#and possibly pull suspicion eventually

[natjennie]

fuckign christ sailor is such a good leech bluff oh my god.

[wobblingjello]

Shadows of His Past

Summary: Spencer had a routine he always did on Maeve’s death anniversary. Lost in his own grief, something, or rather, someone, completely slipped out of his mind. You. He was hyper-focused in his grief that he hurt you in the process.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5111 (This is now officially the longest fanfic I’ve ever written!!!)

Author Notes: This fanfic was born from one line that stuck in my head for days: “Do I have to compete with her for a place in your heart my entire life?” I’m clearly not an expert on the language of flowers. I simply read people’s blogs/articles about flowers and their meanings as I wrote this. Sorry for any inaccuracy.

In the last two months, you’ve noticed that Spencer has been acting a bit off. It became more noticeable every time you spent the night at his apartment. You’d find him standing in front of the bookshelf, simply staring at his collection, or maybe one certain book, you weren’t entirely sure. Yet he never actually took anything off of the bookshelf. He clenched his fists, as if he restrained himself from reaching out to that book. After a few moments, he’d usually go to a different part of the apartment; either it was the kitchen or the bedroom. You didn’t know if he was even aware of what he was doing, and you didn’t know the reason he did that either.

Knowing that something bothered him but didn’t know how to help him irritated you. One night, you’ve had enough of this behavior, so you pulled him to the couch, and confronted him. You could tell that he was taken aback by the question — proving your suspicion that he wasn’t aware of his actions. He didn’t answer immediately, but you knew his big brain was running its gears to form an answer for you.

“It’s almost Maeve’s death anniversary.” His voice was shaky, and it was barely audible.

That was the only response you got from him, before he buried his face in the palm of his hands. You didn’t know what kind of answer you expected from him, but that was entirely off the table. You weren’t sure what to do, but you offered him a hug. The moment you pulled him to your embrace, he immediately held you close. As if he was afraid he’d lose you.

One of the first things he had brought up when you two started dating was how his job could possibly be a danger to the people in his life. The people he loved. That was also the day he first ever mentioned a woman named Maeve, who tragically had been murdered by her stalker, right in front of him. Possibly the first woman he ever loved.

You didn’t think much of it when he told you about her. Didn’t even think she was still relevant to the relationship you had with him right now, because it’s been years since it happened anyway. Right?

A week after Spencer told you about Maeve however, when his female colleagues invited you for a girls night’s out, you instantly said yes — thinking it could be the perfect opportunity to ask them about her. After the second round of drinks, you mustered up the courage to ask them about her. Once the question left your mouth, you were greeted by an uncomfortable silence. You clearly had put them in the hot seat, and most likely ruined the night. They hesitated to tell you, afraid that it wasn’t their place to share the story. You encouraged them that it was alright, that Spencer had already told you, you just wanted to know the story from their perspectives.

So, they eventually told you everything they knew about Maeve, which was pretty much the same things Spencer had told you. However, they revealed that what happened to her greatly affected him mentally and emotionally. Which at some point also clouded his judgment in the field. It took him weeks to seek out help from the team, and another weeks to give himself a proper closure. The topic surrounding her and the relationship with Spencer seemed to be more sensitive than you let yourself to believe.

The sound of a muffled cry brought you back to the present. You were so lost in your own head you didn’t even realize that Spencer was crying. You tried to sooth him as best as you could; one hand rubbing his back in gentle motion and the other hand brushing his curls. At one point, you managed to convince him to call it a night. That night you slept with his hands tightly wrapped around you, like he needed proof that you were real.

The next day, you wanted to ask him when exactly her death anniversary was, but he didn’t even try to give you a further explanation, so you went along with him. Pretending that the conversation from the night before had never happened in the first place.

Days, weeks, passed by since that night, and things have returned to normal. At least, that was what you wanted to believe. Both of you still communicated like you two normally would. He still informed you when he was about to travel for a case or when he was about to go home. From time to time, you still spent the night at his place, or him at yours. It was just that both of you carefully avoided the subject altogether.

One day, the buzzing sound from your phone wouldn’t stop. There were dozens of texts in the group chat. The one group chat that consisted of you and Spencer’s female colleagues. You were overjoyed when they added you to the group chat — how they considered you as one of them. However, today, as you read through the texts, you felt… confused? They were talking about going to another state to catch yet another bad guy, guessing who they’d share the room with, etcetera.

You were confused because you received no text from Spencer that indicated those things. No, scratch that. You received no text from him at all. You thought he was busy juggling piles of case files, thus he hadn’t responded to your text, but apparently that wasn’t what was happening.

You tried to send him another text before putting your phone aside. Trying to ignore the unsettling feeling in your gut, and getting back to your work.

By lunch time, you still hadn’t heard anything from Spencer, and you began to worry. A bit desperate for an answer, you made a phone call to Penelope.

“Hey, sweetness. It’s always a great time when you call. A distraction that I need. Anyway, do you need anything?” She sounded like her usual cheerful self on the other side of the line.

“Hey, Penny. Um, it may sound weird, but I wonder if you happen to know where Spencer is? I haven’t heard from him all day.”

“Oh. I don’t think I’m the right person to tell you about it, hun.”

“Will you please tell me what’s going on? I won���t be mad at you. If he’s going to be mad at you for telling me, then it’s his problem with me. I promise.” Considering what’s been going on between you two, you didn’t like the implication that he hid something from you.

She went silent for a moment. Probably contemplating her choices. Then you heard her sighing. “Every year, on this day, Reid always takes a day off. Today’s Maeve’s death anniversary.”

Your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach. You vaguely heard Penelope’s worried voice through the phone, but you barely registered what she said after that. Her previous words echoed in your mind — played over and over, like a broken record.

Every year…

He takes a day off…

Today’s Maeve’s death anniversary…

You didn’t even remember how you ended that phone call. All you could remember was the pain that grew in your heart.

As reality started to kick in, a bitter laugh escaped your lips. Knowing how demanding his job was, you two rarely made a plan for dates. Your dates always revolved around his day off. Even on your birthday, you only received a phone call because he was miles away solving a crime. Meanwhile he willingly took a day off, to do God knew what, on his almost ex-girlfriend’s death anniversary?

What did he do that he needed an entire day off? Did he visit her grave? Where was he now?

You had so many questions, yet you didn’t have any idea how to communicate with Spencer, when he hadn’t responded to any of your previous texts.

The rest of your day went on a blur after that phone call with Penelope.

---

Even after years had passed, waking up on this day never got any easier. The moment Spencer opened his eyes, everything that happened that day flashed before his eyes as if it just occurred yesterday. Then the guilt would follow close after. As he laid on his bed, he constantly asked himself the same question; was there something he could’ve done differently in order to save her?

Every year, today, he’d do the same routine. He’d start his day by reading “The Narrative of John Smith”, the book she gave him. At this point, he had completely memorized every word page by page. He didn’t really mind, because this was the only thing he had left of her. If he normally could read 20,000 words per minute, he took his time when reading this one. He wanted to completely immerse himself in the memory of her.

When he was done reading the book, he’d take a ride. His first stop was a florist, where he always bought 2 bouquets of flowers for different purposes. Beth, the lovely elderly woman who owned the place, would have the bouquets ready for him when he arrived. She knew Spencer would stop by to get the bouquets every year on this day.

Once the bouquets were secured, he drove to his next destination; the crime scene. He put the first bouquet at the entrance  of the loft. After the first year of Maeve’s death anniversary, he learned that her parents went to her grave around noon, hence he opted to go to this place first. Spencer would stay in his parked car, pull out the “The Narrative of John Smith” book from his messenger bag, then read it again for an hour or two, before finally driving to the cemetery.

There was a bouquet at her grave when he arrived, definitely from her parents. He put his bouquet next to it. He’d stay there, and simply talk to her. Over the years, he’d tell her the same things. To this day, aside from the fact he failed to save her, his other regret was he didn’t get the chance to tell her how he felt. He knew that Maeve was smart enough to realize that him saying he didn’t love her was part of the plan, but he wished he didn’t have to do that. He wished for the alternative outcome where she was alive, and he could tell her how he felt in person. He’d apologize for what happened to her, how he couldn’t save her, asked her if she had forgiven him, and asked if it was okay to forgive himself.

He felt lighter when he drove home. Usually he’d try to recall their phone call conversations. How Maeve laughed when he attempted to make terrible jokes, how she often made intellectual puns, or how she sounded like when she told him that she loved him. It scared him that someday he would forget the sound of her voice.

The sun had already set by the time he was back to his place. Spencer was exhausted and starving. The last time he had meals was before he left his apartment. He’d make himself a quick dinner, then get ready for bed. He was about to get a few ingredients from the fridge, when he saw it; a bottle of juice he usually didn’t drink. Odd. Then the realization hit him like a ton of bricks . That was your favorite juice that he stocked in his fridge for you.

Shit.

He quickly pulled his phone from his pocket and turned it on. Once it was on, Spencer noticed tons of texts and calls from you and surprisingly Garcia too.

He had completely forgotten about you.

You [09:47 AM]: Hey, genius. Are you heading somewhere or stuck in Quantico doing paperwork today? You [11:29 AM]: Spence, are you okay? I haven’t heard anything from you. You miscalled (3) You [04:31 PM]: Can you at least tell me that you’re okay? You miscalled (2)

Garcia [01:15 PM]: Your girl found out through the ladies group chat that the team headed to San Francisco today. She asked me about you because she couldn’t reach you. I’m so sorry.

The last call from you was one and half hours ago. He grabbed his bag and car key, then in an instant went out of his apartment again. Before he started the car engine, he tried to call you once but it went straight to voicemail.

Garcia miscalled (2)

Garcia [04:26 PM]: Please call her back. She’s worried about you.

How could he be so ignorant?

The fact that you had called him out for his odd behaviors lately was bad enough, then you found out the significance of today from someone else. Not from him. That felt like a punch to his face. You were kind enough for not forcing him to explain everything to you immediately that night. No, you tolerated him enough to not bring up that topic again. He should’ve told you sooner.

On his way to your place, his brain ran a mile a minute; thinking of what would be the best explanation to give you. At this point he knew his explanation would probably sound like an excuse to you, but he’d still try. If you wouldn’t listen to him today, then he’d try again, and again, and again.

Once Spencer parked his car, he realized he didn’t know if you were even home. There was still a probability that you were somewhere else. He remembered how you once stayed the night at Garcia’s place when you weren’t feeling well, and he was unfortunately away for a case — you could be at her place again. Now that he was standing in front of your door, however, he could vaguely hear the sound from your TV. He released a sigh of relief. You were here. He could do this.

He knocked on your door twice — you didn’t answer. The sound from your TV was gone. He tried knocking again. Still no answer.

“Sweetheart. I know you’re in there. Can we please talk?” He pleaded as he rested his head on your door.

Silence.

The silence stretched too long for his liking. He tried knocking again. He didn’t want to give up on you. On this relationship.

Then he heard a shout from inside the apartment. “Just go away, Spencer! I don’t want to talk to you!”

Even through the door, he recognized the hurt in your voice. He hated that he caused that pain. You were alone inside your apartment, hurting, and it was because of him.

Determined, he simply had to try again. “You don’t have to talk, if you aren’t up for it. I just need you to listen to my explanation. Please.”

He heard footsteps coming his way, and he allowed a tiny hope blooming in his chest. You opened the door, and the sight of you made his heart shattered instantly. Your eyes were red and puffy, the unmistakable proof that you were crying. Spencer was furious at himself, looking at the undeniable evidence that he caused that. He wanted to caress your cheeks so badly, and to tell you that everything would be fine, that you both would be fine. But he restrained himself from doing so. How could he? When he was the source of your distress to begin with.

“Babe—”

“I’m tired, Spence.” Your voice was hoarse, definitely from the crying. “I don’t want to deal with any of this now. Just go home.”

You didn’t entirely turn down his effort to make it up to you, he’d take that. So he tried a different approach. “I’m helping the team from Quantico, so if you’re up to have the discussion tomorrow, or any day really, just let me know.” He eventually reached for your hand, and the tiny hope from earlier grew a bit bigger when you didn’t flinch at his touch. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you like this.”

“Good night, Spence.” You let his hand go, and closed the door on his face.

---

When Spencer woke up the next day, he couldn’t shake the guilt that lingered within him. The look on your face kept replaying in his mind like a movie. You looked so broken and defeated — a far cry from your usual bubbly self. He felt sick to his stomach knowing he did that to you. If he had to spend the rest of his life making up to you, then he’d do exactly that.

As he walked out of his bedroom to get ready for work, he checked his phone, and no text from you. Understandable. After all, he ignored you all day yesterday, why would you text him today?

Before he left his apartment though, he texted you.

Spencer [07:18 AM]: Hey, sweetheart. I know that you’re still mad at me. Rightfully so. But let me know if we can meet up today. I want to properly explain everything to you. I love you.

As he stepped into the bullpen, he immediately walked to Garcia’s office. It’d be more efficient if they assisted the team together from her office. After he knocked on the door, he didn’t bother to wait for an answer, he just walked right in. He was hoping for the usual witty greetings from her, but the moment she saw him, her expression was a mix of sadness, worry, and perhaps pity.

“Oh, Reid.”

Knowing what she was probably about to say, he held his hand up to stop her. “Let’s not talk about that, yeah?”

Having his mind occupied with the case was the distraction that he needed. However, Spencer couldn’t help himself from checking his phone every now and then, in case you texted him. You didn’t. He could feel Garcia’s stare every time he checked his phone, but he didn’t really pay attention to it.

He appreciated her for granting his wish to not talk about his personal life, and they were strictly discussing anything work related. Although, he knew she was dying to say something; asking him how you were, had he apologized, or something.

Ever since Spencer introduced you to the team, they instantly adored you. Of course they were. How could they not? You were kind, funny, smart, and beautiful. They told him that the two of you were a perfect match, but also joked that you were too good for him. That wasn’t wrong, because for him, you were perfect. To this day, he couldn’t believe the fact that you two were dating. 

If the rest of the team easily welcomed you, then Garcia practically adopted you as her sister. He had lost count how many times you had lunch with her when the team was away. You once joked that you were actually in a relationship with her, and not him. He didn’t really mind, in fact, he was glad knowing you could share such a bond with one of the people he considered family.

Frankly, he wasn’t even surprised that Garcia told you the significance of yesterday for him. Spencer might know her longer, but you were her chosen sister. He also understood that she had no ill intention when she informed you. She simply helped someone she cared about.

As he packed his stuff, ready to go home, his phone buzzed. He immediately checked it. A text from you.

You [05:47 PM]: You can come to my place now if you want.

He hurriedly packed the rest of his stuff, not caring if the folders were folded in his messenger bag. In all the years he had worked in the BAU, he didn’t think he ever ran to the elevator that fast.

When he arrived at your apartment, he tentatively knocked on the door. This time though, it didn’t take long for you to open the door. As if you were waiting for him to be there.

You already changed your work outfit to your favorite pajama set, makeup had been washed, and you put your hair on a messy bun. Despite all of that, you still looked beautiful to him.

“Hey.” Spencer greeted you with hesitation.

You didn’t respond, simply step aside and let him in.

The two of you sat on the couch, but you kept him in an arm’s distance. He disliked how you even needed a space from him, as if being in any close proximity with him would hurt you.

You still hadn’t said a single word since he stepped into your place. The tension that filled the silence started feeling unbearable, so he began talking.

“I’d like to apologize to you first. For the way I behaved lately, but especially yesterday. I didn’t mean to hurt you, at least not intentionally. I’m so sorry.” You just shrugged it off, and he took it as permission to continue. “It’s like a habit at this point, something I do every year. It wasn’t my intention to ignore you. It’s just… I always have my phone off.”

“Because you don’t want anybody to disturb your time with Maeve.”

It felt like you mocked him, and perhaps he should be ashamed that he pitied himself for how you reacted.

“No, that’s—”

“Then what, Spencer? You forgot that I existed for the entire day.”

“I didn’t mean to.” It sounded like a pathetic excuse even to his own ears.

“I’m here, still breathing, and pretty much alive, while she’s 6 feet under! Yet, she’s still at the top of your priorities.”

“That’s not true.”

“Is it? You willingly take a day off to spend it with someone who’s dead, while I constantly got rescheduled dates. No, shit, Spence, that sounds like she’s more important to you.”

To some extent, it was perhaps true that there were other things at the top of his priorities, his job for example. However, he never put Maeve above you. No, never mind, she wasn’t even on the list of his priorities to begin with. He never thought he made you feel like that.

For someone who once saved both his and Hotch’s lives by talking, right now the gears in his brain stopped working, and he couldn’t form a proper response for you. Besides, he felt like no matter what he said to you at this moment, you wouldn’t believe him. He couldn’t even blame you for that. After all, it was him who put you both in this situation.

Big fat tears freely fell from your eyes. He ached to reach for you and hold you close.

“I feel like I’m living under her shadow. Do I have to compete with her for a place in your heart my entire life?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“What? No! I love you. I’m so sorry for making you feel that way, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making up to you.”

Spencer tentatively moved closer to you, and when you didn’t react, he tried reaching for your hand. A sigh of relief escaped his lips when you didn’t take your hand away from his.

“Sweetheart. I’m really sorry for what I did. Please give me a chance to make this right.”

“I don’t know, Spence.”

He panicked. “You… Do you no longer love me?” The question left his mouth before he even realized.

“I still love you, but I don’t know if I can forgive you yet.”

He’d gladly take that answer. At least he knew that he still had the chance to right his wrong. He could plan what to do in order for you to forgive him. He would grovel if he had to. He didn’t really care, as long as he could obtain your forgiveness.

“What can I do to make this right?”

“Give both of us time and space to thoroughly think about what we want.”

“No, but… I don’t need those to know what I want.”

“I do, Spence.”

That night, Spencer reluctantly left your apartment, but not before promising you one more time that he’d do whatever it took to right his wrong.

---

It’s been two weeks since Spencer came to your apartment. True to his words, he continuously made amends while still respecting your wish for time and space. You didn’t contact him as often as you usually did, but he would still tell you about his whereabouts throughout the day. You knew from Penelope that he would ask about you through her, because of course he knew you would talk to her. You apologized to her that he kept bothering her, but she only shrugged it off like it wasn’t a big deal for her.

While he was away for a case, every other day, he sent bouquets of flowers to your apartment. He had sent 3 bouquets so far. Knowing Spencer, each of the flowers must’ve been chosen with intention, and not random at all. Therefore, you looked up the meanings for each flower.

The first bouquet he sent was a mix of Lily of the Valley; the classic apology flower, Red Tulip; for one’s true love, and one that represented your birth month. The second one was a mix of Statice; for remembrance, Dahlia; the symbol of commitment, and one that represented the month you both started dating. The last bouquet you received yesterday was a mix of roses in different shades. Red Rose; the ultimate symbol of eternal love, Peach Rose; for gratitude, White Rose; represented a new beginning, and Yellow Rose; for lasting happiness.

As you were about to make yourself dinner, you heard your phone buzzing. A text from him.

Spencer [06:29 PM]: The case is closed. We’re going home tonight.

You reread his text a few times, then glanced at the flowers he gave you — now neatly put in a vase and placed in your kitchen counter. Maybe it was time to have another talk with him?

You [06:34 PM]: Can I come to your place tomorrow?

The response came immediately, like he was waiting for you to reply.

Spencer [06:35 PM]: Of course. Just let me know when you’re on your way.

Truthfully, you weren’t even sure what you wanted to talk about, but one thing you knew for sure was how you missed Spencer. You just hoped you made the right decision.

The next day, after informing your boyfriend, you went to his apartment around noon. Aside from your rapid heartbeat, the commute to his place was uneventful. The last time you felt this nervous at the prospect of meeting Spencer was probably on your first date with him, which was funny considering the current situation you both were in.

It only took two knocks before he opened his apartment door. The corner of your mouth drew downwards at the sight of him. Penelope had told you that Spencer looked like a mess ever since he left your apartment two weeks ago, but you didn’t know he looked this awful. His hair was in disarray, as if he’s been running his fingers through his curls in the last hours. The dark circles under his eyes were more noticeable, perhaps he had trouble sleeping. It wasn’t like yours were any better, but at least you managed to conceal them with your makeup.

“Hey.”

“Hey, please come in.” He stepped aside to let you in.

You immediately went to the living room, and tried to make yourself comfortable. From the couch, you could see Spencer in the kitchen, probably making tea for both of you. Your guess was correct when he walked to the living room with two cups in his hands. A tiny smile adorned your face when you noticed one of the cups — doodles all over it. You insisted on buying it when you two went to the local market close to his apartment a few months ago. You wanted to have something that was yours in his place. He always made your drink of choice in that cup. Spencer put the cups on the coffee table, then sat on the other corner of the couch.

You could tell that he was nervous. Probably more nervous than you were. He was most likely afraid he’d say something wrong that’d jeopardize the relationship further. You put an end to the silence by striking up a conversation — something easy.

“Thank you for the flowers. They were beautiful.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I also did my own research on the language of the flowers.”

“You did?” 

You noticed the way his eyes lit up from your confession. “Of course. I didn’t even know there’s a flower that represents my birth month.”

You missed this, having a laid-back conversation with him. However, you knew the heavy conversation was also inevitable, so you told him that he could start his explanation if he wanted to.

He told you everything, from the beginning down to every tiny detail, like the book “The Narrative of John Smith” and the bouquets of flowers. He even mentioned how Beth, the florist, had remembered him and his order after the second year. 

The knots in your stomach felt more and more undeniable as his story went on. It hurt knowing how the guilt still consumed him, and the fact that to some extent Spencer still cared about Maeve.

By the time he was done with his explanation, his eyes were looking anywhere but you, and his hands were fidgeting the hems of his cardigan. The guilt you saw in his eyes wasn’t the reflection of how he felt towards her. It was the regret for causing you pain.

“Spence. Honestly, I’m still hurting, and I don’t know if I can fully forgive you just yet.” You saw the moment the light in his eyes dimmed even more, and maybe your heart cracked a little. “But I’m willing to try again. You have to be patient with me though.”

He looked directly into your eyes, probably searching for any hint of doubt in them. “Anything. I’ll do anything to gain your forgiveness.” He slowly moved closer to you on the couch, but still maintained some distance, afraid he might startle you. “I love you. I’ll do everything in my power to correct my wrongdoings. I promise.”

You offered him your hand, which he immediately took. You smiled at him as he squeezed your hand. For the first time in a while, you knew it’d be alright. It might take some time, but you knew that the two of you would survive this one.

[harmeu]

ARGUMENTS 

(HSR X READER) (ANGST)

(Amphoreus Men)

(GN!READER)

MYDEI: (His devotion to his fight which results in neglect.)

You couldn’t remember the last time you and your beloved spouse had talked to each other. It was as if Mydei’s mind was constantly on things that neglected you heavily. Even a simple “How are you today”  would’ve been enough at this point. It hurt a lot. As if millions of daggers pierced you everytime Mydei walked past without saying anything. You were his lover for God’s sake.

Mydei was in the training room punching dummies with ease, letting them break into shards as they thumped onto the ground, his knuckles bleeding heavily from the constant fight.

You stepped in peeking through the small opening of the door with your wide gaze contemplating to yourself if you should walk in and say something or not. 

Eventual acceptance of the option ‘yes’ overthrew your mind so you walked in and Mydei’s keen senses picked up on it immediately.

“What is it.” His gruff reply made it sound like he was annoyed. (Which he probably was.) 

“You’ve been busy lately.” You mumbled out moving from one foot to another a bit nervous to how he was going to reply.

“Of course I am. You know my duties.” Mydei went back to smashing his fists against the solid wooden dummies as you winced at the sight and decided to walk up, up to him.

“I miss you.” You murmured out making Mydei freeze slightly and you could’ve sworn he softened. But as fast as it came it vanished. Mydei was back to his tense state. 

“You should know everything I deal with in a singular day.”

“But I’m your lover!” You exclaimed out flinching at your own tone of voice and words making Mydei turn looking at you in your eye for the first time. 

“That doesn’t matter.” He huffed out. Okay wow. Now it was your turn to be cruel.

“No wonder everyone finds you difficult.” You spat back leaving the door slamming heavily making the walls vibrate as Mydei stared dumbfounded at the shut door clenching his fists.

PHANION: (Accusations that result in anger.)

Phanion was a gentle soul with you. The perfect boyfriend in your eyes. Though as days passed you had a weird gut feeling. As if he was talking to someone other than you. Not possible. Right. The constant ‘they’re just a friend’ sounded like a lie. But you didn’t have any proof. Not yet at least.

Phanion was sitting on your local bench quietly reading as you walked up to him with a half lidded gaze of suspicion. Feeling your hard gaze Phanion sighed, shutting his book and standing up to match your height.

“Don’t give me that look.” Phanion murmured frowning with a pained expression on his face making you feel a hint of guilt. 

“It’s just that you’re constantly not letting me meet your friends at all. As if you’re hiding something from me.” Your fists clenched, eyeing up at Phanion as he narrowed his own gaze at your words.

“I do not let you meet them in order for them to not do anything to you darling.” Lies. You repeated in your head. You were being unreasonable. You knew that. But your gut feeling never failed you. 

“I don’t believe you.” You said spitefully making Phanion droop in hurt as you frowned at his reaction. You were expecting anger.

“Why don’t you trust me?” Phanion said holding your hand. He really had to pull that card out didn’t he.

“I do..I just.” As if knowing you were in the wrong, the only option left in your mind was to get out of the scene immediately. You let go of Phanions hand shakily leaving Phanion standing next to the bench alone as he stared at your slowly disappearing figure with a pained look.

ANAXA: (His anger towards the Gods.)

You knew your spouse's hatred towards the Gods. It never bothered you really because the people of Amphoreus worshipped titans rather than the Aeons above. Though Anaxa seemed to be solely focused on that singular emotion of hatred removing everything else in his life. Including you.

You were sitting in bed with Anaxa as he fixed up his eyepatch with his usual elegance as he eyed the several books in front of him that talked about the several elements the Gods gave down to the mortals.

