wanna make sure you get home safe."

You stared at him for a second, like you were trying to figure him out. Then, finally, you nodded. "Alright, Burrow. Take me home."

The drive was quiet, but it wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable. Joe stole glances at you every chance he got, watching the way your fingers tapped lightly against your thigh to the music playing low through the speakers.

When he finally pulled up to your place, he put the car in park and turned to you. "So… did I pass?"

You raised a brow. "Pass what?"

Joe grinned. "The test. The ‘is this food trash’ test."

You sighed dramatically. "I guess you passed."

"Good." He tilted his head. "What about the other test?"

You folded your arms. "And what test is that?"

Joe’s voice was low, teasing. "The ‘do I get another date’ test."

You let the question linger, your lips curling slightly at the edges. "Hmm. I’ll have to get back to you on that one."

Joe laughed, shaking his head. "You love making me work for this, huh?"

You shrugged. "Gotta keep you on your toes, QB1."

Joe exhaled, gripping the steering wheel. "You really got me bad, Y/N."

You stared at him for a moment, and for the first time, Joe swore he saw something shift in your expression. Something soft. Something dangerous.

But then, you opened the car door, stepping out. "Goodnight, Joe."

He watched you walk up to your building, waited until you disappeared inside before running a hand through his curls with a groan.

Yeah.

He was absolutely gone.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

You were in so much trouble.

It had been two days since that damn dinner with Joe, and yet, you were still thinking about him. About the way he had looked at you across the table, completely focused, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. About the way his voice dropped an octave when he got serious, his words sinking into your skin and settling deep in your stomach.

About the way you could feel the heat of his gaze even after you got out of his car.

Damn him.

You tried to shake it off, focus on work, anything to get him out of your head. But that was impossible when Joe Burrow was everywhere. At practice. In the locker room. Hell, even in your damn text messages.

Because, of course, he didn’t let up.

Joe: So, have you decided yet?

You rolled your eyes at the text, but a smile tugged at your lips. You didn’t even have to ask what he was talking about.

You: Decided what?

Joe: Don’t play with me, Y/N. The second date. You’ve had 48 hours. I know you’ve been thinking about me.

You: Bold of you to assume.

Joe: I’m right though, aren’t I?

Damn it.

You didn’t reply. Not because he was wrong. But because you refused to give him the satisfaction of being right.

For now.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Joe was losing patience.

He wasn’t used to chasing anyone. Not because he was cocky, but because usually, things just… happened. Natural. Easy.

But with you? You were making him work for it. And as much as it drove him crazy, he liked it.

Scratch that. He loved it.

It made everything about this—about you—even more real. Because you weren’t after his name, his money, or his status. You weren’t even sure if you wanted him at all.

And that? That was why he needed you.

Desperately.

"Man, you checking your phone again?" Ja’Marr’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

Joe locked his screen and shoved the phone into his pocket. "Mind your business."

Ja’Marr smirked. "She got you in a chokehold, huh?"

Joe sighed, running a hand through his curls. "Bad."

His teammate laughed, clapping him on the back. "Yeah, you’re done for."

Joe didn’t even argue. Because it was true.

Now, he just had to figure out how to make you admit it, too.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

You should’ve known he wouldn’t leave you alone.

After practice that day, you were in the equipment room, organizing cleats when you felt someone behind you. Before you even turned around, you knew who it was.

Joe.

You sighed, not looking up. "Don’t you have somewhere to be, QB1?"

Joe leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. "I do. But I’d rather be here."

You refused to let that get to you. "Well, unless you suddenly forgot how to tie your cleats, you don’t need me."

Joe smirked. "No, but I do need an answer."

You finally looked up, meeting his gaze. "An answer to what?"

Joe sighed dramatically. "Y/N. Don’t play with me."

You bit your lip, pretending to think. "I don’t know, Joe. Maybe I like watching you suffer."

Joe chuckled, shaking his head. Then, before you could react, he took a step closer. Too close. Close enough that you had to tilt your head to look at him. Close enough that the air felt thick between you.

"You are enjoying this," he murmured, voice lower, rougher.

You swallowed, refusing to back down. "Maybe."

Joe let out a slow exhale, his eyes scanning your face like he was memorizing every inch of it. "Damn, Y/N." His voice was almost pained. "You have no idea what you do to me."

Your breath caught.

Because this? This wasn’t just flirting anymore. This was real.

You forced yourself to keep your voice steady. "Oh, I think I do."

Joe exhaled sharply, like you had physically knocked the wind out of him. He shook his head, laughing softly, but there was nothing funny about the way he looked at you.

"You’re gonna drive me crazy, aren’t you?" he muttered.

You smirked. "Looks like I already have."

Joe clenched his jaw, hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach for you. And for a second—just a second—you thought he might.

But instead, he stepped back. Barely.

"You’re gonna say yes eventually," he said, voice sure.

You tilted your head. "What makes you so confident?"

Joe grinned, dimples on full display. "Because I know you want to."

You didn’t reply. Because, once again—he was right.

And you hated that.

As Joe walked out, leaving you standing there, heart racing, you realized something.

You might’ve thought he was the one in trouble.

But really?

It was you.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Joe was losing his mind.

It had been days since your little moment in the equipment room, and you still hadn’t given him a real answer about the second date. He had tried to be patient, to let you play your little game, but at this point? He was suffering.

The worst part?

You knew it.

And you were enjoying every second of watching him lose control.

Now, at practice, Joe was struggling. He wasn’t missing throws or anything—he was still Joe Burrow, after all—but he wasn’t locked in the way he usually was. Because every time he looked up, his eyes found you.

And you were torturing him.

It wasn’t even anything big. Just little things. The way you’d walk past him without acknowledging him, a tiny smirk playing at your lips like you knew exactly what you were doing. The way you’d bend down to pick up a helmet, moving just slow enough that it made his brain short-circuit. The way you’d casually talk to everyone else—laughing, joking—while completely ignoring him.

Oh, he was done.

"Yo, Burrow, focus!" Ja’Marr shouted after Joe overthrew a pass—something he never did.

Joe cursed under his breath, shaking his head.

"Man, what is wrong with you today?" Tee asked, jogging up to him.

Joe exhaled sharply, glancing toward where you stood on the sidelines, chatting with one of the other staff members like you didn’t have a care in the world.

Like you weren’t currently driving him insane.

"Her," Joe muttered, jaw clenched. "It’s her."

Ja’Marr followed his gaze, then laughed. "Damn. She’s really got you, huh?"

Joe ran a hand down his face. "Bro, I’m suffering. I can’t take this shit anymore."

Tee chuckled. "Just be patient, man. She’s testing you."

Joe huffed. "I know she is. But why? Why can’t she just be mine already so I can worship the ground she walks on in peace?"

Ja’Marr died laughing. "Oh, nah. Not worship."

Joe gave him a dead serious look. "I mean that shit. I’d do anything for her. And she knows it."

Tee shook his head with a grin. "Yeah, bro. You’re done for."

Joe groaned, adjusting his helmet. He was so close to snapping.

And you? You were thriving off of it.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

You had Joe Burrow wrapped around your finger.

And you were having the time of your life.

You weren’t cruel—you weren’t trying to hurt him or anything. But watching Joe, Mr. Cool Under Pressure, absolutely lose his mind over you? Oh, it was too good.

And the best part? He wasn’t even hiding it anymore.

You caught the way he watched you like you were the only thing on the field that mattered. The way his jaw tensed every time you laughed at something that wasn’t him. The way he physically exhaled in relief whenever you so much as acknowledged his existence.

It was delicious.

So, naturally, you kept it up.

During a water break, you strolled past him, completely ignoring him like you had been all practice. But this time, right as you passed, you murmured, "Looking a little tense there, QB1."

And then you kept walking.

You didn’t have to turn around to know what effect it had.

You felt his eyes burning into you.

Oh, this was too much fun.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Joe was going to explode.

You had one sentence. One little sentence. And now he was done.

Practice? Over. His sanity? Gone.

This was it.

The second he got the chance, he was fixing this.

Because you were his.

You just didn’t know it yet.

---

Enough was enough.

Joe had spent weeks playing your game. Watching you tease him. Watching you enjoy watching him suffer. And at first? Yeah, he liked it. Loved it, even. The chase, the tension, the way you made him feel like no other woman ever had.

But at this point?

He was desperate.

He needed you. Had to have you. And if you weren’t going to give him an answer?

Then he was going to take one.

The second practice ended, he was on the hunt. While his teammates made their way toward the locker room, Joe jogged straight toward the equipment room—where he knew you’d be.

And sure enough, there you were, casually sorting gear like you hadn’t spent the entire day ruining his life.

You barely glanced up when he walked in. "Need something, Burrow?"

Oh, that was cute.

Joe shut the door behind him, locking it without a second thought.

That got your attention. You arched a brow, amused. "Oh? So we’re locking doors now?"

Joe didn’t respond. He just moved.

Before you could react, he was right in front of you, crowding your space, forcing you to tilt your head back to meet his gaze.

And for once?

You looked surprised.

Good.

"You think this is funny, don’t you?" Joe’s voice was low, rough. "Watching me lose my mind over you?"

Your lips curled slightly, but there was a flicker of something in your eyes—something unsure. "A little."

Joe exhaled sharply, his hands flexing at his sides like he was physically restraining himself. "Y/N, I’m done waiting."

You blinked. "Oh?"

"Yeah." Joe tilted his head, eyes locked onto yours like you were his only lifeline. "I’ve been patient. I’ve let you play your little game. But now? You’re gonna give me an answer."

Your breath hitched.

Joe saw it.

Felt it.

He took another step closer, so close now that if he wanted to, he could tilt his head just slightly and—

No. Not yet.

"Tell me you don’t want this," Joe murmured. "Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t feel this the way I do. And I’ll walk away."

Silence.

You didn’t say a word.

Didn’t push him away.

Didn’t do anything except stare up at him, lips parted, eyes flickering with a storm of emotions.

And Joe? He knew.

He knew he had you.

His lips barely ghosted over your ear as he whispered, "That’s what I thought."

Then, just like that, he pulled back.

And smirked.

"See you at dinner," he said casually before unlocking the door and walking out like you hadn’t just shattered in front of him.

Yeah.

Game over.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

You were done for.

Like, actually, completely finished.

You stood in the equipment room, still gripping the jersey you had been folding before he walked in and single handedly wrecked your entire system.

Your brain was short-circuiting. Your body was betraying you. Your heart was racing.

And Joe? That smug, infuriating, fine as hell quarterback had the audacity to walk out like he hadn’t just flipped your entire world upside down.

You exhaled sharply, dropping the jersey onto the counter before bracing yourself against it.

What the hell just happened?

You had been teasing him all week—hell, all month—enjoying the way he looked at you like he was one second away from losing control. You thought you had the upper hand. That you were the one calling the shots.

But now?

Now, it felt like he was the one playing with you.

The way he had walked in here, eyes dark, voice rough like he was holding something back… whew.

And then he had the nerve to get in your space, to practically dare you to deny that you wanted him? That you had been craving this just as much as he had?

Yeah. You were shaking.

Your fingers curled into your palms as you swallowed hard, trying to get a grip.

The worst part?

Joe knew what he was doing.

He saw the way you reacted. The way you had just stood there, completely speechless for the first time since you met him. And instead of pushing his advantage? Instead of really pressing you for an answer?

He had pulled back.

Smirked.

And walked away like he hadn’t just left you hot and bothered in the middle of your damn job.

"That’s what I thought."

His voice echoed in your head, making you shiver all over again.

Oh, he was good.

And now you had to face him at dinner.

Alone.

Your stomach flipped at the thought.

You were in so much trouble.

---

You were not nervous.

Nope. Not at all.

You weren’t pacing around your apartment, staring at your closet like it had personally offended you. You weren’t overthinking every possible outfit, wondering if it sent the wrong message.

This wasn’t even a date.

…Right?

You groaned, flopping onto your bed. This was his fault. Joe Burrow’s fault. If he hadn’t waltzed into that equipment room acting like he owned you, whispering in your ear like some kind of smooth-talking devil, you wouldn’t be in this mess.

Because now? Now you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

His voice. His eyes. The way he had leaned into you without touching you, and somehow, that had been worse than if he had.

It was annoying.

And even worse? He knew what he was doing.

Cocky bastard.

Your phone buzzed, and you already knew who it was before you even checked.

Joe: I’ll be there in 10.

Your stomach flipped.

You sat up so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash. Ten minutes.

Cursing under your breath, you bolted toward your closet, grabbing the first outfit that made you feel like you weren’t trying too hard but also didn’t scream I’m unbothered, because let’s be real—you were very much bothered.

By the time you were dressed, your phone buzzed again.

Joe: I’m outside.

Oh, Lord.

You took one last deep breath before stepping outside.

And there he was.

Leaning against his car, arms crossed, looking so damn good in a fitted black tee and jeans that should not have been allowed to fit that well. His curls were slightly damp—probably from a post-practice shower—and his ocean eyes locked onto you immediately.

And of course he smirked.

Like he knew.

Like he knew you had been thinking about him nonstop since your last encounter.

You refused to let him win that easily.

So you kept your expression neutral, tilting your head. "You clean up nice."

Joe let out a soft chuckle, pushing off the car to open the passenger door for you. "You always look good."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the heat creeping up your neck as you slid into the car.

The second he shut the door and got in on his side, you felt it.

The energy.

The air was thick, charged, like something was just waiting to snap.

Joe didn’t start the car right away. Instead, he rested one arm on the steering wheel and turned to you, his eyes dragging over your face like he was committing every detail to memory.

"You nervous?" His voice was too smooth, too damn confident.

You scoffed. "Please. What would I be nervous about?"

Joe’s smirk deepened. "Good. Because I don’t want you running when you realize how bad I want you."

Your breath hitched.

Joe saw it.

And for the second time that week, you had nothing to say.

Joe chuckled, low and deep, before finally starting the car. "Let’s go, sweetheart."

You turned to the window, biting your lip to hide the fact that you were so not prepared for whatever the hell this night was about to be.

Because if Joe Burrow wanted you this bad?

You weren’t sure how much longer you could resist.

---

You were in trouble.

Not the kind of trouble where you could talk your way out of it, either. No, this was real, heart-racing, stomach-flipping, toe-curling trouble.

And it was sitting right next to you, gripping the steering wheel with one hand like it was the only thing keeping him from reaching for you.

The drive was quiet—but not awkward. No, it was worse than that. It was charged. Every second stretched out, thick with something unspoken.

Joe had already made his intentions painfully clear.

Now, the ball was in your court.

But what scared you wasn’t making a choice. It was the fact that you already had.

You were done pretending that the tension between you wasn’t real. That every look he gave you, every touch he barely allowed himself to make, wasn’t unraveling you from the inside out.

And Joe? He knew.

He knew you were running out of excuses.

Which was why he wasn’t pushing.

Not yet.

"You're quiet," he finally said, voice smooth, careful.

You huffed, forcing yourself to look at him. "And you’re smug."

Joe glanced at you, smirk barely visible in the low light of the car. "I can’t help it. I like knowing I’ve been on your mind."

You scoffed. "And what makes you think you have been?"

Joe hummed, tilting his head slightly, fingers flexing over the wheel. "Because if I hadn't been, you wouldn’t have spent the last ten minutes avoiding looking at me."

Damn him.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as you turned toward the window. "You’re exhausting."

Joe let out a low, knowing chuckle. "And yet, you’re here."

Your heart stumbled.

Because… yeah. You were.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

He had you.

He knew he had you.

And not in some cocky, I always get what I want way. No—this was different. This wasn’t just some game to win.

This was you.

The woman who had been living in his head since the moment he met you. The woman who had him gripping his phone, waiting for your name to pop up. The woman who had turned him into a man who actually gave a damn about something other than football.

And you were here.

With him.

That was all he needed.

For now.

"You’re thinking too hard," you muttered, eyeing him as he pulled into the restaurant parking lot.

Joe chuckled, shaking his head. "And you’re acting like you’re not thinking about me at all."

Your lips twitched. "Maybe I’m not."

Joe turned the car off, then slowly—slowly—leaned over, resting his arm on the back of your seat.

His voice dropped, low and intimate. "Lying’s a sin, sweetheart."

Your breath hitched.

Joe felt it.

Saw the way your fingers clenched against your thigh.

And it took everything in him not to reach for you.

Not yet.

Instead, he just smirked and pulled back, getting out of the car like he hadn’t just left you gripping onto your last bit of self-control.

Yeah.

You were so close to giving in.

And Joe?

He was ready for it.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

You needed a moment.

Just one, tiny second to gather yourself after Joe Burrow had the audacity to lean in like that, murmur in that damn voice, and then just—just walk away.

Like he hadn’t just turned your brain into a useless pile of mush and your panties into the damn Pacific Ocean.

Like he hadn’t left you gripping your thigh because you needed to physically stop yourself from doing something stupid—like grabbing him by the collar and testing just how much he really wanted you.

You let out a slow breath, pressing your palms against your thighs before finally stepping out of the car.

Joe was already waiting for you, leaning against the hood with his hands in his pockets, watching you like he knew.

Which, of course, he did.

Smug bastard.

"You good?" he asked, voice light but laced with something deeper.

You narrowed your eyes. "Perfect."

Joe’s lips twitched like he wanted to laugh.

Oh, he was enjoying this too much.

You straightened your shoulders, brushing past him toward the entrance. You refused to let him see how badly he was affecting you.

The problem?

Joe was Joe.

And he had zero intention of letting you pretend.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

He was winning.

Not in a cocky, arrogant way—no, this was something else.

Because you liked this.

You liked the push and pull. The teasing. The way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

And that?

That made him want you even more.

But what really got him?

What really fucked him up?

The fact that you weren’t just some prize to be won. You weren’t playing hard to get just to make him chase you. No—you were trying to protect yourself.

Because deep down?

You knew.

Knew that once you gave in, once you let him in—there was no coming back.

For either of you.

Joe clenched his jaw, inhaling sharply before following you inside.

Time to turn it up a notch.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Dinner was dangerous.

Not because Joe was being obvious—no, that would’ve been easy to deal with.

Instead, he was being subtle.

And that? That was so much worse.

It was the way his voice dropped just slightly when he spoke to you. The way he leaned in when you talked, giving you his full attention like nothing else in the world mattered.

It was the way his fingers brushed against yours when he passed you the menu, the way his knee barely pressed against yours under the table—and stayed there.

You were losing it.

And the worst part?

You were letting him.

"Y/N."

Joe’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

You blinked, realizing you had been staring at your untouched drink.

Joe tilted his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You good over there?"

You cleared your throat, straightening in your seat. "Fine."

Joe grinned.

Slow. Knowing.

And then he leaned in, elbows resting on the table, voice dropping to something dangerous.

"You keep saying that," he murmured. "But I don’t think you are."

Your stomach flipped.

You swallowed hard, refusing to look away. "And why’s that?"

Joe’s eyes darkened.

"Because," he said, voice smooth, confident, "if you were really fine, you wouldn’t be gripping your napkin like it’s the only thing keeping you from grabbing me."

Your breath caught.

Joe smirked.

And just like that?

You knew.

Tonight wasn’t about whether you’d give in.

It was about how much longer you could pretend you hadn’t already.

—

Okay, no.

You were not about to lose control.

Not here, not now. You were better than this.

You had spent weeks enjoying the chase—the game—the thrill of watching Joe Burrow squirm. The smug look on his face when he thought he had you cornered… that was what you lived for.

But now?

Now he was testing your limits.

His words had gotten under your skin, but you could see the glint of satisfaction in his eyes. He thought he had you all figured out. Thought he knew how far you could be pushed before you’d crack.

Well, he was about to find out how wrong he was.

You took a slow breath, meeting his gaze across the table. His eyes were dark with something dangerous, something that promised a night you weren’t sure you were prepared for.

But you weren’t going to make it easy on him.

You straightened in your seat, narrowing your eyes just slightly, and let your lips curl into a smile that wasn’t nearly as innocent as it seemed.

"Really?" you asked, voice low, almost too casual. "Gripping my napkin? You’ve been watching me that closely?"

Joe’s smirk faltered for half a second, and you caught it. Oh, you caught it.

His confidence was slipping.

You could see it in the way he leaned back just a little, trying to recover, but you weren’t done yet.

"No need to get shy, Joe," you teased, leaning forward just enough for your neckline to catch his attention. "I mean, if I were you, I’d be enthralled, too. Can’t blame a guy for staring."

Joe’s throat worked as he swallowed, his gaze flicking to your lips before meeting your eyes again, though his expression was strained now. He was fighting it—fighting you.

And it was so much fun.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Y/N," Joe finally said, voice thick, though there was a trace of uncertainty that wasn’t there before. "You sure you want to keep doing this?"

You leaned back, adopting a casual posture, making sure you weren’t leaning in too far. No, you were letting him come to you this time.

"You’re the one who keeps pushing," you said with a playful edge to your voice, eyes never leaving his. "I didn’t start this."

Joe’s lips twitched into a grin that was just a little too confident for his own good. "You know what they say," he said, voice dripping with teasing amusement, "You can’t start a fire without getting burned."

Oh, so now he was going for the full flirtation.

Well, two could play at this game.

You met his gaze with a tilt of your head. "Maybe I like fire," you said slowly, the words carrying a deeper meaning. "But I’m not the one getting burned here."

You saw it then—the brief flicker of his pupils dilating, the slight shift in his posture as if he was leaning in without even realizing it.

And that? That was the moment you knew you were winning.

Joe Burrow—Joe Burrow—was sweating.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Joe was done for.

He thought he had this all figured out. Thought he could walk in here, say a few smooth lines, and watch you crumble under the weight of his attention. He had spent the last few weeks imagining this moment, planning on how he was going to pull you in, how he’d sweep you off your feet.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, had prepared him for how good you were at this.

You weren’t shy, you weren’t tentative. You were dangerous.

And the worst part?

You knew it.

He had leaned in, fully expecting you to crack under his teasing. He’d been so sure you’d back down. But instead, you had turned it around on him—effortlessly.

Your smile, that look in your eyes… God, it was like you were toying with him, and for the first time in his life, Joe Burrow had absolutely no idea what to do.

When you leaned forward just enough for him to catch the curve of your neckline, his mind completely short-circuited. His thoughts scattered, his pulse quickened, and all he could think was more.

More of you.

But no.

He wasn’t done yet.

"You're good, Y/N," he said, trying to regain his composure, voice thick but still playful. "Real good."

You smirked, clearly pleased with yourself. "Good is an understatement," you quipped. "But I guess you’ll find out just how good I can be, huh?"

Joe couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped him. "Oh, I’m already finding out, trust me."

But even as he said it, a little voice in his head reminded him that you were still in control.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t mind one bit.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Joe Burrow was unraveling.

And God, was it fun to watch.

He had walked into this evening so sure of himself—so cocky, so convinced that you were the one barely holding it together. He thought he could get in your space, whisper in your ear, watch you melt for him.

But now?

Now, he was the one gripping the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His posture was still relaxed, sure—but his eyes? His jaw? The slight way his knee had started bouncing under the table?

Yeah.

You had him.

"So," you said lightly, taking a slow sip of your drink, "should I be flattered or concerned that you’ve been studying my every move?"

Joe exhaled through his nose, lips twitching like he was fighting a smirk. "You should be flattered. But at this point, I think I’m the one who should be concerned."