“Anaxa.” You mumbled out tilting your head as Anaxa hummed out a reply as you frowned. “Why are you so focused on this subject?” 

Anaxa sighed at your words as if he was contemplating you speaking out on this matter and turned his gaze towards you. 

“You don’t know what these Aeons have done to our people. They’re vultures.” Anaxa spat out with seeming elegance despite his harsh words. 

“I feel like you’re forgetting about everything to focus on this.” You said a hushed whisper as Anaxa narrowed his gaze.

“That’s utter lies darling. I have enough mindspace to deal with everything.” You stared at him blankly. You doubted it at this point honestly.

“I feel like you’re lying.” Silence dawned between the two of you at your words as if rendering Anaxa speechless from your statement. Which added onto your doubt from his quietness. 

Silently Anaxa grabbed his things and left. 

Did he just storm off?

I post in like once a century oopsie (Since I don't know anything about the characters personalities I went off looks and the trailers)

[peanutalergy]

nine times in less than an hour, spencer complained to himself about his hair getting in his eyes. you were trying to do the paperwork you were assigned, but how could you focus, when all you could hear was the muttered ughs he'd let out every once in a while? after the third one, you started staring at him and laughing to yourself whenever he tried to push his hair back.

he promised you he would cut it, months ago. and even though you didn't see his new knee injury as a good excuse, it's the one he gave you.

you don't really mind the hair; in fact, you find the long bob look quite cute on him. the problem is the convenience of it all. spencer has a hard time taking care of it, and you've had to give him more blowouts than he would like.

you know he just doesn't like going to the barber, so you let it go. eventually, he'll learn he has to do it. for now, you just get up and walk across the bullpen, giggling as you pull back his hair and put it in a bun.

though when you get home and go into the shower together, he asks while he shampoos it, “i should just cut it, shouldn't i?”

the resignation in his voice makes you chuckle, “you should do whatever is best for you, honey.”

he stops for a second, gaze fixed on some spot in the tiling behind you, before he lets out a small exhale, “okay, sure. i'll book an appointment.”

“did you know i took cosmetology in high school?”

“i didn't, no.” he tilts his head, brows furrowed with suspicion and curiosity all over his face.

“do you think the knowledge from back then is still in my brain?”

he has to stop himself from rambling about the permanence of school subjects in adulthood, “what are you trying to say?”

“i could cut your hair, if you want. i know you hate going to the barbershop.”

three seconds seemed to be enough time for him to make a decision, and soon enough, he was sitting at your vanity while you searched for a good pair of scissors.

“you shouldn't trust me as much as you do.” you say with a giggle as you brush through his hair.

“well, how would i trust you in our relationship if i didn't have enough trust in you to cut my hair?”

“those are different ways of trusting, though. just because i might make you bald doesn't mean i'll cheat on you.”

he's about to say something else, but the scissors make a snipping noise that makes you nervously laugh after you make the first cut.

he gives you a reassuring smile when you look at his reflection in the mirror holding the 5 inches you just took off his hair, “as long as you don't end up taking too much off the top, there's really nothing you can do to screw it up, angel.”

“no, no, i didn't take too much off, just…” you shake your head with a small snicker as you look at the light brown lock in your hand, “this gave me a weird deja vu of when i got drunk and chopped all of my hair off in college.”

he laughs while trying to keep as still as possible when you go in with the brush again, “you do look like you know what you're doing.”

“i don't, not really.”

you're not sure whether to be offended or not when hotchner makes a joke about his hair the next day.

you giggle shyly at spencer from across the table when you hear, “what, did you join a boyband?”

[dreamersworldduh]

BEYOND THE PAST

• CONNER KENT x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — You and Conner Kent are mysteriously pulled through time by your future son, Casey Kent, and arrive at a rebuilt Mount Justice. There, you encounter the next generation of heroes—the children of your former teammates—and a future shaped by your legacy, one you haven't even begun to live.

WARNING! FLUFF. Male Pregnancy.

WORDS! 9.2k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! Okay, here we are with part 2 of this series that I almost attempted to purse a series on Wattpad. Anyway, sorry for the wait—enjoy your reading✨🫶🏽

PREVIOUS PART! — THE STARS

NEXT PART! — THE FUTURE

YOU AND Conner stood frozen, eyes locked on the young man in front of you—Casey Kent, your supposed son. The weight of his words echoed in your mind, refusing to settle, refusing to feel real. The world around you felt oddly still, as if even the air in the futuristic Mount Justice had paused to process what had just been revealed.

Shock didn't even begin to describe what you were feeling.

Disbelief sat heavy in your chest, your pulse pounding in your ears. Denial should've been your first reaction. It was your first reaction, bubbling up instinctively because nothing about this made sense—time travel, future children, a grown man standing here calling you 'Dad'.

But then there was his face.

The shape of his jaw, the curve of his brow, the hair that curled slightly at the ends just like Conner's did when it got too long. His stance, his energy, the calm intensity in his gaze—it all screamed Kent. But it was his eyes, glowing faintly with the same cosmic shimmer as yours, that made something deep in your chest tighten.

He wasn't lying. He couldn't be.

You and Conner exchanged a glance, neither of you speaking, but both clearly grappling with the same thought:

Could this really be our son?

Casey took a small step forward, reading the disbelief in your faces with understanding. His voice, when he spoke again, was calm but sure, steady like someone who had prepared for this exact moment.

"I know this is a lot to take in. Believe me, I've had years to think about how this meeting might go." He gave a faint smile, though it was lined with something almost sad. "You're both still trying to figure out how any of this is possible. So... let me explain."

You and Conner remained silent, waiting—watching—as Casey folded his arms and took a breath.

"You've been brought twenty-five years into the future," he said, gesturing around the high-tech room. "This is Mount Justice—rebuilt after the war. A lot's changed, but this place is still home. For me. For the next generation. For you... eventually."

Your brows furrowed, but you didn't interrupt. The mention of a war raised alarms in your mind, but you stored that away, for now.

Casey continued. "I didn't use a time machine, or a speedster's help. The kind of time travel I used—it's... magical. Purely." He paused, eyes glinting slightly. "Zatanna helped me. Or rather, future Zatanna. It was risky, but we didn't have a choice. Something's happening in your time that could change everything—including whether or not we're ever born."

"We?" Conner finally spoke, his voice still low, controlled, but laced with suspicion. "There's more of you?"

Casey nodded, his expression softening. "Yeah. I'm the oldest. You'll have four kids in total—me, and my younger siblings: Corra, Cole, and Cameron."

You sucked in a slow breath, your body still trying to process one impossible thing before being handed four more.

Casey chuckled gently at your stunned expression, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know. It sounds wild. But it's true. We were all born from the two of you. Raised at Mount Justice. Trained with the League, the Team... the next generation of heroes."

He looked at both of you now, with a kind of reverence in his gaze. "You were incredible parents. Strict sometimes, yeah—but you taught us how to be strong, how to be better. You loved us fiercely. We grew up watching how much you loved each other."

His words hit like a quiet storm, spreading warmth and weight across your chest. You hadn't even wrapped your head around the idea of having a baby in your timeline, and now here was the future standing in front of you—grown, articulate, and impossibly real.

And he wasn't just proof of your future. He was hope.

But beneath that hope, a flicker of dread sparked. If he was here now, twenty-five years before his own birth... what exactly was he trying to stop?

As if reading your thoughts, Casey's expression shifted. The warmth and familiarity that had flickered across his face moments ago faded, replaced by a much colder seriousness. He folded his arms over his chest and let out a quiet breath, his tone dropping into something more measured.

"The man who attacked you—he's not from your time either," he said. "He came through the same kind of rift I did, though we still don't fully understand how he managed to pull it off. His presence in your timeline is... dangerous. Unstable."

Your chest tightened. You exchanged a quick glance with Conner, who remained stoic at your side but tense, his jaw clenched and his fists flexing at his sides.

"Who is he?" you asked, your voice low, wary. "What does he want with us?"

Casey's gaze hardened. "We don't know much. He's elusive. Off the grid, even in our time. But we know one thing for sure—his name."

He paused for a beat, then said it: "Olympian."

The name hit the air like a cold gust of wind.

"Olympian?" Conner repeated, the word rolling from his tongue with suspicion. "Sounds like some wannabe god."

Casey gave a dry, humorless smirk. "Yeah. That's kind of the point. He sees himself as something greater. He draws power from something ancient—some believe it's a corrupted form of cosmic and divine energy, others think he was born in a lab like you, Dad. But no one's been able to confirm the truth. He operates in shadows, moves across timelines, and his agenda..."

He shook his head.

"All we know is that he has a vendetta. A deep one. Not just against the League or the Team, but specifically against our family."

Your stomach sank.

"Me?" you asked quietly.

Casey nodded slowly. "You've always been his focus. For years now. We don't know what ties him to you, or why it's so personal, but he's made it clear—you're the one he wants. You're the one he's been trying to get to. But since he can't reach you in our time—either because of the protections around our timeline or something else—we became the targets instead."

Your breath caught. "You mean... your siblings."

Casey's jaw clenched. "Corra, Cole, Cameron. He's tried to go after all of us at different points. He's calculating. Brutal. But always just out of reach, always hitting and vanishing before we could catch him. We never knew when or where he'd strike next."

You could feel Conner tense beside you, his protective instincts kicking in the second he realized his children—his future—had been threatened.

"But now," Casey continued, "something changed. Somehow, Olympian found a way to get around the safeguards. To go back—way back. To your time. To you."

The weight of that landed like a punch to the chest.

"So now he's not just targeting the future anymore," you muttered. "He's here. In our time. Coming after us directly."

Casey's eyes met yours. "We don't know how long he'll stay hidden, or what his next move is, but one thing is certain—he's not going to stop. Not until he gets to you."

The room fell quiet again, the hum of distant technology the only sound.

"He's not just hunting you," Casey added after a beat. "He's hunting your legacy. And now that he's here, everything is at risk."

You swallowed hard, your hand instinctively resting against your abdomen, where your future had only just begun. The gravity of it all settled into your bones.

Olympian wasn't just a threat to your life.

He was a threat to everything you and Conner had yet to build.

Conner's voice broke the heavy silence that had fallen over the room, rough around the edges but steady, the kind of tone he only used when something was bothering him deep down. He had been quiet ever since Casey mentioned Olympian targeting your children—his children. His mind was clearly spinning, caught between the reality of what was happening now and the impossible weight of what this future could become.

He took a small step forward, his brows pulled together in thought. When he finally spoke, his voice was low.

"What about... us?" He glanced briefly at you, then looked back to Casey. "In the future. Where are we?"

Casey's expression changed instantly.

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face—grief, restraint, nostalgia, maybe all three tangled into one complicated emotion. He glanced away for a moment, his shoulders tense, the weight of the question visibly sinking into him. When he looked back, he met Conner's eyes and forced a small, bittersweet smile.

"You live in Smallville," Casey said gently. "In the farmhouse. The one you grew up in with Ma Kent. It's... still there. You kept it all these years after Uncle Clark moved to Metropolis with Lois and Jon."

The words landed with a kind of quiet finality. You could practically see the memory forming in Conner's mind—the creaking wood floors, the scent of baked pie, the open fields stretching for miles, untouched by time. Smallville. Of course it would be Smallville. It was the one place that had always grounded him.

"That's where I grew up," Casey added, his voice softening. "You raised us there. It was safe. Peaceful. You kept us close to the land, away from the chaos when you could. You taught us how to fight, sure—but you also taught us how to live. You taught us what mattered."

Conner's eyes dropped to the floor, jaw flexing slightly, clearly caught between pride and guilt. Pride that he'd raised a family like that... guilt that he couldn't yet understand what led him there. What would lead you both there.

Then, Conner asked the next question—the one you had been quietly dreading ever since Casey first appeared.

"What about him?" Conner asked quietly, his eyes drifting to you now. "What about... him?"

Casey's gaze shifted. You watched as his mouth parted slightly, as if he had prepared for this moment, maybe even rehearsed it in his mind a thousand times. But no words came. He opened his mouth again, then closed it, his jaw tightening. The shimmer in his eyes shifted, not glowing with cosmic energy this time, but something much more human.

Grief.

He couldn't speak. He looked at you for a long moment, and you saw it written plainly on his face.

You understood. Immediately.

It was the way his expression faltered, the way he clenched his fists, the way his gaze dropped as if meeting your eyes would make it all too real. He didn't have to say it. You knew what he was trying to avoid saying. What he couldn't bring himself to put into words.

You reached out instinctively, gently resting a hand on his arm. He didn't flinch. He didn't pull away. He simply exhaled—a slow, trembling breath—and gave the faintest shake of his head.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

You nodded once, trying to keep your own expression steady. You didn't press him. There was no need. The silence between you said it all.

Conner looked between the two of you, his features hardening with the realization. His jaw tensed, and he turned away for a moment, letting the truth sink in. You could feel the shift in him, that familiar storm of protectiveness and pain brewing just under the surface.

The truth was clear. In the future Casey came from, you were gone.

But your legacy—your children, your strength, your love—remained.

And now, in this time, you had a chance to protect all of it before anything could take it away.

The corridor leading to the mission room was bathed in soft, ambient light, humming with the quiet energy of advanced tech. You walked beside Conner, still trying to absorb the sheer reality of everything Casey had told you. The weight of his revelations pressed against your chest like a second skin—about the future, your children, and the war you had yet to witness.

Casey walked a few steps ahead, his cloak swaying as he led you and Conner through the gleaming hallways of the rebuilt Mount Justice. Every inch of the base had been upgraded—sleek metal walls lined with embedded light panels, holographic directories, and clear glass doors that shimmered as they slid open with a whisper.

But the mission room ahead still gave you a familiar feeling. It had the same general structure—round table in the center, chairs arranged in a circle, and the large wall display you remembered from your own time. The energy of the space, though modernized, still buzzed with purpose.

As the doors parted, you stepped in, and immediately all eyes in the room turned toward you.

There were six young heroes gathered at the table, clearly in the middle of a briefing, until your sudden entrance drew their full attention. Each of them wore a uniform representing their lineage—familiar emblems worn in bold new styles, the next generation of the Team.

Standing at the head of the table, aged but powerful in presence, was Nightwing.

His once jet-black hair was streaked with silver at the temples, but his stance was strong, sharp as ever. The iconic black and blue uniform had evolved, now bearing a sleek, high-collared design and a digital gauntlet on his left arm. But even beneath the armor and the years, that unmistakable calm authority still radiated from him.

When his piercing blue eyes landed on you and Conner, his expression shifted from stern focus to something else—surprise, followed quickly by recognition.

He stepped forward slightly, his voice roughened by age but still confident.

"Well, I'll be damned..." he muttered under his breath.

You opened your mouth to greet him, but the younger heroes were already reacting.

One of them, a girl with vibrant reddish-pink hair tied in a braid and wearing a sleek black-and-violet suit with glowing orange accents, stood up quickly. She had Starfire's fierce eyes and Nightwing's calculated poise—clearly their daughter. Her gaze bounced between you, Conner, and Casey, curiosity flaring.

Next to her sat a lean boy with wind-swept blond hair, wearing a golden and green suit, a stylized arrow symbol on his chest. His green eyes narrowed with interest, and you didn't need anyone to tell you—he was the son of Artemis and Wally. The confident smirk on his face was pure West.

Across the table were twin girls in matching uniforms, sleek ocean-blue with bioluminescent white detailing. Their red hair was tied back in tight buns, and their eyes glowed faintly—echoes of both M'gann and Lagoon Boy. The bond between them was clear even from a glance, their body language almost synchronized.

Standing near the back was a quiet, contemplative teen with olive skin and sharp, intelligent eyes. His outfit was a deep navy, adorned with arcane sigils across the arms and chest—his aura practically shimmered with latent magic. You felt a twist of recognition in your chest. He was the son of Zatanna and Dick Grayson, an heir to both combat and sorcery.

And finally, leaning casually with arms crossed, stood a broad-shouldered young man with deep brown skin and piercing dark eyes. His uniform was black and gold, trimmed with the markings of Atlantis and the sigil of the former king—Aqualad's son.

The room, moments ago full of discussion and strategy, had fallen into silence. They stared, not rudely, but with something close to reverence—like they had just stepped into the past, face-to-face with living legends.

Casey broke the silence.

"Everyone," he said, stepping aside, "I'd like you to meet my parents... from before it all started. From the past."

He looked back at you with a soft smile.

"This is my father—" He gestured to Conner, then you.

"And my pa."

There was a long pause, the gravity of the moment settling over everyone.

Nightwing let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh, walking forward. His smile was weathered but genuine.

"Welcome to the future," he said. "Looks like it found you whether you were ready or not."

It was strange—surreal, even—to stand in this space and be greeted not by your teammates, but by the next generation, the children of the people you once fought beside. Their faces held echoes of those you knew, and their energy hummed with the potential of everything you and Conner had once fought to protect.

Casey stepped forward, his expression filled with pride, yet undercut by a thread of reverence as he gestured toward the table, where the young heroes stood attentively.

"I figured it's only right you meet them properly," he said, glancing back at you with that warm, familiar smile—the one that made it impossible to deny he was yours.

You nodded, still a little breathless, your hand unconsciously resting over your abdomen, the place where your future—his future—had only just begun.

Conner, meanwhile, lingered for only a moment longer before his eyes shifted toward the back of the room where Dick wondered to, hands clasped behind his back.

As Casey began the introductions, Conner slowly made his way toward him, and you could see Dick's sharp eyes soften as they met Conner's. The two men held each other's gaze for a long second—like they were seeing ghosts, and maybe in a way, they were.

Casey motioned toward the first young woman—the one with the vibrant reddish-pink hair and the proud stance that reminded you so strongly of both fire and steel.

"This is Korya Grayson," Casey said. "Nightwing and Starfire's daughter. She's the field strategist for our squad, and probably the best flier out of all of us. Her Tamaranean side makes her a powerhouse, but don't let the fire fool you—she's calculated. Quiet strength."

Korya offered a respectful nod, her golden eyes studying you with a mix of awe and curiosity. You smiled, recognizing that spark in her gaze—the same sharp glint you'd seen so many times in Dick's.

Casey moved to the boy with the golden-and-green suit, his wind-tousled hair and smirk giving away his lineage before he even spoke.

"This is Ezra West, son of Artemis and Wally," Casey said, a hint of fond exasperation in his voice. "Fastest mouth on the planet and second-fastest feet. He inherited his dad's speed and his mom's attitude. Keeps us on our toes."

Ezra gave a cheeky wave. "Pretty wild to meet you before I even exist. Time travel is so weird."

You couldn't help but chuckle softly at that.

Casey turned to the twin girls standing just to the side of the table, their ocean-blue suits practically glowing under the light.

"Mira and May'al M'orzz, daughters of M'gann and Lagoon Boy. Telepathy, density-shifting, and emotional projection. They're always in sync, even when they pretend they're not. Mira leads with empathy, May'al with instinct."

The twins gave identical nods, their expressions calm but welcoming. You could feel the psychic flicker of curiosity coming from one of them—just a gentle touch, respectful, nothing invasive.

Then Casey stepped toward the teen cloaked in magic, his dark hair slightly curled, his fingers unconsciously brushing one of the glowing sigils on his forearm.

"This is Zahir Grayson, son of Zatanna and Dick." Casey's tone shifted slightly, more reverent here. "He's a walking library of magical knowledge. Z taught him everything she could. He's grounded, but you don't want to see him when the gloves come off."

Zahir nodded politely, his voice quiet but sure. "It's an honor to meet you. Both of you."

And finally, Casey gestured to the tall Atlantean teen with the black-and-gold armor, who had watched you the entire time with sharp, observant eyes.

"This is Kei'lan, son of King Kaldur'ahm. He's got the training of Atlantis and the spirit of the Team. Doesn't talk much—but when he does, you listen."

Kei'lan offered a respectful bow of the head, his deep voice smooth but serious. "I've heard many stories about you. None of them do justice to what I'm seeing now."

You gave him a nod of respect in return, humbled by his words.

As Casey finished the introductions, you glanced to your right, where Conner now stood face-to-face with Dick.

They weren't saying anything at first, just standing there in that heavy silence that needed no words. Then finally, Dick let out a quiet breath.

"It's been a long time," he said.

Conner's voice was softer than you expected. "You're older than I imagined."

Dick smiled faintly, his eyes flicking toward you. "And he look just like I remember him."

There was something unspoken in that moment, something heavy with shared grief, with the memory of the years between this moment and the ones that hadn't happened yet.

"Dick," Conner voiced, making the older man look at him. "I need to know what happened."

Dick finally looked at him. His blue eyes had a tiredness in them—older, yes, but deeper than just years. It was the kind of tired that only came from loss.

"We shouldn't talk about it," Nightwing said. "You shouldn't know yet."

Conner stepped forward, his tone hardening. "I have a son—four kids, Dick. I just found out about Casey a few days ago. Then I get time-traveled 25 years into the future and find out he's not the only one. We have three more. Corra. Cole. Cameron." His voice cracked slightly. "And none of them... have him."

Nightwing looked away again, his silence thicker than any wall.

Conner pressed on, the emotions bubbling just beneath the surface. "I've got future children looking at me like I'm their anchor, and their father— because—their Pa—isn't there anymore. The version of me in this time doesn't have the love of his life by his side. He's raising them alone." He took a shaky breath. "I need to know why."

Dick still didn't respond.

"And on top of that," Conner continued, almost growling, "some lunatic with god-like powers is hellbent on killing him. We don't know why, we don't know how, but he's already started by attacking our kids."

That seemed to finally break through.

Dick exhaled and rubbed his face, the tension in his shoulders clear. When he looked back at Conner, he seemed older than ever.

"It wasn't supposed to happen that way," Nightwing murmured. "None of it was."

"Then tell me," Conner said. "Please."

Nightwing hesitated for a long time. But finally, he turned away from the window and faced him directly.

"It was during the invasion," he began quietly. "Twelve years ago, the war with Darkseid happened."

Conner's eyes widened slightly, but he remained still.

"It wasn't just another battle," Dick continued. "It was the battle. Earth had been holding the line for years, but Darkseid finally came himself. No proxies, no parademons—it was him. Full force." He swallowed hard. "And your partner—he was the one who stepped up."

A chill ran down Conner's spine.

"We were losing," Dick said. "The League, the Team... nothing was stopping him. But your partner—he accessed something none of us had seen before. Something deeper in his cosmic power. A frequency... a kind of energy beyond anything we understood. I don't know if it was instinct, or desperation, but it worked."

He looked down, voice lower.

"He fought Darkseid. One-on-one. And he won."

Conner's breath caught.

"But it cost him." Dick's gaze lifted. "He was gone before any of us could even reach him. Vaporized in the sky, consumed by his own power. His energy tore through the battlefield like a second sun. It saved us. It ended the war." His jaw clenched. "And it broke the family he left behind."

Conner stood still, jaw trembling. He blinked rapidly, but no tears fell. Not yet.

Nightwing looked him square in the eyes. "You want to know why the future you is the way he is? Why your kids carry this weight? It's because they grew up with a legacy, not a father. They never heard his laugh, never saw the way he looked at you. They only know the stories." He shook his head. "And they loved him anyway."

Conner nodded slowly, his throat tight. "I'm not going to let that happen."

"I know," Dick replied softly. "That's why you're here."

The two men stood in silence, the weight of fate between them. And just down the hall, unaware of the truth that had just been spoken aloud, you stood surrounded by the next generation—smiling, unaware of the moment that would one day define your legacy.

Unaware of the price you'd pay for it.

THE TENSE moment was broken by the sudden hum and flash of the Zeta Tubes activating. A sharp, familiar chime echoed through the sleek metal corridors of the mission room, drawing everyone's attention.

Your head turned instinctively, the muscle memory still there after years of field missions and unexpected arrivals. Conner's body tensed beside you—not with fear, but with that same sharp edge of readiness he'd always carried when the unexpected walked through the door.

Out from the swirling light stepped a group of figures, all of them dressed in full gear. And though they wore new suits—refined, upgraded, more advanced than the ones you remembered—you recognized most of them almost immediately.

Just... older.

The first to emerge stood tall in regal red and gold armor, a tiara gleaming on her forehead, a lasso clipped at her side. Wonder Girl—Cassie Sandsmark—was no longer just the eager, bold young woman you once led into battle. She had grown into her title, and it was clear just by the way she carried herself. Now she was Wonder Woman, in every sense of the name. Her presence filled the room like a crashing wave—confident, commanding, unstoppable.

Beside her, in a sleek, black and red uniform with high-tech gauntlets and a tattered cloak trailing behind him, was Red Robin—Tim Drake. His eyes were sharper now, his expression more weathered, carrying the weight of too many secrets. His cowl was down, but the lines on his face told a story of battles won, and battles lost.

Just behind him, stepping casually out of the tube but scanning the room with a practiced speed, was Blue Beetle. Jaime Reyes. His armor looked more alien now than ever, etched with neon blue glyphs that pulsed as he moved. His eyes locked on you for a moment, widening just slightly in recognition before narrowing again—processing.

Then came a blur of red and white, slowing just enough to reveal a face that hadn't changed as much as the others—though the youthful glow had been replaced by experience and responsibility. Impulse—or rather, The Flash now. Bart Allen. His suit was sleeker, aerodynamic, the lightning bolt insignia sharp across his chest. And though he still carried that spark of enthusiasm in his eyes, there was something heavier behind it.

Static followed next, his coat flaring as he stepped onto the platform, electricity crackling lightly at his fingertips. His dreadlocks were longer now, streaked with silver at the ends, and his shoulders had broadened with age and command. He greeted a few of the young heroes with nods, familiarity in his movements.

Beast Boy walked in at a slower pace, his green skin now darker, his uniform more practical than playful. His expression was more solemn than you remembered, though he gave a faint smile in your direction—tinged with disbelief.

But it was the last figure who made you and Conner both stop dead in your tracks.

He stepped through with the confident weight of someone used to being watched, his cape sweeping behind him, tall and sharp in a black armored Batsuit. For a moment, your heart skipped a beat.

Batman.

But then he spoke.