You arched a brow. "Oh? Why’s that?"

Joe tilted his head slightly, hazel eyes locking onto yours in that way that always made your stomach do something stupid. "Because," he said smoothly, "I’m starting to think you enjoy watching me lose my mind over you."

You set your drink down with an innocent smile. "Starting to think? Joe, I thought we established that weeks ago."

Joe huffed a laugh, dragging a hand down his face like he was physically restraining himself. "Christ, Y/N."

You bit back a laugh. "What?"

Joe shook his head, leaning in again—closer, but not enough. Never enough. "I don’t think you get it."

Your breath hitched, but you refused to back down. "Then explain it to me."

Joe’s jaw flexed. His fingers curled against the table, like he was debating something—like he was at war with himself.

And then, finally, he let out a breath and muttered something so low you almost missed it.

"I want you."

The words shot through you like electricity.

Not in some casual, flirty, let’s-see-where-this-goes kind of way.

No.

Joe Burrow had just laid it all out on the table.

No games. No teasing.

Just truth.

And for the first time that night?

You had nothing to say.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

There.

He said it.

No more games. No more back-and-forth.

Just the truth.

And now? Now he was watching you, waiting—because this was it.

This was where you either pulled away or fell right into him.

You blinked once. Then twice.

And then, the slowest, most dangerous smile spread across your lips.

And Joe swore he stopped breathing.

"Took you long enough," you murmured.

Joe’s pulse spiked.

His fingers curled into fists against the table as he exhaled sharply through his nose, trying to keep himself in check.

Because you had no idea what you had just done.

None.

His patience? His self-control?

It was hanging by a thread.

"Y/N," he said, voice tight, "don’t push me right now."

But you just smirked.

"Oh?" you said, tilting your head. "And what happens if I do?"

Joe clenched his jaw so hard it ached.

Because fuck.

You were testing him.

And if he wasn’t careful?

You were going to win.

---

He couldn’t sit here any longer.

Not with you looking at him like that—eyes gleaming with mischief, lips curved in that little smirk that knew exactly what it was doing to him.

But when you had looked at him across the table, all playful and smug, that damn smirk on your lips—he snapped.

Not in a reckless way.

No.

Joe Burrow was calculated.

Always.

So, without a word, he stood up.

You blinked up at him, brows furrowing slightly. "Joe?"

But he didn’t answer.

Didn’t give you time to process before he was rounding the table, slipping his hand into yours, and gently—but firmly—pulling you up to stand.

His fingers curled around yours, warm and steady.

And when you didn’t resist?

When you let him lead you?

Yeah.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

"Come on," he murmured, his voice low, thick with something you felt in your bones.

You barely had time to register that he had already paid before he was leading you through the restaurant, fingers wrapped securely around yours.

Heads turned as you passed, but Joe didn’t notice. Didn’t care.

His entire focus was on you.

And the second you stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against your skin—

Your back hit the car.

Gently.

Not harsh, not rushed. Just decisive.

Because finally—finally—he had you exactly where he wanted.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

Okay.

What just happened?

One minute, you were testing Joe, enjoying every second of watching him try to keep his composure.

And now?

Now, his hand was in yours, his grip strong and unwavering as he led you—no, practically dragged you—out of the restaurant.

"Joe—"

But he didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow down.

And when you stepped outside, the night air cool against your skin, he turned so quickly that you barely had time to react before—

Your back hit the car.

Gently. Not rough, not rushed—just firm.

Like he needed you here.

Like he couldn’t wait another second.

Your breath hitched, hands instinctively finding the front of his shirt, gripping the fabric like you needed something to ground you.

Not because Joe had pushed you against the car—no, that wasn’t what had your pulse racing.

It was him.

Joe pressed his palms against the car on either side of you, caging you in.

And when he finally met your gaze—

You felt it.

The weight of everything unsaid.

The way he was looking at you.

Like he had spent every second of this night holding himself back.

Like he wasn’t going to anymore.

The tension that had been simmering for weeks, threatening to spill over.

You swallowed hard. "Joe—"

"Enough."

The word was low. Rough.

A command. A plea.

Your hands were still curled into the front of his shirt, fingers twitching slightly, but he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he liked it.

Your stomach flipped.

Because this?

This was different.

He wasn’t teasing anymore.

And neither were you.

Joe exhaled slowly, ocean eyes flickering down to your lips before snapping back up.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured. "If you want me to, just say it."

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Because you didn’t want him to.

Instead, you tilted your chin up slightly, your own silent challenge.

And that was all it took.

Joe moved.

His lips crashed onto yours, firm, certain—like he had been dying to do it.

And maybe he had.

His hands found your waist, fingers pressing into your sides, like he needed to feel you, to ground himself.

And you let him.

Because God, this was Joe.

And you were done pretending.

When he finally pulled back—just enough for his breath to mix with yours, for his forehead to brush against yours—he let out a rough, almost breathless chuckle.

"You drive me insane," he muttered.

You smirked, voice slightly dazed. "Good."

Joe huffed a laugh, pressing a slow, lingering kiss just beneath your jaw, like he wasn’t quite ready to pull away.

"You’re mine," he murmured against your skin.

And you didn’t argue.

---

You’re mine.

Two little words, murmured against your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

And the worst part?

You liked it.

Far too much.

Joe was still close, still hovering over you, his hands firm at your waist like he wasn’t ready to let go yet. Like he needed just a few more seconds of feeling you pressed against him before he could think straight again.

You weren’t sure you could think straight either.

You swallowed hard, inhaling slowly, trying—failing—to steady yourself. "Bold statement, Burrow."

Joe just smirked, his breath still warm against your skin. "Bold? Nah. Just facts."

Your stomach flipped.

You should’ve said something back, something clever, something to knock him off balance like you’d been doing all night—

But your brain?

Completely blank.

Because Joe wasn’t playing anymore.

He had spent weeks letting you tease, letting you test him, letting you hold the power in your little back-and-forth game.

But now?

Now, he had you exactly where he wanted.

And he knew it.

You let out a shaky breath. "And what makes you so sure I belong to you?"

Joe pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze, his hazel eyes dark with something unreadable. "Because," he said smoothly, confidently, "you haven’t pushed me away yet."

Damn him.

Damn him for being right.

You hated the fact that he had you speechless. That he had flipped the script so effortlessly, leaving you the one struggling to keep your cool.

But you weren’t going down without a fight.

Not yet.

So, with as much composure as you could possibly muster, you tilted your head, running your fingers down the front of his shirt. "Hmm," you mused, voice teasing despite the way your heart was pounding. "I don’t know… feels like you're the one who can’t let go."

Joe’s grip on your waist tightened—just for a second—before he huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "You’re impossible."

You grinned. "And you love it."

Joe exhaled through his nose, eyes flicking to your lips before snapping back up to your eyes. "Yeah, I do."

Your breath caught.

Because he had said it so easily.

No hesitation. No games.

Just truth.

And for the first time tonight, you didn’t have a comeback.

Didn’t have a single damn word.

Joe smirked at your silence, leaning in just enough to brush his lips against your temple—soft, lingering. "Come on," he murmured against your skin. "Let’s get out of here before I do something reckless."

You swallowed, pulse still wild, but somehow, somehow, you managed to smirk back. "Like what?"

Joe pulled back just enough to look at you, his hazel eyes filled with something deep, something dangerous.

"Like proving that you already belong to me."

Oh.

Oh, you were in trouble.

♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧♡+:•∴”:♡.•♬✧

You were gonna be the death of him.

Joe had spent weeks chasing you, letting you tease, letting you think you had the upper hand. He let you play your little game, let you watch him squirm, let you test just how much he could take.

But now?

Now, he had you cornered.

And God, was it satisfying.

The way you had no response to his words, the way you were staring up at him, lips slightly parted, that confident little smirk finally wiped clean off your face—yeah.

He had won.

You knew it, too.

But you were still fighting.

Still trying to hold onto whatever was left of your control, even as your fingers curled just slightly in the fabric of his shirt.

Joe smirked. "What? No comeback?"

Your eyes narrowed slightly, like you wanted to say something, like you were searching for something smart to throw back at him.

But nothing came.

Joe loved that.

"That’s what I thought," he murmured, letting his thumb trace slow, lazy circles against your waist.

You shivered.

Barely.

But he felt it.

Joe exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. "Still wanna pretend you don’t feel this?"

You inhaled sharply, jaw tightening. "I never said I didn’t feel anything."

Joe arched a brow. "Oh?"

You swallowed, but that playful fire in your eyes was back, that spark of defiance that drove him absolutely insane. "I just said I like watching you lose your mind over me."

Joe huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

You grinned, clearly pleased with yourself. "I try."

Joe should’ve pulled away.

Should’ve stepped back, given you space, let this moment simmer between you instead of pressing his advantage.

But he couldn’t.

Not when you were standing there, smiling at him like that, all smug and teasing and absolutely infuriating.

So, instead, he leaned in, voice low, thick. "Careful, Y/N. Because if you keep pushing me…"

Your breath hitched, eyes flickering to his lips. "Then what?"

Joe smirked. "Then I’ll remind you exactly why I’ve been so patient."

Your expression flickered—just for a second. Just long enough for Joe to see it.

And that?

That was everything.

"Come on," he muttered, finally—finally—forcing himself to take a step back. "Let’s go before I lose every ounce of self-control I have left."

You exhaled slowly, eyes still locked onto his, and then—finally—you nodded.

Joe let his hand slide down your arm, fingers brushing against yours before he laced them together, gripping your hand like he wasn’t letting go.

And he wasn’t.

Not now.

Not ever.

—

The whole drive to your place was quiet—too quiet.

Joe could still feel the weight of everything that had happened tonight, lingering thick in the air between you two. The teasing, the tension, the way you had finally, finally let your guard slip just enough for him to see that he wasn’t the only one feeling this.

And now?

Now you were sitting in his passenger seat, scrolling on your phone like you weren’t completely aware of the way his hand was still resting on your thigh.

Joe smirked to himself. You weren’t fooling anyone.

When he finally pulled up in front of your place, he threw the car in park but didn’t move.

Neither did you.

Seconds passed.

The air between you still crackling, still charged with something neither of you wanted to be the first to say out loud.

Joe tilted his head slightly. "You gonna invite me in?"

You huffed a laugh, side-eyeing him. "Cocky."

"Just hopeful," Joe corrected smoothly, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze. "But if you need me to beg…"

Your breath hitched—just barely—but Joe heard it.

You turned your head, finally looking at him head-on, eyes searching his face like you were trying to figure out if he was serious.

(He was.)

Then, after a long pause, you hummed. "Nah."

Joe arched a brow. "No?"

You grinned. "I think I like making you wait."

Joe groaned, throwing his head back against the headrest. "You are killing me."

You laughed, and damn, that sound alone made every second of waiting worth it.

He turned back toward you, gaze locked onto yours. "One day, you’re gonna slip up," he murmured. "And when you do, Y/N…" He leaned in just slightly, voice dropping. "I’m not letting you go."

Your grin faltered—just a little.

Just enough for Joe to see that you felt it too.

But instead of answering, you reached up and tugged his hoodie strings, pulling him in just enough for your lips to brush the corner of his mouth—soft, barely there.

Joe froze.

And then—

"Goodnight, Burrow," you whispered against his skin.

And just like that, you were slipping out of the car, leaving Joe sitting there, stunned, gripping the steering wheel like he was barely holding himself together.

His head fell back against the seat. "Jesus Christ."

He was so, so screwed.

JB9 Taglist: -

[riddlesrizzler]

𝘽𝙧𝙚𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙎𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙈𝙤𝙧𝙚

𝘱𝘵. 3 𝘰𝘧 𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘊𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘦 𝘊𝘶𝘱

summary: A brief encounter sparks something Mattheo didn't anticipate.

characters: ceo! mattheo. teacher! reader

warnings: none

word count: 1.3K

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ���⊹

Mattheo Riddle was a creature of habit. His life was built on structure- strategic moves, calculated risks, and an ironclad routine that ensured he remained in control at all times.

Every Saturday morning, without fail, he ran the same five-mile route through the city. He liked the way the early hours felt before the world fully woke up, the rhythmic pounding of his feet against the pavement drowning out the constant noise in his head. It was the one time in his day that did not demand a cutthroat decision or a ruthless negotiation.

But this Saturday was different.

Because as he rounded the corner near the end of his run, something shifted in the air- something unspoken, something electric. And then as if the universe itself had orchestrated the moment, he saw her.

Y/N

She had stepped out of the coffee shop, the same one he had haunted for an entire week just to catch a glimpse of her. But this time, she wasn't in a galaxy covered dress or a coffee stained sweater.

No, today, she looked... softer.

She was wearing light wash overalls, the straps loose over her shoulders, layered over a delicate white eyelet top. Her hair was loosely pulled back, a few strands of hair effortlessly slipped to frame her face like it was intentional. In one hand, she held a coffee cup- probably something sweet, he imagined- and in the other, a small bouquet of flowers, a mix of wild daises and soft pink roses.

Mattheo swore under his breath as his pace instinctively slowed.

This was not part of his plan.

But Mattheo Riddle was nothing if not adaptable.

So when she turned and nearly walked straight into him, it was almost too easy to let it happen.

"Oh-" she gasped, her coffee sloshing dangerously near the rim. "Wow, we really have a habit of running into each other, huh?"

Mattheo smirked, shifting his weight as he took a slow step back, giving her space he wasn't sure he wanted to give. "Maybe you should start watching where you're going."

She smiled, something along the lines of amusement as her eyes twinkled in the sunlight. "I think you are the common denominator here, Riddle."

He nearly flinched at how easily she said his name, like it wasn't something to be feared. Like he was just some guy she happended to see at a coffee shop and not the CEO of a multi-million-dollar company.

Intriguing.

His gaze flickered to the colorful flowers in her hand. "Those from a secret admirer?"

She glanced down at them, a small, almost embarrassed smile tugging at her lips. "Oh, these? I got them from the farmers market downtown for my classroom."

Right. She was a teacher. The thought still sat strangely in his mind. She seemed too... radiant for such a thankless job.

She lifted the bouquet slightly, as if explaining her actions. "I try to keep fresh flowers on my desk for my students. They get so excited about the little things, and I like to make the room feel welcoming, we're like a family after all."

Mattheo couldn't quite pinpoint why, but something about that sent a tight pull through his chest. He barely noticed when his hand flexed at his side, as if itching to reach for something he wasn't allowed to have.

Instead, he shifted the conversation before it could settle too deeply. "And the coffee?"

She lifted it slightly, her smile turning playful. "Hazelnut latte. My Saturday tradition during the school year, it's like a reward."

Mattheo made a noise of disapproval. "Too sweet."

She gasped in mock offense. "excuse me, not all of us like our coffee tasting like tar."

Mattheo chuckled, shaking his head. "You haven't had good espresso, then."

Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "And I suppose you consider yourself an expert, Mr. spills-his-coffee-on-innocent-bystanders?"

"I don't settle for anything less than the best." The words came out without thought, smooth and precise like every other statement he made. But this time, there was something different lurking beneath them, something unspoken.

And by the way her lips parted slightly-barely-he knew she had caught onto it.

For a brief moment, the world around them faded. The street, the distant hum of cars, the early morning breeze. None of it existed. Just the two of them, standing close enough that he could catch the faintest trace of her vanilla perfume.

He should have walked away.

He should have nodded, said his goodbyes, and then continue on with his run.

But Mattheo Riddle never denied himself what he wanted.

So instead, he shifted forward slightly, tilting his head as he let his gaze drift over her face- slow, deliberate. "Give me your phone."

Her brows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

His smirk deepended. "Your phone. Unless you plan on making me track you down every time I want to see you."

She blinked, clearly caught off guard by his directness. But then, to his complete and utter surprise, she laughed. Just like the one from yesterday that was soft and melodic, a sound that curled around his ribs and settled somewhere deep in his chest.

"You are seriously something else," she shook her head, her voice quiet with a hint of a smile. But then, to his satisfaction, she reached into the front pocket of her overalls, pulling out her phone and handing it to him.

Mattheo took it without hesitation, typing his number with quick precision before saving it under his name.

Just his name.

No titles, no formalities. Just Mattheo.

When he handed it back to her, their fingers brushed-brief, fleeting, but enough to send a jolt of something sharp through his skin.

She glanced down at the screen before looking back up at him. "So, what, you're planning on texting me coffee critiques now?"

He huffed a quiet laugh, stepping back just slightly, though the air between them remained charged. "Maybe. Or maybe I'll do something even worse."

She tilted her head, clearly intrigued, as her hair fell with her. "Like what?"

His smirk turned wicked, his eyes dark with promise. "Ask you out."

Her lips parted again, something that happened when she was caught off guard. Only, she didn't hide her reaction with laughter. Instead, she studied him- really studied him- like she was trying to figure out whether he was being serious.

He was.

He was more serious about this than he had been about anything in a very long time.

And then, a smile spread across her face. Not teasing, not guarded- just warm, just her. "Well," she mused, taking a small sip of her latte, "I suppose that would be terrible."

Mattheo's jaw ticked, a sharp sense of satisfaction circling through him. "Tomorrow night."

It wasn't a question.

Y/N raised a brow with a grin. "You're very confident in yourself, huh?"

He returned the grin. "Always."

She rolled her eyes playfully but didn;t argue. Instead she simply nodded, stepping back towards the sidewalk. "Alright, Mr. Riddle. Tomorrow night."

And then, just like that, she turned and walked away, her flowers swaying slightly in her grasp.

Mattheo watched her go, his pulse steady but hi smind anything but.

Because, for the first time in a very long time, something felt unexpected.

And he couldn't wait to see where it led.

ok so i’m officially obsessed with ceo! matty and teacher! reader.

[storm-of-feathers]

aaaaaaa

[mayfay]

For some reason my mind wants to call this girl Aria and I do need something to call her so congrats on the new name I guess.

First Off

Aria? Doesn't seem to have been given a clear goal by the system, or if she was she was able to more or less ignore it in favor of getting the hell out of dodge, which is Interesting. Cause like our good friend Cucumbers purpose was relatively clear, change the story, make it more interesting, just do Something with it. The fact this something also involved the "original author"? And a well defined system? One that has had multiple iterations/changes and access to multiple copies of the world as seen in previous SI-OC posts and the novels? I get they're more or less disconnected but my brain's putting together the beginnings of a wider connection (cause I can never resist poking the inner workings of a world, even if those internals don't exist).

Moving on to more solid stuff Aria is either making masterpieces or breaking some insane taboos. The idea of stacking multiple small effects for a larger whole is only a step to the left of cultivation, and considering how useful it is it's crazy we don't see that sorta thing in the world, so I got a few thoughts as to why.

This world was designed rather grown organically, meaning that a lot of core stuff was left out of frame and only the bare basics were autocorrected in. Some basics have to be there afterall, just cause it's not mentioned doesn't mean there's no bathrooms cause otherwise the stuff on screen couldn't function, so it gets filled in automatically. However stuff that might impact the story is pushed to the side or straight up not included, namely technological advancements. Afterall it'd be a shame if the world collapsed while the protagonist was gone cause some rando realized the gunpowder in fireworks could be used as a weapon even mortals could use, so people are... discouraged from making those discovery's/actions. Aria of course is not from this world and the system is a hack job overlayed on top of a low quality story, so these same restrictions may not apply to her, or at least not to the same degree (Cucumber Man faces a rough version of this limitation through the ooc penalties until he can prove to the system he's worth the risk, a limitation that might've been put in place after Aria wrecked shop with even a small amount of freedom or was removed after Shen but before Aria (or at least limited during her time) since it made for more interesting stories (and more cooperative Isekai-es)).

This sort of thing just isn't normally possible, either due to costs or magic system limits. I mean most materials likely take in or store energy rather than producing it like the human body does for cultivation, meaning crafted materials have a limit to what they can do based on how much energy they're supplied and currently store. For something high power like Arias battle dress that means you either need a high power cultivator wearing it for a constant recharge, or a bunch of lower power cultivators recharging it, in which case it'll lose charge over time (though I'm sure crafters have ways of mitigating that, it's still a major issue). And that's assuming it's even possible! Getting that much high power stuff working together while running around in all sorts of outside conditions, including being knocked around and actively damaged, sounds Very hard (Likely why she put so much effort into a single outfit rather than doing an okay job and copy pasting a dozen like an army uniform for the other sect members). Probably looks like a death trap to anyone with an ounce of knowledge, and considering how dangerous testing would be it probably is at full power or sufficiently damaged.

This kind of artificial power is some level of taboo. Cultivators put a ton of emphasis on personal power and growth, something artificial like this is not only cheap, but it's unique, and in a world dominated by traditions something like this could upset all sorts of people. Depending on the world it might even go further beyond, afterall for a world with so much conflict and and individuals with so much strength it's a little weird how static everything is, even on a scale of thousands of years. If there's some system of checks and balances among either the immortals or gods than something that upsets that could be cracked down on, Hard.

So why bother going into all that? Well for one, it's fun, and for two it explains some stuff, and has implications for our girl (and potentially the world) going forward. Following the first scenario that edge of the world? Could very well be literal. If there was more out there they might interfere or distract our protag, better to just not put in the effort of making it in the first place. Wouldn't be surprised if by breaking so many boundaries the system stepped in, either ending her story by drawing in the protag (who wants revenge and suddenly has some open space in the wife trophy hall), or packing her up and putting her on the shelf for future use like a previous SVSSS SI-OC of yours. Or who knows, maybe it lets it play out. If the edge of the world is literal then she's conveniently boxed in with the story, and if it's an endless expanse of desert or something then getting a tragedy out of her story could be interesting enough for the system to let her wander off into near certain doom. As for Gods? Follow this interpretation I fully believe they're just Gone. Wiped from existence, sealed away, bound by rules that limit their actions, the result's the same, they aren't interfering with the story and are likely to stay that way till protag's strong enough it wouldn't matter either way.

Second route has more hope for Aria, she has an escape route planned and an unexpected edge, plus enough support from escaped sect members that if her gear requires charge they can provide some (that hidden realm of hers might very well be drawing energy from its inhabitants to power her stuff). Unfortunately it also makes her Unique, and in this world that's a death sentence for any woman, especially one that interfered with the protagonist and his wives. With her gear being as eye catching as it is she better have a very good escape plan and some gear built to get her out fast with minimal traces, or ditch the stuff, potentially as a decoy, and hope her plan and luck holds out. On the bright side being unique, successfully defying the protag, and searching for the gods help is a good way to actually get it, meaning Aria actually has some long term potential, especially if she can play her cards right and set herself up as the protagonists final boss now that all the early and mid story threats and major plotlines are dealt with to some degree.

Third route is a middle ground between the other two, the world might be vast but she's unlikely to be making allies until they realize just how cornered they are, and by that point the time Aria needs to make proper gear is dwindling so Plan Get Out Of Dodge 2.0 is more tenable. Wouldn't be surprised if her long term story turned into cat and mouse, taking protag out across the wider world while she makes a run for it, warning who she can about the Armageddon in her wake, until she reaches somewhere that'll take her seriously enough she can risk a final stand with what shes made, or she runs out of time and gets caught.

Of course nothing says these 3 routes are mutually exclusive, though any sort of artificial world is gonna face Massive issues the longer it goes on, especially with someone like Aria who's pushing the boundaries of what's possible. Not that SVSSS is the most stable world as is considering the whole realm collision thing going on.

God, I am... so obsessed? (SI-OC thoughts)

PIDM/SVSSS/Xanxia let me gooooo .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·.

Back on my bullshit, with another Treasures Maker™. But like... make um TANK. Go ALL in. No being coy about it. No holding back. Balls to the wall, batshit insane Treasure Maker.

A real "w-why would you..." Sort of creator. Tentacle with a knife sort of "....wanted to see what would happen." Kind of gal. No one is safe and EVERYONE is nervous. Put the crafting supplies DOWN, shimei! Back AWAY from the crafting rooms! You KNOW you have to be supervised in there!

No one wants another... Incident™! (WE DO NOT SPEAK OF THE INCIDENT™!!!)

Cause like?

They? Had a brother. That brother? Was gross. We love um, but teenagers, man. Violence and boobs. 2 Edgy 4 U media. That sort of shit. It was his bread and butter for like... Puberty.

Not! To say he was a bad kid! God, no! But he WAS basicly soaking in sweat, hormones, and teenage "oh god I'm so horny I couldd die but also AaaaaaAAAAAAA-!!!!" Brain fuckery. Not fun. She survived it, does NOT recommend, but still retains the Sisterly right to ROAST his deeply shit reading tastes (lightly).

After all? Who amongst us? Has not read terrible, terrible Smut based power fantasies? People in glass houses and all that.

.....she DOES wish she, you know, stuck it out. Read that trashfire COMPLETELY. Not just the spark notes, wiki, and that hilarious rant compilation of the Honorable Cucumber Bro (A Legend, we stan. God, what a psycho(affectionate)). But like... not her genre, man. She's an otome nerd. Her Meta knowledge aint worth SHIT.

But! Trying to relate to her brother? Listening to him excitedly talk about the latest chapters and current arcs? DID leave her with SOME knowledge. Enough knowledge.

Specifically?

This world is SHIT to women.

Like? A legit horror reality. Everyone has somehow? Still got that bullshit, purity culture, your honor is stored in your virginal, mint condition, breeding stock hoo-haa. While being surrounded by more natural aphrodisiacs then any Hentai universe could excuse! Like? EXCUSE ME!?

You can't SPIT, without hitting three Fuck Or Die plants and the aphrodisiac poisoning monster that LIVES IN UM!

But we, the WOMAN, would be a whore, should we be struck by the damn near inevitable? Airplane... you sexist HACK! (*Qinghau... feels like he's in danger*)(He swears he DIDNT MEAN IT! He just didn't think of the implications! About A LOT OF SHIT!)

Not to MENTION?

The fucking (quite literally) BODY HORROR fuckboi Protagonist! With his MONSTER DICK! Like? Look... she is a GROWN ASS WOMAN, okay? She KNOWS how sex works! Apparently, she is one of the privileged few in this universe who DOES. And while her little brother and that hack author may buy into the troupe "all women want huuuuuge, big, improbable, monster dicks"?

Ha ha! GOD, No. They do NOT. That is PURELY a male thing! It's a masculinity thing. Some power fantasy, male envy, "look how manly I am" bullshit. WOMEN? Have ORGANS. And while there ARE outliers (gods bless, we salute you. Go for greatness, you mad, mad queens.) MOST of us? Like bits that FIT.

You know... WITHOUT the Protagonist's so called "blood Gu". (Thanks! That's a HORRIFYING THOUGHT! Both on the "what do MEAN he, a non medically trained fuckboi, LITERALLY REARRANGED THEIR INSIDES?" lvl AND on the "WHAT DO YOU MEAN PARASITES IN THE BLOOD‽‽‽" lvl.)

So SI-OC? Rightfully? Wants Mr "All Women Are Belong To Me" NO WHERE near her. The fact that he's a demon? Irrelevant. The fact that he's an unrepentant MONSTER of a man? With a body horror dick? VERY relevant.

BEGONE XANXIA SATAN.

Leave her and her orifices the FUCK ALONE. You psychotic, sect murdering, realities destroying, selfish, narcissistic Fuckboi!

Not that she remembers much of the "cool motive, still murder" Phase of his life. Nor does she care, with how many people he fucks over. She wants to get far, FAR away from that mess. And more SPECIFICALLY? She wants to SURVIVE that mess. Which requires power.

She doesn't HAVE power.

But? She DOES have some Meta knowledge... and a shit ton of patience.

Cause after all, what is better then a protection talisman sewn onto a robe? Ten Thousand Protection Talismans sewn onto a robe, which is only ONE of a SET. And that? She can do.

To hell with pretty embroidery. Flowers and bamboo. Birds in flight. No, with Qi enhanced sight, and steady hands? The finest needle and the strongest, thinnest, thread? Script so tight and small it light grains of rice. Over and over and OVER. Each of her layers, holding thousands upon thousands of words. So small it's near impossible to read.

Which, of course, is to say nothing of the ribbons. Such long HAIR, after all! Only a FOOL wouldn't make USE of that space. Portioning out her head into hundreds of tiny braids, talisman written ribbons woven all the way down.

Every bit and piece of her clothing, a masterwork of steady repetition and patience. A fortress, built brick by brick. Not inconquerable. But strong enough, that even the heavens would strain.

Of course... only so long... as she's WEARING such armor.

Everyone must sleep eventually. Must bathe. You can not wear only one thing FOREVER. And that IS the difference between the strength you create and the strength you simply possess. One of them? Is always with you.

And like? Imagine it.

Big Sister. The penultimate Immovable Object facing off against Bingme's Unstoppable Force. Her DECADES of quite preparation unfurling like the waking of a slumbering GOD. All those traitors to the Sect. Women who BETRAYED their own. Betrayed their bothers and sisters, the CHILDREN they were supposed to guide and teach. For DICK. Having their attacks against her turned back against them.

Lethally.

As the remaining Peak Lords fight, a literal beacon of power. Of Safety. Sweeping through and grabbing survivors. Tossing them into a hidden realm she's literally wearing around her neck. Small but stable, her graduates work in progress. It's sparse in there. More bare earth and barely planted medical plants then anything. A few fruit trees.

But? It's beyond the reach of these invaders. And unless Luo Binghe kills her? Gets past her every defense and prys the anchor from her cold dead hands? Then they are safe. For now.

The sect may be lost. At least in terms of buildings, land. But it's PEOPLE? The important part? Not so long as she lives. The selfish dramas of demons and men are none of her concern. She has students, children, and the injured to protect.

And obviously, this makes her a target. She's shining like a God damn mini sun. It's not subtle. But the sect is burning, there's demons everywhere, she kinda expected that. At least she gets to kill a few of those traitorous "wives" on her way out.

(They betrayed their sisters. Their students. Their FRIENDS! This was their FUCKING HOME!! If they thought the Sect unforgivable? They should have LEFT. Not attacked as children fled for their lives. Cultivators are meant to kill monsters, not BECOME them.)

She takes them, her copies of as much of the libraries as she could manage on her own (it's not enough. Forgive her. She had to prioritize.) and heads for the border of the map. As fast as Cultivation can travel.

Did the Realms truely merge? Or did this portion collapse together? If they fly far enough, will they find the edge? And should it ALL have collapsed... he's not explored it yet. They have time to rebuild. Heal. Train and grow stronger..

All is not lost. Not yet.

Besides...

Who's to say that Fuckboi is the only Protagonist in this world? The only child of the Heavens? Maybe there are other gods. Maybe... maybe those gods are pissed. At the presumption. The arrogance. Maybe... just maybe, those gods will help. Who can say? It's never been done.

But is that not the duty of a righteous cultivator? To do what is right? To fight against monsters? What greater monster is there then this? The child not embraced by the village, will come to burn it down. But Luo Binghe? He has decided to burn the WORLD to ashes. And such madness must be stopped.

It doesn't matter how it began. They're gonna end it.

Together.

@mayfay @legitimatesatanspawn @spidori @babbling-babull @hdgnj @leftnotright

[bruhstories]

sweet like honey ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

summary: logan ended up spending his evenings in the bar across the street from your bakery, watching you do your job. he never approached you, never talked to you, but he always kept an eye on you, until he has a bad feeling. pairing: logan x fem!reader warning & content: swearing, violence, reader almost gets assaulted (but logan saves the day), she/her pronouns for reader, wade being wade, unprotected p in v, fluff, angst, lots of baking and mentions of food, slightly ooc logan (if you squint), slow burn, sex in a bakery wc: 6k

a/n: i don't always write, but when i do, it's a fucking thesis. unedited.

︵��୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

Logan was never a fan of sweets. He hated chocolate, cheesecake, gummy bears — literally anything sweet. The only thing he could barely stomach was tiramisu, and only because it had coffee in it. Other than that, he steered away from sweets like they were the fucking plague.

Yet despite all that, he found himself enjoying the smell of freshly baked croissants, custard donuts, brownies, and whatever goods you baked in your little bakery, conveniently situated across the street from his go-to bar.

Cleverly named Flour Power, it was all pastel both inside and out, with little pots of hyacinths hanging from its window and a big sign above the entrance. Not that Logan ever went there, but he always walked past it when he went for a drink. Flour Power stood out from all the shops with its baby blue windowsills and bubblegum pink door. As much as he disliked vibrant colours, his eyes were always drawn to the bakery. But not because of how it looked or the way it smelled.

No, Logan strategically sat down by the window in the bar to see you. Every evening, he watched you sell everything you had on display, from wedding cakes to éclairs, greetings customers with a warm smile on your face. He watched you turn the sign from open to closed, lock the door, clean the display shelves, the counters, the only two tables and four chairs inside, and sweep and mop the floors. Then you disappeared in the back for a while, perhaps doing the dishes or preparing dough and frosting, before you walked out, locked the door again, pulled down the blinds over the big window on the right side of the door, and left.

It became a ritual for Logan to watch you. In a way, it brought him some peace, despite him never speaking to you. To him, you were innocence personified, the type of girl who made others feel better simply by being there, and he didn't want to disturb that peace.

Tonight was an ordinary night for the 200 year old mutant. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, drank it all, then went to the bar to ask for another round, killing time until you closed the bakery, then he could finally go back to the apartment. You closed at 7 for clients and left at 8:30 every evening except for Sundays, when you didn't work. Logan knew your schedule a little to well, even knew you opened for clients at 8 in the morning, but you were there much earlier, because he could smell the pastries at around half 6. This time, however, you seemed to have a bit more work. It was past 9, it was dark, and you still hadn't left, and Logan was slightly concerned.

He watched you like a hawk, how you tucked rebellious strands of hair behind your ear when you mopped the floor, how you wiped your hands on your cute little apron after you finished scrubbing the countertops. Logan thought you had extra orders from customers, perhaps a wedding cake. He scrunched his nose at the thought of having to try so many flavours only to pick a damn cake that he probably wouldn't enjoy anyway.

But finally, you were done.

It was almost 10 when you locked the door to the bakery, double checking to make sure it wouldn't budge. Then the blinds and off you went. Logan was satisfied to see you go, but the hairs on his back suddenly stood up, his nostrils filled with the scent of danger. Bitter, sour, it went straight to his brain, and so he finished his drink and left the bar, following you down the street but keeping a safe distance.

You walked past a group of drunk men, gripping your tote bag with your left hand and your keys with your right one. You've learned to place the keys between your fingers, like claws, in case someone attacked you. Going home at that time wasn't something you enjoyed, and you always tried to avoid working late, but sometimes that was inevitable. When you heard footsteps approaching you, you picked up the pace, but paranoia kicked in, and you didn't want whoever was following you to find out where you lived, and so you took a detour.

Logan was like your shadow, going everywhere you went, until he heard something drop in a dimly lit alleyway and he sped up, finding you round a corner, pinned to a wall by a man while another guy had his hand up your dress. It was too dark to see, but Logan didn't need eyes to know that was you. He could smell the vanilla extract and icing sugar and fear.

"Take my wallet!" You told the men, but they weren't there for the money. They wanted something else from you.

"Nah, doll, I'll take something else from you. Somethin' more precious than money." One of the men said, his breath reeking of alcohol, the cheap kind.

"Hurry up and fuck her, bro, I need my turn-"

Something flashed, then a shadow lunged at the second guy who couldn't even finish his sentence before he was struck down.

"Mike?" The man who pinned you against the wall asked, his hands trembling on your body. "Stop fucking around."

But Mike was seeing stars somewhere on the alleyway. It happened so quickly you couldn't understand what was going on. When your eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, you saw him, rough, handsome and very, very angry.

"Who the fuck are you?" The man asked, but all he got in response was a guttural growl. "Hey, man, I don't want any trouble. My girlfriend and I were just talking. Stay out of it." He grabbed you by the neck, dragging you away from Logan.

You seized the opportunity and wrestled out of his grasp by biting your assaulter's hand, dashing behind a bin.

"Ow! Fucking bitch!" He lunged at you, but Logan was quicker, piercing his claws through his shoulder and holding him in place.

"That's no way to talk to a lady." The mutant snarled, and you watched how his claws retracted before he punched the man in the face, effectively knocking him down.

He was the Wolverine. You had seen it all over the news, how he saved your universe, how he came from a different world. You couldn't believe he was the one helping you when you thought no one would save you in that moment.

"You alright, kid?" His raspy voice startled you and you barely nodded, still too shocked to move or speak. "You sure?"

You shook your head and tears rolled down your cheeks as you finally started to process what just happened. Logan scrunched his nose — comforting someone wasn't his strongest skill — and instead he picked up your bag and keys from the pavement.

"Shit, um, don't cry." He handed you your belongings, and you looked up at him with a frown.

How could you not cry when you saw your entire life flashing before your eyes? Logan swallowed a lump in his throat and offered his hand to help you stand up. You looked at his hand, reluctant to grab it. The only thing he could compare you with was a cat — cautious, yet curious.

"No claws." He said when he understood the meaning behind your eyes. "Come, I'll- um, I'll walk you home."

The invitation had you perk up and gain courage, and you quietly took the bag from his hand. He walked with you in complete silence, until you stopped in front of a building. You lingered, unwilling to go in. Logan asked if that was your place, and after you nodded, he offered to take you all the way to your apartment, which made you feel relieved. He could see it on your face when you sighed. You guided him up the stairs, constantly looking behind you to make sure he was there.

You stopped in front of a tall wooden door, keys in hand.

"Go on. I'll wait until you lock the door." Logan encouraged you.

"Can you stay?" You finally spoke, and your voice was sweet like honey, fitting for a baker.

"I don't know, kid-"

"Please." You looked at him with glossy eyes, pupils blown from the fear that hadn't left your body yet. The fear he could still smell.

"Yeah. Okay, I'll stay."

"Thank you."

Logan followed you in, and you flipped the light switch on before locking the door behind him. He looked around and, just as he expected, the apartment was a direct reflection of your bakery — clean, colourful and calm. There were recipes stuck to the walls with pink pins, and between them little paintings of sunsets, skies, flowers, cats. All things cute. They weren't framed, and so Logan figured they were hand-made, his assumptions confirmed by the easel in the corner of your living room.

Of course your sofa had to be colourful, too — mustard yellow with sage green cushions and blankets. Even your curtains were sage green. Despite the explosion of colours, Logan found himself enjoying being there. Not everything had to be brown, black and grey, he thought. Probably the only vibrant thing in his life was his suit, since the only people that brought colour were his friends, and they were gone.

"Drink?" You cracked the walls he put up around his heart with that sweet voice.

You shook a bottle of gin to get his attention and he nodded. Logan wasn't a fan of gin, but he didn't expect you to have any hard liquors. He watched you pull out two blue glasses from the kitchen cabinet, and of course they had to be funky, with white flowers on them.

"Where'd you get these?" He asked, swirling the drink in his hand.

"I made them. Kind of." You said. "Bought them from a charity store and painted the flowers. Do you want some tonic water?"

"Fuck no." Logan choked on his gin when you asked him that question. Simply being in a place so... colourful was enough. He didn't need a girly drink.

"I'm Y/N, by the way."

"I'm-"

"The Wolverine!" You cut him off a little too eager.

"-Logan. Call me Logan." He cringed when the beverage tickled his taste buds. It wasn't bitter enough for him.

"Logan. Thanks for tonight. Is there any way I can repay you?"

The question was riddled with innocence, but he couldn't stop the degenerate thoughts that popped in his mind when you asked him that. You were just so pure that he wanted to both protect you and ruin you.

"Don't mention it. I couldn't just walk past without doing anything." Logan lied, because, really, he wasn't just walking by, was he? No, it was downright stalking.

"I could bake something for you." You offered and he shook his head.

"I don't like sweets, kid."

"What?" You were baffled. "Everybody likes something sweet."

"Not me." He shrugged. "All I like is tiramisu and only if those biscuits are doused in coffee."

"Ladyfingers." You corrected him with a chuckle. "They're called ladyfingers."

"Bullshit."

"I'm serious! Here!" You rushed to your pantry and pulled out a whole box of them, showing Logan the name.

"That's just stupid." He shook his head. "Who calls them ladyfingers?"

"Uh, everyone?" You laughed at his surprise, and the thoughts of your bad evening slowly dissipated, like a bad dream.

Logan truly was clueless about baking, but spent hours listening to you talk about types of sugar, extracts and their uses, and the difference between baking soda and baking powder in cooking. You rambled on and on and not once did he get bored. He could listen to you talk for hours with your voice soothing. Logan thought about it, and he genuinely never met someone like you before. The women in his life were all so different, but you took the cake. You were special in ways he couldn't understand. And he was just so drawn to you.

"I'm sorry, I haven't stopped talking once!" You apologised, realising how safe you felt with him there. You would never let a stranger inside your house, let alone talk about baking while having gin. But Logan wasn't a stranger. Not after he saved you.

"'s alright. It's not every day I learn about baking." He chuckled, finishing his drink. "Listen, I should get going."

"Right." You sighed, eyes darting at the floor. "No, of course. I've kept you too long."

Logan got up and you walked with him to the hallway. He was slow to put his leather jacket on, as if he was waiting for you to say something, anything, but when you didn't, he unlocked the door and opened it.

"Hey, Logan?" You tugged at his sleeve, whispering so you wouldn't wake your neighbours. "Are you sure I can't bake you something? Not now, I mean. I really want you to try something besides tiramisu. And that way I can repay you."

"Hell, why not?" He shrugged.

"Great!" You beamed at him like a child on Christmas day. "Stop by my bakery tomorrow at twelve. It's on Granville Street."

"I thought you didn't work on Sundays."

"Oh, how'd you know?" You quirked a brow at him.

Caught red-handed.

"Educated guess."

"Fair enough." His answer satisfied you. "Be there or be square!"

Sleep was for the weak. All night, Logan tossed and turned and abused his poor pillow with with punches. The mere thought of seeing you, no, interacting with you, had him wriggle like a worm on the mattress. It didn't help that Wade instantly noticed something was up.

"Oh, my, did you shower, peanut?"

"Not today, Satan." Logan poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Mmm, and what do I smell?" Wade sniffed the air. "Wait, is that my perfume?"

"Forgot to pack mine when I swapped universes." The Wolverine barked back.

"Hah!" Blind Al chimed in from the living room. "I think tall, dark and handsome here has a date!"

Logan rolled his eyes while Wade pouted, plopping on the sofa next to Al.

"You never called me that."

"That's cause you’re a degenerate." The woman snorted.

"Takes one to know one, doesn't it- ow! Stop hitting me with your cane, I know where you hide your nose candy!" Wade fought back.

"Touch it and I'll bust a cap in your ass!" Al scoffed.

"And I'll regenerate."

Logan used the opportunity to slip into the hallway, but his roommate was quicker, and blocked the door.

"You're not going anywhere until we have the talk."

"The talk?" The Wolverine snorted.

"Ah, they grow up so fast." Wade told Al. "Now, son, when a man and a woman love each other-"

"I'll give you three seconds to fuck off."

"Oh, but I need to know everything! Who is he?"

"She." Logan rolled his eyes.

"Oh my god, is this you coming out to us? Al, he's straight! I promise we love you anyway." Wade went for a hug and all Logan could do was accept it. He learned to live with Wade, even though he dislocated his jaw a few times after he moved in.

"Alright, that's enough."

"Nooo, we're just getting started. Name? Age? Occupation? We could do a double date with Vanessa-"

"Absolutely fucking not." Logan pushed Wade off of him.

"Okay, okay. Just make sure you wrap your willy, and if you need any advice, daddy's here." Wade opened the door for his roommate.

"Actually." Logan lingered in the hallway. "What kind of flowers do girls like?"

The blinds to the bakery were closed but you were inside, pastries in the oven and dessert in the fridge. You couldn't help yourself and prepared something savoury as well, in case he didn't like the lemon cake. A knock on the door startled you, and you rushed to check who it was.

Logan stood there, a bouquet of peonies in his hand. You welcomed him in with a smile, but he could tell it was different than the one you flashed your customers. It seemed more genuine. And it felt like a date.

"These are for you." Logan handed you the flowers, taking in the scent of pork pies. "I thought you were gonna bake something sweet." He flared his nostrils.

"I did, I just thought I should have a plan B in case you didn't like my cake." You placed the bouquet in a vase on one of your tables. "How did you know I liked peonies?"

Logan couldn't believe Wade was right about those damn flowers. And there he was, thinking roses would be better. Maybe the Merc with a Mouth wasn't so bad after all.

"I had a hunch." He shrugged. 

"Well, Logan, I love them! Now sit, sit!" You ushered him to his seat. "I hope you're hungry, because there's a lot for you to try."

"A lot? I thought you'll make me a cupcake or somethin', bub."

"A cupcake?? Don't be silly." Just as you said that, the oven made a loud ding sound, and you turned on your heels, heading in the back.

Logan waited patiently, observing every little detail from the front of your bakery, from the spotless display shelves to the neatly organised paper bags, to the fairy lights around the window. It was obvious to him that you had put your mind, body and soul into this bakery, and his expectations were quite high after all the fuss you made. But he decided to be nice not matter how the food tasted. He couldn't bear seeing you upset if he didn't like what you made.

You reappeared with a tray in your hand, and on it two plates, one with a small pork pie, one with a croissant, and a cup of coffee. Hell, even the cutlery was cute, with swirls engraved on the handles of the fork, knife and teaspoon.

"I decided to leave the cake for last." You said, placing the tray in front of him. "This is a simple pork pie, start with that." You urged him. "Careful, it's hot."

The Wolverine struggled with the cutlery, too small for his large hands, and the brief thought of slashing the pie with his claws crossed his mind, but he decided to be civil. You watched him butcher the food, eager to see his reaction, but he was taking his time.

"I'll let it cool off a bit."

"Ooh, that's probably a good idea." You nodded.

"Aren't you having some?" Logan asked.

"Noo, no. I like to bake for others, not for myself."

"So what do you eat, then?" He sipped on the coffee.

"Instant noodles usually. I'm too tired to cook when I get home. I do occasionally have leftovers, but whatever isn't sold I take it to the local shelter." You explained.

Christ, you couldn't be any kinder. Logan was stunned by your beauty and your soul, which was why he decided that after today, he will stop any interaction with you. He couldn't ruin you, not with his lifestyle, not with the danger that followed him everywhere.

The only problem was that the conversation flowed naturally, and he felt safe with you, just as you did with him. Like you were the missing piece to his puzzle. Logan pushed away those thoughts and decided to try the food. He took a large mouthful of the pie, chewed and swallowed, and you waited expectantly.