"Report," he said, voice gravelled and steady, but not Bruce.

Your eyes widened slightly as your gaze swept over him—same bearing, same cape, same silhouette. But something was off. His frame was a bit leaner than Bruce's, his movements more fluid, and then you caught it. The jawline. The eyes. The presence that mirrored Bruce's, but with a precision that was more blade than shadow.

Damian.

Conner muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. "Wait... that's not Bruce."

You took a half step forward, your voice quiet with realization. "It's Damian."

Casey stepped in beside you, nodding. "He took up the cowl a few years ago. Bruce passed it to him before stepping down. Officially retired."

Your eyes lingered on Damian—Batman now—as he moved toward the others with surgical calm, engaging with the future Team leaders, speaking in low tones with Dick. But he didn't look at you. Not yet.

The feeling that crept into your chest was complex—nostalgia mixed with disorientation. These were your friends, your peers, your family. But they had grown, evolved, stepped into the roles you had only ever seen as distant futures.

Now they stood before you, a reflection of everything that would be.

And yet, here you were, still from a time where the world hadn't yet shattered. Where the future still hovered just beyond reach.

And every one of them was looking at you and Conner like you were ghosts

THE ROOM fell into a strange silence as the newly arrived heroes stood motionless, their eyes locked on you and Conner with expressions ranging from awe to outright disbelief. You could feel the weight of their gazes—each one of them seeing someone they hadn't laid eyes on in decades, someone they had believed was long gone, lost to time and sacrifice.

Wonder Woman—Cassie—was the first to break from her stunned expression. Her golden bracers caught the light as she stepped forward, her voice soft but laced with emotion. "It's really you..." she murmured. "You're—you're alive."

Tim—Red Robin—stood just behind her, his analytical gaze sweeping over you like a scanner, taking in every detail. "He's younger," Tim muttered, eyes narrowing slightly. "Both of them are. That's not the Conner from our time either."

"No," Bart—The Flash now—added with a blink. "They're from the past. Their biometrics, heart rates, aura frequencies... everything is younger. Before... everything happened."

You could see the emotion trying to crack through their composed faces. For them, this was like seeing ghosts return to life. You and Conner weren't just teammates or friends—you had been family. And for those who had carried your memory forward, seeing you now—untouched by time, unaware of your own future—was too much to fully comprehend.

Beast Boy took a slow step forward, his voice low and uncertain. "How is this even possible? He's been gone for decades. You—" he looked directly at you, and his throat tightened, "—you died."

Static folded his arms, electricity flickering faintly around his fingers. "There's no way this doesn't cause a paradox."

More murmurs echoed among them, confusion thick in the air.

But it was Batman—Damian Wayne—who spoke next, his tone sharp and coldly precise. "Casey." He didn't raise his voice, but the weight behind it sliced through the conversation like a blade. "You brought them here."

Everyone turned to Casey, who stood calmly beside you and Conner, seemingly unfazed by the intensity of the reactions around him. But you could see the tension in his shoulders, the careful way he held himself, like he was ready for the backlash.

"I did," Casey said evenly.

"You pulled them from the past," Damian pressed, stepping forward, his cape sweeping behind him. "Without League sanction. Without Zeta clearance. Without any temporal stabilization protocols. Do you have any idea what kind of damage you've done to the timeline?"

Casey remained composed, but the room tensed around them.

"I know exactly what I did," he replied, voice steady. "And I'd do it again."

Damian's scowl deepened. "You jeopardized everything we've built—everything they gave their lives for—because you wanted a reunion?"

"It's not about me," Casey snapped, and for the first time, his voice cracked, the pain breaking through the composure. "It was never about me."

He stepped forward, placing himself squarely between you, Conner, and the rest of the gathered heroes.

"Olympian is here. In their time. We don't know how he did it, but he found a way back—before all the safeguards, before the defenses, before the League had prepared for his kind of threat." Casey's eyes moved across the room. "If he kills him—" he gestured to you, "—he erases all of us. Me. Corra. Cole. Cameron. We'll never be born. And this version of Earth—everything you've built here—might not survive what comes next."

A heavy silence followed.

Casey looked directly at Damian. "I didn't do this for sentiment. I did it because we're losing. We've been on the defensive for years. And you know as well as I do that we've been missing something—someone."

His voice softened as he turned toward you.

"We need him," Casey said quietly. "We need them."

Damian didn't respond at first. His gaze lingered on you, unreadable behind the stoicism that defined him. But you could see it—the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers flexed at his side. He remembered you. He'd mourned you.

Finally, he stepped back.

"The damage is done," Batman said. "We can't send them back now, not without destabilizing the timeline further. Which means they're here—for now."

Everyone in the room seemed to take that as their cue to breathe again, the tension beginning to ease just slightly.

You looked to Casey, who exhaled deeply, the burden of his decision still pressing down on him, but his conviction unwavering.

"I know what's at stake," he said quietly. "But I'd rather risk the future... than lose the people who gave us one."

The familiar hum of the Zeta-Tube filled the air again, followed by the artificial voice announcing another incoming arrival. Heads turned instinctively toward the portal as the light shimmered and coalesced into form.

"Zeta-Tube activation: designation C-88, Corra Kent."

Before the light had fully faded, a young woman stepped through the glowing arch—tall, confident, and clearly frustrated, her voice already carrying through the room as if she'd been mid-rant during transport.

"Seriously, I leave for five minutes to patrol the south perimeter and the entire League just disappears? You all just ghosted me? Batman, I know you've got your mysterious ninja exit thing going, but the rest of you—really?" Her voice was sharp with exasperation, but there was something undeniably vibrant and familiar in her presence.

She had a striking appearance, blending your features and Conner's effortlessly. Her dark hair was pulled up into a high, practical bun, a few rebellious strands falling into her face. Her eyes—your eyes—glowed with that soft cosmic shimmer, and her uniform was black and silver with crimson accents, a long coat billowing behind her like a cape. The House of El symbol sat proudly on her chest, reimagined with intricate etchings that seemed to shift slightly in the light. Her boots clicked against the polished floor with each hurried step as she walked fully into the mission room.

"Okay, seriously, is anyone going to explain why I was left out of whatever this—" She suddenly stopped mid-sentence.

The room was silent. Everyone's eyes were on her, expressions varying between tense, awkward, and amused. Casey stood near the front, arms folded, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The rest of the older heroes stayed quiet, watching the scene unfold.

Corra's brows drew together as she glanced around. "Why is everyone staring at me like I just said I'm switching to villainy?" She gestured wildly. "Hello? What did I walk into?"

Casey stepped forward with a hand raised. "Corra... don't freak out."

She gave him a look that could only be described as pure little-sister irritation. "Why would I freak out, Casey? Is this about the tower lights again? Because I swear that wasn't me."

"No," he said quickly, then glanced toward you. "It's not that. It's just... maybe take a deep breath."

Still confused, Corra turned to follow her brother's line of sight—and her words caught in her throat.

There, across the room, standing near Conner with the quiet stillness of someone trying to understand the surreal moment they were living in—was you.

You watched her face shift. At first, there was confusion. Then recognition. Then something raw and unguarded—shock, disbelief, vulnerability. Her lips parted slightly, her chest visibly rising as her breath hitched.

She took a step forward, her voice trembling now, no longer filled with sarcasm or confidence.

"...Pa?"

Her eyes widened, tears immediately welling in them. She blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what she was seeing, as if you might disappear at any moment if she blinked too long.

You took a step toward her, your own heart pounding in your chest, barely able to speak through the emotion rising in your throat.

"Corra," you said, your voice cracking on her name.

That was all it took.

In an instant, she closed the distance between you, flinging her arms around you with the force of someone who had waited years for this moment. She clung to you like a lifeline, her breath shaking as she buried her face in your shoulder.

You wrapped your arms around her instinctively, your chest tightening, your vision blurring as you held your daughter—your future daughter—in your arms for the very first time. She was grown. Strong. Brave. And yet in that moment, she melted into you like a child who had just been reunited with something she thought she'd lost forever.

No words were spoken for several long moments.

Just the quiet, heart-wrenching reunion of a father and the daughter he hadn't even met yet—but who had clearly been missing him for a very long time.

Corra trembled in your arms, her grip firm and desperate, as if afraid letting go would cause you to vanish again. Her face was buried in the crook of your shoulder, and even as the rest of the room watched in silence, giving you both space, she couldn't hide the tears that poured freely from her eyes.

Eventually, she pulled back just enough to see your face again—needing, craving that confirmation that this wasn't a dream or a cruel illusion. But the tears kept coming, streaming down her cheeks no matter how many times she tried to blink them away.

She let out a breathless laugh, half-choked, wiping at her face with her sleeve. "Gods, I can't even stop," she whispered, cheeks flushed. "This is so embarrassing."

You cupped her face gently, brushing a thumb beneath one of her eyes, your own expression soft, overwhelmed with emotion.

"Don't be," you murmured. "Not for this. Not ever."

Corra's lip trembled again, but she steadied herself, hands still resting lightly on your arms as if she couldn't fully let go yet. "You don't understand," she said, trying to collect herself. "You've been gone my whole life. I never even got to hear your voice—not like this. Casey told us everything he could, but it's not the same. And now you're just... here."

You nodded, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry," you said quietly. "I didn't know what the future would bring. I didn't know I'd—" You stopped yourself. There were some truths neither of you were ready to speak aloud. "I'm here now."

She nodded slowly, eyes still glistening, breathing shakily through the swell of emotion. She gave another soft laugh and leaned against your chest again, her voice muffled. "Cole and Cameron aren't going to believe this."

You smiled faintly, brushing a hand over her hair. "Tell me about them."

Corra pulled back again, her eyes lighting up even through the tears. "Cole's twenty, hothead like me—maybe worse. Has your stubborn streak, but Dad's glare. Cameron's seventeen, quiet, way too smart for his own good. He's the empath. He'll probably cry just from being in the same room as you. They're gonna lose their minds when they hear you're here."

You could only imagine it—three more children who had inherited pieces of you and Conner, who had grown up never knowing you, but apparently carrying your legacy in their blood and spirit.

Corra wiped at her eyes again, finally beginning to breathe a little steadier. But then her gaze shifted past your shoulder—and landed on Conner.

She blinked in surprise, and for a moment she just stared, brows lifting, lips parting in disbelief. Then she tilted her head and gave a low whistle.

"Whoa..." Her voice was filled with recognition, and just a little amusement. "That's weird."

You turned slightly as she stepped toward Conner, studying him with wide eyes. "You look so young," she said, almost laughing. "I just saw you this morning at breakfast—grumbling over burned toast and yelling at Cole for leaving his boots on the stairs. You had more gray in your hair and half the patience."

Conner looked a little taken aback, but his smirk crept in, faint but real. "I guess future me's a grump?"

Corra grinned through the last of her tears. "Oh, you have no idea."

But then her gaze softened again, and for a beat, she just stared between you both—her two fathers, together, alive, and younger than she ever thought she'd see them.

"I can't believe this is real," she whispered. "But I'm so glad it is."

Later that night, the once-bustling mission room of Mount Justice had gone quiet. The energy that had filled it earlier—buzzing with reunions, disbelief, and the unmistakable weight of time colliding with itself—had faded into a more serene stillness. The blue ambient glow from the overhead lights reflected softly against the walls, casting long shadows across the floor as the hour grew late.

The League had been the first to leave.

Word of a critical incident unfolding in the outer quadrants of the Earth's defense grid had called the senior heroes back into action. There was urgency in their departure, but even amid the chaos, they took the time to come to you and Conner—individually. Each of them embraced you both with heartfelt goodbyes, some quick, others lingering. Cassie had held you longer than you expected, whispering that she never thought she'd get a chance to say goodbye properly, then promising she'd return. Tim had offered a simple handshake, though his eyes betrayed how deeply your reappearance affected him. Bart—still quick—hugged both of you in a blur of motion and words.

Beast Boy looked like he wanted to say more but couldn't find the words. Static just nodded with the quiet understanding of a man who'd seen too much. And Damian—Batman—said nothing at all, but his eyes held a rare respect as he turned and disappeared into the shadows with the rest.

Once the last echo of the Zeta-Tube faded and the glowing arch powered down, it was just the four of you left: you, Conner, Casey, and Corra.

Dick and the next-gen Team had tactfully cleared out, giving you all space without even needing to be asked. Zahir offered a respectful bow before vanishing in a shimmer of magical glyphs. Mira and May'al gave Corra soft smiles. Ezra flashed a wink. Korya nodded to Casey and said, "Take your time. We've got things covered here."

Now, in the softened quiet of the mission room's lounge, a low conversation had begun between your children—children you had only just met, yet already felt tied to in a way that was almost painful in its intensity.

Corra sat cross-legged on the sleek, cushioned bench, a throw blanket around her shoulders like she was a child again, despite being a fully trained powerhouse of a hero. Casey leaned against the holo-console beside her, arms folded, one foot propped against the wall.

You sat nearby on a lower step beside Conner, listening to them with a kind of quiet wonder. Even now, you were still absorbing everything—every word, every gesture. Watching the two of them interact, argue lightly, laugh—it stirred something deep in your chest.

"So," Corra was saying, wiping the last of her dried tears away and smoothing her now-frizzed hair, "do we take them to Kansas tomorrow? I mean, it's tradition. Dad always does dinner on Sundays. Cameron's probably going to freak out when he sees Pa."

Casey raised a brow. "Freak out? Corra, you practically collapsed. Cameron's going to start crying the second he feels Pa walk into the house."

"That's sweet," you murmured softly to Conner, who smirked, though his eyes remained fixed on the siblings in front of him.

"Anyway," Casey continued, arms now gesturing, "we also have no idea how Dad is going to react."

Corra frowned. "You mean future Dad?"

"Yeah," Casey said. "He's... different. Not in a bad way, just—he's been carrying a lot. Raising all of us without Pa. Alone, basically. He's not cold, but it's not easy for him. Seeing them"—he gestured toward you and Conner—"younger, full of life again, especially Pa... It's going to hit hard."

Corra looked down at her hands for a moment. "Yeah," she admitted. "It will." She glanced back up at you, her expression gentler now. "But I think he needs to see you. Even if it hurts."

You felt your throat tighten, but you nodded, voice soft. "If he needs time, we'll give it to him. But... if it means seeing my kids again, all of them together... I'll face whatever comes."

Conner nodded beside you, his hand brushing against yours in a silent affirmation. "We'll do it together. Like we always have."

Casey smiled slightly at that—like a part of him had been waiting to hear that for years.

"Okay," he said. "Then we'll bring you to Kansas tomorrow."

He looked between you and Conner, his gaze settling on yours. "Just... be ready. He's not the man you knew. He's you—but after a lifetime of losing you."

You nodded slowly, heart pounding.

Then Corra reached for your hand again, gripping it tightly. "But he's still your Conner. Just... older, a little more tired. But deep down, he's been waiting for this."

You smiled at her, your voice trembling. "So have I."

After the long, emotionally charged day, Casey offered a quiet nod and gestured for you and Conner to follow him down a private corridor branching off from the main living quarters of the rebuilt Mount Justice. The halls were lined with softly glowing panels, their subtle illumination casting calm, ambient hues along the walls. The sound of your footsteps echoed faintly, the only noise breaking the hush of night as the base settled into stillness.

Neither you nor Conner spoke much during the walk. The two of you were exhausted—not from battle, but from the sheer magnitude of everything that had happened in a single day. The future had dropped into your lives like a meteor, shattering everything you thought you knew and leaving you surrounded by the fallout: older versions of friends, grown children you hadn't yet fathered, and the looming shadow of a threat determined to end you before your legacy could ever begin.

Casey stopped in front of a curved doorway that slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a sleek but comfortably designed room bathed in cool blue lighting. It was clearly a spare guest suite, but it still had a warmth to it—like someone had taken the time to ensure it wasn't cold or sterile. A large bed sat nestled against one wall with a set of smooth, metallic drawers beneath a transparent data panel. There were folded clothes already prepared on the bench at the foot of the bed, and a softly humming ventilation system filled the space with the faint scent of something earthy and calming—like cedar and starlight.

"This used to be Zatanna's room," Casey said as he stepped aside to let you in. "She stayed here a lot before moving into the Tower permanently. We've kept it ready. You can rest here tonight."

You gave a small nod of gratitude, stepping into the room. The floor beneath your boots shifted slightly, designed to adjust for comfort and temperature. Conner walked in behind you, his gaze sweeping across the futuristic amenities, but his expression was distant. You could tell he was still mentally unraveling everything—especially the idea that the older version of him had raised four children without you by his side.

Casey lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, watching the two of you as if he didn't want to leave, as if part of him still couldn't believe you were really there.

"You two deserve a moment to breathe," he said finally. "I'll check in first thing in the morning. We've got a lot to figure out... but for now, just rest."

You turned to him, meeting his eyes, and for a second the air between you felt fragile, delicate, as if too many more words would break the spell. So instead, you simply said, "Thank you, Casey."

He gave a soft smile—one that looked almost exactly like yours—and nodded.

As the door hissed shut behind him, sealing you and Conner in the quiet of the room, a long silence stretched between you.

You sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, the cushion adjusting beneath you with silent precision. Your hands fell into your lap as you let out a slow, unsteady breath.

Conner crossed the room, dropping heavily into the bed across from you. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped as he stared at the floor. The weight in his posture mirrored yours.

Finally, you looked up and met his eyes.

"We're in the future," you said softly, still not quite believing it. "We met our children. We met our son. Our daughter."

Conner nodded, his jaw tight. "And... I raised them without you."

You stood up, crossing to him slowly, and rested your hand on his shoulder.

"You didn't lose me," you said. "Not yet. And we're going to fight like hell to make sure it stays that way."

He looked up at you then, his expression hard—but vulnerable in a way few ever saw. He gave a short nod, then pulled you down beside him.

You two laid down on the bed, you were lying on your side, your back pressed against Conner's chest. His arms were around you, strong and steady, holding you close as if anchoring you there, grounding both of you in this strange reality. His hand moved in slow, soothing circles over your lower abdomen, where the life growing inside you had yet to show. The gesture was gentle, almost reverent, as if he were touching something fragile and sacred.

You placed your own hand over his, lacing your fingers together with his warmth beneath your palm. You didn't speak for a while. You didn't need to. You both just breathed—together, quiet, still.

Eventually, it was Conner who broke the silence.

"We don't even know who he is," he murmured, his voice low and quiet in the dark. "Olympian. No one does. Not even in this time."

You nodded slightly, your head resting on the pillow. "Just his name. No origin. No motive. Just... that he's after me. And that he's willing to kill for it."

Conner's hand paused for a moment before it started moving again, slower now, his touch protective. "He's not going to touch you," he said firmly. "Not while I'm breathing. And he sure as hell won't get near the kids."

His words were steel. Not a promise—a vow.

You turned your head just enough to look at him, catching the edge of his profile in the soft light. His jaw was clenched, his expression distant but focused. Beneath the surface calm, you could feel the storm he was keeping buried. The thought of anyone—especially someone like Olympian—hurting his family was enough to set the air around him on edge.

"He already tried," you whispered. "He went after them. In the future. And now he's here, in our time, trying to stop everything before it even starts."

Conner tightened his arm around you. "Then we stop him first."

You swallowed hard, emotions bubbling up again. "What if... what if I really do have something in me? Something he wants. Something cosmic. Something I can't even understand."

"Then we figure it out," he said without hesitation. "Together. Like we always do."

You let the silence stretch again, comforted by the steady beat of his heart against your back.

After a moment, you spoke again, softer this time. "You think he'll come for us again soon?"

Conner's voice was cold, calm, but dangerous in that way only he could be when he meant every word. "If he does... I'll make sure he never touches you. Or Casey. Or Corra. Or anyone with our name."

You turned in his arms slowly until you were facing him, pressing your forehead gently to his. His eyes met yours, unwavering.

"I know you will," you said.

His hand slid up, brushing your cheek, then down again to rest protectively over your still-flat stomach. You both stayed like that for a while—wrapped in each other, guarding something fragile, something that hadn't fully formed yet but had already changed everything.

Whatever came next—whatever darkness was waiting in the wings—you wouldn't face it alone. Not now. Not ever again.

[chleem]

Not a big deal pt4

miniseries; basketball player drew x high scl student reader

Summary: You lose your virginity to a random guy at a frat party miles away from your home. A few days later, you find out that he’s your brother’s competitor, for the regional colleges’ basketball tournament. 

Genre: strangers to lovers, smut, angst, fluff

Warnings: cursing, age gap (18 & 24), protected sex (read at own caution

⋆.˚ please dont copy or translate my work!

♡⸝⸝ p3 | index | p5

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The ringing of your phone jolts you awake, no longer dreaming. 

Your head throbs, the bright sunlight seeping through the curtains only adding to the ache. The loud ring of your phone makes it hard to focus, and for a moment, you can’t quite piece together where you are.

But the arm wrapped around you reminds you of just where you are, and who you’re with. 

Slowly turning your face, you find yourself looking into Drew’s. He’s asleep, completely unaware to the loud ringing. His features are relaxed, eyelids closed, his breathing slow, and a small smile sits on his face. 

What is he dreaming about?

You focus on memorizing every inch of Drew’s face, studying the soft lines, the way his lashes rest against his skin, the gentle curve of his lips. 

A strange mix of disbelief and nostalgia swells inside you. He looks so much like the Drew from four years ago—the one you lost your virginity to. 

Part of you wonders if he’s still that same person, or if he’s changed just as much as you have.

Your phone quiets down eventually, your caller giving up. 

Well, at least you thought so. The ringing comes back, and this time, it causes Drew to flutter his eyes open. He rubs his eyes, yawning as he focuses his gaze to you. The small curve of his lips from earlier is replaced with a grin that stretches ear-to-ear, and his eyes hold a lazy look.

“Morning, baby,” his voice is deeper in the morning, a raspy coat layered on.

You mirror his smile, the nickname causing your heart to skip a beat, “morning.”

“How long have you been staring?”

“The whole night,” you teasingly say, which earns a low chuckle from him.

“No wonder I had a nightmare,” he jokes back, his arm going around you once again and pulling you close. He nudges his face into your neck, a groan escaping probably from the loud ringing phone, “who’s calling?”

You frown, your hand reaching behind you for your phone on the nightstand. 

You glance at the screen, Luke. Your brother? Why on earth is he calling now?

“I just woke up,” you say, forcing out a groan, trying to sound as casual as possible. You can hear Luke moving around on the other end of the line—his footsteps shuffling. 

“Shit, were you in a fucking coma? Open the fucking door.”

What. 

Your heart sinks at the sudden shift in his tone, a sharp tension filling your chest. That last part… Open the door?

You push Drew away, immediately sitting up. “Um, what do you mean-“

“I’m outside your room. Did you not hear, I rang the-“

The rest of Luke’s words fly by your ear. You were wide awake now, the weight of the situation sinking in. 

Luke’s outside of your door. Drew’s naked in your bed. 

You know Luke. You know how he reacts to things like this. And it’s not going to be pretty. His temper is explosive, like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.

You cover your microphone, and whisper to Drew, “get. out.”

“What?” Drew chuckles, his voice dropping to a softer tone, confused by your sudden urgency. “Why are we whispering?”

Right after, Luke stops himself mid-sentence, his voice cutting through the line, sharp and loaded with suspicion. “…wait, are you with someone?”

“Get out,” you slap Drew’s arm to get him moving, mouthing the words, “Luke’s outside!”

Drew’s eyes widen the same way yours did before. He stumbles off the bed, catching himself just before he crashes to the floor. It would be funny if you weren’t on the risk of getting caught by your brother. “No, just, just give me a minute, yeah? I’m getting ready-“

You get out of bed too, the phone propped on your shoulder. Drew and your clothes are scattered around the floor, mixed together.

You put the phone on speaker, setting it on the nightstand as Luke's complaining echoes through the room. Quickly, you put on your nightgown, searching for a clean pair of underwear.

You glance at Drew. He’s in his boxers, scrambling to find his pants. Is he trying to get caught? “Hurry,” you whisper-yell, looking around for his clothes.

Drew shoots you a blank stare, moving to the other side of the bed.

“Are you done yet? My legs are dying-“

“Almost! Just wait, okay?” You yell back at the phone.

“Y/n, seriously, been out here for forever-“

You find his button-up from last night tucked under the couch, and you toss into his arms. A chuckle escapes his lips as he barely catches it. 

Drew walks past you with his shirt unbuttoned, tie and jacket in his hands. He grabs his shoes, and gets ready to open the door. 

You quickly pull him back, “are you stupid?” You mean that with all your heart; Luke is literally on the other side of the door, and he wants to open it? 

Instead, you swing open the bathroom door and shove Drew inside. "Stay here for a while, alright?”

"What, no—“

You slam the bathroom door shut without another word, then quickly turn to the front door, your hand already on the handle. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves before facing Luke. 

Forcing a smile, the door opens, impatience written all over Luke’s face. “Finally,” he mutters, brushing past you. His rudeness isn’t a surprise—it’s just how he is.

You mumble something under your breath, closing the door behind you. Luke’s already sprawled out on your couch, legs propped up casually like he owns the place.

At the same time, both of you spot the wine glasses on the coffee table, their presence suddenly hanging in the air, adding a layer of tension you can’t ignore.

“Alright, where is he?” Luke asks, his voice low but demanding as he sits up, scanning the room to find the owner of the other glass. 

Your first instinct is to stop him from getting anywhere near the bathroom. You quickly sit down beside Luke, your hand pushing him back onto the couch. “It’s... yours,” you say, the words coming out quicker than it should. 

Luke looks at you, confusion flickering in his eyes, then down at the wine glass, before he narrows his gaze. “What are you talking about?” he asks, his tone sharp now, sensing- no, knowing something's off. 

“Y’know, it’s a nice hotel, let’s have some coffee,” you say, a lame attempt at sounding casual. You grab the glasses, and with the coffee maker in the small kitchen, you press the open button. 

Sneaking a glance at your brother, his gaze never leaves you, his tongue poking against his tongue. 

“Latte? Oh, they have espresso,” you continue, keeping your voice steady, scrolling through the options. 

“No,” his voice stops you, and you turn around, watching as he gets up. “I gotta leave anyways.”

This time, the smile on your face isn’t fake. “So soon?”

“Yeah, just came to check on you,” Luke gives you a tight smile, his hand reaching for the door handle. “I’ll send an Uber, ‘kay?”

You nod, a bit too eagerly that shows your interest in him leaving. 

Although still suspicious, Luke gives you one last glance before opening the door and stepping out. “Take care of yourself,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost like he's unsure of what to make of the situation.

The door clicks shut behind him, and for a moment, all you can do is breathe, your shoulders relaxing for the first time since he walked in. 

Finally. 

Opening the bathroom door, you look around for Drew. 

Only to find him laying in the bathtub, fully clothed, his tall figure awkwardly trying to fit in the small space. His arms are thrown out to either side, and his fingers fidget with his ring. 

You lean against the doorframe, and when his blue eyes peek at you, a smile appears on his lips. “Hey,” he says, “made myself a home here, I guess.”

You chuckle at his words, and you sit down at the edge of the tub. “Real comfortable there.”

Drew lets out a breathy laugh, shifting lightly. He glances at his watch, the smile fading just a bit, “I’ve got to go too.”

Right, team practice. 

A brief, almost impulsive thought crosses your mind—to ask him for his number, to stay in touch. Is that a ridiculous thought? You’re not sure. You’re not even sure why the idea is lingering, but it feels... right, somehow. Maybe because, despite everything, you don’t want this moment to end so soon.

At least, not with this Drew. 

Your chain of thoughts breaks, with a tough tug on your wrist. 

When you’ve come to your senses, you’re in the tub with him, seated in his lap. 

The warmth radiating off of him is ridiculously comfortable, the blue eyes almost smitten as they look into yours. 

You lean into him, closing your eyes, instinctively tilting your face toward his. You can feel the breath between you both, the tension building, and just as you’re about to close the distance—nothing.

No contact.

You peek at him through one eye, a little confused.

A throaty laugh escapes him, full of amusement. 

Shyly, you move away, only to be pulled back towards him, his hand finding the back of your neck. 

And then, he finally kisses you, gentle yet affectionate. 

It feels different than last night; The kiss feels deeper, more meaningful, and the thought that it might end soon makes your chest tighten with an ache. 

To last longer, you rest your arms around his neck, thrusting your tongue deeper into his mouth. 

Another chuckle escapes Drew, and he pulls away this time. 

With hooded eyes, you catch the soft smile on his lips. “Tryna get me in trouble?” The teasing tone in his voice makes your stomach flutter, along with the way he stares at you. 

“Maybe,” you giggle, and with a roll of your hips against him, he groans, his hands squeezing your waist. He rests his head at the rim of the tub, and you take the chance to kiss his neck. 

“Could be late-“ his words come out hushed, as your tongue grazes over the soft skin of his neck, “a minute or two.”

“Mmhm,” you bring your lips back up to his, and you kiss him again, this time, hungry and demanding. Your hips roll against his, and you could feel his boner poking your inner thigh. 

Your heart speeds up at the thought of doing it right here with Drew, in the bathtub. 

One of his hand slips under your nightgown; kneading your ass. 

It’s the way his blue eyes lustfully stare up at yours, that you continue rubbing your pussy against his lower abdomen. 

Drew readjusts his position, to allow the dent in his pants to rub closer to your wet pussy, your hips riding off the closeness. His low grunts sounds like music to your ears, the occasional rise of his hips offering more satisfaction to your core. 

“You like that?” Drew's voice, low and raspy, breaks the noise of soft moans and grunts, as his hand gently tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Grinding on my cock?”

Fuck. Your brain races with the thoughts of last night, his cock buried deeply in you. The hard length fucking the senses out of you. 

“Drew…” you moan out, sounding more desperate than expected. Your hands clutch on his suit jacket in tight fists, bouncing yourself on his clothed length. 

A breathless chuckle leaves his mouth, his other hand resting at the back of your neck. You feel the rough and cold material of his ring against your jaw, his thumb grazing the skin of your bottom lip. 

“Don’t stop, baby,” he coos, and you feel his dick twitch beneath you. The subtle movement sends your mind into further frenzy, encouraging the orgasm building inside of you. 

Ring! Ring! Ring! 

This time, the sound comes from inside the bathroom, in the tub, the phone that lays beside Drew’s thigh. 

You don’t even glance at it, consumed with building your orgasm. 

He’s not gonna answer anyways-

Drew picks it up, a mischievous grin on his face. “Hey,” he breathes into the phone. 

A moan escapes your lips, and he sticks two fingers into your mouth, deep until it hits the back of your throat. Gagging, you cough out, which makes Drew chuckle softly, a mumbled “sorry” escaping his lips, followed by a quiet, ‘shhh.’

You feel a knot grow in your lower stomach, as he raises his hips and thrusts into yours. You suck at the fingers in your mouth, the ring rubbing against your cheek. 

“Nothing- I’m working out,” he forces out, speaking into the phone. There’s a certain thrill in his voice, a hint of excitement that lingers as he speaks. 

He couldn’t be honest and say currently having your sister ride against my cock.

Although, the thought turns him on more, and he feels another twitch down at his dick.

“Mhm,” he hums mindlessly into the phone, leaning his head back. His mouth parts in awe, forcing his eyes to stay open. 

The hand on your ass grips tighter, averting all the desire to moan there. 

Whimpering against his fingers, you feel the knot inside of you come undone, the warm juice flowing out and definitely staining your underwear. 

You stop sucking his fingers, and you send him a lazy smile, your hips moving slower to ride your orgasm out. When you glance down at his pants, you can see the light stain, yours or his unsure. 

“What, no-“ his brows furrow together, listening in on whoever’s on the other line. 

You move back further until you’re no longer on his lap; tilting your head to study his face. 

But Drew’s hand catches yours, and guides it to the bulge in his pants. He’s still hard. 

You almost moan at the feeling of his thick length underneath your fingertips, Drew stifling back moans too. 

With that, your hands work its magic; palming and massaging his dick, as Drew tries his best to listen intently on the phone. 

“Mhm, yeah,” he agrees into the phone, his voice hitching slightly to hold back moans. You chuckle quietly at that, your hands continuing its touching of his clothed length. 

His hand reaches for you once more, and when you straddle his waist again, it slides to the back of your neck. His lips crash against yours almost desperately, as if he couldn’t get enough. 

Your hands cup his face, kissing him back with the same urgency. 

Drew groans into your lips, but not before hanging up on the phone. It drops inside the tub, the loud thud ignored by the both of you. 

His orgasm flows through him; the liquid spilling out onto his boxer briefs. 

The kiss breaks, and you both lean your foreheads together, gasping for air.

It’s silent, only the distant sound of AC running. 

Then, a breathless laugh slips from you as you process what just happened.

“Who were you calling?” You ask, genuinely curious. Your thumb rubs circles on his cheek, a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips. 

There’s the same mischievous glint in his blue eyes, causing your stomach to twist slightly. “Best if you didn’t know,” he murmurs, his grip on your waist tightening as he straightens up.

You furrow your brows, ready to ask him more. 

“You wanna have lunch together?" His suddenly asks, his voice softening. 

The question catches you off guard. You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze, your mind racing. Is it... a date? Of course it is. But... is that what you really want? 

Well, four years ago you would’ve loved to go out with a dude named Drew.

But the reminder of your brother meeting with you later flashes by. 

“Can’t,” you shrug apologetically at him, as the hand on the back of your neck starts to play with your necklace. 

Having some fun of your own, you run your hands through his hair, the short strands brushing against your fingers. “Okay…dinner,” Drew suggests instead. 

His blue eyes now stare pleadingly into yours, biting on his lower lip as he silently waits for your answer. 

Okay. You’re leaving tomorrow night, it wouldn’t hurt to have a private meal with him. 

You nod, reaching up to gently pull his lip away from his teeth, a soft smile tugging at your own.

The look in his eyes softens, a hint of curiosity flickering as he leans in a little closer. His hands leave you, reaching for his phone. ”Number?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper. Just as you’re about to tell him, he adds, “not your brother’s, though.”

Your eyes furrow at his comment; what’s that supposed to mean?

But he just shakes his head, finding his own joke amusing, “no- never mind. Go ahead.”

Slowly, you tell him his number, and soon enough, you hear your own phone ringing in the background. 

“Thanks, I’ll text you,” he kisses your cheek, gently shifting you off of him, “now, I really need to go.”

You watch as he gets up, and you immediately miss his warmth. He gets out the tub first, but not before turning around to offer his hand. 

You smile at the simple yet soft gesture, and take it, letting him help you out the tub. 

“I might see you later,” you tell him, as Drew leads you along with him, to the door. 

“Really?” Drew’s hand catches the door handle, pushing it open. He turns back to face you, and with your hand still in his, he takes the opportunity to place a gentle kiss there. “I’m looking forward to that already.”

Why can’t he just skip practice? 

“Alright,” you smile, taking your hand out of his, patting down the roughed part of his suit jacket, “get out of here.”

His lips curve into a half-smile, and he gives a playful shrug as he takes a step back. "Bossy," he teases, his voice light but warm, “see you.”

The soft click of the door closing echoes in the quiet room.

 With your back against the door, you slide down to the floor, your legs pulling up as you wrap your arms around them.

Blush creeps onto your cheeks as your mind races, replaying the moments with Drew—the look in his eyes, the feel of his lips on your skin, the way he seemed so different, yet so familiar.

You close your eyes, leaning your head against the door, trying to shake off the warmth still lingering in your chest.

Why does it feel like there's more to it than just... whatever that was? You can’t quite put your finger on it, but you know one thing for sure: this wasn’t how you imagined your visit here to be like.

——

You’ve never been to a real basketball stadium before. 

At first, the staff was unexpectedly rude, shutting you down before you even had a chance to introduce yourself. Just as things seemed hopeless, the manager stepped in, recognizing your name and quickly handing you a ‘visitor’ badge.

He guides you through narrow corridors, until you make it into a more promising section of the place. The air was filled with the scent of fresh gear, and before you knew it, you passed by one of the locker rooms. You catch a brief glimpse inside - a few tall, fit, shirtless dudes who walked around, chatting away. 

Even at your grown-up age, seeing half-naked guys still made you fluster, averting your gaze. 

Following the manager, the path leads to a visible court ahead, the bright lights blinding into the small tunnel. The loud sounds of dribbling and sneakers squeaking against the hardwood floor echo, growing louder with each step. 

Stepping out the tunnel, the staff leads you to the front seats, finding one that isn’t occupied by towels or bags. 

Something about an empty stadium with only its players sends a weird feeling to your brain - the scene surreal somehow. 

“Thank you,” you smile at him, who just nods, walking away. 

Sitting down on the black leathered seat, you look out at the court, taking in the players currently practicing. 

Your instincts kick in, and you scan the floor— spotting Drew, even with his team members running around and dribbling. He's easy to find, his tall frame and confident stride standing out as he lines up for a three-pointer. 

The ball leaves his hands with a smooth flick, arcing toward the hoop, and you watch as it swishes through the net. 

Shit. It’s the way he nonchalantly grabs another ball from the rack, dribbles it once, twice, before casually sinking another three-pointer, his expression completely unbothered that gets you. Other than your heart, something else is throbbing inside of you. 

Like magnets, your eyes focus solely on Drew, even more when you realize the waistband of Calvin Klein peeking out from his shorts. And of course, the v-line that follows-

Thwack!

A ball hits you square in the face, snapping you out of your trance. The sharp impact leaves you blinking, momentarily stunned. 

Slowly, pain creeps into your right jaw, mostly centered there. 

Great. Sitting down for what, not even five minutes? 

As you raise your hand to your face, trying to steady yourself from the blow, the blurry figure of a man slowly comes into focus. He looks flustered as he stammers an apology, but you don’t respond. The pain in your jaw is all-consuming, your head still spinning from the unexpected hit.

“What the fuck, man!”

The loud yell of your brother cuts through the stadium, sharp and full of anger. You don’t even have time to react before he’s charging toward you, his face red. Without hesitation, he roughly shoves the man in front of you, sending him stumbling back a few steps. 

For fuck’s sake, your brother’s outrage might be more frustrating than being hit by a ball…. Does he always have to cause a scene? What a drama queen. 

Even with the pain radiating through your jaw, you manage to drag your hand up and pull the edge of Luke’s shorts. The movement is slow, but it’s enough to make him turn around immediately.

“Shit, y/n, you okay?” He tones his voice down, his features softening as he sits down beside you. 

The lights above you start to drown out; which was because of the crowd gathering around you. They pretend to take a break- but everyone knows it’s to catch a glimpse of a fight threatening to erupt between Luke and his teammate. 

The ache is unbearable, and yet you still manage to lock eyes with Luke. Through clenched teeth, you choke out, “you idiot.”

Luke's eyes widen, guilt flooding his features. Hesitating, his hand hovers near your shoulder, unsure of what to do. 

“Get me an ice pack, dummy,” you rasp, voice thick with frustration. 

Luke winces at your tone, and you catch the muffled laughter from his teammates. 

“Okay, okay,” he mutters, “I’ll get it.” He hurries off, without another word. 

The guy that hit you with the ball apologies once again, and you reassure that you’re okay. Your eyes drift over to the other players, who immediately pretend to be busy with something else. 

You sigh, closing your eyes, as you lean back into the chair. The noise and ruffling of bags fade away as you focus on the pain, trying to relieve it. You place your hands in your lap, relaxing yourself. 

But not even a minute in, a soothing, familiar voice brings you back. 

“Hey baby,”

You crack your eyes open, and there he is, standing in front of you, a concerned smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His blue eyes stare down at you, the gleam in them brighter than the stadium lights. 

Drew.

Your brain immediately replays the scenes of this morning— his lips against yours, his hands all over you, and the call during the…sex? 

He doesn’t wait for an answer; simply sits down beside you, his presence warm and steady. You can feel the tension in his body as he watches you carefully, fidgeting with his hands that lay on his lap. 

The uncontrollable ache in your chest isn’t from the pain, but rather nervous. Fuck. He probably saw the whole process of Luke getting mad! Now you’re embarrassed. Your face is definitely swollen, red, ugly-

“Um, I’ve been hit…multiple times too,” he carefully starts, and you avert your gaze to his face, locking eyes with him. “Ice packs don’t, really work.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, your lips in a small frown as you wonder where he’s going with this.

His eyes flicker to his teammates, who are clearly stealing glances at the two of you. The quiet murmurs around you seem to make him shift slightly, though, and suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the space between you two. His body scoots closer, letting his knee rests against yours.

The contact is casual, but it sends an unexpected jolt of warmth through you. You catch yourself glancing down at where your legs meet.

His voice lowers just a touch, teasing, “kissing…much better.”

You blink, caught off-guard by his words. The smirk on his lips only deepens, his gaze locked on yours. “Official recommendation?” You manage to say, reflecting the teasing tone back at him. 

He shrugs, sending you an air-kiss, his lips pursed in a playful manner. “Worked in the past.”

“And how many…have you offered?” You jokingly ask, a small smile now present on your lips, as your body relaxes itself in his presence. 

Now it’s Drew’s turn, taken aback by your reply. You giggle at that, as he licks his lips, nodding slowly. He rests an arm over the back of your seat, fingers brushing your back and burning the skin there. 

“You caught me,” Drew says, readjusting his hips to angle his body inches closer (even more close; if that’s even possible) to you. “…just wanted to kiss you…again.”

The words are barely above a whisper, but you hear it. 

You swallow, trying to keep the flutter in your chest under control, but the soft touches he starts giving on your back makes it hard. His fingers rub circles on the bare skin that your top doesn’t cover; making your heart skip a beat. 

It feels like you’re back in high school again, a silly crush. 

Or rather, the specific crush you had on the Drew from WCU. 

Drew’s gaze flicks down to your lips for a moment, a slight shift in his expression that’s almost too subtle to notice — but you catch it. His eyes meet yours again, and you can sense a change, something a little deeper in his look now, less playful and more... intent.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice now softer, changing the topic. The teasing from before has faded, replaced by something a little more earnest. “Feeling better, at least?”

“Yes,” you reply with a smile. The pain was long forgotten since he sat down. “Thank you.”

He shakes his head lightly, before muttering, “as long as you’re okay,” the sincerity in his voice palpable. You feel a strange warmth spreading in your chest, the kind that makes you forget all the chaos around you. 

“Um, do you like the place I sent?” Drew changes the topic, and you quickly understand what he’s referencing—he texted you with an address earlier, just before practice. A restaurant that looks like it belongs in a hidden corner of an old European city. 

You get ready to say yes, that it’s great, but of course, your eyes drift over his shoulder, and you see the faint image of Luke running over. 

The moment- over, just like that. 

You quickly look away from Drew, and sensing the change, he sits up, adjusting his position away from you. His hand back in his lap, his knee no longer resting against yours; he creates an invisible border between you two. 

It stings for a moment; but your brother reaching you distracts it. 

“Here,” Luke hands you the ice pack, breathing heavily. You take it, placing it against your jaw as Luke’s eyes flicker over to Drew beside you, acting nonchalant.  “Starkey.”

Drew looks up at the call of his last name, a tight smile on his lips, “yeah?”

“In my seat,” Luke replies, his voice casual but the tone carrying an underlying edge, even though the other seat beside you was empty. 

To which, Drew glances over your shoulder, at the said seat. But Luke doesn’t follow his gaze. Instead, his eyes stay locked on Drew, and you can almost feel the tension between them, thick and unspoken. Drew's posture shifts slightly, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s going to protest.

But he doesn’t.

With a small shrug, Drew stands up, walking past Luke to the court. He doesn’t turn around for another glance; and joins another teammate to practice. 

Luke drops to the chair that was previously occupied, and his body relaxes, his features softening. “You alright?” He asks again. 

“Took you long enough,” you complain instead, turning your body towards the court. Unknowingly you had your body shifted over to Drew when he was still sitting here. 

Luke doesn’t react; his glare enough to melt the ice pack. “I could get him benched, y’know?” 

You glance at him, surprised by the seriousness in his tone. "What?" You ask, raising an eyebrow, your heart sinking slightly. “Drew? He was just checking up on me-“

“Smith, the one that hit you.”

Oh. 

Well, unless it was Drew, you truly cared less. 

“No, Luke, it was an accident,” you shrug, trying to sound sincere. Your eyes follow Drew on the court, as he successfully jumps and bats the ball out of the other player’s hands. 

“Yeah…no,” Luke mutters, clear that he’s definitely telling the coach. His eyes follow your gaze, and he pokes your shoulder roughly to get your attention. Tearing your eyes away from Drew, you send him a glare. “What did, uh, Drew talk to you about?”

“Oh, um,” you stutter slightly, but ultimately shrug, playing it casually, “he asked if I was fine. That’s all.”

Luke looks at you, clearly not persuaded. 

“Nothing big,” you add on, sending him a smile. 

The ice pack starts to melt in your hands, and noticing it, Luke reaches over to a bag (probably his) and takes a towel out. He hands it to you, but you just narrow your eyes at it, unsure. 

“Relax; it’s unused,” Luke says, and reluctantly you take it. You wrap it around the ice pack, putting it on your jaw again. “I don’t think so- Starkey’s full of shit.”

“More than you?” You tease, earning another poke on your shoulder from him. 

A part of you wanted to know what your brother meant; another part of you didn’t. Even if he was an asshole, you didn’t want to know. At least, not now, when it’s your vacation, and this lovely dream is washing over you. 

“I’m hungry,” you cut whatever Luke wants to say, standing up. “Is the, I don’t know, food court open?” 

Luke watches you stand, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watches you, clearly weighing whether or not he should push further. But you can tell he��s deciding against it.

“Nah, that shit’s ass,” he says, a smile tugging on his lips as he stands up. He throws an arm over you, adding extra weight to your shoulders. “I’know a place.”

The strong smell of his sweat hits you; the aftermath of practicing all morning. Your face scrunches up in disgust, as he leads you to the tunnels again, “shower first, you smell like shit.”

He laughs, unfazed, and squeezes your shoulder. 

And as the two of you walk towards the locker rooms, Drew watches, his eyes lingering just a second too long. 

——

The lack of effort your brother brings truly is, amazing. Blows your mind every. time. 

The restaurant he brings you to is the same one as last night, expect well, it’s noon, menu’s different, and oh, you’re sitting outside. 

“Anything else?” The waitress says, as she bats her eyelashes over at your brother. 

With a cocky grin on his face, he gestures the waitress to lean forward. And when she does, he whispers in her ear, causing her to nod enthusiastically. Great, now he’s even flirting with the staff. 

“Food will arrive shortly,” she shyly says, walking away. 

Once she’s gone, the discontent is evident on your face, the frown deepening as you cross your arms. “Seriously?” You almost bark at him, causing him to flinch. 

“What?” He shrugs, oblivious to your frustration. 

“It’s the same place as last night,” you tell him, gesturing around. 

“…that’s why we’re here,” Luke says, with that stupid grin on his face, “Hawk players eat here free.”

Your eyebrows furrow deeper at his words, your gaze shifting to the stunning garden view. Now that you’re really looking at it, the place is beautiful—a secret little oasis that could’ve come straight out of a fairytale.

It’s Luke’s rough kick under the table that snaps you back to reality, your attention shifting to him as he gives you a…rather serious look. 

“So who were you fucking last night?”

“Luke!” You whisper-yell at him, glancing around. Okay, not a lot of people sitting outside. “You can’t just ask that-“

“C’mon, I’m not a fucking idiot,” he interrupts, leaning back in his chair. It’s clear he didn’t buy whatever you said this morning, his eyes scanning you with the annoying know-it-all look. “You forgot how well I know you, y/n.”

With a roll of your eyes, you press your lips together. No way were you telling him. 

Luke scratches his eyebrow, a frown taking over his face. He falls quiet, clearly lost in thought, before his eyes light up with some idea. “How about this…a secret for a secret?”

How ridiculous. This isn’t some middle school game.

“Luke, forget it, I’m not telling you who it was.”

“Ha! So you were with someone,” he exclaims, gently tapping the table. 

Your shoulders drop in exasperation, and you give him a seriously? look. 

Maybe because it’s the first time (other than Zack) that your brother has actually caught you with someone. The thought makes you cringe, the idea of him knowing about that part of your personal life. It’s always been a no-go zone, same for him. 

You open your mouth to tell him off, but he starts his own conversation. 

“I fucking hate Drew Starkey.”

The sudden mention of his name catches you off guard, and you freeze, the words hanging in the air. The change in your brother’s demeanor is immediate—his usual cocky attitude replaced with something colder, sharper. It’s unsettling.

However, can’t help but think, Okay…so he is sharing a secret. 

“What?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper, unsure whether you actually want to know more. You’d already cut him off earlier, back at the court.

“I tried…I tried liking him, and shit, it’s impossible,” Luke laughs, running a hand through his hair. “I guess I’m still petty after all these years, but-“

His eyes meet yours, and seeing how confused you are, his tensed features relax slightly. He looks at you like you're missing something obvious, like he’s just about to reveal a truth you've been blind to.

“Do you not fucking recognize him?”

You swallow hard, feeling your stomach tighten. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen your brother truly hate someone, different from his usual short-tempered self. 

“Fuck- he’s the guy I lost the championship to? WCU? Setting my career back-“

His words fade into the background, replaced by a loud sting in your mind. 

You blink, feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down on you as you slowly sink back into your seat. The cool surface of the chair feels oddly grounding against the storm of thoughts swirling in your head.

Drew—that Drew, the one who had been your brother's rival, the one he'd spent years trying to beat—the one you lost your virginity to. 

The one…you slept with last night. Fuck- that’s why he looks so familiar! The face, his attitude, his jokes- shit. 

The memories come rushing in, vivid and jagged, each one like a slap in the face. 

You can almost hear the loud music from that frat party, the sound of Drew's voice as he took away your first time - when he rejected you. 

“I really like you,” he suddenly admits. 

“But you don’t want me,” you say, finding his sudden confession really stupid, not at all flattering to hear. 

“Don’t say that.”

“But that’s what you said.”

“Do you like me too?”

You blink again, trying to steady your breath, but the air feels thick. 

Your chest tightens, the pressure of everything unsaid between you and Drew settling heavily on your shoulders.

You’ve always thought you were over it—over Drew, over that night, over everything. But the realization hits you now, sharp and unexpected: you weren’t.

You force yourself to focus on Luke’s voice again, but it’s like you’re hearing it underwater. Everything feels muffled, distorted. 

“I mean, every time I see that fucking face, I just wanna-“

Shit. Tonight. Your date with Drew. 

“-Worse, coach thinks we’re ‘prefect’ together, so I always have to look out for him-“

You no longer have the courage to meet him, the confidence you’ve gathered all destroyed, shattered by your own thoughts. It’s as if every word Luke says is a reminder of how messy everything with Drew really is.

“Fuck- I deserved that win more than anything,” he mumbles on, pettiness written all over his face. 

Luke’s words echo in your mind, but you don’t respond. 

Your thoughts are loud enough to drown out everything else.

——

Drew sits on the edge of the fountain, just outside the restaurant. The stone surface feels cool beneath him as he stares at the water, the soft ripples catching the dim light.

It’s been nearly thirty minutes, and ever so often, his eyes flicker upward, searching for any sign of you. He’s trying to steady his nerves, but the longer he waits, the more the uncertainty gnaws at him.

Did you stand him up?

He checks his phone screen again- hundreds of texts but none from you. 

A bitter smile tugs at his lips as he stares down at his lap, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. He’s just here, waiting, when the answer is so painfully obvious.

“Not a big deal,” Drew mutters to himself, trying to convince his racing thoughts otherwise. He repeats the words again, more firm this time, “not, a big deal.”

He sighs, his eyes darting around as he avoids the curious stares of passersby. The minutes drag on, each one heavier than the last. He waits. waits. and waits.

But you never show up.