"Shit."

"What? Is it bad?" You jumped from your seat.

"Fuck, this is the best pork pie I've ever had." Logan wiped his mouth with a tissue you provided. "I'm serious, kid. Did you put drugs in it?"

You laughed, shaking your head as he finished the rest of the pie. He truly seemed to enjoy it, and you felt so satisfied. But the real test came after.

"Pistachio croissant." You said. "I thought about making almond ones, but I figured pistachio wasn't that sweet."

"Right, let's see." Logan took a healthy bite out of the pastry, and lo and behold, he closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair. If heaven had a taste, it would be that damned croissant.

"Is it good?"

"Good? Jesus, this is the best one yet." He finished the rest of it, the pistachio cream tickling his taste buds in all the right ways. "Who taught you to bake like this?"

"My grandma. She was the best cook I knew." You smiled.

Logan noticed your use of past tense, and he didn't want to bring up any bad memories. He wasn't the nosy type, but something possessed him to ask you about your life, your family, your favourite colours. He needed to know more about you, and you answered all his questions, opening up to him like a flower in bloom. But when it came to him talking about himself, Logan was reluctant.

Talking to Wade was easier, because Wade didn't take anything seriously, nor did he ask personal questions. Well, he did, but in his own stupid way that provided Logan some distraction, as well as a reason to punch him. But with you it was different. He felt like he owed you serious answers that he wasn't yet ready to tell a stranger who made a mean pistachio croissant.

"The cake!" You spun on the chair, changing the subject when you saw Logan dodging your questions like bullets.

Although he didn't say it, he was grateful that you didn't put any pressure on him to talk. He wasn't a talker. That was definitely Wade. You came back with the whole cake, and it looked so good that Logan didn't want you to cut it. Perfectly round, a layer of cream in the middle and white frosting on top. You even went so far as to decorate it with all kinds of yellow flower petals and what seemed to be mint leaves.

"Alright, hit me. What's this one called?"

"I call it the Mojito Cake. The sponge cake has lemon zest, the cream is made of lime, mint and rum syrup, and the frosting is buttercream with a dash of actual rum." You explained.

"Shit, I can't tell if that sounds disgusting or incredible."

"Only one way to find out." You cut him a thick slice, and Logan wasted no time trying it.

"I think you found yourself a new customer."

"You're too nice."

"I'm anything but nice, kid." He took three more spoonfuls. "But I ain't a liar. This is delicious." Logan spoke with his mouth full and it made you chuckle.

"Oh, there's a bit of frosting on your face."

"Hm?" He used the tissue to wipe his chin. "Did I get it?"

"No, it's still- here, I'll get it." You leaned forward and delicately ghosted your thumb over the corner of his mouth, eyes locked with his.

Without thinking about it, you dragged your tongue over the frosting, and Logan couldn't look away from you even if he wanted to. A gesture so innocent, but it destroyed any form of restraint. He pressed his lips onto yours, tasting the rum and the cream, but before you could kiss him back, he pulled away.

"Sorry. Sorry, I shouldn't have-"

You gave him no time to finish his sentence when you placed your hands on his shoulders and kissed him with fire on your tongue. God, he hated being touched, but when you did it, he melted in your hands. Lust battled reason and prevailed, and you found yourself straddling Logan's lap, arms around his neck and chest pressed against his.

His large hands found their way under your dress, fingers digging in the plush of your thighs until a moan escaped past your lips. Logan could've sworn you were pure in all ways — a virgin — so, naturally, he was surprised to see you eager to jump his adamantium bones.

With the last shred of reason left in you, you glanced at the door and window to make sure they were covered, and pushed Logan's jacket off his shoulders, peppering his neck with soft kisses. He wasn't the gentle type, no matter how hard he tried, and he didn't need to be when he felt your hips grind in his lap. It was more than obvious that you wanted him then and there.

Logan lifted you up as if you weighed nothing and slammed you down the empty table. His roughness sent a chill down your spine, because you really wanted him to manhandle you from the moment he stepped foot in your bakery. He kissed you again, pressing his whole against yours until your back hit the table. You felt like a cornered animal with nowhere to go, and the thrill of it turned you on.

"Are you sure you want this?" Logan asked despite you unbuckling his belt.

"I don't want this, I want you. I need you to fuck me so hard I can't walk." You unzipped his jeans, and although he was taken aback by your sudden use of filthy words, he couldn't deny he enjoyed seeing that side of you.

"Greedy little girl." Logan's hand slithered between your legs, fingers rubbing circles over your clothed clit. "Shit, you're soakin' wet. Can feel it through your fuckin' panties already." He flared his nostrils, taking in the scent of your arousal.

With his jeans loose around his waist, you palmed his cock through his boxers, and it didn't shock you for a second that he was rock hard. What did shock you, however, was the size of it. It was probably the biggest you've ever taken, and you didn't want any other man anymore.

You tugged at the waistband of his boxers, making it clear that you didn't want to waste any more time. Not that you didn't want to suck his dick or explore every inch of his body and worship it the way a man like him deserved it, but you were impatient.

Logan got the hint when you whined and scoffed, and he tore the pink panties off of you, tossing them on the floor. At least he had the decency not to put them on the table, which you were going to disinfect anyway. He pushed his boxers down, and you propped yourself on your elbows to look at him, and it was a sight for sore eyes indeed. He had perfectly sculpted abs, you could see them under the half-lifted t-shirt, but it was his cock that made your mouth water.

"Like what you see?" Logan was smug, confident in his good looks.

"I need to permanently imprint this image on my retina." You told him, and he couldn't help the chuckle.

"Likewise. Now spread 'em."

"Yessir!" You very quickly obeyed, parting your legs for him, and Logan couldn't deny that he enjoyed being in control.

He wasn't one to take orders, nor give them, but watching you comply scratched an itch he couldn't get rid of. Logan pressed the tip of his cock against your slick folds, earning another whine from you. You bucked your hips, craving more, and he scoffed.

"That desperate, hm?"

"You have no idea." You dug your manicured fingernails into his shoulders, bracing for temporary pain, because you knew damn well it would hurt.

"I don't know, I didn't hear you say please." Logan frowned, and you understood what game he was playing. A game you yearned to be part of.

"Oh, please, please, please fuck me, Logan! I'll be so good for you! I'll do anything you want." You clung to his shoulders, bringing yourself closer to him. "I'll even take it in any hole you want." You whispered, dragging your tongue over his lips.

"Shit." Logan was weak in the knees from your words, and the worst part was that he believed everything you said. But there was a time and place for everything.

You were the perfect mix of sweet and spicy, and you begged so nicely that the Wolverine just couldn't say no. You felt the leaking tip of his cock push past your folds and you audibly gasped at the size of it, drawing blood from his skin with your fingernails.

"It won't fit-" You whined with lust in your voice.

"I'll make it fit." Logan promised, painstakingly slowly thrusting into you.

He gave you time to adjust to his girth, constantly checking if you were alright, if you wanted him to carry on or stop, and while you loved that he was so caring, you needed him hurry up and fuck you.

To assure him that you would survive his monstrous cock, you planted a soft kiss on his nose, and there it was again, the change in your personality, from sultry to innocent. It was as though you embodied everything he ever wanted, and his desire to never contact you again went down the drain. How could Logan ever leave someone like you?

"I'm ready." You nodded, and he pressed his forehead onto yours, slowly rolling his hips.

You weren't ready, because it hurt like a bitch when he stretched out your velvety walls. But the pain was soon replaced by pleasure, and Logan picked up the pace when your whimpers turned to moans, and the slight frown on your face disappeared.

"So tight." He hummed, forehead resting against yours.

Were you tight, or was he just so incredibly big? Either way, you were a panting mess already, clinging to him for dear life, and Logan forgot his worries, even if it was just for that one moment. You were too good to be true, with your parted lips and glossy eyes — a beautiful sight for his sore eyes.

"Fuck, I- fuck!" You wrapped your legs around his waist, the table screeching under you. Not a single coherent sentence could come out of your mouth. "Logan, shit, I-"

"What's the matter? Need something?" He cooed, fingers bruising into your hips. "Use your big girl words."

"Need it ha-harder!" You cried out but he slowed down, confusion written all over your face.

"Where are your manners?"

"Please, daddy, please give it to me harder!"

The term of endearment had Logan quirk a brow at you, but he wasn't surprised in the slightest that you had a daddy kink. And he basked in being called that.

"Are you sure you can take it?"

"Yes!" There was no hesitation in your response. "Fuck, yes!"

Logan growled when he felt your pussy clench around his cock, and he delivered, thrusting deeper, harder and faster into you, until the sound of skin on skin echoed in the bakery, and your breathing became heavier.

"Fuuuuck, I can feel it in my gut!" You threw your head back when the tip of his cock brushed against your cervix.

"Filthy. Little. Slut." Each word came with a thrust and a groan, and he filled you up so good, you became addicted to him.

Your toes curled up, and your legs began to twitch when you felt your orgasm build up. Each push and pull made your vision blurry, and Logan's grip on you tightened as his hips stuttered. He was feral, and he was close, you could feel it in your bones.

"Fuck, Logan, do- oh- don't stop!" Words spilled from your mouth incoherently, and after a few more thrusts, pure bliss rushed through your body.

"That's it, let go." Logan buried his face in the crook of your neck, slamming hard into you until all you could do was chant his name like a prayer.

You felt him fill you up, pussy hot and sticky and sore, and he slowly pulled out, eyes darting at the tissues on the table. He grabbed them, gently cleaning you up, and you couldn’t stop the grin on your face. There was just something about a man like him be so gentle. And you were absolutely delighted to have him take care of you.

"You know," Logan said licking his lips, "I'm beginning to think you didn't want me to just taste your pastries."

"True." You told him smugly. "But you liked them."

"I like you more." He blurted out without thinking.

You felt your cheeks burn at his sudden honesty, and after sliding up your underwear and fixing your dress, you planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

"I like you too, honey badger."

"Don't ever call me that again." Logan chuckled.

"Not happening. Now, could you pleaaaase help me clean up this place? The last thing I need is a surprise hygiene inspection tomorrow."

He couldn't even imagine what the inspectors would do if they found out you had sex in a bakery, and with a nod, Logan zipped up his jeans and began disinfecting the tables and chairs while you swept the floor.

In less than half an hour you were done, and the shop was squeaky clean. You were satisfied with the end result, and told Logan that you wanted him to have the rest of the cake, pies and croissants. He thought Wade and Al could eat something, and decided to accept your offer.

"Can I come with you? There's quite a few boxes of food." You told him, a sheepish grin on your lips.

"Is that your way of finding out where I live?"

"Maybe. I'll go home if you don't want me with you."

"No, you're good." Logan assured you. "Besides, I'm sure my roommate's gonna devour everything. He'll probably lock you up in our apartment and force you to bake for him."

"I don't know if that's a threat or a promise." You laughed.

"Both. It's both."

You walked with Logan down the street, boxes in your arms, and you were surprised to see him open up to you more. He answered almost every question you had, and you felt him more relaxed. And he was. Logan forgot how much he needed that kind of connection with someone. You were so easy to talk to, you didn't judge him, and most importantly, you listened.

He guided you up the stairs to his apartment and knocked on the door, because he couldn't reach his keys with so many boxes in his arms. You baked for a damn army.

Wade opened the door, and you were taken aback by his appearance, but it didn't scare you. Instead, you introduced yourself as Logan's personal baker, earning a chuckle from him.

"Come on in, Martha Stewart." Wade opened the door enough for you to walk through it with the boxes and not drop them.

"Wade." Logan came back from the kitchen with a croissant. "Eat. Seriously, eat."

You watched Wade wolf down the pastry without hesitation and his eyes lit up. He chewed and swallowed, then moaned, eyes rolling back. The look of disgust on Logan's face was priceless.

"Holy fucking shit, Y/N, what the fuck did you put in this?" Wade grabbed your shoulders, giving them a good shake. "It's so flaky and creamy and buttery, like a bunch of unicorns came in my mouth."

"I'm glad you like it." You giggled. "Try the cake."

"There's cake?!" He ran to the kitchen, leaving you and Logan in the hallway before coming back, a slice of half-eaten cake in his hand. "I am officially impressed. Can you make Rocky Road?"

"Yes."

"Dulce de leche?"

"Yep."

"Baklava?"

"Uh-huh."

"Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte?"

"Yes, Wade!" You rolled your eyes, then turned to Logan. "Sugar rush?"

"Oh, you have no idea. And this is him on a good day."

"Listen, sweet cheeks, if old man fuckface here won’t marry you, I will. Just don’t tell Vanessa." Wade whispered.

"Don’t even think about it, you degenerate limp dick."

"Ugh, fine. And here I was hoping all four of us could be a happy dysfunctional family. Five if you count Al. Six with Colossus. Wait, actually, eight with-"

"Wade, have you tried the pork pies?" You asked, effectively shutting him up.

Yeah, Logan could definitely get used to being around you from now on to sweeten up his life.

[mrsbarnesblog]

firewood

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Lumberjack! Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: When you decide to chop wood in your backyard, your hot neighbor, who happens to be a lumberjack, offers you some help.

Word count: 4.8K

Warnings: +18❗️smut, hot neighbor bucky is a fucking warning, kinda size kink, rough sex, protected sex, dirty talk, pet names

Author's note: this is one of my favorite works, so I hope everyone who hasn't read it before will like it too (it's hard to not fall for lumberjack Bucky, tbh🤷‍♀️)

“Hey, do you need help?” You stopped what you were doing. You breathed heavily, your arms ached, and you were already sweating. The man, your neighbor, whom you already saw a few times when you arrived home, was standing before you with his hands in his jeans pockets. 

He was attractive. Really handsome. Probably 6 feet tall, with broad shoulders and visibly a lot of muscles under the clothes. Yeah, that red henley left nothing for your imagination. His dark hair was put in a low bun, and he had a little stubble on his face. But you mostly noticed his bright blue eyes, which looked straight at you very attentively.

“Sorry, what?” You said as you wiped sweat from your forehead with the sleeve of your shirt. 

“I asked if you needed help. Sorry, but it seems like you have some troubles.” He smiled at you almost shyly, and you couldn’t even make yourself mad at his words. 

“Um, It’s my first time doing it.” You awkwardly smiled back, finally putting a big ax to the ground. “But I need wood for my fireplace, so I have to work with what I have.”

“I see… but don’t you have a boyfriend or a husband? I mean, it’s not really easy to do for a woman, and you seem pretty... petite for this?” It almost sounded like a question. “I wanted to say that I can help you if you allow me, because that thing might be really dangerous if you don’t know how to work with it, and I'm a lumberjack, so... it’s not a problem for me.” He awkwardly started to rub his neck. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

“For a woman?” You playfully arched an eyebrow. “So you think that only men can do this?” You saw how his eyes widened, and you tried to hold your laughter.

“No, no! That’s not what I meant!” He lifted both hands in the air. “It’s just gonna take you forever to do, and as I said before, It’s not the safest work. And since this is my job, I could’ve helped you. As a neighbor, you know?” 

“Relax, I’m just joking.” You softly smiled at him. “Nice to finally meet you. I’m Y/N.” You reached out your hand. Bucky’s face relaxed, but then his lips curled into a mischievous smile.

“I like you.” He said, as he shook your hand. His grip was tight, and you felt that he really did a lot of physical work with his hands.

“Oh… thanks?” 

“Soo, do you need help?” He asked again.

“Um, honestly, I don’t know. I can’t just let you work for me for free. Can I pay you?”

“Doll, I have enough money, and I don’t need yours. I don’t think that you need tons of firewood, so it would be easy work for me.”

“Okay, but maybe I can give you food? Pastry? I really love to cook, and everyone said that I’m good at it.” You nervously played with your sleeve while Bucky was staring directly at you.

“Deal. I would honestly die for homemade food, ‘cause last time I ate it was at my ma’s and I really miss it. But you don’t have to do this, okay?”

“And you don’t have to help me.” You shot back.

Bucky’s smile grew wider, and he started shaking his head. “You have some temper, doll... Friday is okay?” 

“Yeah, totally, any time you’re free.” 

“Deal. I should probably go, and you better start training to cook food for me. I am really picky, and you insisted on paying me with it.” He said and started to walk back.

“Oh, shut up.” You laughed. “I know what I’m doing; don’t underestimate me!” 

“Fine. See ya, doll.�� Bucky waved at you with the biggest smile on his face and finally walked away.

Well, it’s gonna be interesting. 

For the next almost two months, Bucky had been “working” for you, and you paid him with your food every single time because you couldn’t leave that man starving after he just got home from work and then willingly helped you. 

You two got closer. Bucky was a really good man; you found out it while you were sitting in your backyard looking at how his muscles were moving with every swing of the ax. He was right that it wasn't a big deal for him—the job that you would’ve been doing for several hours he did in twenty or thirty minutes. 

The conversation with Bucky was easy, he was a pretty reserved person, but he still told you everything about his job and his friends and asked you things about your life. It was hard not to fall for him. Especially when he gave you this boyish smile every time it was time to say goodbye or when you brought him your homemade food. 

Usually he comes to your house every Friday after work around 6 p.m., but today it was already 8 and he still didn’t show up. There was no light in his windows either, so you became really worried that something serious had happened. 

You were nervously sitting on the bar stool in your kitchen while your dinner was getting cold on the stove. You really had no appetite. What if he got injured from his dangerous work? Or maybe you were just overreacting and he went on a date with someone? You really had no reason to be worried that much because Bucky probably didn’t even think of you as a close friend, and you were just a too dramatic person with attachment issues. 

The light knock on the door scared you a little bit, but you still jumped out of your seat to open it. 

Bucky was standing there, visually perfectly fine and without any injuries, and you sighed with relief. 

“Bucky, oh my god, hi. Are you okay? I was really worried about you, and I don’t even have your phone number to text or call.” You mumbled as your eyes studied his face. 

“Hey, doll.” Bucky softly smiled at you, but it was obvious that he wasn’t really in the mood. “I’m fine. Just a shitty day at work. My boss went fucking crazy over nothing, and it was just a mess.” He ran a hand through his long hair. “But I have to do your firewood, so I'll go change and be back in a few minutes, ‘kay?”

He started to go back, but you caught him by his wrist. “No, Buck, wait. You don’t have to do it right now, really. I have enough wood, and you’re really exhausted. Come in; I have fresh lasagna and chocolate muffins.” 

“Um—are you sure? I mean, you don’t have to.” He mumbled. You noticed that you were still holding his wrist, but decided to leave it that way. 

“Don’t worry, I have enough food, and you look like you really need it. C’mon, don’t you want to eat something homemade and still hot after a bad day at work?” You gave him your best smile, and it was obvious in his eyes that he already agreed to your idea. 

“Okay, we can do that. Honestly, I feel like I’m able to eat a fucking elephant.” 

You both shared a laugh before you almost dragged him into your house and closed the door. Only at that moment did you realize that even though you gave Bucky a lot of food, he had never been at your place before. For some reason, you felt really excited to feed him and spend some time together. 

“Sit here while I’m heating the food.” Bucky obediently took a seat, looking with a soft smile at how you were moving around in your little kitchen.

You looked so domestic and soft in the warm yellow lights of the room in the cute pink cotton dress with little flowers all over it. The concentration was written all over your face as you tried to perfectly set plates and cutlery on the table and then put steaming lasagna on it.

“Fuck, it smells so good; you’re going to kill me, doll.” He wasn’t able to handle the amazing smell of food right in front of him. 

Your cheeks heated, and you waved your hand at him. “It’s just lasagna, Buck; don’t be dramatic.” You took a place near him, and you both started to eat your food. 

“I’m not being dramatic. I already told you that, besides my ma, you have the best food in the world. I could’ve eaten it three times a day for the rest of my life and not gotten tired of it.” He took another big bite, moaning as the taste filled his mouth. 

“You’re making me blush. No one ever told me this.”

“That’s my intention, doll. What, none of your boyfriends complemented your skills? Because I would’ve put the ring on that finger way too fast.” You looked at each other for a few seconds until you noticed that he had already finished his portion. 

“Do you want more?” Ignoring his previous words, you stood up and took his plate to give him some extra food. The dress gently flew around your thighs, drawing Bucky’s attention to your legs when you turned around. “Anyway, what happened at work? You mentioned your boss.”

“Ugh, Pierce is a fucking dipshit. Everyone there hates him, but he has too much money, so we can’t do anything. Me and Steve have really been on bad terms with him since the first day. He tries to tell us how to do our work, but his head is so far up in his ass that he can’t even listen to what we say.” You returned to your place and put a plate in front of Bucky again. The frown took place on his face while he was talking about Pierce, so you put a hand on top of his without even thinking. 

“He sounds like a total asshole. I’m sorry that you guys have to work for him.” Bucky’s face softened at your action. He flipped his hand so he could interlace your fingers, and you felt the warm feeling all over your body. 

You both definitely felt something, but you still stayed silent, enjoying the connection. It was obvious that you had feelings for each other. It was just hard to admit out loud, and, honestly, Bucky was so scared that you might think that he did all of this just to get into your pants. Which is not true. Well, he doesn’t mind, but it’s not his only intention. He wants to treat you right and ask you out on a date. 

Back then, he felt so bold and offered to help you with the firewood with the hope of getting to know you better. Steve and Sam obviously knew about his new “work” and teased him about it all day long. Unfortunately, he still didn’t find the right moment to ask you out. Those times when he came to you on Friday evenings and you were watching him work in your cute dresses or little pajamas were Bucky’s favorites. You looked so soft, cozy, and domestic that he wished to see you like this every day. 

After the last piece of a chocolate muffin disappeared in Bucky’s mouth and he let out a moan of satisfaction, he sat in your kitchen with closed eyes and a smile on his face. 

“If I had to have a shitty day just to get this type of meal at the end of the day, I’m ready for it.”

“Bucky!” You laughed at his dramatic words. “You don’t have to have a bad day. I can feed you just because.” 

“Well, you said it yourself. Now you won’t get rid of me.” You both laughed. Then he suddenly got up and started to put plates in the sink. “You sit, and I’ll wash the dishes.”

“No, Bucky, that’s not how it works!” You got up and caught him by his bicep. Really hard and big bicep. 

“Yes, it is. You’re cooking, then I’m cleaning.” He tried to get away from your grip to turn on the water, but you only held him stronger, now with both of your hands on his arms. 

“Bucky.” When he was standing so close to you, you realized your size and height difference, and it made you shiver. You turned your head up to look him in the eyes. “You are my guest; you shouldn’t do this.”

“My mother taught me to always help women because they are not our maids.” He stepped a little bit closer. “But if you’re saying this only because you want me to leave, I can do that.”

You were both looking at each other, and what you saw in his eyes made you weak in the knees. 

“No, no, I don’t want you to leave.” Your hands moved higher and fell on the sides of his neck. It was everything Bucky needed to finally kiss you.

Two large and rough hands took your face to bring your lips closer to Bucky’s height. He was gentle yet so passionate, and he slowly moved his lips against yours. It was mind-blowing how desperately you wanted him to devour you, to destroy you. While your hands were discovering his broad chest and shoulders, you felt that your body was suddenly lifted in the air and then placed on the kitchen counter.