-------------------------------

word count: 6.5k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: FINALLY. i sat down, stared at my laptop, and the words just exploded out of me. sorry i took so long T_T be a bae and ignore any typos xo

do you guys like smaller or bigger fonts? just found out how it change it, and must say, damnnnn. the difference it makes is crazy.

elevator | other | index | pt3 | final

[ccazimi]

Milk

CW: smut, thighriding, dubcon(?), premature ejaculation, male lactation, breastfeeding, namecalling, 18+ MDNI

wc: 2.8k

A/N: legit no one asked for this im just having a self indulgent moment

You were contentedly sprawled across the cool silk fabric, the massive sea of dark red that made up the expanse of Sukuna's luxurious bedding. It carried his scent - faint notes of charred pine, incense, agarwood with just the slightest hints of his musk.

Such a delicious scent-

"Stop smelling my sheets." His disapproving voice came from somewhere behind you in his chamber.

"The come get in so I can smell you instead." You twisted your neck to search for him in the warm lambent light of the standing oil lamps.

"I'm...not tired." He was sitting on a cushion, draped in the black haori that encased his bare chest nearly entirely.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion.

Sukuna had been absent more than usual the last few days - you thought he was avoiding you on purpose so you gave him his space. But four days was reaching the limit and eventually you steeled yourself and marched to where his personal quarters were located in the back of the estate amongst a forested patch of land, and confronted him.

Upon seeing you he caved in and let you into his room, denying that there was any issue. You weren't the type that cared to play guessing games so you took his word for it and invited yourself into his bed that you'd missed terribly.

Sukuna was never especially talkative and there was a mutual tacit agreement that silence was perfectly fine between the two of you - comfortable, even. What was odd right now, however, was his physical proximity.

If there was one thing to be known about Sukuna, it was that he was a man of the senses - your time with him may be spent in verbal silence but his hands were always on you, nose in your hair or the crook of your neck, the tongue on his stomach idly tracing patterns on your skin whenever and wherever it got the chance to do so.

So why was he being so off right now? Practically hovering since the moment you'd arrived, almost strategically keeping some distance from you at all times.

Oh.

Sukuna's brows furrowed slightly in confusion as he watched your default mischievous demeanor fall.

"Have you...grown tired of my body, my Lord? Do I not please you anymore?" You asked quietly, suddenly feeling out of place in this bed that was too big for you.

"What?! No." Sukuna's eyes widened slightly as he abruptly stood up, pulling his haori closer together like he was cold. "What a stupid idea. Why would you think that?"

You looked up at his genuinely perplexed face, only adding to your own confusion. "Well...you haven't been around lately, and now you refuse to lay with me-"

Before you could even finish your sentence the futon was dipping from his weight beside you as he climbed in. Your face lit up at the welcome heat which always radiated from his body, sinking into your naked skin.

You turned back on your side so you could curl up as usual by his chest, waiting for him to settle in completely so that you could fall asleep - taking naps next to him in his bed was one of your favorite guilty pleasures.

Except he didn't settle in, opting to stay about an inch or two away from pressing his chest flush against your back. You realized he still hadn't taken off his haori either - odd for a man that preferred to be bare-chested most of the time.

In an almost reflexive action, you closed the small distance, finally relaxing all the way when you felt the support of his large muscular frame behind yours even though it wasn't skin to skin with all four of his arms around you like you would've ideally preferred.

But for a second you could've sworn you felt Sukuna tense, possibly even jolt slightly when you pressed yourself into his clothed chest.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes." Sukuna snapped. "Why wouldn't I be?"

You rolled your eyes where he couldn't see, faced away from him. "Then why are you being so jumpy? Are you hungry or something? Seriously, what's the ma-"

"Shhh." A large hand clamped onto your mouth, effectively muffling your chatter. "Give me some peace, just for once."

You had half a mind to nip at the skin of his palm but being here in his bed after days felt so good, too good, and you found yourself quickly becoming drowsy.

A few minutes passed by, and from the hand loosening its grip over your mouth you knew Sukuna was relaxing as well, falling into his "resting" state as he would call it (he personally believed he was above actually sleeping like humans did, and considered himself above such inane needs). You were half asleep yourself, body settling in and molding into his by instinct until you were encased by the warmth seeping from him through the fabric of his haori.

And then you felt it.

"What is that?" You sat up to find all four of Sukuna's eyes wide open.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Can you just go back to sleep?" He raised an arm to shove you back down to the pillow.

"I felt something wet on my back." You squirmed against his hold, managing to twist your torso over to face him. "Were you drooling on me?"

Sukuna scowled, huffing in indignation. "No, I did not drool on you. Do you always have to be odd, woman? You're making a fuss over absolutely nothing."

You sat up fully, about to retort back when something caught your eye.

In his agitation, Sukuna hadn't noticed a rather noticeable wet patch had formed on the breast of his haori.

"What-" Before he could say anything you yanked the collar of his robe aside, your eyes widening at the sight.

Small pearlescent beads of a liquid had formed on his skin, around a pink nipple that had puffed up slightly.

"Are you... Is that..." Before he could do anything you quickly swiped away the other side of his haori, peeling it away to find the other nipple was inflamed slightly as well, with a sheen covering it indicating that-

"You're lactati-"

Sukuna pulled his haori to cover his pecs again, another hand once again closing over your mouth to keep you from speaking. "Shut. Up. Do not say a word." He growled through a jaw clenched so tight it looked like someone had burned him.

But it was too late, an impish grin unfurled across your lips under his hand, eyes shining in mischief at the state your king was in. You swiped a tongue across his palm before biting it, not hard enough to draw blood but enough for him to quickly draw his hand back in surprise.

"Fucking- you little fucking shit. What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

You were irritatingly fast when you wanted to be, swinging a leg over his body to climb atop his lap. Now you straddled him, the smug smirk on your lips growing by the second.

"Is that-"

"Don't say it."

"-milk?!"

He slapped a hand on his face, letting out a low growl of frustration. "Yes, its milk. If you say a word about it to anyone else I'm going to slice off your tongue and make you eat it. Now leave me alone." He demanded.

But neither his sharp glare nor threats could stop you as you opened his haori to expose his chest, gentler than before this time. "Don't worry I don't intend on telling anyone. It's not like I want to share anyways."

"Share? What are you..." Sukuna caught the look on your face. "No. Don't even think about it, I am serious- ahh"

His sentence ended with the closest you've ever heard Sukuna come to whimpering as your lips descended onto the ring of his right nipple. His reaction only spurred you on, and you quickly lapped up the droplet of milk that had collected and swallowed.

You weren't sure what you expected it to taste like, but it certainly wasn't this.

It was ironic how a man as angry and violent as Sukuna produced such a lovely tasting substance. His milk was mildly sweet with a slightly bitter aftertaste, like burnt sugar in the best way possible.

So fucking good.

His hand knotted in your hair in an attempt to pry you off from his nipple but your hands were already roaming his pecs, towards the other dripping bud. You rolled it between your fingers as you laved your warm tongue around his areola, feeling his chest heave under you while he began to pant. "Stop...it. You're so fucking weird-"

You rolled your eyes up at his strained expression and gave his nipple a hard suck before he could react. More liquid filled your mouth, almost as sweet as the look on his face. You greedily swallowed, suckling harder while massaging his full pecs with your hands.

"Mhm." You hummed around his skin as you felt a shiver run down his body.

"God, have- fuck, have some... decorum, woman." Sukuna was trying so terribly hard to keep his voice steady, the feat proving itself even more difficult when you decided to do the opposite of his request and lewdly swirl your tongue around, stimulating the area so more milk would flow.

You looked up at him, eyes hazy now in ecstasy, white liquid dripping from the corners of your lips as you fed. The sight was so dirty it sent blood rushing straight to his cocks and they rapidly hardened under where you were seated.

You released your mouth, detaching it from the wet and leaking patch of skin with a gossamer strand of saliva that broke away before flashing him another devilish look.

"You love this." You teased, with a grinding of your hips for emphasis to let him know his hard-ons hadn't gone unnoticed.

"You're not doing much better yourself, slut." With an opportunity to gain a little leverage over you, he gave a pointed glance to where your pussy sat on top of his clothed cocks, drenched in your leaking arousal.

You couldn't even pretend to be ashamed, though. "I can't help it. You taste so good, and you look so cute when you're embarrassed-"

"I'm not embarrassed," He gritted, "You're just violating me like the little freak you are."

"But you liked it."

"That's enough of this nonsense, get off me."

You pouted. "But your other tit is still full."

He looked at you in disgust. "Do not call it that."

You continued looking at him as he looked conflicted, deciding between his ego and pleasure.

"Fine." He finally ceded, much to your delight. "Do the other one." This time he guided your head to his other breast. "But be gentle for fuck's sake, they're sensitive-"

Whatever lecture he was giving you about being gentle had clearly fallen on deaf ears as you immediately latched your lips around his nipple and began sucking and nipping to no abandon.

You grinded on his cocks as you drank, feeling them harden even more under you.

"Slow - ah - down,"

But you only did the opposite, working over the tender flesh like you were starved. The milk trickled down everywhere, dripping down your chin and you could make out the faintest floral notes in it. The taste of him turned you on even more and you rutted against the outlines of his hard dicks, feeling the mess you were making on his hakama under your slick skin.

"Fuck, you filthy girl." The grip in your hair tightened, releasing an involuntary moan from your lips against his chest amidst the obscenely wet noises of your mouth. "I'm - fuck, fuck-"

Sukuna's hips jerked up, taking you by surprise as you felt his cocks twitching violently before his whole body stiffened as he bit down on his lips to keep himself from moaning out loud. Finally after a few seconds his muscles laxed, leaving you confused for a second before you felt the sticky, hot liquid soaking through his hakama and onto your thighs.

You smiled cheekily upon realizing, "Did you just..."

The look he was giving you was straight up murderous, and might have been enough to actually scare you if it weren't for the flustered pink that tinted his cheeks.

"Stop using your mouth to yap, and put it to use for once." He smirked, regaining his composure and though he'd already came his dicks weren't entirely soft yet beneath you. "Clean it up- since you love milk so much."

It was your turn to feel heat creep into your cheeks as the dynamic shifted and you understood you were being put back into your place with how he was grinning down at you. It didn't help the throbbing between your own legs.

You shifted down till your head was between his massive thighs, pulling off the hakama till his cocks were uncovered, still somewhat hard with blushed tips still sticky with drying cum. A hand wove into your hair, collecting it into a ponytail and lifting it to the side so he could get a good view as you eyes the viscous liquid smeared across the skin on his dicks and pelvis.

You stuck your tongue out, beginning with a single swipe through some of the liquid that had pooled on his skin above his top cock to taste it.

Salty.

It kind of complemented his milk, you thought.

This taste was one you were familiar with, though you loved it just the same. It showed in how you devotedly lapped at his skin, caressing it and closing your eyes to savor the taste of him on your tongue.

He breathed out at the sensation, running his fingers through your hair as he pet you. "Such a needy little cumslut." He purred. "Look at how greedily you drink my milk and my cum. And you were asking me if I was hungry?"

You squeezed your thighs together, trying to alleviate some of pulsing in your clit with the uncomfortable amount of wetness that had collected there. But the ache was too much, distracting you from cleaning the mess on his skin.

You looked up at him, eyes brimming with frustrated lust.

"What's the matter, pet? I didn't tell you to stop."

"I...need to cum. I don't think I can hold on any longer." You admitted breathlessly, looking up at him through your lashes as innocently as you could manage so that he'd forget about how you'd agonized him earlier and show some mercy.

You were met with a wolfish grin. "After what you pulled? I'm not laying a finger on your cunt. Figure it out yourself." He twisted your hair around his fist, shoving your head back down. "And get back to doing what I told you, slut. Do you have a problem following instructions?"

You bit your tongue, feeling irritated and unsatisfied even though you knew damn well you had this coming. You rubbed against his silken sheets as you bent over to go back to licking drying pools of his cum, sure you'd were making a mess on the fabric which provided no relief at all. Your hands roamed, fingertips skimming across the tops of his muscular thighs, tracing the dark tatted band that encircled them when the idea hit you.

You eagerly lifted your own leg to straddle a well toned quad, mouth leaving his skin for a second as you whined at the feel of his burning skin against your sex.

"I figured...it out...ahh, fuck." You bragged through small whimpers and moans as you grinded your sopping cunt onto the planes of muscle that adorned his thigh, tilting your pelvis forward so that your clit could rub deliciously along the firm curves.

Sukuna watched you hungrily, drinking in the sight of you getting off so brazenly on his thigh. "You're so fucking pathetic, you know that?"

"Mhm." You absentmindedly agreed, unable to care enough right now to preserve your dignity because of how good it felt. You dipped your head against and went back to sucking and licking the skin on and around his shaft, tongue dragging along in messy stripes as you humped his leg relentlessly, already feeling your pent up orgasm rearing its head.

"Just like that. Do I taste good, pet?" Sukuna asked though the both of you already knew the answer.

"Yes, yes! So fucking good." You babbled against his skin, desperately trying to get every last drop of his seed, wishing he still had more milk to spare.

He clenched his muscles and the sudden movement against your clit caused your orgasm to finally crash down on you, leaving you slack jawed and wide eyed at how sinfully good it felt.

You rode out your high, hips undulating back and forth until finally the last wave of your climax left your body limp. You collapsed onto his chest catching your breath.

When you felt yourself coming back to your senses, you crawled up to his chest and slapped a pec, earning a strangled noise from him. "So when are these things gonna fill back up?"

[obs3ssedd]

""you have a wife?!"

thunderbolts*bucky barnes x black!reader

★ ;— Yelena spots a ring on Bucky’s finger, sparking team-wide curiosity. an obsession trying to figure out what it could possibly mean—marriage? engagement?. after a much speculation, a gone wrong mission leads them to his home—where they meet you.

“have you noticed he has a ring on?” whispered Yelena, her eyes narrowing as she leaned closer to Ava, nodding subtly towards Bucky. her gaze was locked on the thin band of silver wrapped neatly around the third finger of his flesh hand. it shimmered slightly under the overhead light as he flipped through mission files.

Ava followed her line of sight, eyebrows raising in realization. “wow… yeah. i didn’t even notice that before.”

“what you think it is?” Ava asked, lowering her voice and shifting to get a better angle. Yelena hummed thoughtfully, squinting harder like staring would unlock the answer. “he couldn’t possibly be married,” she muttered, her thick Russian accent curling around each word like suspicion in motion. Ava tilted her head, arms crossing. “i mean... right? he’s Bucky. the Bucky. Winter Soldier. he barely talks to anyone.” “exactly,” Yelena whispered, as if confirming a crime.

while the two girls speculated, Bucky remained at the table, focused on the spread of intel in front of him, blissfully unaware—or perhaps willfully ignoring their curious stares. up until Bob walked in. he entered holding another folder, only to freeze mid-step when he caught Yelena and Ava staring hard at Bucky’s hand. “uh... why’re you guys staring at Bucky?” he asked innocently, blinking at them. Bucky paused, looking up slowly. his eyes flicked to the two women and their obvious expressions. they didn’t even look away in time. busted.

Bob, still confused, opened his mouth again, but before he could say another word, a sharp smack landed on the back of his head. he winced and turned around with a grumble. “Bob!” Yelena whisper-yelled, glaring daggers. he blinked at her with wide, hurt puppy eyes. “what did i do?!” Bucky let out a deep, tired grunt, pushed away from the table, and walked out of the room without a word.

great.

from that day on, it became a mission of its own, figuring out what the ring meant. was he married? was he engaged? was it symbolic? something from his past? something passed down? their curiosity spiraled.

what began with just Yelena and Ava soon roped in Walker, who asked why they kept looking at Bucky’s hand during briefings. then Alexei, who never turned down an excuse to theorize. and eventually, Bob—who, despite being clueless, became obsessed too. now the whole team was in on it. they whispered theories during training. they watched Bucky like hawks during meetings. they stared at his hand like it held the meaning of life. and the worst part? Bucky knew.

he always knew.

every time he stepped into a room, he could feel their eyes on him. every time he spoke, there was a strange silence. every time he sat down, it was like they were all waiting for something to slip. they weren’t subtle. not even close. they were being weird. not themselves. and eventually… they started losing hope. no cracks. no hints. no answers.

until one night after a brutal, chaotic mission that had left them stranded and scrambling—they ended up in front of a door. a very nice door. too nice. the hallway was clean, with gentle golden lights casting warm glows on smooth walls. the carpet beneath their boots was plush. the air smelled faintly of lavender and lemon cleaner. everything about it screamed comfort. safety.

not something off-grid. they exchanged confused glances. “you sure this is the place?” Walker asked, glancing down the hall again. “Bucky’s key,” Bob muttered, motioning to the door. “so… yeah.”

Bucky sighed like he was preparing for battle, pulled a key from his pocket, and unlocked the door. the second the door swung open, the smell hit them. real food. rich and warm and comforting. garlic, butter, maybe herbs—bread. it hit like a tidal wave after weeks of stale rations and fast meals on the move.

their stomachs growled so loud, someone actually cursed under their breath. they all stumbled inside, shoving each other slightly, stepping over boots and shoulders as they entered. you heard them before you saw them—the sudden shuffle of boots, the heavy thuds of tired bodies moving. you placed the spoon down in the pot, turning off the burner, and made your way to the hallway entrance, confusion tugging at your features.

was that… Bucky?

you stepped into view and froze. bucky stood there. but behind him… five others. all dirty, exhausted, eyes half-lidded and limbs heavy, like they’d just crawled out of a war zone.

“my love?” you called softly, voice laced with both surprise and concern. everyone stopped. dead silence. Bucky’s face shifted instantly—like his whole body relaxed at the sound of your voice. “my love?” Yelena whispered back in shock, eyes darting between you and Bucky, trying to connect the dots. Bucky walked over without hesitation and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest like you were his entire safe place.

“are these your friends?” you asked quietly, eyes scanning the ragtag group behind him. “something like that,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to your head. you looked back at them. five pairs of stunned, wide eyes stared at you. Yelena squinted again. “i’m sorry but… who are you?” you offered a small, polite smile. Bucky groaned like this moment had been inevitable. “this is y/n,” he said, voice dry. “my wife.”

a beat.

“YOU HAVE A WIFE?!” they all shouted, the sound echoing down the hallway. you laughed at the look on Bucky’s face. he looked mildly insulted. “so that’s what the ring is...” Bob mumbled like the final puzzle piece had been placed. “why is this so shocking?” Bucky asked, exasperated. “because you’re so... secretive. you barely talk about your past, let alone your personal life,” Yelena pointed out bluntly. “and being married? like… actually married?” Walker added. you turned to Bucky, brow raised. “you haven’t told them about me?" he gave you a tired look. “i was going to…eventually.”

“uh huh,” you muttered, then turned back to them with a brighter smile. “well, it’s a pleasure to meet you all. I just finished up dinner so I hope you’re all hungry!.”

they were.

they didn’t mean to eat like animals, but after what they’d been through and the smell in your home—it was impossible to resist. plates clattered, forks scraped, and the table buzzed with half-shocked, half-hungry chatter.

you moved around the kitchen with ease, bringing more rolls, refilling dishes, handing out drinks like this was all completely normal. “i’m still not over the fact that you’re married,” Helena muttered, biting into a piece of bread. the rest nodded. “out of everyone, you were the last one i expected,” Walker said. “i love it!,” alexei declared, raising his cup. “the Winter Soldier... domesticated!” Bucky groaned again. “this was a bad idea...” Bob cleared his throat, then asked, “so...uh how did you two meet?”

you glanced at Bucky, who was already avoiding eye contact. “would you like to tell them or should i?” you teased. his fingers pinched your side under the table, making you giggle. “we met a few years ago,” you started. “during a mission with sam. super soldiers on the run, high tension, lots of disagreements.”

“she almost shot me,” bucky grumbled taking a sip of his drink. “i had valid reasons,” you said matter-of-factly, rolling your eyes. “but even after the mission, we stayed in touch. and... over time, we grew closer.”

your voice softened as you remembered it. “i thought he’d give me a sweet confession,” you said. “instead, he got drunk on ten shots and blurted it out.” the table exploded into laughter. “he was so shy! but deep down, he’s a big softie,” you whispered with a smile. “can we not?” bucky grumbled hearing the rest of the team laugh, imaging the Bucky Barnes getting shy.

as the night wore on, everyone cleaned up and collapsed into your living room—washed, fed, and finally relaxed. in the kitchen, you and Bucky stood side by side, finishing the dishes. his arms now finding your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“y’know they’re good people,” you said quietly. “yeah,” he replied, his voice already growing sleepy. “i’m glad you found a team, makes me more comfortable you’re not alone.” you whispered, feeling his metal hand squeeze your side in reassurance, lips brushing the back of your neck. “I missed you,” he murmured. you turned, amused. “you saw me yesterday?.”

“still.” he was getting clingy. he always got clingy when he was this tired.“well, i missed you too, my love,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “c’mon. let’s go to bed, you’re getting all clingy~”

he pinched you again.

[myth1cs]

Completing the mission (Myoui Mina x M!Reader)

Even more smut and I'm still sorry for it.

Word Count: 2067

Mina was arriving at a party and preparing to carry out the mission

Her boss Bangchan has set her on an important mission to steal important documents from Y/N the host of the party.

Mina was an agent for hire. She didn't know the specifics for why Bangchan wanted her to steal those documents but as long as she was getting paid she could care less. She just needed to complete the mission whatever the cost.

Mina was struggling in her home life. It was hard to pay the bills and buy enough food to feed herself. So she decided to become an agent for hire, selling her services for a price. An expensive price, after all she was good at her job, she couldn't sell her skills for nothing after all.

This party was her best chance to steal the documents. If she failed then she wouldn't get paid and surely would be punished, the pressure was on.

As she was arriving at the door to enter the party she pulled out the invitation Bangchan gave her. Y/N sent Bangchan an invitation but he gave it to Mina and texted Y/N he would send his secretary in his place because he felt sick and wouldn't be able to attend.

Y/N believed Bangchan as he didn't think Bangchan had a reason to lie to him.

The guard at the door accepted Mina's invitation and let her in. Her mission had officially begun. As she walked in she saw some of the biggest CEO's from the biggest companies in the country. She felt a bit tense but she composed herself and started walking around to get a basic layout of Y/N's house.

As Mina walked through the house suddenly heard someone call her name.

"Hey I don't recognize you"

Mina turned around and she saw him the host of the party Y/N.

"I'm Bangchans secretary Mina he sent you a message telling you he would send me on his behalf." as Mina said this she noticed Y/N was trying to subtly scan her body. He didn't do a good job at it as Mina quickly caught him but she decided to stay quiet about it.

"Well Mina let me show you around it would be rude not to." Y/N said as he held his hand out to Mina. She was just trying to complete her mission and get out as quickly as possible but having a good relationship with Y/N could help lower her suspicion as she wasn't sure Y/N trusted her.

"Yeah sure." Mina said as she grabbed Y/N's hand.

Y/N walked her around his house introducing her to the other guests and asking her questions about her job.

Eventually Y/N took Mina to his winery. "Do you care for a drink Mina?" Y/N asked while grabbing a bottle.

"I could go for a drink but please let me fill your drink" Mina said trying to grab the bottle from Y/N's hands.

"Oh no let me I am your host after all, I should be the one treating my guests" Y/N said as he pulled the bottle away.

Mina was getting nervous, her original plan was to put sleeping pills into Y/N's drink so she could find the code to Y/N's safe and steal the documents without worrying about getting caught. She couldn't let Y/N serve the drinks.

"No really I insist" Mina said with a little more force which slightly shocked Y/N. He didn't know Mina could be so intense.

Y/N handed Mina the bottle "Well if you insist then I guess I won't stop you." He said while being a little scared of Mina.

"Hey Y/N could you bring some ice I like having my alcohol with ice" Mina didn't actually like her alcohol with ice she just needed an excuse to get Y/N out of the room.

"Sure I don't mind" Y/N said as he left the room. As soon as Y/N was out of sight she quickly grabbed the cups and started pouring the alcohol in them. Then she grabbed the pills and crunched them up and dropped them into Y/N's cup.

She quickly went to the bathroom and flushed the bottle that the pills were held in into the toilet.

When she got back she saw Y/N was already their.

"Where did you go Mina? You weren't here when I got back."

"I was just using the restroom" Mina quickly responded.

Y/N looked at her with a hint of doubt in his eyes but he just brushed it off.

Y/N picked up a glass and handed it to Mina. "Well let's drink up Mina and say cheers on behalf of Bangchan who couldn't make it today." Y/N said while smiling at her.

Mina grabbed the drink and did a toast with Y/N.

She started drinking her cup while carefully watching Y/N waiting to see any hints of sleepiness in him. She decided to stay near Y/N until she saw any signs of him getting tired.

Some time has passed and the party is still ongoing yet. She was sitting at a table in the corner of a room with Y/N and they've been talking this whole time and yet Mina hasn't seen any signs of tiredness from Y/N. She could have sworn the pills were supposed to take effect by now so what gives?

As Mina started thinking of why Y/N hasn't shown any signs of sleepiness she suddenly had a feeling not of tiredness but of something else.

She was getting horney.

She didn't understand why even if she did accidentally drink the cup she made for Y/N she should be getting sleepy not horney. But then Mina had a thought.

Before she left for her mission she grabbed a bottle from her drawer but she didn't bother to check the label as most of the pills she keeps are ones to put people to sleep. However she does keep one that holds a different type of pills. An aphrodisiac, she had it in case she ever needed it for a mission but she never actually intended to use it.

Mina realized she grabbed the wrong bottle from her drawer and now she was in big trouble. She thought she failed the mission since she was getting to friendly with Y/N earlier he would definitely notice if she was gone for a prolonged period of time and get suspicious.

But she couldn't admit defeat that easily she had to find a different way. As she started to think of something she could do she started to rub her thighs together to get some tension. Y/N kept talking to her about ... well who knows what she wasn't listening to him after all her mind was filled with panic, lust, and thoughts of how to get out of this situation.

"Mina are you okay? I feel like my words are going in one ear and leaving the other" Y/N said slightly annoyed that Mina wasn't paying attention to him.

"Uhm~ yeah I'm just ... very deep in thought" Mina said while feeling her face getting hotter. She needed something to relieve herself she couldn't focus on her mission until she felt relief.

"Mina if you need to lay down you can-" Before Y/N could finish his sentence he was cut off.

"Y/N show me to a room" Mina said in a desperate voice.

"O-okay Mina calm down" Y/N said a little confused on why Mina sounded so needy.

Y/N grabbed Minas hand and walked her to the guest bedroom. Mina was trying her best to hold urges but she was at her limit. Eventually they got to the guest bedroom and Y/N closed the door behind them.

"Well you can stay in here unt-" Y/N was quickly cut off by Mina who latched her lips onto his.

Y/N was shocked by the sudden move by Mina and pulled her off of him. "Mina what are you-"

Mina locked the door and looked at Y/N with lust in her eyes. "Y/N I saw you checking me out earlier, please I need you right now"

Y/N pulled Mina to him and kissed her back. Y/N's hands roamed Minas body. Y/N's hands reached down and squeezed Mina's butt. Mina moaned into Y/N's mouth.

"Ahh~ Fuck" Mina kept making noise under Y/N's touch. Their hands were roaming each other's bodies while lustfully kissing each other.

Mina was getting a little needy. She needed more than Y/N's touch. "Y/N get this dress off me" Mina said with urgency in her voice.

Y/N started to quickly take Mina's dress off exposing her breasts and pussy to the cold air.

Y/N put one hand on one of Mina's breasts and another on Mina's butt. Mina squirmed and she couldn't take it. "Y/N please touch me where I most need it"

Y/N liked seeing Mina so needy and he wasn't keen on giving Mina what she wanted so quickly.

Y/N pinched Mina's nipple and kissed her more roughly. "Now now Mina were getting a little too needy." As he said this he could see slight annoyance in Mina. "Oh shut up and put your dick in me"

Y/N picked Mina up and put her on the bed. "Such a dirty mouth you have Mina, what would Bangchan think if he heard such words coming from his secretary?"

"Oh shut up Y/N" Mina said with a mix of annoyance and neediness. She grabbed Y/N's hand and put it up to her pussy.

While Y/N did want to tease Mina, when he felt the warmth of Mina's pussy he lost all his will to continue teasing her and gave in.

Y/N fingered Mina's pussy in quick manner not letting Mina adjust to his fingers. "OH SHIT" Mina yelled but she quickly covered her mouth to muffle it. "Your so loud Mina do you want everyone to know how your getting fucked?"

Mina couldn't respond as she was too focused on the mix of pain and pleasure she was receiving. Y/N curled his fingers in Mina and it sent her closer to release. "I'm close"

When Y/N heard that he immediately pulled his fingers out. Mina whined when she felt his fingers leave as she was close to cumming. "Y/N you fucking bitch" Mina said while panting.

Y/N ignored Mina and took off his pants revealing his dick which was already hard. Mina gasped, she knew what was about to happen. "Y/N wait your not wearing any-"

Y/N ignored Mina's plea and shoved his dick in Mina. Mina almost let out a loud scream but quickly covered her mouth.

For the next few minutes Y/N pumped his dick in and out of Mina. Every now and then they would engage in a lustful kiss or put their hands on each other.

Eventually Y/N was getting at his limit. "Mina I'm going to cum" Y/N said feeling exhausted.

"Let me swallow your cum" Mina said. She really didn't want to but she needed a reason to not let Y/N cum in her.

Y/N got a few final pumps in before he exited Mina's warm and tight pussy. Mina sat up and took Y/N's dick in her mouth and started sucking. Not long after Y/N came in Mina's mouth.

After coming off from such a high Y/N got exhausted and fell asleep on the bed.

Mina swallowed the thick cum. She really didn't think Y/N would have so much cum in him. She got up and got herself clean with the tissues which were next to the bed.

Mina put on her dress and put perfume on her to get the smell of sex off of her.

She took this chance to go to Y/N's room to look for the code to the safe. She eventually found the code and typed it into the safe.

Mina left the party with the documents in hand. She got her phone and called Bangchan.

"I completed the mission"

------------------------------------------

"Wow myth1cs you really like yapping huh?"

Yes.

Also don't expect this type of schedule this is a rare case of me actually having motivation.

[kikis-writing-service]

— katsuki bakugou x reader

Inspired by @peachsukii's post.

🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤

The words came out without thinking. You'd been watching him clean his gauntlets for the past twenty minutes, methodical and focused. Some cooking show played in the background, but neither of you were really watching. Your feet were tucked against his thigh, stealing some of his warmth while he worked.

"I love watching you do that. You're so meticulous with everything,” you said.

His hands went still. Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe, before he caught himself and went back to polishing with more force than necessary.

"Tch. You think I'm hot, we get it." The words came too quick, too sharp, his eyes dropping to avoid yours. "Don't need to dress it up."

There was something off about his tone, a brittleness that made you look at him more carefully.

"Katsuki." You sat up, your palm finding the space between his shoulder blades. "That's not what I meant."

"Whatever." He turned away as much as he could, angling his shoulder toward you. "Look, you don't have to—"

"No." Your other hand found his knee. He went rigid under your touch. "You don't get to tell me what I meant."

His hands stopped moving entirely. You could feel the tension radiating through him, the way his breathing had gone careful and controlled. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.

"People don't..." He stopped, jaw working. Started again. "Nobody looks at me and thinks about my fucking personality as a selling point."

The admission hung between you. His entire body had gone rigid with the vulnerability of it, shoulders hunched as if he could physically contain the words he'd let slip. But you'd heard it—that crack in his carefully constructed armor.

"Most people are idiots then," you said quietly.

You traced gentle circles between his shoulder blades, trying to coax him back from wherever he was retreating to.

"Don't." His voice cracked slightly. "Don't say shit you don't mean just to make me feel better."

The certainty in those words—that people only said nice things about who he was to spare his feelings—made something twist in your chest.

You moved the hand from his knee to cup his cheek, gently turning his face. Your other hand dropped to rest beside you on the couch as he shifted to face you. He had no choice but to look at you now. You were close enough to see the way his pupils had blown wide with something that looked dangerously close to panic, but also hope—desperate, terrifying hope.

"Katsuki." Your voice was gentler now, but no less firm. "When have I ever acted like your personality is something I have to put up with?"

His throat worked under your watchful gaze, but instead of answering, he tried to turn away again. Your hand kept him anchored, cupping his face.

"You will." The words were barely audible. "Everyone does eventually. I'm not exactly easy."

The confession carried the weight of every disappointment he'd ever swallowed. This was someone who'd been hurt so deeply he'd stopped believing in the possibility of being genuinely wanted.

He leaned into your touch without seeming to realize.

"What if I don't?" The words came out softer than you'd intended.

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. His hand came up to cover yours, not pulling it away but holding it there. "Come on. You really want me to believe you fell for my sparkling fucking personality? That you wake up thinking about how much you love my attitude?"

There was a challenge in his voice, but underneath it was something else—a desperate kind of hope that he was trying to smother before it could hurt him. Like he wanted to be wrong but couldn't afford to believe it. His thumb moved against your knuckles where your hand still rested on his cheek.

"Yeah." The word came out stronger than you'd intended. "I do."

He stared at you and the look on his face was something you'd never seen before—naked disbelief warring with want, suspicion battling against the part of him that was starving for exactly what you were offering. His free hand found your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt like you might disappear if he didn't anchor himself to you.

"Bullshit." But his voice broke on the word, and you could see his hands shaking where they held you.

"Ask me." The challenge rose in your throat. You leaned closer, breath ghosting against his lips. "Ask me what I think about when I think about you."

His breath caught. For a moment you thought he might actually do it. Then his jaw set in that familiar stubborn line.

"Katsuki." You caught his face in both hands before he could look away. "Ask me."

His grip tightened over your hand on his cheek. He wasn't pulling away—he was holding on.

"I—" The word caught in his throat like glass. His eyes searched yours with the intensity of someone who'd been starving for genuine affection so long he'd forgotten what it felt like to be nourished by it. "What do you think about?" The question came out fractured, his voice was barely above a whisper—rough and uncertain in a way that made your heart crack open with the sheer vulnerability of it. "When you think about me, what do you actually see?" The words emerged like a confession, like something he'd been carrying alone for so long it had worn grooves in his soul, carved out spaces where self-doubt lived and thrived. "Because everyone else just... they see the power, or they see what they want to fuck, but they don't want me."

The admission was devastating in its honesty–that his personality was something to be endured rather than cherished, that he was destined to be wanted but never truly loved.

"So what do you see? Really?"

"I think about how you notice everything," you began, your voice soft but unwavering as your thumbs moved gently across his cheekbones, your faces still close enough that you could feel his breath. "How you remember that Kirishima mentioned those spicy ramen packets once, and now you always have them when he comes over. How you pretend it's coincidence."

Confusion flickered across his face, like he couldn't believe you'd noticed something so carefully hidden.

"I think about how hard you work. The way you push yourself every single day to earn what you have. How you never expect anything to be handed to you—you take it, piece by piece, through sheer determination."

Something else shifted in his expression, as if he'd never considered his relentless work ethic as something worthy of admiration rather than simple expectation.

"I think about your courage. Not the hero stuff—though that's impressive too—but the way you tell people hard truths when everyone else is too polite. How you're not afraid to be seen as the bad guy if it means being honest."

His breathing had gone shallow.

"I think about how you care. How you show up with solutions without being asked. Like when Mina was panicking about her parents visiting her new apartment, worried they'd think she couldn't take care of herself living alone, and you showed up at her door with an armload of cleaning supplies and barged in, barking orders while you scrubbed every surface until it sparkled."

"Stop," he said quietly, but there was no real protest in it.

"I think about your integrity. How you never take credit you haven't earned. How you'd rather claw your way to the top than accept anything that feels like charity."

His forehead dropped to rest against yours.

"Nobody..." his voice came out rough. "Nobody's ever made it sound like something good. Like I'm not just being a perfectionist asshole."

"You're not a perfectionist asshole," you said firmly. "You just have standards. There's a difference between caring about quality and being impossible to please."

"You really think that?" The question was barely a whisper.

"Of course," you whispered. "That's what I fell in love with. Not your power, not your face—though I love that too—but you. The person you are when you think no one's looking."

Instead of answering, he kissed you. Hard and desperate, like he was trying to pour everything he couldn't say into the press of his lips against yours. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing across your cheekbones as he kissed you with something that felt dangerously close to worship.

While I appreciate likes, what really keeps me motivated to share my work is community and conversation! So if you enjoyed this, consider reblogging with tags, leaving a reply, or dropping an ask. I'd love to chat about my faves, anime, writing, or honestly anything else—hearing what you thought or what resonated with you always makes my day. 🖤

[patscorner]

Night, Night

Summary: You and your girlfriend expose your relationship at night.

wc: 2,027

Contains: just fluff, one of the worst endings I've written, but I hope yall enjoy.

______________________________

“Let's gooooo!!! Suck it, Kamorea!!” Paige shouts, standing from the couch and throwing her controller down before doing a victory lap around the dorm room. KK rolls her eyes at the blonde's antics and turns to her phone on the desk.

It'd been a while since all the girls had been able to really hang out, but since summer sessions had just ended, you decided a little gathering was well deserved. You invited the team to your apartment to chill, which is what led you to now; sitting next to your girlfriend on the couch, watching KK and Paige play rocket league, occasionally laughing at the comments that came from KK's live. You and Morgan weren't public yet, so you made sure you stayed a safe distance away from her so as to not raise suspicions.

You were doing an okay job, having to stop yourself from lacing your fingers with hers. Aubrey was at the desk, monitoring the comments, reading a couple out loud, and ignoring the out of pocket ones. You watched as Paige ran out of the room shouting, probably bothering anybody who was possibly sleeping. You can't help but giggle when you hear her being scolded by Azzi in the kitchen.

What you don't see is Morgan staring at you, hearts in her eyes, watching the way your eyes squint close and the way the corners of your mouth crease as you laugh. Aubrey sees it, though, and so do the other 1,527 viewers. Aubrey turns around and looks at Morgan, wordlessly waiting for her to stop looking at you. When she eventually does, Aubrey makes a face, and her eyes flick to the phone screen.

You look between them, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What, what happened?”

“Nothing.” The girls say in unison. Morgan clears her throat, trying to will the blush that had crept onto her face. KK turned around and smirked.

“Morrrrgggiieeeeee,” She teased, drawing a laugh from Aubrey and an eye roll from the freshman.

“Oookay!” Morgan stood up abruptly, the blanket you were sharing, falling off of her. “Where are you going?” You ask, pouting as she walked towards the door.

“Just to the kitchen, you need anything?” She turns, sliding her phone in her right pocket. You smile at her gesture. “Just some chips, if we have any.” She nods before walking out.

“I'm all good, thanks for asking, Morgie!” KK calls after her, Aubrey shaking her head as she turns back to the phone. “Shut up, KK!” Morgan calls back.

Paige comes back into the room with a pout on her face. “What's wrong with you?” You ask as she plops down on the couch next to you, opposite where Morgan was sitting. “Azzi is being mean.”

“Me telling you not to sit on me is not being mean!!” A voice calls.

“Whatever.” Paige groans, pulling her phone out.

You shake your head before going on your phone. You already feel your stomach tighten in the absence of the love of your life. You both have been dating for eight months, and it's been everything you wanted and more. It didn't take long for the team to figure it out, and as soon as they did, they teased you both relentlessly. You couldn't even smile at your phone without them asking if it was Morgan. Granted, it always was, but that's besides the point.

You think about the moments you've had with her. Whether it's playing 1 on 1 with her at 2 am, because she couldn't sleep or sitting next to each other on the couch after an argument, talking out your feelings. You think about the times she would leave the house when you were sick to get the medicine you wanted, even if you already had some that would've worked just the same. You think about the subtle sparks that burned until they were blazing inferno whenever you grazed each other during a game or at a party. You think about the heated makeout sessions that turned into more and you think about the slow, lazy kisses you shared while drifting in and out of consciousness.

Where is she?

You're about three seconds from getting up and searching for Morgan when she walks in with four bags of chips and a bottle of water. “Wha- why do you have so many?” You question.

The brunette gives you one of her dopey grins before as she sets them on the table. “I didn't know which one you wanted, so I brought one of each.” You can't hide the smile that sneaks its way to your face as you take the water from her. “Thank you, ba- Morgie.” You correct yourself quick enough that only the girl in front of you could hear it. Her eyes are wide with amusement. “You're welcome.” She says, plopping down next to you.

KK turns around and looks at the chips in Morgan's hand. “Whipped.” Is all she mutters and the other girls burst into giggles, including yourself.

Morgan grabs a pillow and throws it at her, hitting her in the back of the head. KK glares at her, and Morgan sticks her tongue out.

“Girl boo!”

“If Morgan could pass the ball like that, Coach would stop making us run suicides.” Paige muttered quietly, but not quiet enough because the room erupted with laughter. You place your hand on the freshman’s thigh, patting her lovingly as she glared at you, who was struggling to stifle your laughter. You bit your lip, and Morgan's eyes trailed to them, and suddenly, your breath hitched.

“Not too much on my kid, c’mon, yall.” Aubrey says, giggles escaping her lips. She glances at the comments, some people talking about the way Morgan was looking at you. She ignores them. “You act your any better, P, how do you miss a layup?”

“Woah! There were two people next to me!” Paige defends herself.

“Please, they were practically social distancing. You had plenty of room.” You say, earning a glare from her. You attempt to ignore the girl on the other side of you, whose arm is subtly wrapping itself around your waist from behind. You raise your eyebrows as you turn to Morgan, astonished by her boldness. She ignores you and pretends to be on her phone.

The night drags on as KK has started the talent show. Paige migrated to the floor after telling Aubrey she could get more kills than her in fortnite. You've sprawled out, legs where Paige once was, head in your girlfriend's lap. The day was starting to catch up to you as you started to drift in and out of consciousness, and Morgan, running her hands through your hair delicately, was lulling you to sleep. Despite your efforts to fight sleep, she could feel your body relax when you nodded off and tense up again when you realized you'd done so.

A small smile made home on her lips as she leaned down to your ear. “You tired?” she asked, pausing her hand movements. You shook your head. “Mmm-mmm. Wide awake, you?” You mumble. She scoffs playfully, resuming her hands.

“Do you wanna go to your room?” she whispers. “No.” You say. “‘m good right here.”

“Go to sleep, then.” She hums. You nod sheepishly before drifting off once more.

You'd been asleep for no longer than five minutes, before KK was yelling at Paige, who was trying to beat Aubrey's five kills in Fortnite.

“Paige, go left! There's like three peop- no! Your other left! Dumba-”

“Watch your mouth!” Aubrey yells before KK finishes the word. Just then, Paige gets a kill, and she exclaims loudly.

“Let's go!!!” She shouts before locking back in.

“Could yall quiet down?” Morgan says, causing Aubrey and KK to look at her, then glance at you, dozing off again, before looking at each other. “Is she really sleeping, right now? It's only 8:30.” KK laughs. Aubrey giggles. “Guess my kid is a grandmother.”

Morgan shakes her head, looking down at you. “No, just between school and practice, she hasn't been sleeping well.”

She can't help the smile that crawls onto her face as she glances down at you, eyes fluttered shut peacefully. The peace had been missing from your features for weeks, and been replaced with furrowed brows and stressed wrinkles.

KK and Aubrey look at each other before bursting out in loud laughter, waking you up once more, causing you to groan.

“She's so whipped, bro.” Paige mutters, her eyes never leaving the screen. This only eggs the other girls on, everybody forgetting about the now 2,000 people watching them on the other side of their phone screens.

"I know you're not talking." Morgan shoots back.

"Ay, not too much." Paige laughs.

Morgan rolls her eyes at the girls before leaning back down to your ear. “Let's go to bed, sweetheart.” She mumbles.

You don't even try to fight it this time. You just hum and sheepishly sit up before leaning your head back on the couch and letting your eyes close once more. At this point, nobody cared about the live, it being long forgotten on the desk.

Morgan patted your thigh before standing up. “Come on, pretty girl, let's get you to bed.” You whine as she wraps her arms around your back, pulling you up to your feet. “No..” You slur, your voice muffled by her shirt. She laughs as you reluctantly wrap your arms around her neck, and she taps the back of your thighs to signal you to jump, and you oblige. KK eyes widen, looking at you guys, then back at the live, watching people slowly start to freak out.

“Do I need to-” She cuts herself off when she sees Morgan shaking her head. “Don't worry about it. It was bound to happen.” She offers a small smile before kissing your head and walking out of the room. She hears the girls laughing in shock before she closes the door behind her. She earns giggles from Ice, Azzi, Ayanna, and Jana, who are playing a quiet game of UNO.

It's almost funny how easily she carried you to your bed, laying you down before standing back up. You whine and lift your arms up to her, signaling you want her to stay. She laughs before kissing your cheek. “I'll be right back, baby, hold on.”

Morgan walks out of the room and back into the room with KK. She gathers your phone, as well as the empty bags of chips and other trash that had gathered. “Bro, Morgan, come give these people a backstory so I can stop avoiding these comments.” the shorter girl groans. Morgan, Paige, and Aubrey laugh as she makes her way next to KK.

She squints as the questions roll in. “How long have y'all been dating?” She reads. “Uhhh- almost a year.” she smiles as she answers.

“Who said ‘I love you first?’” KK reads, turning to Morgan, who's blushing.

“Me, but she knew first. She just didn't tell me.” She rolls her eyes playfully.

“Okay, okay, that's enough. This is not Morgan's live, and I'm not bouta sit here and listen to this story again.” She complains. Morgan sends her a glare before backing up. “Whatever, she's waiting for me, anyway. Goodnight, Live.” She smiles and waves. “Night, Morgie.” KK says, directing her attention back to the TV screen.

“Night.” Aubrey offers. Morgan looks at the blonde. “Goodnight, Paige.”

All she gets is a grunt. She rolls her eyes before walking back out and offering the other girls goodnight.

She walked back into your room to find you right where she left you. She smiles as she kisses your cheek, waking you up gently. “Get under the blanket, baby.” She whispers. You move automatically, still sleep.

She crawls onto you, pulling the blanket over you both. She put all of her weight on you, her face in the crook of your neck, where she presses a kiss. “Goodnight. Love you.” She whispers. All she gets is a hum back, but she doesn't miss the way your arms wrap around her body, holding her securely onto her.

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taglist: @wintersstan @bueckerslover @lilia22hicks @fake-intelligences @girlokwhatever @pbloverr @breeloveschris-deactivated20240 @cosmopretty @hellokittyfeenie @averagelobotomyenjoyer @elliewilliamsthang @chelisbae @angelscovee

[pedgito]

𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 | Joel Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | A poor damsel in distress, saved by the most unlikely of man.

author's note | this was written for @studioghibelli's beautiful fic challenge. i've never written anything this close to a royal-ish type era, if you could even call it that. but this is just a slight dip into that realm and it was super fun! thank you for hosting this, bell! idk if any of this is accurate i'm just vibing dsjhk

content warning | 18+ smut, princess!reader, mentioned to have hair long enough to be tied back, regency au, age gap, wealth/power dynamic, mentions of past marriage/death, BREEDING KINK, talks of marriage and pregnancy, secret relationship, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v

word count —1.8k

“If he catches us, we’ll both be dead.”

It was a constant mantra Joel spoke to you, even as he unfastened your corset and slipped under the thick fabric of your dress, disappearing as he fit his face between your thighs.

It started out of innocence—a strange man with growing, constant visits to your manor at the edge of town. At first it was only on official business, a supplier of goods to your father. Joel was a jack of all trades: armor, leatherwork, anything you could think of, he’d mastered it. It was just another method of proof on how good he was with his hands.

“You need not worry,” You breath, pressed against the wall of his cobblestone home, often sneaking out in the middle of night with the possible threat of capture prevalent in your mind.

The estate had always been heavily guarded, but living there your entire life had made it easier to learn patterns, behaviors, and sneaking out to see him over time had become effortless. It had been months by now—and even as his friendship with your father grew, there were no signs, not an ounce of suspicion of what he blossomed between you both.

“He offered me a job,” Joel speaks lowly, muffled under the fabric of your dress as your leg hooks over his shoulder, fingers wrapped around the top of your bodice as you squeeze, feeling your breath catch in your throat as he licks through the center of your cunt, “well paying, convenient enough.”

You gasp softly, lifting at your skirt to get your hands on him, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling, earning a soft grunt as he peeks up at you, pulling away for a brief moment.

“What was it?”

“Royal guard—and no princess, not for him.”

“As if I don’t already have enough men guarding me,” You sigh, pushing him away and adjusting your dress—he looks slightly dejected, but stands and fixes your dress, caressing your cheek with his hand, “you cannot say yes, Joel. If you are near—”

“I know,” He murmurs, there’s a shift in his dialect that is so distinctly different from your own—years of being taught to speak up, out, to project with your voice and always act as if you were speaking to the masses, thoughtful contrition to a group much lower than yourself, “bein’ around you that often, don’t know how I could keep my hands off of you.”

If your father knew about this—you and him, a man nearly the age of your own father. He’d be ordered to death and you, while the fate may be different, wouldn’t be left with much freedom either. You were long of age, but bound to your duties as a princess and fearful of the man your father would eventually decide to marry you off to. Joel had saved you, distracted you from all of it. It would be impossible to live without him now.

“I sound ungrateful,” You grumble, looking down and grasping his other hand with yours, intertwining your fingers and bringing it to your chest but not before you press a gentle kiss against the back of his palm, “for what I have—but if I lose you…”

That place was a prison and you knew it. He knew it.

“A golden cage is still a cage,” Joel reminds you, “—that place, your father—”

You already knew—your father was slowly spiraling out of control, the rule of his country slipping from his grasp and he was scrambling and you knew he wouldn’t go down without a fight. But, you were tired. So tired. With the absence of your mother, your other siblings, you felt trapped.

“Take me away,” You beg, eyes watering as the words slipped from your lips, “we can disappear—I do not need this wealth or title, any of it. Only you.”

“He won’t stop,” Joel tells you honestly, “we would always be running.”

You pull your hand free of his grasp and curve them around his face, cradling the softness of his jaw, the scratch of his facial hair under your fingertips and he licks at his bottom lip, a tell-tale sign of the burgeoning lust. He needed you.

“Is that really what you want?”

He means it—it was a tone you’ve never heard before.

And something tells you he’s been feeling the same way for a while.

“Yes,” You answer quickly, nodding jerkily as you pull him close and Joel has to physically restrain himself from taking you there, licking his lips once more as they hover near your own, “please, Joel.”

“Let’s have this night,” Joel tells you softly, “and we can figure everything out come morning.”

—

It was peaceful here, a small cottage out in the middle of nowhere—if you wanted to stay here you could, but you knew that would be the first place your father would look outside of town.

Joel, his confidante, his most trusted man who was now under you, fingers digging into your thigh as you took his cock inside of you, his hand guiding at the base as he breathed out into the quiet room, the low crackle of the fire at his bedside.

“If you could see yourself,” Joel says absently, watching as you pull the tightly woven ribbon from your hair, breasts stretching up with the movement until it fell from its intricately laced cage, bouncing lightly with your playful movement, a smile peeking from your lips, “such a vision, princess.”

“I am no princess,” You argue gently, palms pressing into his chest as you lift your hips, leisurely and slow, enjoying the tight pull of his brow every time your ass meets his hips, “I was not made for that life, Joel.”

“Made for me,” He assures, his warm tone spreading throughout your core and pulling you in, the hands place on your thighs moving up your hips, squeezing into the flesh of your waist as his mouth drops open, silently urging you to change your pace, “perfectly crafted, all I’ve ever needed.”

You snort softly at his words—he was always a poet, whether stumbling through his words or bringing you to your knees with a compliment that would be on your mind for days, echoing in your head as you dipped your fingers inside of you on the days you went without him.

“Would you marry me?” You ask suddenly, though you feel the answer before he says it.