Now that Bucky didn’t have to lean over to your height, it was easier to kiss you properly. His tongue brushed over your lips to ask for entrance, which you happily gave. Bucky felt too addicted to your taste, your smell, and the feeling of your smaller body against him. It drove him crazy.

“I've wanted to do that since the day I looked at you.” The hands on your hips tightened and moved you closer to his body. “You look so pretty, God.” Bucky’s eyes are running all over your face, trying to memorize every little thing.

“Bucky...” You dragged him closer again, desperate to connect your lips. His large hands wandered all over your body, slightly pulling up your dress and then moving higher and cupping your breasts in them. “I thought you were tired.” His large erection was obvious through his jeans, and you wanted to tease him. 

“I’m never tired for you, doll.” He mumbled against your lips. “I could’ve fucked you right on this table, but I’ll leave it for the next time. Where’s your bedroom?” You didn’t miss the promise to fuck you again, and your body felt ecstatic just because of this thought.

“Up the stairs, second door from the right.” 

Bucky didn’t say a word before your world suddenly moved, and you ended up hanging from his shoulder. Your bare ass was probably right near his face, and you couldn’t help but blush. 

He stormed up the stairs with one hand on your thigh, as if your weight on his shoulder was nothing, and then walked into your main bedroom. 

You were thrown onto your bed, and Bucky stayed in front of you for a few seconds to remember this picture. Swollen lips, eyes full of need, a short dress that pulled up and showed a glimpsing of your white underwear. Yes, you were perfect, and only for him. 

“Come here, Buck.” You raised your hands in his direction, and he obediently climbed on top of you with a smirk on his face.

He sat between your legs, moving his hands up and down the soft skin of your thighs.

“Such a pretty doll for me, in this cute lil’ dress, mm?” His body was hovering over you, and when he found a zipper on the back of your dress, you ended up lying under him only in your white lingerie set in less than a minute. 

The pair of the most beautiful blue eyes devoured your naked body as soon as the piece of clothing was removed, and you had never seen a man look at you this way. Like you were the most beautiful, delicious, and priceless thing in the world. Bucky’s hands gently touched your body from the shoulders to your legs, and you swear that you heard a moan while he was doing it.

“Sweetheart.” He mumbled and leaned to gently kiss the soft skin of your belly, moving with little kisses higher until he reached your lips. “You’re killing me, you know that?” 

“Shut up and kiss me, Barnes.” It was impossible to think straight when his pretty face was right in front of you and his muscular body pushed you deeper into the mattress of your bed. He kissed you as you asked, but it didn’t last long before he pulled away with a grin on his face. You gently brushed his brown locks out of his face and tucked them behind his ears.

“So bossy, dollface... Do I have to fuck this attitude out of you?”

“Mmm, undress, and we’ll see what you are capable of.” You shot back at him, and he just moved away with a smirk on his face. 

In a few seconds, a red henley was thrown somewhere on the floor, and you were face to face with a body that was probably made by the Greek gods. Muscles on muscles, with tanned skin and freckles from the work under the sun. Now you wanted to climb him like a fucking tree.

“Like what you see?” His smirk became wider as he saw the look on your face: slightly parted lips and darkened eyes that were looking at him up and down. Bucky's hands went straight to the belt of his pants, and with the last movement, he was standing in your almost dark bedroom completely naked. 

You almost choked on your saliva when he pulled down his pants and boxers at the same time. He was thick and long, with an angry red head. 

“No way this is gonna fit me…”

“It will, doll. I’ll take care of it. I bet this pretty little pussy will just suck me in.” 

It was over for you. You knew that. A handsome, respectful man with a perfect body and dirty mouth? Yes, he can do whatever he wants with you.

He returned to your bed, sitting in between your spread legs. He didn’t waste any more time when he reached behind your back and unbuttoned your bra. Bucky stood on his knees so perfectly that his dick landed on your covered pussy, and it made you both moan out loud. 

“Look at this, doll. ‘M gonna destroy her.” His hips slightly moved, and because your panties were soaking wet, it was so smooth and perfect. “Can you imagine that? I will stretch you out so well that I’ll ruin any other men for you. Make you–and her– mine.” He reached with one of his hands to your tits and squeezed your nipple between his fingers, while the other one was keeping your legs apart so he would be able to move his hips. 

You tried to close your legs by instinct. The tip of his cock again and again brushed right on your clit, and the slight pain from your nipple made you desperately moan and clench your bedsheets.

“Are you going to cum, pretty girl? Im not even inside of you, and you’re already a fucking mess.” Bucky’s rough voice was so sexy that it made you even wetter, if that was possible. He saw that you were close: by the way your breathing changed and how your eyes rolled back in your head. “C'mon, just let it go. Soak those panties even more.” His movements on your most sensitive parts of the body didn’t stop, and it threw you over the edge.

You were squeezing around nothing, and the most inappropriate and dirty moan escaped your mouth. It was something that you'd never experienced before, and it was so intense that you needed some time to get over it.

“Good girl.” Bucky grabbed your face and connected your lips, giving you another wet and sloppy kiss. 

Then, without hesitation, Bucky’s hands took off the last piece of your clothing, leaving you completely naked for his hungry eyes. He stared at your body up and down for a few seconds and then closed his eyes to take a deep breath and calm himself down. 

“Bucky, please, I need you so much.” You almost cried, trying to grab him and put his body on top of yours, but Bucky was much larger than you, so it was almost impossible.

Bucky finally calmed down a little bit, and he interlaced his right hand with your left, pinning it above your head. His body softly landed on you, and skin-to-skin contact sent shivers down your spine. He was now looking you right in the eyes, and judging by his facial expressions, he either wanted to fuck you lifeless or cuddle and hold you closely.

“Tell me if it’s too much, okay?” Bucky’s soft side came out again, and you slightly nodded, giving him permission to continue. The little silver square appeared in his hand out of nowhere before he ripped the package with his teeth and put a condom on. 

You honestly tried to hold back the little bit of disappointment you felt when he decided to use protection. It was smart. You weren’t longtime partners, it was a question of your safety. But the tiny voice in your head told you that you would’ve let him fuck you without it. To feel his perfect d–

Your thoughts were cut off with a deep chuckle. “You look like you’re sad that I put on a condom, doll.” You swear that his eyes darkened when you stayed silent. “If you want it later, I’ll fuck you raw, ‘kay? But now neither of us can think straight.” 

“Are you a perfect man?” You laughed.

“I don’t know, let’s find out.” Your smile faded as soon as you felt the head of his dick at your entrance.

You were still sensitive from your previous orgasm, so when Bucky started teasing you again, rubbing you up and down to cover himself in your slick, you nearly lost it. 

“Bucky, please.” You whine, grabbing the side of his torso with your free hand. “Don’t tease me, please, I can’t—” 

Your words died as Bucky finally pushed inside of you. Your head fell deeper into your soft bed, and Bucky’s body tensed on top of you, trying to hold back a deep moan. 

It was overwhelming. He stretched you out so deliciously that you felt pain and inexplicable pleasure. No one ever made you feel this way—like you were on cloud nine and the man on top of you didn’t even actually fuck you yet. 

“You’re squeezing me so hard that I might cum like a teenager—fuck!” He groaned, squeezing your hand harder. “Relax, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

You tried to relax as much as you could with a dick buried deep inside of you, and Bucky was finally able to move.

Well, if it felt good earlier, then the first movement of his hips probably sent you right to heaven. Bucky cupped your face with his left hand, locking your eyes together, when he started thrusting at a slow pace. 

“So pretty for me, doll. You feel my cock in your stomach, huh?” Bucky’s lips almost touched yours when he talked, but it felt like he was too far away from you. “Good girl, take me so well. Knew that this pussy would be my death.” 

“More... harder, please, fuck me harder.” You spoke in between moans, gazing intently at Bucky's pretty face.

He started fucking you harder. Your bed was slamming your wall, but it didn’t bother you as much as the fact that he was hitting your G-spot with every thrust. You were a fucking whining mess under him, with a slightly open mouth and a drunk-looking face.

“Suck it like a good girl you are.” His thumb slipped into your mouth, and you moaned, doing as he said. “Your pussy is already sucking the shit out of me. Are you going to cum, baby? Going to make a mess on my cock while I fuck you? Imagine if I fucked you raw and filled you up with my load. I bet you’d like that.” The finger went deeper into your mouth, making you gag. You nodded your head as much as you could at Bucky’s words because you were already ready to cum.

“Give it to me, baby.” Bucky growled, sucking on your neck. His hips slammed into yours, making the nastiest noise, but it turned you on even more. A finger slipped out of your mouth, and Bucky’s face was in front of you again. “Fuuuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“M-m, B-bucky! Don't stop, pl– ahhh!” The wave of the best orgasm of your fucking life washed over you. You swear the stars started dancing behind your closed eyes as you endlessly squeezed Bucky’s cock and his body.

The way you were moaning, how your eyes rolled back, and how your whole body trembled pushed Bucky over the edge. A few last movements in your soaking wet pussy and he came, feeling almost lifeless, as if you had sucked the whole energy out of him.

He let go of your hand, which this whole time he held above your head, and cupped your face with both of his hands, kissing away the tears you didn’t even notice.

“Y/N? Baby? Are you okay?” He whispered and moved your head a little bit so your eyes were directed at him. You looked like you were high or really drunk, but he couldn’t argue with the fact that you were the prettiest woman on earth.

“I– it’s like I don't feel my body anymore.” You lazily mumbled and closed your eyes. “No one ever fucked me like this.” 

“Glad to hear that, doll.” Bucky leaned closer and kissed your soft lips with more delicacy and tenderness. “Do you need anything? Food, water, bath?”

“No… Can you just hug me and stay here for the night?” You asked, now afraid that he would leave since he got what he wanted.

“Sure, just let me get rid of this thing, and I’ll still get you some water.” He kissed you on the forehead before carefully untangling his body from yours. You hissed at the new empty and a little bit aching feeling inside of you. “I’m sorry, baby.” 

Bucky threw a condom in the basket under your table and, putting on only his boxers, came down to the kitchen to get you a bottle of water. But when he came back, he saw that you had already fallen asleep.

You looked so cute—still naked, with a peaceful expression on your face, laying in the middle of your messy bed. He thought about whether he should disturb your sleep or not, but you asked him to stay, right? Bucky hesitated for a few seconds, but then came closer to you, placed the bottle on the nightstand, and carefully scooped you into his hands, pushing away the covers. He put you back down, and then you opened your eyes. 

“C’mere…” You mumbled, still sleepy, and grabbed his hand.

Bucky quietly chuckled and got under the cover, hugging you from the back. You happily sighed before drifting back to sleep. Bucky kissed you in the hair, hugged you harder, and fell to sleep with you in his arms.

You woke up a little bit disoriented, trying to figure out what happened last night. 

The bed beside you was empty, but the aching feeling between your legs proved that it wasn’t a dream. You, in fact, fucked your hot lumberjack neighbor. But where did he go?

You found some random oversized t-shirt and walked down the stairs. Everything was silent; your kitchen was empty but crystal clean. Did Bucky just leave? 

Wait a minute. 

Yesterday there was a mess from your cooking and dinner with Bucky.

Now the room was almost shining. 

You looked around in confusion until you noticed a piece of paper on the table. 

All of your bad thoughts disappeared as soon as you read it, and you felt butterflies go crazy in your stomach.

[roanofarcc]

LIKE MOTHER LIKE FATHER LIKE DAUGHTER

pairing. tyler owens x harding!reader - part 2!

summary. you had made a name for yourself in the storm chasing game; it was in your genes, being the daughter of famous chasers jo and bill harding. tyler found your knacked for knowing just what the storm’s thinking a little infuriating and incredibly impressive.

 warnings. fem!reader, reader gets injured, mentions of blood and injuries, probably inaccurate meteorological info & medical info, angst & fluff, some hurt/comfort on this fine Tuesday night.

word count. 3.7k || masterlist

a/n. twister has been my favorite movie FOREVER so here's a little homage to the og storm chasers <3

You were ten when you went storm chasing for the first time. Growing up, you’d heard your parents' stories every time there was a shift in the weather. Instead of the typical childhood fear of storms, you had always been fascinated by them; your dad, Bill Harding often joked it was in your genes, the lack of fear. With some light convincing of your mom, Dr. Jo Haring, she agreed to take you storm chasing for your tenth birthday. 

The twister had been small, barely an EF1, but it was wondrous. There was something dangerously beautiful about it that drew you in just as it had your parents when they were younger. From that point on, you knew you wanted to be just like them, chasing storms up and down Tornado Alley. 

And with the stubbornness passed down by your mom, that is exactly what you did. You were damn good at it to. 

“It’s lookin’ like a big one to the southeast,” a member of your team said, slugging an arm around your shoulder as she looked up at the sky, squinting slightly at the sun. “But the radar says we’ve got another brewin’ west. She's pickin’ up speed but it’s still developing.” 

You hummed in response, gazing up at the sky too, judging which one was your best bet by observing the clouds in either direction. “Let’s hang back and go for the one to the west, I like her chances better.” Your teammate, Frankie, grinned as she nodded and headed off toward the other three members of your small, but mighty team. 

As you waited for the storm to flesh out a little more, you sat on the bed of your truck, dangling your legs off of the tailgate. The fresh air filled your lungs and the faint smell of incoming rain brought a smile to your lips. Every time you got ready for a chase, you felt ten years old again, giddy and excited for the thrill of the storm. You thought back to the photo albums you’d looked at a hundred times over of your parents and their numerous storm-chasing adventures. They never pushed you into storm chasing, as it was a dangerous line of work, but from a very young age, it was clear that your fascination with storms wouldn’t be quelled with a simple meteorology degree and a job behind a desk. 

Storm chasing was in your blood, and your knack for it was known among other storm chasers. 

“Well, if it isn’t the doctor herself,” a familiar voice filled your ears, belonging to the one and only Tyler Owens. He approached your truck, hands on his hips and a certain cockiness that excited you. You liked a challenge, and you loved showing cowboys up. Tyler was good at what he did, but you were just a little bit better, and it both irritated and impressed him. 

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” you said, earning a light chuckle from him. 

“You don’t look in a hurry. That storm to the southeast won’t last forever.” You shrugged and he narrowed his gaze just slightly. “You’re not going after that one, are you?” 

“Damn,” you sighed. “You’re getting harder to trick, Owens.”

He laughed, light and sweet. It was easy to see how he garnered such a large online audience. Tyler was easy on the eyes, drove straight into tornados with a grin on his lips, and had the knowledge of storms to back up his insane behavior. You’d never admit it aloud, but he did impress you, even if you thought some of his actions were reckless even for a storm chaser.

The two of you had an interesting rapport. It toes the line between rivals and friends, the odd territory in between. You loved teasing him, and he tried to outsmart you even if it never worked. 

“Maybe you’re getting too predictable,” he said, a teasing tone in his voice. 

“Och.” You faked hurt, placing a hand over your heart. “What is it you always say? If you feel it, chase it. If you think the one to the southeast is gonna show her face, go for it.” 

Tyler studied you for a moment, contemplating what kind of game you were playing with him. All you did was smile at him in return, which led him to roll his eyes. “Unfortunately, you’re rarely wrong,” he sighed. 

“It’s a blessing and curse.” 

“You’re impossible,” he said. “But the west it is. It better not let me down, Dr. Harding.” You only used that title in more professional settings. That had been a condition of your mother. She had gotten her PhD and believed you could too. It was tough, but you earned it; only, you didn’t expect some cowboy to use it to lightly mock you when you proved him wrong.

“You have my word,” you said. 

And you were right. The storm to the west produced a beautiful tornado. You and Frankie got close while the rest of your team hung back. Rain pelted the windshield as you grew closer, watching the dark funnel tear through the expanse of fields, picking up speed on the ground. Somewhere along the way, Tyler’s unmistakable red truck ripped past you, heading into the heart of the twister, which you rolled your eyes at. 

“She’s a beauty!” Frankie hollered, holding her camera at the ready. 

It was a great chase, but the thing about tornados that was both thrilling and dangerous was their unpredictability. You knew the storm would be big, and the closer you grew the more power you saw that it had. The other truck carrying the rest of your team had communicated the growing intensity of the storm via the radio. But it looked to be on a steady path west, so you saw no issue tailing it while Frankie snapped pictures.

The rain only grew heavier and heavier, almost completely obstructing your view. It wasn’t until a tree crash landed directly in the middle of the road did you realize the tornado had changed directions suddenly. A startled scream torn from Frankie lips and you slammed on the breaks, narrowly missing the tree. 

“Holy shit,” she whispered, leaning up against the dash and trying to see through the rain wrap. “It’s right there. It’s right there! We gotta go!” 

You quickly threw your truck in reverse and backed up, but you didn’t get far. A lone semi that had been traveling skidded to a stop just a couple hundred feet behind you. The way they had stopped at the sight of the tornado left its trailer sideways across the road before it was abandoned by the figure hunkering down in the ditch that lined the backroad. 

You hissed under your breath, trapped between two objects and a tornado that shook your truck. There wasn’t enough space to fly around the semi. The ditches on either side of the road were too deep to take quickly and another minute trying to maneuver around the semi would only lead to your truck getting swallowed by the storm, picked up, and tossed around like a rag doll. 

Your parents had prepared you for a kind of situation like that, but that didn’t shake your panic. With a rapidly beating heart, you put the truck in park and yelled at Frankie to get out. You both stepped out into the storm as the tornado loomed closer and closer. Wind whipped all around you along with debris. You grabbed Frankie’s hand and together you sprinted toward the ditch. 

Frankie lay on her stomach, and you lay beside her, covering her head the best that you could. Whatever happened, you had always told yourself your teammates' safety came first. You were the one who talked them into storm chasing with you. So, when danger arose, you felt the responsibility of keeping them safe. 

The screeching of winds was so loud in your ears that it almost disoriented you enough to miss the sharp piece of debris that swooped down at the tornado that passed along the field just opposite of the ditch, not directly over top of you but much too close for comfort. Something smacked against the back of your head, but you closed your eyes and held onto Frankie in hope of shielding her from any other flying objects. 

You weren’t sure how long you two lied there, but it felt like a lifetime until the tornado traveled further away. The winds died down but your heart beat stayed quickly pounding against your chest. 

Sitting up, you felt the sharp sting settling in the back of your head, but you ignored it at the sight of Frankie’s cut leg. 

“Shit,” you muttered, grabbing her knee to examine the clean slice down the back of her shin. 

She wiped back the wet pieces of her hair and let out a shuttered breath. “Holy shit, that was crazy.” You pulled off your sweatshirt and wrapped the wet fabric around her shin. “What’re you doing?” 

“You’re bleeding.” 

“It’s fine,” she said, trying to brush it off, but you heard the pain in her voice, along with the tremble of lingering fear at your close call. You knew the dangers of storm chasing and the possibilities of injuries, but it always felt different to you when it was a member of your team, one of your friends. 

A couple minutes after you tied your sweatshirt around her shin and helped her up from the ditch, the truck carrying the rest of your teammates rolled up, hooting and hollering at the size of the storm until they saw the state the two of you were in. 

“Take her back to the motel. If the bleeding doesn’t stop take her to the hospital.” Frankie opened her mouth to protest, but you cut her off. “I’m serious.” 

“What about you?” another member of your team asked. 

You looked down the road at your overturned truck, sighing sadly to yourself as the pain in the back of your head throbbed. “I’ve gotta call someone for my truck. I’ll meet you back at the motel later.” 

They were hesitant to leave you but eventually agreed. Down the debris-littered road, you hobbled back to your truck. It had been a gift from your parents after you graduated college; it was special to you, but it was totaled thanks to the tornado. 

With a groan, you heaved open the door and tried to gather your belongings, but a wave of dizziness washed over you. You staggered backward, reaching up to touch the tender spot on the back of your head. Something wet coated your fingers and when you pulled your hand back, it was painted red. Frustrated, you tried to take a deep breath and calm yourself down enough to find your cell phone. Unfortunately, the cut was a little worse than you wanted to admit, and you felt blood drip down the back of your neck. 

Dizzily, you sat down on the road, blinking back the pain and wooziness. A slow creep of panic started to take hold as the pain intensified and the world started to spin just slightly. 

With one hand placed firmly on the back of your head, you rubbed your temple with your other, trying to think clearly but it became increasingly more difficult. You missed the hum of an engine nearby, but a slam of a door startled you. 

“Harding!” Someone yelled and you blinked slowly, keeping a hold on the back of your head as you looked up to see Tyler Owens bee-lining right toward you. He kneeled in front of you, brows furrowed and lips pulled in a small frown. “Hey, are you all right?” 

“Yeah,” you said quickly, once again trying to push away the dizziness that plagued you. “I’m, uh, just looking for my phone. I gotta call someone for my truck.” The words felt heavy in your mouth, which couldn’t be a good sign. Whatever struck the back of your head hit it hard and the blood that leaked from the wound wasn’t helping. 

He studied you for a moment, his gaze landing on your hand pressed against the back of your head. “You hurt?” You started to shake your head, but that only caused little black dots to temporarily pepper your vision. Tyler wasn’t an idiot; he reached up and carefully pushed your hand back, stopping when he saw the blood that started to drip down your arm. He cursed under his breath and yelled something at whoever sat in the passenger seat of his truck. 

“Hey.” His voice became soft, comforting even. “We’ve gotta get you to a hospital.” 

“I’m fine,” you inisted, even though every thing you felt inside your body proved that to be untrue. You just hated not being able to do something yourself; you hated needing help. Your father said you interited that from your mother, while she said you got it from your father. Truth was, they both had their air of stubbornness and you was born with double. 

Tyler shook his head. “No, you’re not.” He stood to his feet and gently tugged on your arm in an attempt to help you stand. Begrudgingly, you let him help you. Standing up, the world spun faster and you felt panic swell uncomfortably in your chest. You swayed catching yourself on Tyler’s arms as they grabbed your shoulders. “I’ve got you,” he said. Maybe it was your slightly disoriented state, but his assurance and hands firmly holding onto your arms made some of your panic recoil. As much as you wanted to be okay, you knew that was not the case. 

He knew that too, and helped you into the passenger seat of his truck before he instructed one of his fellow Wranglers to keep pressure on the back of your head with whatever they could find in the backseat. You winced as a crumbled up shirt was held against your head, but the moving truck overwhelmed you with dizziness that made the physical pain of your wound the least of your worries. You didn’t want to pass out but your eyes felt heavy. 

Tyler noticed it too, and placed a hand on your knee, giving it a squeeze and a shake. “You gotta stay with me, okay? You gotta stay awake.” 

“M’trying,” you muttered. 

“You were right about the storm,” he said. “But aren’t you always?” 

A pained smile fell across your lips. “Was that a compliment?” 

He laughed, driving quickly down the road with one hand gripping the wheel tightly. “Yeah. You’re hard to say something bad about. You know your stuff, better than me, that’s for sure.” 

“My parents taught me,” you said, desperately trying to keep yourself consciousness, but it grew more difficult by the minute. 

“Do they still chase?” he asked. 

“Not much anymore. Sometimes if a storm’s close, they’ll take a drive. But they always say they’ve had their fun.” They also said they shared enough close calls to know it was time to hang it up. You know they worried you’d find yourself in one too, but you’d always been careful and rarely got yourself into a situation you couldn’t get out of, until now, that was. 

Darkness encroached on your vision, threatening to force your eyes closed. Some the backseat, you heard one of the Wrangles call Tyler’s name. He turned his head, but you couldn’t see the concerningly red-soaked shirt that made his stomach churn and caused him to press down on the gas harder. Your head lulled to the side and your eyes fluttered close. Vaguely, you heard Tyler call your name and felt him shake your knee, but you couldn’t open your eyes or open your mouth. Everything fell dark. 

-- 

Tyler had spent his fair share of time in hospitals. He’d been bucked off a bull more than once, resulting in his mother dragging him to the hospital and threatening to make him quit. Eventually she held to her threat when he shattered his nose and gained a nasty concussion. 

Being at the hospital for himself was one thing, being there for you made him realize why his mother used to be drenched in worry. He nervously drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair in the hospital room. You were asleep, a fresh bandage wrapped around your head and with a minor concussion. The cut on the back of your head required a couple stitches; you were lucky, all things considered, but Tyler really hated seeing you like that. 

To him, you’d always been unreal. A second generation storm chaser so accomplished. Not only did you know your stuff, it was clear how much you enjoyed it. You lit up at the sight of storms, and Tyler couldn’t help but be in awe. There was a competitive nature to storm chasing and as much as he wanted to be annoyed by you always being two steps ahead of him, he couldn’t. He was just impressed. 

Tyler wasn’t sure how or when that admiration turned into something that teetered on affection, but it felt more than it had been before seated at your hospital bedside. He’d never felt his stomach drop like that before, when you passed out in his truck, Boone holding a bloodied shirt to you head. Even after the doctor said you’d be just fine, he felt on edge. 

The door to your room was pushed open by a nurse who led in two more people, who he instantly recognized: The Hardings. 

He stood up quickly and watched as your mom rushed to your side, brushing a hand across your cheek with a deep frown. “Oh, baby girl,” she sighed.  

The nurse offered your concerned parents a polite smile. “As the doctor said, the concussion was minor so all she need is some rest for the couple of days to a week. She should wake up soon and we'll see how she’s doing, then the doctor will let you know when she can be discharged.” 

You dad rubbed your mom’s back like he was trying to ease the heavy worry that shined in her face, but he too looked just as worried with a crease across his forehead. 

Tyler lightly cleared his throat, gaining your parents’ attention. "Hello, ma'am, sir," he greeted them.

“You must be the one who brought her in,” Jo said, and Tyler nodded in response. “Thank you. We’d been trying to call her, after we saw that storm, but she never answered and I…I just had a bad feeling.” 

Bill rubbed the light stubble on his chin. “No wonder she’s knocked out; I don’t think you’d get here otherwise. Stubborn, that kid.” 

A found smile spread across Tyler’s lips. “She kept saying she was fine until she nearly passed out on me. We only got a couple miles before she did pass out; scared the life out of me,” he said, running a stressed hand through his hair freed from his hat. The second you passed out in his truck, he nearly broke every traffic law. He wasn’t sure he’d never been quiet that scared, which was something he wasn't sure how to feel about.

Your mom furrowed her brows at Tyler’s words, something glinting behind her eyes until it shined in recognition. “You’re that storm chaser she’s always talkin’ about,” Jo said. “The one online.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Bill said, nodding in Tyler’s direction. He couldn’t tell if it was disdain or indifference in the man’s voice, but Tyler was too hung up on the fact that you talked about him to care much. He didn’t know that filled him with an odd sense of pride and warmth. You two weren’t exactly friends but you were more than acquaintances. It was more like a nice, workplace rivalry that he enjoyed a lot more than he’d admit. 

A small groan sounded from the bed, and everyone turned as your eyes fluttered open. Your mom was quick to your side, speaking quietly under the hum of fluorescent lights. 

You started to mumble something about your truck that Tyler couldn’t quite make out, but your dad seemed to understand immediately. He said he’d take care of it, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before he headed out into the hall with his cell phone in hand. 

Tyler felt like he overstayed his welcome; you were in better hands with your parents there. He collected his things from the chair, garnering your attention. 

“Tyler,” you said, pushing yourself to sit upright. “Thank you.” 

He smiled. “No problem, doctor. I couldn’t let one of the best chasers be out of the game, now could I?” 

“So you admit it? I’ve got you beat.” 

“I said one of,” he joked. “But you may have one or two legs up on me. Not for long though. I’ll catch up.” 

Something in your smile made him want to sigh in relief, but he held it back. “Not a chance.” 

“Then you better rest up; I’ll see you back out there.” 

Bonus!

It took a little longer for you to bounce back, but the second you felt like yourself again, you were right back at it. Morning was supposed to bright a slew of storms to Kansas, so you and your team hightailed it to the state, finding a cozy little motel already occupied by other storm chasers. You spotted Tyler’s truck instantly, followed by a strange turn of your stomach. 

You hadn’t seen him since you woke up in the hospital, slightly surprised that he stayed with you until your parents arrived. Since then, your mom had managed to bring him up at every opportunity, not so subtly hint at what a pair the two of you would be. You brushed her off, but a small part of you wondered what would happen if you hung around the cowboy a little more. 

“Look who’s back!” Tyler’s voice sounded the second you hopped out of Frankie’s beat-up but sturdy truck; you were saving up for a new one, something even nicer that you could doctor up for chasing. 

He approached you with a beaming smile, flashing his teeth. “I just couldn’t stay away,” you replied. “I didn’t miss anything too crazy, did I?” 

Tyler shook his head. “It seemed like mother nature saved the good ones for you. They’re talkin’ some big ones tomorrow.” The giddy feeling that accompanied storm filled your chest, and the company of Tyler heightened it, strange and new but not completely unwelcome. Maybe it was time you gave into his charm a little more.

[sinner-as-saint]

here forever

Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Run-through: Dating a superhero was no joke. And as noble as Bucky’s job was, it was just as dangerous and unpredictable. Which is why ever since you and Bucky started dating, he’d been training you in his free time. Teaching you how to defend yourself if ever he wasn’t around to protect you, or if ever his enemies came after you. Although you weren’t perfect at combat yet, you were almost certain you could get out of a tricky situation if you ever found yourself in one. But you were soon proven wrong. And your only option was to hope and pray that Bucky finds you in time. 

Themes: smut, fluff, mentions of kidnapping and death, boyfriend!bucky to the rescue, slight angst, hurt/comfort, mean!dom!bucky, aftercare, biker!bucky (except i made him wear a helmet because safety), mild daddy kink (nicknames only)

a/n: short, quick lil fic because I know we’re all hungry

It had been two hours since these strange men had so easily abducted you off the streets. 

It was a regular day, you were leaving yoga class and were on your way to pick up a smoothie. A treat you always got yourself after each workout class. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except Bucky’s incessant messages asking about your location. 

You knew you weren’t supposed to let your guard down, not even on busy streets – one of the first lessons Bucky taught you just weeks after your first date with him. But you couldn’t help looking down and frowning at your phone. Your bag, purse and phone in your hands. Always have your hands free when walking alone, even on busy streets – the second thing he taught you. 

Always be ready. Always be ready. Always be fucking ready. 

But you had messed up that morning. Bucky’s messages were starting to worry you. He had been away since last night, and as usual, never gave you too many details about his job. But all you knew was that before he left, he’d asked you to try and not go out if you could. Your apartment was safe. He had eyes all over that building. Cameras, security guards, it was the safest place you could be. 

‘Where are you? Why aren’t you home?’

Seconds later: 

‘I told you not to go out. It’s not safe right now. Call me.’ 

Then some missed calls which you couldn’t answer because you were in class at the time. Then messages one after the other: 

‘Go straight home.’ 

‘Is your class over?’ 

‘Go home and wait for me. Don’t open the door for anyone else.’ 

‘Baby I’m so serious right now, go home.’ 

And you were midway through typing an answer to reply to him. To tell him not to worry. To tell him that yes your class was over, and everything was okay and you would call him as soon as you got home. 

But you never got the chance to reply to his messages. 

It all happened too fast. One moment you were looking down, all your focus on your phone and boyfriend, and the next, you were being grabbed and shoved into a dark truck. You barely even got a scream out before the doors were shut and a tape sealed your mouth, ropes snaking around your wrists and ankles. 

And just like that, in less than a full minute, you were taken. 

And here you were now. 

In the back of that same truck which had been driving for about two hours, maybe more. Getting further and further away from the city you lived in, and into more and more unknown areas. 

Fuck! You had messed up. 

You should’ve checked your phone while you were still inside the building. You shouldn’t have been texting on the streets. You shouldn’t have let your guard down. Bucky had been saying for weeks that he suspected people had eyes on him, and consequently you because you two spent a lot of time together. 

He was right of course. He always was. You should’ve listened. You should’ve stayed at home, at least until he got back later today. 

A tear slid down your face, like it had been for the past hours. You silently cried, thinking about all the potential circumstances you could end up finding yourself in. You couldn’t even tell who were the men who kidnapped you because they all wore masks and hadn’t said a single word in the past hours. 

They were armed. And the truck seemed bulletproof. And they kept driving. Nothing said about wanting a ransom, nothing about why they had taken you, or whether they were using you as bait to get Bucky’s attention. Surely they were. 

And a few minutes later, when you heard the familiar roar of a familiar bike, you knew they had his full attention. 

Bucky was here. 

But they hadn’t noticed yet. And you didn’t want them to. So you tried to get all their attention on you by wiggling in the backseat, acting like you were trying to get more comfortable. The two armed men right in front of you just glanced at you and your tied limbs and let you be. 

You noticed the guy in the passenger seat didn’t even bother looking at you. The driver looked into the rearview mirror but quickly looked away and ahead. 

They still hadn’t heard the faint, steady roar of Bucky’s bike. 

Perfect. 

By the time Bucky would get close enough to attack, he would catch them by surprise. And it would be too late for them to react and defend themselves. 

So you kept moving, grunting in annoyance extra loudly just to mask the sound of Bucky’s bike as it got closer and closer– 

A loud gunshot exploded near you. For a moment nothing made sense. 

Then you realised the truck was no longer steady, it was tilted on one side. Bucky had shot one or more of the tires. You sighed in relief, while the men in the vehicle panicked. Muffled voices spoke all at once, one of them telling the driver to drive faster. 

Another, one of the men who was armed in front of you, lowered the window and popped his head and gun out, trying to find whoever was around but it was too late. 

You turned your head and managed to catch a glimpse of him through the rear windshield. Amongst the smoke and dirt flying, there he was. Mounted on his mean bike like a fierce general riding his beast into battle. Except this general wasn’t backed by soldiers. He was alone. 

But army or not, he was still Bucky Barnes. All black bike, black helmet, full biker gear, metal arm catching the sunlight. Guns strapped to his body. He looked like Death. 

A sob shook your body as you ducked and hid under the seats as much as you could as Bucky rain down bullets like hellfire upon the vehicle. He knew it was bulletproof, but you were certain he was doing it just to get the men to use their weapons and waste their bullets on him as fast as possible. 

The loud noises made it seem like your brain was vibrating, your heart was racing, and your ears were hurting with how loud the guns and shouts were. But Bucky was here, and all would be well now. 

A few seconds later, the truck began zig-zagging. You assumed it must be because the driver got shot. More shouts and bullets later, the truck came to a sudden stop. Like it collided with something that was strong enough to stop it even at that speed. 

But there was nothing on the empty streets you had been on. Nothing except… Bucky. 

An eerie silence followed. Then footsteps. The men in the truck had all been shot you realised upon smelling the scent of blood and gunpowder. 

You couldn’t get yourself up, not with your limbs still tied but you tried your best. And you were barely up when you heard the sound of metal literally tearing apart. You managed to peek from the back seat and Bucky had torn off one of the doors. The entire door off the side of the truck. 

You couldn’t call for him, but you kicked the back of one of the seats hard enough to get his attention. 

The moment his ocean blue eyes met your teary ones, you couldn’t help but start crying. Hot, burning tears streaming down your face as Bucky almost tore apart the entire truck to get to you. The moment he grabbed you and pulled you out into the open air, it was only his arm around you keeping you up. 

“I’ve got you,” He whispered over and over again, “You’re safe. I’ve got you, baby. It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here.” He repeated continuously as he carefully peeled the tape off your lips and cupped your face in his hands, looking at you intently to look for injuries while he wiped your tears away. “Are you hurt?” He asked, looking more panicked and worried than ever. “Baby, answer me. Did they hurt you? Inject you with anything? Touch you?” 

You shook your head, wanting nothing more than to just be able to take a deep breath, now safe in his arms. Only when you went to wrap your shaky arms around him, he stopped you. Keeping you at arms’ length and away from him. 

That worried, soft look in his eyes turned cold. Even under the afternoon sun, you shivered under his gaze. 

“What the fuck did I tell you before I left, huh?” He snarled. “I told you to stay inside, don’t leave the building. Didn’t I say that?” 

You sniffled, nodding. “I just went to my weekly class, and–,” 

He cut you off, hissing, “And look what happened!” He was almost screaming in your face, “You’re so lucky I got here in time. You’re so fucking lucky I have a tracker in that bag of yours. Otherwise it would’ve taken me days to get to you! Days!” 

You trembled, knowing he was right. Bucky dealt with dangerous people. He knew why he asked you to be cautious. 

Bucky leaned closer to you, looking down at you with no warmth. “These aren’t the villains you read about in your silly, little fucking books.” His voice sounded menacing, freezing. “These are actual, dangerous people. They wouldn’t have waited for you to charm your way out. They would’ve killed you!” He yelled. 

“I’m sorry,” You sobbed. “I was replying to your texts and–,” 

“We had a deal, didn’t we?” He grabbed you by the chin and forced you to look at him. “That when I tell you it’s not safe out there, you stay put. You stay inside and wait for me.” He growled. “You could’ve been killed today! And who would have had to live with that, huh? Who would’ve had to live with the disappointment that he couldn’t keep you safe? That he brought you into this shitty life and couldn’t even keep you alive?” He bellowed. “Who would’ve had to look your family in the eyes and tell them he lost you? Me! That’s who!” 

More tears, and a whimper escaped your lips. “I’m sorry.” You whispered. You had never seen this side of him. He let go of your face like it burned to touch you. 

He looked around, at the torn apart truck. At the bodies. The bullets on the ground. He grimaced but didn’t say anything. He reached into the truck and grabbed your things. Your bag and all that you had on you when you were taken. Your phone wasn’t here though, they must’ve thrown it out onto the streets while they took you. 

Bucky said, “We need to get out of here. Come.” 

He didn’t turn around to see if you were following, he knew you would. Once he got on his bike, he handed you his jacket and helmet. You put both on without questioning where you were going. 

Once sat behind him, your arms hesitantly around his torso, he turned to the side and said, “City’s not safe right now. We’ll spend the night at a motel nearby.” 

And that was all he said for the next few hours. 

– 

By the time you two made it to the motel – which was much, much more decent and clean than you had imagined – the sun was already setting. The place was quiet. A few voices conversing here and there, ACs humming as ACs do, cars coming in and out frequently given there was a gas station nearby, and a burger joint on the other side of the street. 

Bucky got you two a room for the night, and didn’t say a word to you as he grabbed your hand and led you to the room. 

It was a decent room. Bed, bedside tables, TV, sofas. The usual. 

You didn’t notice Bucky had packed a bag as well. You hadn’t been paying much attention anyway. He placed his much bigger bag on the bed and pulled out a few things. Some belonging to you, you noticed. Toothbrush, soaps, clean clothes. 

He handed a bunch of things to you and said, “Go shower.” He didn’t even look at you as he spoke. Guess he was still angry at you. 

You didn’t argue. You just took the things and rushed to the bathroom, locking yourself in there for a good half an hour. 

When you stepped out of the shower, feeling clean finally, you noticed Bucky wasn’t in the room. And the weather outside had changed. You could hear the faint thunder approaching. Surely by tonight there would be a storm. 

But where had Bucky gone? 

You put your clothes away in your bag, and with no phone you had no choice but to turn the TV on. You got in bed, a few minutes into watching some random documentary when Bucky walked in with food. 

You gave him a look, wondering if he would talk to you now. But all he said as he placed the bags filled with food on the bed was, “It’s none of your fancy green smoothies and healthy wraps, but it’ll have to do for now. I’m going to shower.” 

Then he disappeared. 

You were still upset, but then hunger took over and you pawed at the bags like a raccoon. You found milkshakes, fries, and burgers. And you ate while you wondered how long Bucky would keep being angry at you. 

You were halfway through your second burger when Bucky walked out of the shower. With nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. His wet, dark hair pushed back, droplets of water still dripping down his chest and abs. 

You swallowed your food before you choked, then looked away, acting as if the documentary on the TV was much more interesting to look at compared to your half naked boyfriend. 

“Are you hurt anywhere?” He asked, and you noticed he was carrying a first-aid kit in his hands. 

You shook your head. 

“Nothing? No scratches, nothing?” He asked again. 

You shrugged, “Just a small cut. It’ll heal. Nothing serious.” 

He walked over to your side of the bed, and said, “Show me.” 

You didn’t want to argue so you placed your food aside, lifted your shirt and showed him the minuscule cut on your ribs. “It’s not–,” 

But he cut you off by placing the kit down and looking for some cotton and disinfectant. 

It burned as he cleaned in and put a little bandaid over it. It hurt even more when he didn’t kiss it after like he usually does whenever he tends to your cuts and wounds. 

You didn’t say a word though. And soon, you both finished your food in silence with only the TV and the approaching storm as noise in the background. 

The thunder got louder and louder as you both got into bed. That weird silent treatment continued, and by now you were annoyed as well. You’d admit, it was your fault for being so careless when he’d told you to be cautious. But didn’t he see that you needed him now? 

Couldn’t he see you wanted to be held? And kissed? And comforted? 

You frowned in the dark. The lights from outside came through the blinds and lit the room up a little bit. As did the lightning. You were the only one tossing and turning you noticed, Bucky was asleep it seemed. 

But the thunder, the new bed, the fear and stress from earlier, it was all keeping you from falling asleep. Plus, it was a little embarrassing to admit, but you liked being held while you fell asleep. But Bucky wasn’t even talking to you, and wrapping your own arms around yourself wasn’t working. 

Another hour went by. Now the heavy rain finally came, along with a proper thunder storm. And you couldn’t take it anymore. 

You turned to face Bucky and he had his eyes shut, facing you. Not a single item of clothing on his body, except for a thin sheet covering him from the waist down. You sighed, frowning a little in annoyance still but you couldn’t help but scoot closer to him, seeking his warmth and embrace. 

First you pressed into him, to see if he would stir or wake up. He didn’t. So you got bolder and took his metal arm and placed it around you, waiting again. He didn’t move. So you went to wrap your arms around him, and once you did, you heard his sleepy voice saying, “Oh, what’s this? Now you need me?” 

You froze, trying to see if you could pretend you were asleep already. He didn’t buy it. 

“I know you’re awake.” 

You sighed. “It’s the thunder.” You said, nuzzling his warm neck. 

“And you need daddy to protect you now, little bunny?” He mocked. “But when I try to tell you what to do to keep you safe you never listen.” 

You noticed he kept his arm around you, pulling you more into him even as he chided you. “I’m so sorry, Buck. It won’t happen again.” 

He hummed. “It better not.” 

You were quiet for a second or two, then said, “You were so mean to me earlier.” 

“I have to be.” He said sternly. “You never listen. You don’t take your training seriously, you think you’re ready to fight your way out, baby, but you’re not. All I asked you to do was not to leave that apartment until I got there. But you couldn’t help but be a brat, could you?” 

You squirmed in shame. “I don’t want you to be angry with me.” 

“Well,” He said, sounding sassy as he pulled you closer, “I am pissed. Deal with it.” 

You had had enough. You slipped out of his arms, “Stay here and brood then,” You tried to get out of bed, “I’ll sleep on one of the sofas–” 

Bucky didn’t let you. A loud thunder boomed right above as he pulled you back into bed and climbed on top of you. “Stop being fucking difficult.” He hissed. 

Before you could answer, his mouth was on yours. Beard scratching your face, his long hair tickling the sides of your face. 

His kiss was rough and it hurt in the best way. Bucky pulled away for a brief moment, squeezed your cheeks so you couldn’t close your mouth. “Brat.” Glaring down at you, he spat in your mouth before kissing you again. 

Your brain felt like it was floating. His kiss was hot. And messy. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, “Needy little brat. Can’t ever do as you’re told, can you? You almost got fucking killed today, but you don’t care about that. Do you? Huh?” 

You were quiet. Your brain was too foggy with lust to function. 

“Why are you quiet? No bratty words for daddy?” He asked, sliding his rough hands up and down your parted thighs. You spread them even more the moment he touched you and he smirked when he noticed it. “Go on, tell me to stop. Tell me to let you go.” He taunted, knowing full well you would never do that. 

All you did was whimper as he touched you mindlessly, sliding his fingers up and down your slit, spreading your wetness around. 

“You’re gonna listen from now on.” He stated. “I don’t care what it takes. I’ll lock you in that apartment if I have to. But from now on, if I tell you it’s not safe out there, you do not leave that house. You hear me, princess?” 

Silence. Which earned you a slap on the thigh. You yelped in pain before glaring at him. “Fine,” You said, “Yes, I hear you. I’ll be good.” You whined. 

“Of course you will,” He said, his metal hand pinned you down on the bed by wrapping around your neck to keep you in place, while his other hand wrapped around his cock. Pumping it once, twice while holding your stare. “‘Cause I’ll have you over my knee and spank that little butt raw if you don’t.” 

You whimpered and squirmed because of how badly you needed him inside you. “I will. I’ll be so good,” You begged, “Buck, please.” 

Bucky wasted no time sliding inside of you. Giving you no time to even think, he moved in and out of you in a way that had you moaning out loud, not caring that the walls might be thin. 

The storm got louder somehow, thunder rumbling and lightning lighting up the room every now and then. The rain got heavier, silencing the rest of the world as Bucky fucked you. His body weight pressing down onto you in a way that made you never want to be anywhere else. 

It didn’t matter that you were in a small motel room, so far away from home. It didn’t matter that danger could still be lurking around. Nothing mattered, not when he held your stare as he fucked you hard and fast, barely giving you time to breathe right. 

He leaned in again, whispering against the corner of your open mouth, “Look how you behave the moment you have some cock in you. Is that all my baby wanted? Daddy’s cock? Hmm? Is this why you’ve been pouting for the past few hours?” He chuckled, spreading your thighs even more, “I’ve been mean to you, haven’t I?” He cooed, fucking into you deeper somehow. “I’ve been so mean by telling you just where you messed up and how bad things could’ve gotten if I didn’t reach you in time. I’m so mean to you, aren’t I?” He mocked you, scoffing, “Is that why your pussy is strangling my cock, baby? Because daddy’s so mean to you, is he?”

You could feel your face getting hotter as your walls clenched around him over and over again, as he sped up and pounded into you. You felt all of him stretching you out, filling you up, moving rapidly in and out of you until he was all you could focus on. 

“Is this what you wanted, little bunny?” He whispered, pounding into you relentlessly as he bent down to bite your lower lip and tug on it. “Is this enough to make you behave from now on, baby?” 

You moaned at how perfect his warm body felt on top of yours, his weight pressing down on you. His stubble tickled your skin as he kissed your face and bit on your lip. Your legs trembled as his thrusts, relentless and unbearably good. The pressure around your lower body grew, familiar, tight and hot.