“Without hesitation,” He responds, “I can propose—right now, if you want.”

“Such a romantic,” You chide, the words falling on a gasp as he flips you both suddenly, shoving you into the old mattress as the bed creaks with the weight and intensity of his thrusts, the rest of your words caught in your throat as he pulls your legs up and over his back, hands resting firmly beside your head, a true vision himself.

“If it would make you happy, I would,” He admits, “all I care about is having you, being with you—titles, all of that, it doesn’t mean much to me but if that is something that would make you happy—”

“What do—” Joel switches his position suddenly, an arm tucking under your leg as he pulls it over his shoulder and leans up to meet your cunt with his thrust, watching his cock as you swallowed him up, his hand falling over the base of your pelvis and pressing down, feeding into the pressure of his cock and the all-consuming feeling of him, “christ—what is it—that you want?”

“You,” He answers immediately, “and…”

He pauses, thinking carefully on his words.

You know little of his past other than his wife and daughter who had fallen ill, losing them when he had been away on business, unbeknownst and coming home to the sight of it. He was a broken, brittle man and you were the only thing holding him together.

“I would give you a son,” You tell him, “a daughter—as many kids as you wished, Joel. Is that what you want?”

“A family,” He smiles fondly, “with you?”

“I fear you would—oh—never escape me then,” You joke playfully, eyes squeezing shut as he snaps forward roughly, his thumb dragging over your clit fleetingly as your hands dig and twist in the bedsheets, “what a handful I would have with a small version of you.”

He chuckles softly, snaking his hand under your waist and pulling at your arm until you get the idea to wrap them around his neck, adjusting you up and into his lap, carefully examining his face under the soft glow of the fire, his lip quivering as you drag your thumb over his mouth.

“I want it,” You plead, “don’t—don’t pull away.”

“You’ve given me so much,” He mumbles into your cheek as you pull him closer, hugging him to your chest as he wraps himself around you, grunting as he reached closer and closer to his own end, “and you've been trapped your entire life, I don’t want you to feel that way with me.”

“And I would give you so much more,” You breath into his mouth, “picture it—barefoot, pregnant with your child in a home far away from here, our new life—”

“Baby,” He begs, his fingertips squeezing roughly into your flesh and you gasp, your cunt pulsing around him with the roughness of his movements, pussy throbbing at his fervent intensity at your words, “I love you.”

You nod, tucking his face into your neck as he hands slips between your bodies, dragging over your clit without you needing to ask, knowing he was just that in tune with your bodily cues, the hitch in your voice as you echo the words back to him.

“Come inside of me,” It wasn’t an order, more of a plea, but you mean it, “I want to be yours.”

Forever, you think. But, the words are cut off by a sharp, jerky snap of Joel’s hips as he comes inside of you, his teeth dragging over your shoulder as he groans into your skin, simultaneously working his thumb over your sensitive clit, feeling your clench and spasms around him as you come with a soft sigh, fingers twisting into his hair and your body curling around him like a python, squeezing him so tight it knocks the air out of him.

“Do you have everything you need?” Joel asks after a few minutes, gentle touches over your skin, pulling his face back to look at you. “Before we leave at sunrise?”

“I have you,” You assure him, “that is all I need.”

[g1rlw1th0n33ye3]

Soft Spot II

Paring- Emperor Caracalla x Reader ( x Eventual Geta )

Word count- 7.1k

Warnings - Mentions of slavery and some physical violence

Soft Spot I - Masterlist

A loud, insistent knock at the door jolts you from your slumber, pulling you from the depths of sleep. As you groggily lift your head from the pillow, a warm beam of sunlight streams through the window, piercing your eyes like an unwelcome intruder. The weight of the morning sun makes you suspicious of the time. The sharp sound of the knock—so different from the familiar crow of the rooster echoes through the stillness, instantly confirming your suspicion that you’ve overslept and the day is already unfolding without you.

After last night’s events, sleep had been elusive. Instead, your mind had been plagued with thoughts of the strange man you’d found in the kitchens, leaving you awake until the early hours. When you finally managed to sleep, your dreams were haunted by visions of him.

You had never been so close to a Patrician, and you could never have imagined them to be quite like that. You could smell the expensive oils on his toga and felt his soft hands, which had probably never worked a day in their life, as you led him to the stairs. Still, you hadn’t expected him to be so somber, so lost, and the way he looked at you like you held the world when you reached out to clean his wound echoed through your dreams; he wasn’t at all how you would have imagined someone who could have everything.

You might have continued sleeping, enveloped in those dreams, if it hadn’t been for one of the serving girls for the Dominas upstairs banging on the door to your room, her urgency cutting through the fog of sleep.

You quickly rose from your bed to answer the door. The girl banging on the door had come bearing orders from the Dominas she served, a senator’s wife and her young daughter, who had been occupying the palatium along with a cadre of their equally annoying friends. These women, the wives and daughters of prominent generals and senators, buzzed around the palatium, all vying for a chance to catch the eye of one of Rome’s unmarried emperors.

However, the whispers among the palace slaves suggested that Rome’s emperors found these women more of a nuisance than anything else. Allegedly, they only entertained them to placate the senators and generals, each of whom clung desperately to the hope that their sons or grandsons might one day rise to power. These hopes, whether substantial or not, seemed unshakeable, for the women hadn’t left for some time, always coming up with ideas for more exuberant lunches and picnics, continually inviting the emperors who never attended.

This morning seemed to be no different. They wanted a whole array of baked goods, both savory and sweet, along with a recipe they had received from one of Rome’s newly acquired provinces. The recipe had been translated into Latin, but since you were the only one in the kitchens who possessed the ability to read and write, nothing had been made in your absence. You were left hurriedly putting on your tunic and apron to get to the kitchens as quickly as possible.

As you stepped into the kitchen, you spotted the master of slaves. He was methodically sifting through the pantry, checking the inventory against the records from last night. The tension in the air felt thick as you approached the kitchen entrance, desperately trying to slip by without drawing attention. You knew that being late would only compound your troubles. You knew he would find the cheese with the missing bite, and with nobody to blame, you were sure to earn a punishment of some kind, and you didn’t want another sentence on top of that.

Just as you settled into your usual spot in the kitchen, a sharp voice rang out, “You’re late!” It echoed through the kitchen, causing heads to turn and eye you. Your heart raced, and you braced yourself to start groveling for forgiveness, ready to offer up excuses. However, to your surprise, the master of slaves merely rolled his eyes and said with surprising nonchalance, “Don’t let it happen again,” before turning and striding down the hall with a sense of purpose. This unexpected leniency left you in a state of confusion. You were late, and food was missing, yet you faced no punishment.

You tried to make sense of the situation. The dominus you had encountered in the kitchen could have easily reported what liberties he had taken in the kitchens. But would he genuinely care enough to relay such matters to the Emperors? The thought seemed far-fetched. Even if, by some stroke of divine intervention, they did report it, it didn’t explain why he chose not to punish you. The master of slaves was known to be a bitter little man whose sole joy in life appeared to come from instilling fear in others, finding pleasure in their cowering. And yet, here you were, having escaped his ire completely. The contradiction gnawed at your mind as you resumed your work.

The rest of the day in the kitchens unfolded with an uncomfortable tension hanging in the air. Though the tasks at hand proceeded without any incident, the other slaves seemed to regard you with a mixture of disdain and resentment, casting you dirty looks and shoving past you more than they usually did. It was evident that they were angry with you for the special treatment you had received earlier. If one of them had found themselves in the same position, they would undoubtedly have faced harsh punishment, yet you had been spared.

Trying to express that you had no idea why you were receiving special treatment was futile. None of them were willing to engage in any meaningful conversation with you; they only acknowledged you when carrying out your orders or relaying messages and complaints from the patricians upstairs.

This isolation has been a part of your life ever since your aunt assumed the role of headmistress of the kitchens; you had felt the growing distance between yourself and the others. When she passed, her position fell to you, and things only worsened. Any friendships that had once existed seemed to vanish, replaced by an unspoken rule that you were different, someone who couldn’t be trusted, and so you were never invited to play games or drink after dinner was served. You were always left alone to spend the nights in your solitary comfort.

As the sun slowly sank beneath the horizon, shadows began to stretch and dance across the worn kitchen floor. You found yourself alone, a solitary figure amidst the remnants of the bustling day, scrubbing diligently at the stubborn grime that clung to the tiles. One by one, the other workers had filtered out, their laughter and chatter gradually fading away, leaving you to contend with the massive kitchen all by yourself.

You could have called out, demanding their return to assist you. But guilt weighed heavily upon you and so you refrained, choosing instead to shoulder the burden alone. The task before you was tedious , yet with each scrub of your brush, you found a strange sense of solace. The fading light outside telling that you would be left to scrub into the night, the kitchen becoming a quiet sanctuary where the rhythm of your efforts kept time with the soft whispers of the evening.

By the time you finish cleaning, the sun has completely disappeared behind the horizon, leaving only a faint glow in the sky. The air is cool and quiet, typical of late evenings. You carefully pack up all the cleaning supplies, your muscles aching from the long hours spent scrubbing and organizing, as you prepare to return to your rooms for the night.

Suddenly, you hear a series of soft thuds resonating from down the hall. The sounds echo eerily in the stillness of the empty corridor. Just as quickly as they appeared, they faded into silence. You take a deep breath, trying not to dwell on the noise. It is late, but still within the hours when slaves could still be returning to their rooms, so you dismiss it and turn your focus back to your tasks.

After placing the last cleaning supplies back in their designated spots in the closet, you make your way back to the kitchens to retrieve your aprons. Looking forward to getting some much-needed rest after a long day, your plans shattering when you turn the corner.

You let out a shrill scream, your heart racing at the sight of the shadowy figure standing ominously in the kitchen. The figure looms just beyond the entrance.

“Shh…shh, don’t scream. You’ll alert the praetorians. It’s me,” the voice pleaded from the shadows; the voice did seem slightly familiar, but not enough to stop your instinctive retreat from the doorway, every instinct screaming that anyone hiding from the praetorians was a threat.

“You don’t remember me?” The voice speaks again, this time laced with a somber tone that only confuses you more. Anxiety coiled tightly in your chest as you replied, “I cannot see you. How am I to remember you?” Your annoyance slipping through, only to be swallowed by immediate regret.

The figure stepped into the moonlight, the silvery glow illuminating every contour of his face and body. Horror twisted your features, an involuntary gasp escaping your lips as recognition seized you—it was the dominus from the night before. His roguish grin widened at your reaction, and he let out a loud, resonant chuckle that sounded raw and horas like he’d been screaming or crying.

Though still tousled and wild, his hair looked marginally neater than the night before, as if he had run his fingers through it in a futile attempt to restore its order. Gone was the crown of laurels; instead, he wore a cascade of heavy gold jewelry glimmered in the dim light, each piece reflecting flickers of gold on the walls. His toga, a luxurious blend of rich red and vibrant gold, seemed to ripple like liquid silk, the fabric so fine it appeared to float around him as if woven from the very clouds you would dream of resting upon.

As he wandered across the kitchen towards you, he moved with surprising grace, far less unsteady than the night before, each step deliberate and confident.

“I… I… I apologize, dominus. I could not see you. I didn’t mean to speak to you in such a disrespectful manner,” you stammered, your words tumbling out in a rush, your eyes glued to the floor, heat flooding your face as mortification crashed over you.

But he was undeterred, closing the space between you with an effortless, almost predatory grace, invading your personal bubble. “I knew you couldn’t forget me,” he declared, a childlike grin painting his face.

He stands so close that the rich, intoxicating scents of the elaborate oils and perfumes he wears envelop you like a warm fog. The sweetness of his aroma lingers in the air, reminiscent of candy, making it hard to think straight. You find yourself fixated on the ground, desperately hoping he’ll lose interest and walk away, but instead, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against a wayward lock of your hair. He twirls it playfully, a sly grin dancing on his lips as he says your name in a teasing, sing-song tone, laughter bubbling just beneath the surface.

Your heart races at his touch, a mix of embarrassment and resistance flooding through you as you concentrate on the ground. You feel his hands glide to your face, his grip firm yet gentle, compelling you to meet his gaze. You have no choice but to look into his eyes, where mischief and curiosity intertwine, leaving you breathless.

“I missed you; did you miss me?” he asks, flashing a toothy grin that catches you off guard. You’re surprised he even remembers your face; most of the patricians treated the slaves like they were invisible, and you expected him to be no different. And the way his words slurred together last night made you think he was going to be far too drunk to recall anything; you assumed you would fade from his memory as quickly as you had appeared. Yet, it seems the gods have a different plan for you.

His hand moves from your chin to stroke your face gently. You watch his expression shift as his fingers glide over the surface of your skin, seemingly lost in the sensation. When his fingers reach your lips, his thumb traces their outline. Suddenly, his expression darkens, and as he presses his thumb against your bottom lip, the tone of his voice shifts from playful to something you can’t quite identify, sending a chill down your spine. “Well, did you?” he asks, his eyes snapping back to yours as you realize you had been so entranced that you completely forgot he asked you a question.

You know exactly what would appease him, yet you can’t bring yourself to say them. You attempt to speak, but the words get lodged in your throat, leaving only a mumble to escape. The dominus doesn’t take kindly to your hesitation; his already darkening expression turns sour. The hand on your face halts its movement, and you shut your eyes, bracing for the inevitable outburst, expecting him to unleash his inner turmoil upon you as so many other dominus had with the serving girls. Yet, the blow never comes. Instead, you sense his silent withdrawal; his breath on your cheek fades away.

When you finally open your eyes, you see him standing a step away, staring at you with flared nostrils. He’s angry; you can tell even before he turns his gaze toward the pots and pans cluttering the table behind him. He swipes at the table with a swift motion, sending everything crashing to the ground. The deafening clang of metal striking stone echoes through the kitchen, and you can’t help but worry that someone might hear. Yet, deep down, you know that no one will come to your aid; nobody checks the kitchens for a thief in the night when you’re the one who will bear the brunt of any imagined wrongdoing.

You watch as he wreaks havoc in the kitchen, hurling everything in his path to the floor. His shouts blend with the clangs of pots, making it impossible to understand his words. He edges closer to the pantry, pots, and pans you might have a chance to tidy up before the master conducts his morning inspections. But if he destroys the food… well, you’d be the one to take the fall. Gathering your courage, you step toward him, careful not to get too close, afraid he might unleash his anger on you. Your gaze stays fixed on the ground as you mumble, “I’m… I’m sorry, Dominus, for upsetting you. I—”

He interrupts, spinning around to face you. “Do I frighten you?”

Quickly shaking your head, you avoid his eyes, though you notice his sandal-clad feet moving nearer. “Look at me,” he demands.

His voice wavers, sounding like a stubborn child. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze and see tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. “Do I scare you?” he asks again. He kicks the pots on the floor when you shake your head, sending them crashing against the walls. “Do not lie to me!” His booming voice reverberates through the room. Any signs of sadness are quickly replaced with his rage. You hesitate, starting to shake your head again, but you stop, fearing further anger. With a shaky breath, you finally speak, “Y-yes, Dominus, you… you did frighten me at first. But the more I’ve seen you, the less I’ve come to fear you.” You cast your eyes down, hoping your honesty will appease him.

You hear him shifting just inches away from you, and before you know it, he’s standing right in front of you, his hands firmly gripping your chin. He tilts your face upward, compelling you to meet his gaze. His eyes scan your features, searching for any hint of deceit, circling you like a predator stalking its prey. With a deep breath, you push aside the rising tide of fear and confront his intense stare, feeling electricity in the air between you.

As your gazes lock, time seems to stretch infinitely, and you resist the impulse to look away. Instead, you force a small smile onto your lips, hoping to mask your unease. This seems to intrigue him; a grin slowly spreads across his face, warmth melting the tension in the air. His hand shifts from your chin, tenderly stroking your hair as if trying to soothe both you and himself.

“I knew I could trust you, my flower,” he whispers in a tone that mixes delight with mischief, punctuated by a soft giggle that invites you to share in his amusement. Then, in a playful, sing-song voice, he adds, “I got you something special, my flower,” before releasing your hair and reaching into the folds of his toga.

With a flourish, he pulls out a glimmering gold necklace adorned with six radiant coins that catch the light, shimmering like stars. You gasp audibly, the sight of the sparkling gold captivating your senses. He erupts into a hearty laugh at your reaction, the sound rich and genuine.

“Do you like it?” he asks the sincerity in his voice contrasting with the playful glimmer in his eyes, waiting for your response with anticipation.

It was the most exquisite and lavish gift anyone had ever presented to you, gleaming with a brilliance that made your heart race. But a knot of anxiety twisted in your stomach—how could you possibly keep something so valuable? Surely, someone would accuse you of theft; no slave dared to own gold like this. You were caught in a dilemma: the prospect of refusing his gift loomed over you like a storm cloud. Just a simple delay in your response had sent him teetering on the brink of chaos, threatening to wreak havoc in the kitchen.

So, you chose your words with great care. “It is the most beautiful gift I’ve ever received; thank you, Dominus, but I cannot accept it. I have nothing to offer in return.” The moment the words left your lips, you could see his smile evaporate, replaced by a fleeting flash of sadness. But before you could fully process the change, he quickly masked it with determination.

“I know what you can give me,” he said, a devilish smirk creeping into place that sent a shiver down your spine. “Do you know how to make ova spongia ex lacte?” He leaned in closer, the mischief in his eyes captivating yet unnerving.

“I… what?” Your mind raced, taken aback by his unexpected request, completely forgetting the need for decorum, but he didn’t seem bothered.

“Last night, you said you were the kitchen headmistress. I assumed that meant you could cook. Or can you not?” He pouted, feigning innocence; here he was, offering you a glimmering golden necklace, and he merely wanted eggs in return. You hadn’t even meant to imply a trade; you were just searching for a way to decline politely. You could hardly fathom that he would ask for something so simple, having expected far more outrageous demands.

“I… I do know how to make it, Dominus,” you replied hesitantly. “But I can’t use the ingredients without permission. Perhaps you could go back upstairs and ask the slave outside your apartments for it, and they could send down an order, and I can—”

He interrupted you, shaking his head fervently. “No, no, no! I want you to make it, and I want to watch you do it,” he insisted, his voice pitching higher in excitement.

“But I cannot use the food unless the orders are sent down. I’ll get in trouble! The food belongs to the emperors! I—” You attempted to protest, but he pressed a finger to your lips, effectively silencing you.

“You don’t need to worry! I’ll tell the emperors myself that I ordered you to make the dish,” he declared, his enthusiasm making him appear almost childlike in his certainty. You open your mouth once more to dispute, but his finger, still lingering against your lips, stops you.

“I’m good friends with the emperors; they won’t mind, I promise.” His voice is playful, yet a hint of mischief dances in his eyes as he grins. His arms reach out to grab your shoulders, the weight of the golden necklace still clasped in his hand pressing against your skin, its coolness a stark contrast to the warmth of his touch. You search your mind frantically for a suitable excuse, something that won’t be dismissed with a wave of his hand nor trigger the disappointment etched on his features. But nothing comes to you.

“Alright, if you insist, Dominus. Wait here, and I’ll fetch the ingredients,” you finally manage to say, trying to wiggle free from his grasp. His grip tightens as if afraid to let go. “You’re going to come back, right?” His voice cracks slightly, revealing a hint of vulnerability that tugs at your heart.

“Of course, I will, Dominus, but I can’t cook without the ingredients,” you reassure him, watching his expression shift as your words seem to bring him some comfort. He relaxes his hold, nodding slowly as he retreats into his thoughts, the worry in his eyes fading a little.

Taking a moment for your heart to settle, you start to move toward the pantry. “Wait,” he suddenly calls out just as you’re about to step away. You turn to see him following you, his pace quickening. He reaches out, his hands skillfully draping the gold necklace around your neck, his fingers brushing against your skin as he stands behind you, pressing his form against your back.

A rush of nerves dances through you, and you fight the urge to tremble. His hands linger for a moment longer than necessary, warmth radiating from his touch before he pulls back, his gaze now focused on you with an unmistakable intensity. He gently turns you to face him, taking in your appearance with a smile that lights up his face. “Pretty,” he declares, the word hanging in the air like a soft caress.

After a brief moment of silence, he drops his hands from your shoulders. You stand there, unsure of what to do next, as he continues to stare at you, captivated. you decide to just turn back to the pantry, your heart racing as you retrieve the ingredients for his dish, the gold necklace resting lightly against your skin.

As you step out of the pantry with the ingredients in hand, you notice him curiously examining the kitchen, especially staring at the stove as if it’s the strangest contraption he’s ever encountered. You approach him, placing the items on the counter near both him and the stove. Only then does he seem to notice your presence. “How does this work?” he asks, gazing at the stove with a hint of confusion. It suddenly dawns on you that he’s probably never lit a fire or seen a stove in his life. You find it hard to imagine such a simple existence.

“Here, I’ll show you,” you say, grabbing some wood from the nearby baskets. He watches you closely as you return and kneel down to stuff the hearth with wood. “How do you light it?” he asks, his eyes fixed on you. Despite knowing you shouldn’t feel this way, you can’t help but think he seems sweet and genuine. Maybe some of the patricians can be kind; perhaps you don’t need to feel guilty about liking him. After all, it isn’t his fault you’re here and he’s there. It’s not like he has any power over the situation.

You let the smile you’ve been holding back spread across your face. “Watch,” you say, reaching for the flint and steel. He leans in too close to the fire, his eyes widening as the flames start to rise. You gently push him back, anxious that his hair might catch fire, but he seems lost in the flickering flames. You leave him on the floor, captivated, as you stand up to start cooking.

Moving around the kitchen, you gather pots and utensils, finally returning to his side. He rises, standing closely behind you, watching intently as you toss all the ingredients into the bowl. When you crack an egg against the bowl’s edge, he lets out a small laugh, the simple act that you’ve done countless times clearly amusing him.

“Do you want to give it a try?” you ask, waving the egg in front of him. Eagerly, he snatches the egg from your hand and, in his enthusiasm, cracks it against the bowl too forcefully. Some shell pieces tumble into the mixture, and his expression quickly sours. “No, no, I ruined it!” he exclaims, banging his head in frustration, startling you.

You quickly regain your composure and reach out to take his hands. He hesitates but allows you to pull his hands away from his head . “It’s alright, see?” you reassure him, dipping your fingers into the bowl to retrieve the shells. “All better. Want to try again?” you suggest, smiling warmly to lift his spirits.

“I almost ruined it! I ruin everything,” he mumbles, his voice trailing off with a sniffle. You reply, “I don’t think you ruin everything. It’s just a small mistake; it’s your first time here, and I’ll help you.” Taking his hand, you guide it gently to crack the egg again. His face lights up with joy when he accomplishes the perfect crack. “Do you want to mix it?” you offer, handing him the spoon so he can stir.

He eagerly grabs the spoon but then looks at you, a bit lost. “What do I do?” he asks, slightly bewildered. You guide his hands to gently stir the bowl. “Am I doing it right?” he inquires, and you can’t help but chuckle at his lack of coordination, some of the ingredients spilling over the sides. “It’s perfect! We can cook it now,” you say, taking the bowl from him and pouring its contents into the pan. He watches intently as it cooks, fascination etched across his face. You flip the mixture to ensure it cooks evenly on both sides before transferring it to a plate and drizzling honey over the top. “All done! I hope it’s to your liking,” you say, placing the plate on the table.

As you start to clean up, he heads to the bench and unexpectedly grabs your wrist, pulling you to sit beside him while he eats. “Share with me, my flower,” he says, cutting the food into small pieces and offering some to you. You hesitate, wanting to decline and tell him it’s improper, but you sense that wouldn’t stop him. So, you reluctantly reach out for the fork in his hand, but he refuses, holding it up to your mouth instead, insisting he wants to feed you himself. With a resigned sigh, you accept, realizing you’ve come too far to back out now. He grins as you take a bite, then happily goes back to feeding himself.

“You’ve outdone yourself, my flower! It’s delicious!” he exclaims while shoveling the food into his mouth, occasionally stopping to make sure you’re eating too. As he finishes, you reach out to clear his plate, hoping that now he’s eaten, he’ll retreat to his room. Before you can speak, though, he gets up and walks toward the hallway leading to the servants’ quarters. You’re about to call out, telling him he’s going the wrong way and that his stairs are on the other side, but he beats you to it. “Are your rooms down there?” he asks, gazing down the hall.

“Yes, dominus, but it would be most inappropriate if you were to go down there,” you respond, gently taking his hand and leading him away from that hall toward the one with the stairs going up. When he realizes where you’re taking him, he stops in his tracks and tugs at your arm. “I don’t want to go back upstairs. I want to stay down here with you!” he says, frustration bubbling beneath the surface, a pout forming on his lips.

“I wish you could stay, but I have to get to bed. I need to be up at dawn to start cooking and take care of so many other things,” you explain, a swarm of thoughts racing through your mind at the mere idea of the busy day ahead, especially since you’ve already spent so much of the night with him. You begin to walk down the hall, but he remains rooted in place, still pouting. “If you go now, I’ll wait for you in the kitchens tomorrow night,” he says, brightening at the prospect. “Can… can we make something together again?” he asks, looking at you with his soft baby blue eyes.

“We can make whatever you like if you go upstairs.” He pauses for a moment, considering your words before asking, “Do you swear it?” He takes your hand and presses it to his heart. “I swear it,” you reply, noticing how your words seem to calm his nerves. His expression relaxes, and you take a step forward, still holding his hand, leading him down the hall toward the stairwell, just like the night before.

When you reach the bottom of the staircase, he frowns at the stairs above, clearly reluctant to ascend. In a burst of spontaneity, you drop his hand and wrap your arms around him, pulling him in for a hug. He tenses for a moment but soon returns the embrace, squeezing you tightly and squeezing all the air from your lungs. You attempt to break free, but he holds on, reluctant to let go. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening, my flower,” he says with a grin, finally releasing you before dashing back up the stairs.