The storm, the streetlights, and every little bit of light allowed you to see how Bucky looked down at you as you tightened around his cock. He smirked, looking down to where his cock disappeared into you each time he thrust in. “I killed for you today.” He whispered, “I saved you, and this is what I get? Attitude? A bratty girl? Not even a thank you,” He scoffed, “Not even a ‘thank you for saving me daddy’, nothing.” The cold cruelty in his voice only made you clench around him harder. 

His hand squeezed your throat again, making you moan even louder. “Dirty little slut. Look at you, all cock drunk.” He scoffed, giving you yet another messy kiss. “Are you gonna be good from now on?” 

“Yes,” You whined, not recognising your voice because of how desperate you sounded. Then again, only he could make you sound this way. You whimpered, unable to say anything else because of how good he felt sliding in and out of you. 

Fuck, you needed this. So much. You whined again when his hand let go of your throat, fingers trailing down your squirming body until his metal fingers found your clit, toying with it while he pounded into you mercilessly. 

“Yeah?” He stared deep into your eyes as he spoke. “You’re gonna be my good girl and listen to me?” 

You nodded, tears streaming down your face again. The exhaustion from earlier, the day you had survived. It was all too much. “Please…” You whimpered, squirming and unable to hold back anymore. You needed to come so bad. Your thoughts were a mess. 

“Good girl.” 

And you couldn’t hold back anymore. You came undone all around him. Moaning, your back arching off the bed as you came hard around his cock, tightening around him even harder than earlier. 

Bucky kept pounding into you as your orgasm washed over you, your walls squeezing him violently. Your body trembling under him. “That’s it, babygirl. Come for daddy.” 

You could hear the untamed hunger in his deep, growly voice. He groaned until he came undone as well. You whined and whimpered as you felt him filling you up, his thrusts slowing down, his cum dripping down your inner thighs. 

—

You vaguely remember his cleaning the two of you. He let you rest for a minute, but then it seemed like he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. So he flipped you around, straddled you and began massaging your worn out body. 

He rubbed his rough hands all over your back, down your hips, and thighs. It was quiet for a while. Just the rain, the thunder, and the sound of Bucky breathing. 

Then you heard his gentle voice. “I can’t lose you. Not you.” He whispered, like he was saying it to himself, “Not you, baby.” 

Your heart throbbed and pinched.  

He leaned down and kissed the back of your neck, your shoulders, down your spine, all while massaging your body. “I don’t like being mean to you.” He kissed his way up again, nuzzling your ear and whispering, “Earlier today,” He spoke softly, “When I watched the tracker show me how fast you were getting further and further away, thinking about how they must’ve grabbed you. How easily, how quickly they took you, I–,” His voice cracked. 

You couldn’t help the tears anymore, “I’m sorry.” You tried to turn over and face him but he gently pushed you back down on the bed. 

“Shh,” He shut you up. “Just let me take care of you.” His hands touched you everywhere. Soft touches soothing the spots he’d grabbed harshly earlier. “You scared me, baby.” He kissed around the cut on your side. “For a moment I thought I’d never see you again.” 

“I’ll be good, I promise.” You sniffled, trying to look at him over your shoulder. “I’ll train harder, I’ll be better. I won’t let my guard down, ever.” 

He leaned in and kissed your lips gently. “You’re perfect.” He stated. “We’ll work on training you better. We’ll be okay. Don’t worry baby, I’ve got you. Always.” 

You gave him a teary smile and sheepishly said, “Thank you for saving me.” 

Bucky laughed softly, nuzzling your neck again, kissing your skin like he couldn’t get enough. “I would burn this entire world down if anyone tries to take you from me again.” 

You laid your head back down on the pillow, laughing softly. Thinking he was joking. 

He wasn’t.

[classyrbf]

COME HOME! — TOJI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...you’re afraid one day he won’t come home, leaving you in a constant state of worry and fear of what could happen especially with his family in on the line

INFO...toji fushiguro x ex assassin fem!reader, fluff with some angst, domestic relationship, megumi is readers bio kid, toji an assassin, mentions of blood, sweet ending, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

i'm sorry for being gone for so long and not writing anything or even sticking to my kinktober plan, quite literally fell into a black hole of unmotivation and writing smut was not helping at all lmao

The night was brutal, cold air striking your skin and the winds were sharp. Yet, you sat by the cracked window, your skin felt like it was on fire. Police sirens flooded the silence and the small dim lamp did its best to light up the room. With your knees tucked to your chest, you sat and watched the cars drive by, one of the streetlights flickering every now and again. Little Megumi slept soundly in his room, tucked warmly in his bed with his favorite stuffed dinosaur. You had been up for hours, waiting for Toji to come back home from his job.

You lived with worry that one day he wouldn’t show up, come back home to you and his son. What he did was dangerous, being an assassin and what not. He always brags about how he’s the best, so fast and strong, silent as a mouse that most of them don’t even get the chance. But, what if there’s someone out there who is strong enough to put up a fight? What if he gets caught? Seriously injured? That’s what makes you worry. You knew what you were getting yourself into from the moment you met him because you also used to be an assassin, but as soon as you found out you were pregnant, that lifestyle was cut short. You’d never do anything to put your son in danger.

Many talks between you Toji about changing what he does, doing something better, safer, always led to arguments. It’s like killing was the only thing he knew how to do. It’s sad to say. But you couldn’t help but love him, and worry for him, care for him. You only wanted Megumi to be safe. The job was a dangerous one. Creating enemies along the way, a target painted on your head. You just needed him to come home. Nervously biting at your nails, your eyes scanned the streets and tops of the grungy apartment buildings. You always wanted to move out of this damn city, but Toji said it’d be too obvious if you two moved somewhere nice, somewhere you couldn’t blend in. As much as you hate to admit it, he was right. You just didn’t want Megumi growing up here, turning out like you or his father. You wanted better for your son.

The rattling of the doorknob makes your head spin, jumping to your feet before even thinking. You were on full alert, hoping whoever walks in was your husband and your husband only. Your eyes narrowed, the bulky frame of Toji stumbling through the doorway, his skin pale and shining with sweat. He slammed the door behind him, groaning in pain as he dragged his feet across the floor and to the nearest chair. He didn’t look too well.

Immediately, you walked out of the living room and into the kitchen, assessing him with a worried look in your eye. “Toji, baby?” You nearly fall over when you cup his face, his nose bloody and lip busted. You don’t even notice he’s holding his side. “What the fuck happened?” You’re cupping his face, eyes scanning his finger when you see the copious amounts of blood on his hands. Lifting his shirt, you see the huge gash on his side. “Fucking hell.”

“Missed you too, sweets,” he struggles to even speak, letting out a pained sigh. “Where’s the kid?” He asks, looking at you rummaging through the cabinets for the first aid kit.

“He’s fine, sleeping. Why?” You glance over your shoulder, snatching the first aid off of the shelf. You kneel in front of him, taking the bottle of alcohol and pouring it straight onto the wound.

“Fuck!” He screams, slamming his hand on the table. “Son of a bitch!” He hisses, clenching his eyes shut. “Could’ve warned me, you know?” He breathed heavily, his chest heaving up and down.

“Would’ve been worse if I did. Answer my questions,” you demand, wiping the blood around his wound while applying pressure.

“Fucker that got me knew about you and the kid. Though…shit—thought someone else might’ve came after you two. I tried getting here as fast as I could,” he sighs. His eyes flutter shut, clenching his fists so hard the whites of his knuckles show. “Don’t worry, I killed him. Obviously.”

“Yeah, he still fucked you up pretty good though.” You shake your head, grabbing the bandage and placing it over the gash. “I told you Toji, we need to leave, find somewhere safer, better. You need to quiet this shit, okay? We got a fucking kid to look out for—”

“Mommy? Daddy?” The soft sound of Megumi’s voice made you spin. He rubs his tired eyes, clinging onto his stuffed dinosaur. “Is daddy okay? I heard him yell.”

“I’m okay, Megs.” Toji flashes a smile. “Mommy’s just helping me with something and then I’ll come tuck you back in, alright? Go back to bed.” He points back to his room.

“Daddy’s okay, baby,” you say softly. Megs just nods and tiredly shuffles back into his room. A deep sigh escapes your lips as you wrap the gauze tightly around his torso before cutting it with the scissors and tucking it under. You toss the scissors to the floor, standing back to your feet to rid your hands of his blood. This is what you were afraid of. This is what you didn’t want. You were a mother now and you knew just how cruel this world was.

You take a rag and wet it under the water before gently lifting his chin, and wiping the blood from his nose. You’ve done this too many times before, it was practically like muscle memory. Stitching yourself up, wiping the blood that seeped into your skin and now you’re doing the same for him. His hands find your waist, squeezing gently while you stand between his legs and Toji forgets about the pain for a moment. His glossy eyes look up at you and he realizes what he has. A wife, a son, a family who cares about him, loves him. You’re always so gently yet so affirmative and he’s reminded why he fell in love with you. You make up every part of him that was missing.

“I’m sorry.” His voice and raspy and delicate. “I know I scared you when I walked through the door like this.” He gently grabs your wrist, pulling your hand from his face. “Look at me, baby.” And when your eyes meet his, he can tell just how worried you are, how much you’re hiding just to seem strong. “I’m sorry.”

Tears well up in your eyes and they’re falling before you could blink them away. “I’m so scared you won’t walk through the door one day, Toji. I wait by the window, watching and listening. Looking out for our baby boy. I don’t want that day to come when you’re not here because of this stupid fucking job,” you cry, looking away from him as you sob into your hands.

His heart breaks at your cries, pulling you down into his chest despite the pain he’s in because he couldn’t care less about that right now. He soothingly rubs your back, placing a kiss on your head. “We’ll leave tomorrow. Everything. Move somewhere else. Start a new life. I fucking promise you. I should’ve listened to you before and I’m so sorry.” His voice shakes with each word. “You don’t know how scared I was to walk in here thinking something might’ve happened to you and Megs. Just thinking about that…fuck…I can’t imagine.” He shakes his head. You cling onto him, holding him tightly. “I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too,” you sniffle. Lifting your head, you gently caress his cheek with the pad of your thumb, searching his eyes and you see is sadness and sincerity. “Tomorrow. Promise?”

“I promise, baby. Me, you, and the kid. We’ll all get outta here. Go somewhere nice. Maybe a beach, watch him play in the sand?” Toji chuckles. You nod, laughing. “There’s that smile,” he says.

“Daddy?” The little patters of Megumi’s feet make their way into the kitchen. “Are you still gonna tuck me in?” He pouts.

Toji looks at you and then at his son. You hop off of his lap and he stands up as if nothing is wrong, but still walking with a slight limp and his hand holding his side. “Come here, kid.” He scoops him up with arm like he weighed nothing. “How about you sleep with me and mommy tonight, huh?” He reaches to ruffle Megumi’s hair. You walk over to the both of them, your chest feeling warm, a smile adorning your face. Megumi leans his head on Toji’s shoulder, quickly shutting his eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

[jorjin]

Think I might stay in the city I work at a little longer tomorrow before coming home again. I am terribly tired of dealing with extended family over

[fastandcarlos]

Dangerous Game : ̗̀➛ Oscar Piastri

summary: losing your independence whilst pregnant was tough, but when you try and be a little bit dangerous, oscar is far from impressed to see you do so

Panic struck you as soon as you heard the front door open, dropping the paintbrush down onto the floor as your feet scrambled to get you down the ladder that you were up. As Oscar called out through the house you shouted back, placing the lid back on the paint pot and hiding the brush underneath one of the cardboard boxes in the room.

As your eyes darted around you kept finding things to hide, moving bits around the room as the sound of Oscar’s footsteps got louder and louder towards the room.  

Just as the door handle was pushed down, you sat yourself down on the rocking chair that was in the corner of the room, leaning back with a smile on your face as Oscar walked in with his suitcase just behind him. 

“I didn’t think I’d find you in here,” he remarked, glancing around the room. 

It had been a couple of weeks since Oscar had been home but straight away his eyes narrowed as he looked around the room. Something wasn’t quite sitting right with him, taking a good look around the room as he remembered how things were when he left a short time ago. 

“It looks different in here,” Oscar commented, noticing your eyes looking a little more nervously at him then they usually did. “Have you made a few changes?” 

Your head nodded as you forced a smile onto your face, “I’ve just been doing the odd little bit here and there, trying to make life easier for you so there was less to do when you got back.” 

Oscar nodded too as you spoke, walking further into the room. Your heart began to race as his eyes narrowed on something, walking over and picking up the paintbrush that you had tried your best to hide, quickly noticing that it was still covered in paint, as was the ladder where droplets had fallen. 

“Please tell me you’ve not been up a ladder painting this nursery,” Oscar asked you, although he already knew the answer, unable to quite believe what you had been up to. 

Oscar had left you under the promise that you would do everything possible to keep yourself as safe as you could without him there. He was reluctant to go, but he trusted you. The worried part of you couldn’t keep that promise though, conscious of how much you had left to do and how little time you had before your baby arrived. 

“What if you’d have fallen from the ladder Y/N? Are you actually out of your mind?” 

Your body tensed up at the harsh tone in Oscar’s voice. “No, I’m not. I’m fed up of being treated like I’m unable to do anything though, I was only a couple of steps up and I was completely in control of what I was doing Oscar.” 

“Anything could have happened Y/N.” 

It didn’t exactly seem like the most dangerous job in the world to you, but to Oscar, it was almost as if you were tempting fate. He was happy for you to do a few jobs around the nursery, but the hardworking jobs, like painting and building, he wanted to do to make sure that you didn’t run the risk of injuring yourself. 

Oscar dropped the paintbrush back down, brushing his hands through his hair as he tried his best to stay calm. There was an anger in him that you hadn’t seen for a long time, taking you by complete surprise. 

“I’m not joking when I tell you not to do these things,” Oscar spoke, turning back to face you again. “It’s hard enough leaving you at the best of times, but especially so when you’re pregnant, and even more so when I know you’re not being safe.” 

“Surely I’m the one who decides when I’m being safe and not safe,” you argued. “Every time you say you’ll do something, something else comes along, we can’t keep doing that forever Oscar.” 

Painting the nursery was one of those things that Oscar had insisted that he would do for quite some time, but nothing ever materialised. It was either work, or family, or the time when he came home and fell asleep instead because he was so tired, but Oscar seemed unbothered that time was running out. 

“We’re supposed to do these things together, as parents,” Oscar calmly reminded you. 

“We can, but you’re never here.” 

“I’m here right now,” he huffed, throwing his arms down by his sides. “I know that I’m busy, and trust me, I wish that I wasn’t, but the thought of something happening to you absolutely terrifies me love.” 

A soft sigh came from you, “I didn’t realise that you were this worried about me.” 

Oscar took a step towards you, taking a hold of both of your hands. “Every second I’m worrying about you, nervous when the phone goes that it’ll be someone to tell me that something has happened to you.” 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered as Oscar gave your hands a squeeze. “I guess I’m quite calm right now, I just assumed that you would be feeling the same.” 

To Oscar, you were far too calm for his liking, he couldn’t believe how you just took pregnancy in your stride like it was nothing huge. He watched you carry on as if nothing was changing, with your big smile constantly still on your face. 

He was well aware that you wanted very little to change, you still wanted to be you, to be independent, and to be organised, even if he didn’t want you to be. Oscar wanted to step up though, your pregnancy was a chance for him to take control and take care of you, despite your protests. 

“The only person going up that ladder for the next three months is me,” Oscar told you, “but I still want you to be involved and doing things as well.”  

You nodded at Oscar’s suggestion, although you knew the ladder was pretty harmless, before you drove Oscar insane, you knew not going up it anymore was the best decision. 

“We’ll get this done, together,” Oscar assured you. 

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” 

“How about we make a start tonight?” He proposed. “Let’s order some food and plan out the jobs that we need to get done. I’ll get up the ladder and we can bring one of the chairs in from the dining room so that you can sit down and paint the lower parts of the walls. Does that sound like a plan?” 

Your smile turned up as soon as Oscar started speaking. “That sounds like the perfect way to spend tonight. You don’t have to do all of this though Oscar, the baby isn’t going to be arriving tomorrow.” 

“I’ve not done enough so far, I’ve got plenty of making up to do for all the jobs I’ve neglected,” he assured you. 

Your hands slipped out of his and wrapped around Oscar’s neck. “I’m sorry for breaking your trust whilst you were away, I promise it won’t happen again.” 

“Don’t be sorry, I get it. We’ve just got very different definitions of what safe activities are for pregnant women to do,” he couldn’t help but joke. 

“I only did it because I was bored without you around.” 

Oscar questionably glanced back at you, “I know for a fact you’d have been up that ladder anyway, but I’ll pretend to believe you. I love you, just promise you’ll take care of you, of both of you, for me.” 

“I promise that we’re both safe, and healthy, and we will continue to be too,” you smiled, pressing a kiss against Oscar’s lips. “Welcome home by the way.” 

“It seems like I got home just in time.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[writeriguess]

heyy hope you're well! i love your writing, if possible, could you write bakugou thanking his wife when he wins an award for his hero work? thank you x

The Real Reward

The bright stage lights glare down on Bakugou Katsuki as he stands behind the sleek black podium, a polished golden trophy in his calloused hands. The weight of the award is nothing compared to the battles he’s fought, the villains he’s taken down, or the lives he’s saved—but still, it feels heavy. Heavy with meaning, with gratitude, with everything he’s never been good at saying.

The crowd watches in hushed anticipation, thousands of eyes locked onto him. Cameras flash, recording this moment for history, for the next generation of heroes to look back on. And yet, none of that matters to him. Not the reporters, not the sponsors, not even the high-ranking heroes sitting in the front row. No, his crimson gaze seeks out only one person—his wife.

You’re standing off to the side, close enough to the stage that he can see you clearly, but far enough that you’re not in the limelight. But that’s how it’s always been, hasn’t it? You, supporting him from just beyond the glare, always within reach yet never demanding the spotlight for yourself. You who stayed up on sleepless nights, waiting for him to return. You who patched up his wounds when he was too stubborn to go to Recovery Girl. You who kissed the scars he earned from throwing himself between civilians and danger. You who, despite everything, never stopped believing in him.

Bakugou exhales sharply through his nose, gripping the trophy a little tighter. He’s never been good at this kind of shit—expressing what’s in his heart. But for you, he’d try. Always.

“Tch,” he huffs into the mic, making the audience chuckle lightly. “Dunno why I gotta say somethin’. I did what needed to be done, that’s all.”

Another wave of quiet laughter, but there’s nothing amusing about the way his expression softens when he finds your eyes again. He swallows thickly, his grip on the trophy loosening slightly. “But… this ain’t just my win.”

The room is silent now, hanging onto his words. Heroes give speeches all the time, but when it’s Ground Zero—explosive, rough-around-the-edges, no-nonsense Ground Zero—giving one, people listen.

“This job ain’t easy,” he continues, voice gruff but steady. “We don’t just fight villains—we fight exhaustion, self-doubt, the weight of every goddamn life that’s ever been put in our hands. It ain’t just the battles out there that wear us down—it’s the quiet moments, the aftermath. When the dust settles, and all that’s left is the question of whether we did enough.”

He lets the words hang in the air for a second before pressing on. “And through all that… there’s only one person who’s been there for every moment. One person who saw me at my lowest and never looked away. Who didn’t give up on me, even when I was too much of a stubborn bastard to let myself lean on ‘em.”

You press your fingers to your lips, trying to keep the emotion from spilling over. You knew he loved you—you never doubted that. But to hear it, to witness it, to feel it in the weight of his words, was something else entirely.

Bakugou clears his throat, looking away for a moment like he needs to gather himself. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, but no less firm. “To my wife,” he says, staring straight at you. “Thank you. For every damn thing.”

A murmur runs through the audience. Some people smile, some glance at you with admiration, and a few reporters scramble to jot down the rare sentimental words from the number one hero. But none of that matters to you. The only thing that matters is the way his eyes soften, the way his mouth quirks in the smallest, barely-there smirk meant just for you.

He lifts the trophy slightly. “This? This ain’t just mine. It’s yours, too. ‘Cause I wouldn’t be standin’ here without you.”

The applause is deafening. The roar of the crowd, the whistles, the cheers—they’re all for him, for the hero they adore. But the look in his eyes, the words left unspoken between you, tell you the truth:

His heart, his victory, his everything—

Those are for you.

[glorifiedagents]

Paid to be Ruined — agatha harkness

"YOU LISTENED." Agatha’s voice was velvet and steel, laced with amusement and unmistakable hunger. Her gaze dragged over you — slow, knowing, lingering on the bare skin of your thighs peeking from beneath your coat. She took a step closer, fingers brushing the belt at your waist, her smirk deepening as she tugged — just enough to loosen it. "Good girl."

SUMMARY: agatha hires you for the night again - and you know for a fact that she's gonna ruin you PAIRING: g!p agatha harkness & escort!fem!reader CAUTION: swallowing cum, creampie, deepthroat, size kink, stomach bulge, spit, dom!sub!dynamics, overstimulation, escort!reader, g!p agatha, degradation and slight aftercare from agatha WORD COUNT: 5.1K AUTHOR'S NOTE: not proof read, let me know if i made mistakes! currently going through my agatha phase - literally need fucking help

You weren’t new to this.

The job, the money, the whole give them what they want, take what you need, and walk away thing. You had it down to a science. You knew how to read people, how to figure out exactly what they were looking for and play the part they wanted. It was easy. Simple. No emotions, no attachments, no mess.

But then there was her.

Agatha Harkness had been different from the start. The first time she hired you, you had expected the usual, maybe a drink, some small talk, a client who wanted to pretend there was more to this than just an exchange. But Agatha? She didn’t do small talk. She didn’t waste time.

She had taken one look at you, studied you with those dark, unreadable eyes, and smirked like she already knew exactly how the night would go. Like she had already decided how far she was going to push you. And the worst part?

She was right.

That night, she had left you wrecked. Not just satisfied — ruined.

You had walked away with sore thighs, a raw throat, and a pay-check big enough to make your head spin. You should have left it at that. Should have chalked it up to just one really good night with a really dangerous woman.

But then she called again. No discussion. No questions. Just a time, a room number, and the unspoken expectation that you would show up.

And against your better judgment, you did.

Only this time, you weren’t just going to show up. This time, you wanted to see just how much further she could break you.

You remembered something she had said the first time around, almost offhand but still deliberate in that way she did everything.

"Red suits you."

So you wore red.

Your best set — delicate lace, thin straps, garters and thigh-high stockings that made you feel like sin itself. And as the elevator carried you up to the top floor, heart pounding, pulse racing, you knew one thing for sure.

You weren’t just getting paid tonight.

You were getting owned.

The black car idled outside the grand hotel, its sleek design gleaming beneath the golden glow of the streetlights. You sat in the back seat, smoothing your hands over your thighs, nerves buzzing beneath your skin. The fabric of your long coat was soft, but it did nothing to still the pounding of your heart.

The driver hadn’t spoken much since picking you up from your apartment — just a clipped greeting and a quiet confirmation of the address before pulling away from the curb. You were grateful. Any attempt at conversation would have been wasted on you. Your mind was too preoccupied, too restless, too consumed by what awaited you on the top floor of this building.

Your breath hitched as you stepped out of the car, heels clicking softly against the pavement. The grand entrance of the hotel loomed ahead, its revolving doors ushering guests in and out with quiet efficiency. The warm air inside wrapped around you as you stepped through, a stark contrast to the crisp night air outside.

The lobby was a sight of wealth — high ceilings, polished marble floors, chandeliers dripping with crystal. The hum of quiet conversation surrounded you, but none of it registered. You walked with purpose, straight to the bank of elevators tucked near the back of the lobby.

Agatha’s message had been simple. A room number. A time. Nothing else.

Your fingers toyed with the belt of your coat as you waited for the elevator, a mix of nerves and anticipation coiling low in your stomach. You had dressed for her. The finest red lace and silk clung to your curves beneath your coat, the bra delicate yet daring, framing your breasts perfectly. The matching panties sat low on your hips, sheer enough to leave little to the imagination. Garters held up sheer thigh-high stockings, adding an extra layer of tease.

She would appreciate the effort. And then she would ruin it.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and you stepped inside, pressing the button for the top floor. The space was empty save for you, the only sound the soft hum of the elevator rising.

Your pulse quickened. You could already imagine the way she would look at you. The weight of her gaze, dark and knowing, as she took in every inch of you. The way she liked to test your limits, the way she devoured, possessed. She was dangerous in the most intoxicating way, and you had walked straight into her grasp.

Another chime. The doors opened.

The hallway was quiet, lined with plush carpeting that softened the sound of your steps. Each step forward sent another jolt of anticipation through you, every breath felt heavier. The door number burned in your mind.

And then, you were there.

Before you could knock, the door swung open.

Agatha stood in the doorway, bathed in the soft glow of the suite’s lighting. Her dark button-up was partially undone, sleeves rolled up to her forearms, revealing toned, elegant wrists. She looked effortless, but you knew better. Everything about her was intentional.

The moment the door clicked shut behind you, Agatha wasted no time. She had you pinned before you could take another breath, her strong hands pressing you back against the door, her body a solid wall of heat against yours. Her mouth crashed onto yours—hungry, claiming, her teeth scraping against your lower lip before she bit down just hard enough to make you gasp. She swallowed the sound with a satisfied hum, her tongue slipping past your lips as she deepened the kiss, rough yet tantalizingly slow, like she had all the time in the world to ruin you.

Her fingers trailed from your wrists, still trapped against the wood, down the length of your arms, her touch featherlight—teasing. By the time she reached your shoulders, she slid her fingers beneath the delicate straps of your red lace bra, pulling them down achingly slow, her mouth never leaving yours until she finally ripped herself away.

"Look at you," she murmured, stepping back just enough to take in the sight of you, her dark eyes raking over your body like she was devouring you whole. "Dressed up like a good little whore, just for me."

Heat flared through your body at the way she said it, dripping with amusement but edged with something dangerous, something that made your pulse stutter in your throat.

You barely had a second to react before she was on you again—her mouth hot against the curve of your jaw, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down your throat. Her hands were everywhere at once—sliding down your arms, gripping your hips, owning every inch of you as she backed you up toward the bed. You whimpered when she took one of your nipples into her mouth, sucking hard, her tongue circling the sensitive peak before her teeth grazed it just enough to make you jerk in her grasp.

"Mm, so fucking sensitive," she mused against your skin before switching to the other, her free hand rolling the abandoned nipple between her fingers. Your hips bucked reflexively against her, needing more, desperate for friction.

And fuck, you felt it. The thick, hard length of her cock pressing against your stomach through her slacks, the outline making your mouth water as you squirmed beneath her.

"Pathetic," Agatha laughed, the sound low and mocking, her fingers trailing down your stomach, stopping just at the waistband of your panties. She could feel how wet they were, her smirk widening as she pressed her fingers against the soaked lace, applying just enough pressure to make you moan. "This soaked already? And I haven't even touched you properly. Such a desperate little thing."

"Agatha, please—"

A sharp slap to your thigh cut you off, the sting making you whimper as your skin burned beneath her palm.

"Did I say you could fucking beg?" she growled, her tone dark, commanding. "You're so needy it’s pathetic. You don’t deserve my cock yet."

You let out a choked sound of frustration, your body aching for more, but she just smirked, dragging her fingers up the inside of your thigh, making you tremble.

Then, without warning, she dropped to her knees.

You gasped at the sudden shift, your breath hitching as she pressed a kiss to your hip, her mouth lingering over the thin straps of your panties. She breathed you in, her nose nudging against the damp lace before she let out a low, satisfied hum.

"Fucking filthy," she murmured, dragging her tongue over the wet fabric, slow and deliberate, tasting you through it. The friction was exquisite—a teasing, maddening pressure that made your thighs shake. She licked a second time, the heat of her mouth soaking through, her fingers digging into your hips as she held you still.

You whimpered, your hands gripping the sheets behind you as your hips jerked up, chasing her mouth. But she pulled away just enough to deny you.

"Patience," she scolded, voice thick with amusement, before reaching up and undoing the garter straps excruciatingly slow, watching your face the entire time.

And then—fuck.

She hooked her fingers into the waistband and pulled your panties down, dragging them down your legs inch by inch, her lips brushing along your thighs as she went. And then, instead of tossing them aside—

She brought them to her mouth.

Your breath caught as she slid the drenched fabric between her teeth, her dark eyes locked onto yours as she pulled them taut, letting them drag over her tongue. She moaned like she was savoring the taste, her smirk never fading as she finally removed them—only to shove them into your mouth.

"Since you can't seem to stop moaning like a desperate slut," she taunted, her fingers trailing down your exposed cunt. "Now you can keep quiet."

You whimpered against the soaked lace in your mouth as she finally pressed two fingers between your folds, spreading you open. She groaned at how wet you were, her thumb finding your clit and rubbing in slow, devastating circles.

"Fuck, look at this mess," she muttered, her fingers teasing your entrance, just barely pushing in before pulling away. "So fucking needy for me. Do you even have a single ounce of dignity left?"

You tried to respond, but your voice was muffled by the panties in your mouth.

Agatha laughed. "That’s what I thought."

And then, without warning, she thrust two fingers inside of you.

Your entire body arched off the bed, a muffled scream escaping past the gag as she filled you all at once, stretching you open with zero hesitation. She set a relentless pace immediately, her fingers driving into you with obscene, wet sounds that only seemed to fuel her amusement.

"Listen to you," she groaned, her free hand palming her cock through her slacks. "Taking my fingers so fucking well. You were made to be used like this."

Her thumb pressed against your clit, circling in time with the thrusts, sending sharp jolts of pleasure racing through your core. The pressure was unbearable, the pleasure so intense that your legs started shaking.

"You're gonna come already, aren’t you?" she mocked, watching you struggle. "Go on. Make a mess."

And then—fuck, fuck, fuck.

She angled her fingers just right, curling them against that perfect spot inside of you while pressing harder against your clit. Your entire body locked up before pleasure exploded through you, a sharp, overwhelming rush that had you squirting all over her fingers, your release dripping down your thighs as you writhed beneath her.

Agatha groaned as she watched you come undone, fucking you through it, her pace unrelenting as she worked you through every wave. "That's it. So fucking messy for me."

When she finally pulled her fingers out, they were dripping. She brought them to her lips, eyes locked onto yours as she sucked them clean, humming at the taste.

Then she stood, undoing her slacks, letting them pool at her feet.

Your breath caught at the sight of her thick, hard cock springing free, the tip glistening. You reached for it immediately, but she caught your wrist, pinning it back against the mattress with a warning glare.

"You don’t get to touch until I say so," she growled, leaning over you, pressing the heavy length against your overstimulated clit, making you whimper. "And you will take every fucking inch."

And fuck, you knew she meant it.

Every single word.

Agatha’s cock drags against your slick folds, teasing, the head catching on your clit with every slow, deliberate stroke. The obscene, wet sounds fill the room, mixing with your breathy whimpers and the low, guttural hum of amusement from her lips. She’s playing with you, watching the way you tremble beneath her, the way your thighs try to clamp together, only to be forced apart by her strong grip.

"Spit." The command is sharp, leaving no room for hesitation.

Your lips part instantly, tongue pushing forward as a warm strand of saliva drips onto her waiting fingers. She smears it over her cock, mixing it with the slick beads of pre-cum already glistening at the tip. A slow, shuddering breath leaves her as she fists herself, pumping with languid strokes, eyes heavy-lidded as she watches you. A few stray drops spill onto your stomach, smearing across your skin, and marking you.

She lines herself up again, pressing the swollen tip against your entrance but not pushing in. Instead, she leans in close, mouth ghosting over yours, her breath hot and teasing.

"You want it?" she murmurs, smirking as she rubs herself against you, teasing, taunting. "Say it. Beg for it."

"Please," you gasp, fingers digging into the sheets. "Please, Agatha, I need—"

The words cut off in a sharp cry as she thrusts into you in one smooth motion, burying herself to the hilt. The stretch is instant, overwhelming — your walls clenching desperately around her thick cock as she fills you completely.

But she doesn’t give you time to adjust.

She sets a ruthless pace from the start, each powerful thrust driving deep, punching the air from your lungs as she claims you. The slap of skin on skin echoes through the room, the mattress creaking beneath the force of her movements. Your back arches, head falling back against the pillows as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through you.

"Feel that?" she growls, grabbing your wrist and guiding your hand down to your stomach. She presses your palm flat against your lower abdomen, right where she’s buried so deep inside you. "Feel me stretching you out? Fucking you open?"

The sensation is dizzying — you can feel the thick, hard outline of her cock through your own skin, feel the way she moves inside you, relentless and unyielding. Your body is burning, electric, the pressure coiling tight in your core with every brutal thrust.

"You’re squeezing me so fucking tight," Agatha groans, her fingers bruising against your hips as she fucks into you harder, deeper. "Like your body's desperate to milk me dry."

The words send a violent shudder through you, the pleasure teetering on the edge of something devastating.

"That’s it," she pants, her grip tightening as she slams into you harder. "Come for me, you filthy little thing — fucking soak me."

It’s too much. The overwhelming fullness, the sharp slap of her hips against yours, the way her cock presses against that perfect spot inside you — it sends you spiralling. Your body seizes, the orgasm ripping through you like a lightning strike, white-hot and all-consuming.

Fuck.

A strangled cry breaks from your lips as the pleasure turns into something explosive — your walls clenching down in rhythmic, desperate spasms, forcing liquid heat to gush from you, soaking Agatha’s cock, your thighs, and the sheets beneath you. The release is violent, messy, your body shuddering uncontrollably as the pleasure crashes over you in waves, each one dragging you under deeper.

Agatha curses under her breath, watching as you fall apart, watching the way you soak her cock, your slick dripping down onto her thighs. Her movements grow erratic, her breath ragged as she slams into you one final time, burying herself to the hilt as her own pleasure overtakes her.

A deep, guttural groan rumbles from her chest as she comes, filling you with heat. You can feel it — the thick warmth spilling deep inside, coating your insides. As if it was seeping into every inch of you. She doesn’t pull out, just grinds against you, making sure every drop stays buried within you.

Your body is still trembling, aftershocks pulsing through your core, your skin flushed and feverish. Agatha finally collapses against you, her cock still inside, pressing a searing kiss to your jaw, her breath still ragged as she murmurs against your ear:

"Mine."

Agatha pulls out slowly, deliberately, watching with dark, predatory eyes as your walls clench around nothing, your body still trembling from the force of your release. A satisfied smirk curls at the corner of her lips as she watches the thick spill of her cum start to leak out of you, glistening as it drips onto your thighs.

"Messy little thing," she muses, voice dripping with amusement and something darker, something possessive. Her fingers trail down your stomach, teasing over the sensitive, overstimulated skin before she presses two fingers against your entrance, spreading you open just enough to watch more of her cum seep out.

"Don’t waste it," she commands, and when you hesitate, she grabs your wrist, guiding your hand down. "Use your fingers. Push it back in."

Your breath stutters, but you do as you're told, your own fingers gathering the warmth of her release, feeling it slick and sticky against your skin before pressing it back inside, your walls fluttering around the intrusion. The act is filthy and it makes you burn with humiliation and arousal all at once.

Agatha hums approvingly, dragging her thumb over your bottom lip, her smirk widening. "That’s a good girl."

But she isn’t done with you.

"On your knees."

Your body obeys before your mind fully catches up, slipping off the bed and sinking onto the floor. The shift makes more of her spend trickle down your thighs, and Agatha notices; her gaze flicking down, her smirk deepening.

"Open your mouth," she orders, tilting your chin up with two fingers.

The second your lips part, she grips the base of her cock and taps the heavy length against your tongue. She’s still hard, impossibly thick, coated in a mix of your slick and her own release. The taste is intoxicating — salty and musky. The scent clings to her skin, warm and heady, something rich and masculine with the faintest hint of sweat.

You could get used to this.

Agatha doesn’t ease you into it. She grips the back of your head and pushes forward, the thick head stretching your lips wide as she sinks deep, pressing against your tongue. The intrusion makes your throat tighten, and she groans at the feeling, her other hand coming to rest heavy on the back of your neck.

"That’s it. Take it," she growls, rolling her hips forward, pushing deeper until your nose nearly brushes the coarse, dark hair at the base of her cock. There’s just enough of it for you to feel against your skin, soft yet undeniably masculine, a reminder of how utterly she’s claiming you.

Your fingers twitch at your sides before you reach up, cupping her balls — heavy, full, sensitive under your touch. You can feel the heat of them against your palm, the weight of them tightening slightly as she thrusts into your mouth.

"Look at you," Agatha sneers, pulling back just enough to let you gasp for air before she thrusts forward again, setting a punishing rhythm. "Nothing but a desperate little cock-sleeve for me, aren’t you? So fucking needy, drooling all over yourself just to have me in your mouth."

Your throat constricts around her, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, saliva pooling and spilling from the corners of your lips. Your body shudders, caught between humiliation and arousal, between submission and the raw pleasure of being used like this.

"Messy, pathetic thing," she continues, her voice sharper now, laced with satisfaction. "You love this, don’t you? Love being on your knees for me, choking on my cock like the filthy little slut you are."

Her words send a fresh pulse of heat between your thighs, and she notices the slight tremor in your body, the way your nails dig into her thighs as if trying to ground yourself.

"You’re getting off on this," she chuckles darkly, shoving deeper, holding you there for a moment as your throat spasms around her. "Of course you are. You’d let me ruin you, wouldn’t you?"

She groans as she pulls back, letting you breathe just for a second before thrusting forward again, deeper, harder, until you’re gasping around her, tears streaking down your cheeks. And still, you don’t pull away. You take it.

Just like she knew you would.

Agatha’s grip tightens at the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair as she thrusts deeper, groaning low and guttural as she feels herself teetering on the edge. You can feel the way her cock pulses on your tongue, the way her breath stutters, her rhythm faltering just slightly as she chases that final burst of pleasure.

"Fuck—" she growls, her hips snapping forward one last time, holding you down as her release spills down your throat. The taste is thick, warm, — salty and rich, coating your tongue in waves. She doesn’t let you pull away, making sure you take as much as you can, but it’s too much — some of it dribbles from the corners of your lips, spilling down your chin in hot, sticky trails.

She watches with dark, satisfied eyes as you gasp for breath when she finally pulls back, her cock glistening with spit and the remnants of her orgasm.

"Messy little thing," she murmurs again, thumb swiping at the cum dripping from your chin before pressing it against your lips. "Swallow every last drop."

Your throat bobs as you obey, the act making her smirk in satisfaction.

Then, without warning, she grabs you and pulls you up onto shaky legs, her lips crashing onto yours in a bruising kiss. The taste of her own release lingers between you, and she doesn’t shy away from it —if anything, she deepens the kiss, claiming your mouth with a dominance that makes your knees weak.

She moves you easily, pushing you back onto the bed, her body covering yours, heavy with heat and lingering hunger. Her cock, still hard, presses against your stomach, smearing the last of her release against your skin. You’re panting, dazed, body still trembling from the relentless pleasure she’s wrung from you, but when she starts to pull away, you catch her wrist, eyes glassy with need.

"I wanna ride you," you gasp, the words tumbling out breathlessly, your body aching but desperate for more.

Agatha chuckles, low and smug, dragging her fingers down your chest, teasing over your already-sensitive skin. "You think you can handle that?" she taunts, tracing slow circles over your overstimulated clit, making your thighs twitch. "You’re still shaking, baby. After everything I’ve done to you, you really think you can take control?"

The challenge sends another shiver down your spine, your breath hitching as you push up onto shaky arms. "Let me try," you whisper, lips brushing against hers, your voice filled with determination despite the exhaustion in your limbs.

Agatha leans back against the pillows, her body stretched out beneath you, radiating heat and authority even in repose. Her cock, still thick and glistening with a mix of your slick and her own release, stands hard between her legs, a silent challenge. The way she watches you; head tilted, lips curled in a knowing smirk; makes your pulse spike, a flush crawling up your chest.

"Go on then," she murmurs, voice laced with amusement, fingers idly trailing up her stomach. "Show me what you can do, baby."

Your thighs tremble as you shift forward, crawling into position, your body still aching from the relentless way she’s used you but the hunger still simmers beneath the exhaustion, pulsing low in your belly. You want this. Need this. Need to take her in deep, to feel every inch stretch you open again.

You straddle her lap, your hands braced against her stomach, feeling the taut muscles flex beneath your palms as you hover just above her length. The heat of her cock brushes against your swollen folds, sending a fresh shudder through you. She feels like fire against your skin. Thick and rigid, pulsing with need, the tip teasing against your entrance as you roll your hips ever so slightly, coating her in your arousal.

Agatha hums in approval, her hands gliding up your thighs, slow and possessive. "Look at you," she murmurs, her thumbs pressing into the sensitive skin where your legs meet your hips. "So desperate to have me inside you again. Can’t get enough, can you?"

You bite your lip, but she catches your chin between her fingers, forcing your gaze to meet hers. "Say it."

Your breath stutters, your body burning from the inside out as you whisper, "I can’t get enough of you."

Her smirk deepens. "Good girl."

She releases you just as you sink down, your breath catching in your throat as the thick head of her cock pushes past your entrance, stretching you inch by inch. The burn is instant—blissful, overwhelming, your walls struggling to take her all at once.

Agatha groans beneath you, her fingers digging into your thighs. "Fuck, you’re tight," she rasps, watching with hooded eyes as you slowly lower yourself onto her, taking her deeper, letting the length of her disappear inside you.

Your head falls back as you bottom out, her cock nestled impossibly deep, pressing against every nerve inside you. The sensation is devastating, a perfect mix of pleasure and pressure, and you tremble above her, nails scraping against her abdomen as you struggle to catch your breath.

"Feel that?" Agatha murmurs, her voice smug as she presses a hand against your lower stomach, right where she’s buried to the hilt. "So deep I can feel myself inside you again. Fuck baby."

You whimper, rolling your hips experimentally, the movement sending sharp waves of pleasure through you. The drag of her cock against your walls is slow and torturous, every inch brushing against that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

Agatha watches you struggle to find a rhythm, her grip tightening. "Come on, baby," she taunts, giving your thigh a sharp slap that makes you jolt. "You wanted to ride me. Show me how much you need it."

A determined fire flares in your chest, and you plant your hands against her shoulders, lifting yourself just enough before sinking back down, harder this time. The impact sends a delicious jolt through you, pleasure sparking at the base of your spine.

Agatha groans, her hands sliding up to your chest, palms covering your breasts, squeezing as she rolls your sensitive nipples between her fingers. The sensation makes you gasp, the mix of pleasure and pain sending a fresh wave of arousal pooling between your thighs.

"That’s it," she murmurs, her grip firm but teasing, playing with your body as she lets you work yourself on her cock. "Such pretty tits, bouncing every time you take me. Keep going, baby. Make yourself cum on me."

The words send a rush of heat through you, your movements growing desperate, erratic, your nails digging into her skin as you chase the high she’s leading you toward. The pleasure coils deep in your belly, unbearably tight, and when Agatha tweaks your nipple just right, rolling it between her fingers, it snaps.

A strangled cry rips from your throat as your climax crashes over you, your entire body shaking as pleasure consumes you. Your walls clench down around her, pulsing, milking her cock with every wave of your release.

Agatha groans, her thrusts turning erratic as she follows, burying herself deep inside you with one final snap of her hips. The warmth of her release floods your core, thick and hot, filling you completely as her grip tightens around you.

Then, with a smirk, Agatha leans in, nipping at your jaw but this time, her touch is softer. As you collapse onto her chest, spent and trembling, she strokes a hand down your back, her other hand massaging the sore muscles of your thighs.

"You did so well for me," she murmurs, pressing lazy kisses against your shoulder. "My good girl."

You hum, barely able to keep your eyes open as her hands knead away the ache, working out the tension she put into you. The warmth of her touch soothes the lingering sting of overstimulation, and for a moment, you think about letting yourself drift off.

But you don’t. You can’t.

The rules are the rules. Your rules.

With effort, you shift, slipping from her grasp, your limbs still shaky as you slide out of bed. Agatha watches as you stand, stretching despite the soreness in your legs, and move toward where your clothes are strewn across the floor.

"You’re not gonna shower?" she asks, her tone casual but curious as she props herself up on an elbow, watching you with sharp eyes.

You shake your head, pulling your clothes back on with practiced efficiency. "I’ll do it at home."

Agatha doesn’t say anything for a moment, just studies you as you gather your things. Then, without breaking eye contact, she reaches for the bedside table, grabs the check she had prepared, and hands it to you.

"You know…" she starts, voice slower now, something unreadable beneath the surface. "You can stay the night."

The offer lingers in the air between you, heavier than it should be.

But the rules are the rules.

You take the check, meeting her gaze one last time before slipping out the door.

And Agatha watches you go.

[simonskitty]

cw: talks of mental health and mental hospitals. in no way is this intended to demean anyone. your feelings are valid and don’t be afraid to reach out for help! ୨୧

Mental health patient Simon who finally broke and was sent straight into the padded white walls due to being deemed too dangerous to be around others and causing a mass destruction. He’s not very compliant when it comes to any of the nurses or anyone who works in the medical field in general, especially after being thrown in like he’s some mentally disturbed and unstable man (he is but let’s not anger him anymore).

Until you come in, gentle and patient—like you actually care not only about your job but him as a person. He’s slow to except your help as the psychiatrist, but surely warms up to you. You take your job seriously—that’s a fact. Willing to learn about each and every one of your clients, and Simon is no exception when it comes to your help. The only problem being that you have begun to break one of your only rules you had for yourself—to not favor one client over another.

With Simons sad manipulating eyes, blinking up at you oh-so puppy like—you couldn’t resist but give him a chaste kiss before your session ended one afternoon. Chaste kisses turned to deeper, slower, passionate ones, and passionate kisses turned to sloppy, messy ones that kept you secured firmly on his lap by his big, rough paws.

Soon you started to make excuses to see Simon more often—and Simon started to act out more in need of more help (which of course wasn’t actually needed). It wasn’t until the cameras were checked by security, that you lost not only your job—but your crazy lunatic boyfriend as well.

Certainly, that does not sit well with Simon. You did no wrong in his eyes after all. Of course, he’ll find a way out of his imprisonment, with no hesitation of killing anyone that stands in his way of seeing his precious little baby again.

© simonskitty ➸ likes and reblogs are always appreciated ! ᡣ 𓈒⋅ ⩊ ⋅𓈒ྀིა