With a rush of adrenaline, you sprint to your rooms after watching him disappear. Once inside, you quickly change from your tunic into your night dress. As you do, your hand brushes against the glimmering golden necklace—his gift. You nearly forgot about it. You unclasp the necklace and carefully place it in a small hole you’ve cut in the mattress, then slide into bed, hoping to get some rest before you have to rise for work again. Somehow, despite the nervous energy churning inside you, sleep finds you.

You wake up extra early to tidy up any remnants left in the kitchens. Even though the mystery man assured you of your safety, you can’t shake off the lingering doubt. You want to minimize any potential fallout, just in case your fears turn out to be valid. When the master of slaves conducts his daily check, there’s no punishment or acknowledgment of your presence. He breezes past you as he exits the pantry, completely dismissing you.

You try not to dwell on it. The dominus had kept his word and did exactly as he promised, but that raises more questions about his identity. He must be a good friend of the Emperor, which makes you wonder who he really is. He had refused to give you a name, not that it would have meant much to you, but he must be someone important to be in the Emperor’s favor. The thought of his identity plagues you throughout the day as you go about your work. As night falls upon the palatium, your nerves only seem to heighten.

After everyone has finished cleaning and left for the evening, you quietly tiptoe back to your room to retrieve the necklace he gave you. You tie it around your neck, tucking it under your tunic. You have a feeling he’ll be happier if you wear it, but you don’t want any of the other slaves passing by in the hall to see it. Making your way to the kitchen, you take a seat at the table and wait for him.

You sit there for what feels like hours, hoping for any sign of him, but none comes. You realize you’ve been a fool; his drunken mind probably forgot about you already. It was silly to think he actually cared—he probably just wanted to get under your dress and grew tired of your dodging. He likely has a gold necklace for every pretty girl who crosses his path. Just as you decide to head back to your room, you hear the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. Maybe you spoke too soon; perhaps he is coming after all.

You quickly adjust your dress as the footsteps grow louder, echoing through the kitchen. When the figure comes into view, a frown crosses your face. It’s not the mystery man you were hoping for, but one of the stable boys instead. “Gods, Linus, you scared me!” you exclaim, letting out a huff.

“Didn’t mean to frighten you, but I was looking for you,” he replies with a laugh. You roll your eyes at his words. Linus is one of the few other slaves willing to talk to you, mostly because he doesn’t take orders from you, but it’s nice to have someone to chat with, even if he can be a bit annoying.

“Well, what do you want?” you say, sitting back down on the bench with a frown. He joins you, taking a seat beside you. “I was going to invite you to play cards with me and the other stable hands, but you seem upset,” he says, leaning in closer. You roll your eyes again. “I’m not upset,” you insist, crossing your arms.

“All right then, I’ll just leave you here to wallow in your sorrows,” he says, rising to his feet and turning to walk away. You instinctively reach out, grabbing his arm to halt him before he can get too far. “Wait, don’t go,” you plead, a huff escaping your lips as you pull him back down to sit beside you again.

A moment of silence hangs between you, heavy with unspoken emotions. “What… what game are you guys playing?” you finally ask, pondering whether you truly want to spend the rest of your evening in the dimly lit stable, surrounded by the scent of hay and the echoes of distant animal sounds.

“Well, I don’t know its name. It’s one of those games Thaddeus made up, so it’s probably not that fun,” he replies with a chuckle that brings a small smile to your face. There’s an ease between you two despite the circumstances, a comfort that feels both familiar and disarming.

“But you know, I have an idea of a game we can play,” he adds, leaning closer, his voice low and dripping with a teasing allure. The way he draws nearer sends a flutter through you, igniting the memories of the last night together.

You and Linus have been friends for quite some time—or at least, that’s how you would describe it. He would occasionally invite you out to play games and share a few drinks, and, more often than not, he would attempt to seduce you into your own bed. It was a cycle you had grown wary of but somehow still found enticing. His impeccable timing meant he always seemed to appear just when you were feeling low enough to entertain his advances. Tonight was no different.

As you sit together, the warmth of his presence is a welcome distraction from the turmoil swirling in your heart. Linus isn’t all that bad; there’s a charm about him that makes it hard to resist, and perhaps that’s the danger of it all.

He started to lean in, and in that electrifying moment, you let yourself be swept away by the tension building between you. As your lips drew closer, ready to accept his kiss, a sudden noise echoed down the dimly lit hall, causing you to instinctively pull back. You felt a surge of panic, but before you could fully retreat, he quickly grabbed your wrist and pulled you back into his embrace, his lips brushing against your neck. “Did you hear that?” you ask.

You glanced nervously toward the source of the sound, but he was too consumed with his explorations to pay you any mind. “It’s probably just some serving girl coming back to her rooms,” he murmured into your skin, his warm breath sending tingles along your spine. You wanted to believe him, to drown out your worries in his touch, and so you surrendered to the moment, the outside world fading into hushed whispers as your breaths mingled in a dizzying dance.

Just as you allowed yourself to get lost in the sensations, relishing the way his hands roamed your body, you felt a heavy, ringed hand suddenly gripping your arm. In one swift motion, you were yanked away from Linus, your body crashing harshly against the cold, unforgiving stone floor. The sharp thud resonated through the quiet as shock coursed through you; you looked up to see the dominus bent over Linus, beating him bloody. With his ringed hand, the tension in the air crackles as you quickly regain your composure. You scramble to your feet, adrenaline surging through your veins, and rush forward, desperate to intervene. “STOP!” you scream, your voice ringing out with urgency. You reach for his shoulder, hoping to halt his aggression toward Linus, but he remains oblivious to your approach. In a split second of chaos, his elbow swings back and connects hard with your face, sending you reeling backward. The sharp pain radiates through your jaw, and you stumble, trying to regain your balance.

Instinctively, he turns around, his expression shifting from fury to concern as he rushes to your side. “Are you alright, my flower?” he asks, his voice filled with panic and regret. “I didn’t mean to hurt you! You shouldn’t have done that—why did you do that?” His tone wavers, swinging between anger and distress, as he cradles your face with gentle hands, his concern evident in his gaze.

From the corner of your eye, you see Linus rising to his haunches, his expression a mixture of confusion and palpable fear. “My Emperor, I’m sorry, I—” he begins, his voice trembling as he struggles to find the right words. But before he can complete his apology, the dominus voice cuts through the air like a knife, sharp and authoritative. “I DID NOT SAY TO SPEAK!” The raw emotion in his outburst sends a ripple of silence through the room, the tension thick enough to suffocate.

Suddenly, Linus’s words resonate within your mind, echoing like the searing pain from your wound. Horror washes over you as the full weight of realization strikes; the gravity of what he has inadvertently revealed sends you stumbling back, a visceral reaction to the betrayal you’ve just uncovered. The Emperor turns sharply at the sound of your sandals scraping against the cold stone floor, his face contorting into a mask of displeasure as he realizes you’ve overheard the conversation and pieced together the implications of his silence.

“YOU’VE RUINED EVERYTHING!” he screams at Linus with such fury that it almost feels as though the very walls are shaking. The Emperor kicks at Linus’s cowering form lying on the ground, and you find yourself too consumed by your fear to care about Linus anymore. Desperate to escape the scene unfolding before you, you begin to retreat, cautiously making your way toward the hallway.

Suddenly, you collide with an unexpected barrier—a solid chest. An arm swiftly grabs your shoulder, pushing you forward with an unsettling force. It is only when you hear the ominous clank of armor that the reality strikes you: it’s a praetorian guard. He maneuvers you back into the kitchen, the familiar scents of spices and cooking oil doing little to ease your rising panic. You shut your eyes tightly, unwilling to witness the fate that awaits Linus.

“We apologize for the intrusion, Emperor Caracalla, but we heard shouting and came to ensure your safety,” one of the guards at your side speaks, his tone crisp and formal. Meanwhile, the guard behind you shoves you further inside before his sneer cuts the air. “And we found this one trying to sneak away, my Emperor.” The disdain in his voice is unmistakable, “Don’t push her, you brute. I’ll deal with you myself if I find a single mark on her,” he yells at the man behind you. The guard, whose fingers had been clenched firmly around your shoulder, loosens his grip abruptly, his eyes widening with realization. “I apologize, Emperor. I didn’t know of her importance to you,” he stammers, his voice laced with an unmistakable tremor of fear. You observe the Emperor—the man you now recognize—rolling his eyes at the guard’s clumsy apology.

The Emperor turns his gaze toward you, his expression transforming into one of warmth and concern. With a gentle touch, he brushes his fingers along your cheek, “Don’t worry, my flower. Everything is going to be alright. All these unpleasantness will soon be forgotten,” he reassures you, his voice smooth as silk, wrapping you in a sense of safety despite the chaos surrounding you. With a wicked smile playing upon his lips, he leans in closer, capturing your gaze as he tenderly presses a kiss onto your forehead.

But just as quickly as his warmth envelops you, his expression darkens. He looks past you, his eyes narrowing as he addresses the guards. “You two, take her to my chambers and ensure the slaves gather anything she needs,” he commands, gesturing toward two of the guards standing at attention behind you. The authority in his tone brooks no argument.

“The rest of you will assist me in dealing with him. I’ll be up soon, my flower. Don’t worry,” he says, casting you a look filled with determination and something more menacing, a side of him you’ve never witnessed before. The moment's gravity settles in your stomach, sending an unsettling shiver down your spine.

Before you can fully process his words, the guards forcefully guide you down the hall, their hands firm on your arms. As they lead you up the stairs, the sounds of shouting and the dull thud of blows echo through the corridors, leaving you anxious and confused. You catch glimpses of startled slaves peeking from their doorways, their eyes wide with curiosity and concern as you pass by, propelled forward into the unknown. Only the gods can know what awaits you in the Emperor’s chambers, and with every step, the uncertainty deepens.

Authours note - Part II is here!! i’m so sorry it took me so much longer than I was expecting it to I had the story all planned out but how I wanted to write it was harder to figure out and just general life stress bogging me down with a touch of me just being just very very anxious that part two wouldn't be to yalls likeing but I just powered through and here we are! I'm gonna start writing part 3 tonight in the hope I can get this out much faster this time and I really hope you guys like it. No, there's no geta or smut in this chapter, but we're building to it, I swear!! stick with this slowpoke pretty please and ill take you on a trip also if anyone would like to be added to the taglist let me know!!!

Tag list - @happysparklingshadows @littlemissholy @et-mberg @only4thefics @omg-hellgirl

[societyfolklore]

Dangerous Notes – Part 5

Title: Dangerous Notes – Part 5

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Singer!Female Reader

Fic Summary: Reluctantly agreeing to fill in for her sick friend at a prestigious jazz club, The Armoury, Reader finds herself thrust into a world of old- world glamour and unknown danger. The club’s enigmatic owner, Bucky Barnes, has set his sights on making her a permanent fixture on his stage- and in his life.

Chapter Summary:  Bucky gets answers from Nat and decides to speak directly to you. But life still goes on, and its Monday and you have teaching to do.

Word Count:  4.8k

Fic Warnings: // Explicit Content // Mature Themes.18+, Minors DNI,Dark Romance, Slow Burn, Possessive/Obsessive behaviour, Violence, Smut (eventually)  Chapter Warnings:  None…just people being jerks.. a little..

A/N: Updates Thursday bi Weekly 

Bucky flexed his bruised knuckles, his fingers curling into a loose fist before he pressed the ice pack back against them. The swelling was minor, but the ache throbbed, a dull reminder of the night before. The air in his office was thick with the scent of whiskey and leather, the dim morning light filtering through the blinds casting sharp shadows across the room. The rhythmic ticking of the antique clock on the wall only added to the heaviness of the silence.

His mind, however, wasn’t on the fight that had left his hands sore- it was on the lingering tension in his gut. The Stark situation wasn’t adding up. The timing of their movements. The pressure on his docks. And now, her. The moment his eyes had locked onto her on that stage, something in his chest had tightened. Suspicion? Interest? He wasn’t sure. She didn’t seem like a threat, yet there was something about her that gnawed at him, like a splinter in his hand. No more like a song stuck in his head.

Natasha strolled into his office without knocking, the quiet click of her heels on the polished wood floor the only sound before she tossed a slim file onto his desk.

“That was fast.” Bucky’s voice was low, rough from lack of sleep. He barely looked up, keeping the ice pressed against his knuckles.

“You’re welcome,” Natasha replied dryly, dropping into the seat across from him with effortless grace. “Nothing out of place. She’s a teacher. Lives alone. No criminal record. Mother passed away not long ago. She’s clean, Barnes. Just a friend of Kara’s, exactly like she says.”

Bucky thumbed through the file, no wonder it hadn’t taken Natasha long. Skimming over the details he already knew- until his gaze landed on the financials. Debt. Medical expenses. The reason she gave up singing. And, most interestingly, her school’s location.

“Queens,” he murmured, fingers tapping against the desk in a slow rhythm, his mind already working through possibilities.

Natasha arched a brow. “That’s what this is about? You think Stark’s got his hooks in some broke music teacher?” Her voice carried a healthy dose of scepticism. The woman had no connections, no history that tied her to anything remotely suspicious- not that Natasha had been able to find.

Bucky didn’t answer immediately. He flipped the file shut and leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping idly against the cover. “It’s just a feeling.”

Natasha’s lips curled into a smirk as she folded her arms. “Are you sure you know what that feeling that actually is?”

Bucky shot her a glare, but she only grinned, clearly enjoying herself. “Come on, Barnes. You’re acting like you’ve never been thrown off by someone before.”

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw, tension still pulling at his frame. “It’s not that,” he muttered. “Something’s off." He didn’t feel like this around people- especially not someone with a clean record and a boring day job.

Natasha let out a low chuckle. “Maybe your 'feeling'." She threw up air quotes. "Isn't what you think it is." 

Bucky didn’t answer, just shifted in his chair, his eyes dark with thought. Natasha tilted her head, observing him. “You joke now, but wait till this turns out to be something,” he murmured.

Natasha sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes as she moved toward the door. “Sure, Buck. Like I don’t have a nose for these things.”

She paused just before leaving, glancing back at him. “Maybe you’re not jumping at shadows. But maybe you just don’t like that she’s getting under your skin. We've got bigger things on the horizon than a stand in singer. Just remember that." 

With that, she strode out, leaving Bucky alone in the heavy silence of his office.

As soon as she was gone, he turned back to the file, flipping it open again. He scanned the details, his jaw tightening as he tried to pinpoint exactly what was making him feel this way. There was nothing- nothing concrete, at least. No reason for this level of scrutiny. But he knew better than to ignore his gut. She noticed too much, and she seemed to at home on his stage with* his* people. 

Bucky gut was telling him she was a problem. Wasn't it? He didn't like the way looking at her had him tided up in knots. How that damn voice of hers stayed in his head. Natasha was right, he had bigger things to worry about. He needed to sort this mess with her sooner rather then later. 

Bucky picked up the phone, dialling downstairs. The line rang twice before Yelena picked up.

“Make sure our new singer doesn’t leave tonight until I’ve spoken with her,” he ordered, his voice smooth but firm.

Yelena chuckled on the other end. “A little early to be obsessed, no?”

“Just do it.” He hung up before she could needle him further, he didn’t need it from both sisters.

The air in Bucky’s office was thick with something unspoken. The dim glow of the desk lamp cast elongated shadows across the room, adding an almost cinematic weight to the moment. You sat opposite him, feeling the weight of his gaze as he leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him like he was carefully piecing together an answer to a question he hadn't yet voiced.

You swallowed, shifting slightly under the intensity of his stare. The room felt too quiet, each tick of the antique clock on the wall stretching the moment further. You hadn’t seen him on the floor tonight- not like you had on Friday or Saturday. The absence had gnawed at you, making you wonder if he was disappointed, if he’d decided you weren’t worth his time. Or maybe that was just your nerves making too much of everything. Still, there was something in his posture, the way his shoulders were tenser, his jaw set harder, that made you feel like you’d been summoned to the principal’s office rather than a meeting with your temporary employer.

Yelena hadn’t given you much to go on before sending you up. Just a casual, "Boss wants a word." No explanation. No hint of what was coming next. That had done little to calm the unease already simmering in your gut.

Bucky’s gaze didn’t waver, and you wondered if he was deliberately making you wait, testing how well you handled the silence. You sat up straighter, determined not to squirm under his scrutiny. Kara had stuck her neck out to bring you in. Yes, it was a favour, but if this went sideways, it wasn’t just your reputation on the line- it was hers, too.

“You like teaching?” His question was unexpected, his tone deceptively casual, but there was something else beneath it- something weighted. His gaze, piercing and unreadable, bore into you, making your pulse spike.

You hesitated, fingers curling slightly against the armrests of the chair. The room felt smaller under the intensity of his scrutiny. “It’s an income,” you answered carefully, shifting in your seat as the leather creaked beneath you. “And I like my students.”

Bucky tilted his head just slightly, as if considering your words too carefully. “Why North Queens Community High?”

Your stomach twisted into a knot. The question felt off, too precise. You swallowed, struggling to ignore the way the silence pressed down on you. “They were the first to hire me.” Your voice was steady, but you could hear the slight edge creeping in. Then, narrowing your eyes, you asked, “How do you know that?”

Bucky didn’t answer immediately, but his expression didn’t shift either. It was an expression you’d seen before in people who held power, people who knew more than they should and weren’t about to explain why.

Bucky ignored the question. "Anyone ever ask you for a favor?"

You blinked, caught off guard. The shift in the conversation was so sudden, so unexpected, that it took a moment for you to find your words. "A favor? Like a parent asking me to change a grade?"

His gaze sharpened, the intensity behind his eyes sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. "Something like that."

Your fingers gripped the armrest of the chair, knuckles paling as you tried to steady yourself. He was studying you too closely, watching for every flinch, every micro- expression, as if he already knew the answer but wanted to hear you say it. There was something else in his eyes too- something calculating, dangerous, like he was playing a game you didn’t know the rules to.

You exhaled, your frustration rising to the surface. "No," you said, more firmly this time. "I don’t.. I'm not... I do my job. That’s it."

Bucky’s lips twitched, a flicker of something between amusement and scepticism flashing across his face before he leaned back, drumming his fingers lightly against the desk.

“Teaching doesn’t pay well.” He tilted his head slightly, studying your reaction. “Can't tell me you wouldn't be tempted."  Maybe to him it was, you bet he bribed people all the time.  Your spine straightened at the implication. “No.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, something unreadable flickering behind his expression.

“Do you look into all your fill- ins this hard?” Your tone showed your annoyance and you wanted to take it back. 

“It’s my business to know.” His voice was smooth, controlled, but beneath it, there was something sharper. Something that made your stomach twist. “Can’t have a fox in the henhouse.”

You huffed, trying to suppress the irritation rising in your chest. Your patience was wearing thin, but you knew better than to overstep. Kara had stuck her neck out for you. Yes, she’d asked you for a favor, but if this went wrong, she’d be the one paying for it in the long run. Still, you couldn't ignore the way Bucky was watching you- like he was testing you, waiting to see if you’d break.

“Do I look like a fox to you?" His finger tapped the arm of his chair, a smug eyebrow raised at your question. "I’m just a teacher,” you shot back, your voice tight. “I’m helping out a friend. If you have such a problem with me, then tell me not to come back and put someone else on.”

Bucky nodded slightly, his smirk shifting into something slower, more deliberate, as if he were weighing your words. His sharp blue eyes flickered with something unreadable- enjoyment, challenge, intrigue. He drummed his fingers lazily against the desk, the sound deliberate, slow, like a ticking clock counting down to something you couldn’t quite place.

Then, in one smooth motion, he rose to his feet. The movement was unhurried, calculated, as he stepped around the desk, his presence swallowing the space between you. He leaned against the front of his desk, arms crossed over his broad chest, the tailored fabric of his suit shifting with the motion. His posture was deceptively relaxed, but you weren’t fooled- there was a weight to his stance, a tension that hummed beneath the surface like a coiled spring, ready to snap.

“Not very loyal to Kara, are you?”

Your stomach tightened, heat creeping up your neck. “Excuse me?” The words left your lips before you could stop them, sharper than you intended. Who the hell was he to question that? You were here because of loyalty. You swallowed, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact, even as your pulse thrummed against your ribs.

Bucky tilted his head slightly, studying you with a look that sent something uneasy curling in your stomach. “Seem awfully keen for me to tell you not to come back,” he mused, his voice calm, but there was an edge beneath it, something teasing and perceptive. “Practically begging me to run you off.”

Your jaw clenched as you forced yourself to breathe evenly, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing how much that jab had gotten under your skin. “It’s not running when you’re being pushed.”

Silence stretched between you, taut and electric. Bucky’s smirk deepened, with the same measured ease, he leaned forward just slightly, closing the space between you even further.

“You don’t strike me as someone who run off when pushed.” He said, voice dropping lower, quieter, as if sharing something meant just for you. A challenge woven into the words, laced with curiosity. His fingers tapped against the edge of the desk again, slow and deliberate.

It felt like standing on a knife’s edge, the tension so taut you weren’t sure which way it would snap. Bucky’s expression didn’t shift, but something in his gaze darkened, like he was cataloguing everything about you, filing it away for later.

His eyes flicked to the file on his desk behind him. “Let’s see how long that spine lasts."

Your breath hitched, and you hated that he noticed. His lips quirked, just the faintest trace of a smirk, as if he enjoyed the way his words unsettled you. "We’ll see you Tuesday. We’re not open tomorrow.”

You lifted your chin, refusing to let him see you waver. Finally, after a beat too long, you stood, your heart pounding. You weren’t sure if it was from anger or something else entirely.

“Fine. Tuesday." 

As you turned to leave, you could feel his gaze still on you, lingering, pressing into your back like a weight you couldn’t shake.

Dragging yourself out of bed felt like a battle. The weight of the weekend still clung to your limbs, a dull, residual exhaustion making even the simplest tasks feel overwhelming. You rubbed your eyes, staring at your phone on the nightstand. Five missed alarms. A deep sigh left your lips as you swung your legs over the bed, feeling the protest of muscles still sore from late nights at the club.

Brooklyn was already alive outside your window, the hum of traffic and distant honking filtering through the thin walls. You made your way into the kitchen, the tiles cold against your feet as you fumbled with the kettle. Instant coffee again. You grimaced, scooping the powder into a mug as you scrolled through your messages. A part of you still wasn’t sure how you were supposed to juggle two lives, even for a week. Teaching during the day, performing at night- it was already pulling at the seams of your routine, stretching you thinner than you liked.

By the time you made it to school, the fluorescent hallway lights felt like daggers. You clutched your travel mug, already half- empty, as students brushed past in hurried chaos. Their voices were louder than usual, or maybe you were just too tired. Even the students seemed to notice your weariness, their glances lingering a little too long, testing limits they wouldn’t usually dare.

“Miss, can we move the assignment due date?” one asked, feigning innocence.

You exhaled slowly, leveling them with a look. “Nice try.”

A chorus of groans followed as they shuffled to their seats.

By lunchtime, you collapsed into the staff lounge chair, letting out a quiet sigh as you took a long sip of the terrible instant coffee. The bitterness did little to shake the exhaustion clinging to you, but it was better than nothing. Your calves throbbed, the dull ache spreading up to your knees as you shifted, reaching down to rub at them absently. You weren’t used to spending hours of your nights in high heels anymore. Maybe at one time, but not now- not with your days spent on your feet teaching, only to spend your nights standing under the stage lights. You’d have to get used to it again. At least you hadn’t gotten blisters this time. Small victories.

Maybe tomorrow you'd wear sneakers to work, see if anyone really noticed. Not that you had the energy to care.

"Hey." Frank Adler dropped into the seat across from you, unwrapping his sandwich with practiced ease. He placed a small stack of math papers beside his lunch, the red pen already tucked between his fingers, ready to mark between bites.

“You look like hell,” he commented, barely glancing up as he took a bite of his sandwich.

You let out a small, humorless laugh, shifting again to ease the tightness in your legs. “Thanks, Frank. Always a charmer.”

“Just calling it like I see it.” He smirked, taking another bite before nodding toward your untouched food. “You planning on eating that, or is it just for show?”

You glanced down at your lunch, realizing you’d barely touched it. Your appetite wasn’t quite there, but you picked up your fork anyway, stabbing at the food as if to prove a point. “Yeah, yeah. I’m eating.”

Frank hummed, unconvinced. “Rough weekend?”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the mug. Your own food still sat mostly untouched. “No, just Mondays in the public school system.” It wasn’t technically a lie.

Frank tilted his head slightly, studying you with the same quiet scrutiny that made him such a good teacher. “You just look like you didn’t sleep much.”

Of course, Frank noticed. Frank always seemed to notice when you were off. He was that kind of friend. He’d been able to tell, without you saying a word, when your mother had taken her last turn for the worse. Just by the look on your face.

You forced a smile, waving a hand dismissively. “Didn’t really do much. Just stayed home, worked on some new arrangements. Class outlines.” The lie came easily enough, but the slight rise in your voice betrayed you.

Frank hummed again, still not buying it, but didn’t push. Instead, you switched gears. “How’s Mary?” latching onto the safest topic you could think of.

Frank’s face softened slightly, his shoulders relaxing. “Enjoying MIT,” he said, running a hand through his hair dirty blonde hair. “We had our phone call on Saturday. She’s doing fine. Loving it.”

“Bet you miss her.” You finally took a bite of your lunch, chewing slowly as he spoke.

“Course I do,” Frank admitted with a small smile. “But I’m just glad she’s getting the experience. College, independence, all of it.”

You admired his attitude. The way he had raised his niece, the way he had done everything to make sure she had the future she deserved, no matter the sacrifices. You understood that kind of love, that kind of need to protect something innocent.

“Must be weird having all that free time again now that she’s gone,” you mused, nudging his foot lightly under the table. “You doing okay with that?”

Frank let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, well. It was going to happen eventually.”

You both sat in comfortable silence for a little while before Frank’s brow furrowed, like he was debating something. “Hey, did you- ”

He was cut off as the front office staff entered, carrying a large bouquet of flowers. The room quieted slightly, the sight unexpected. It wasn’t every day something like that happened. Your stomach dropped the moment they approached your table.

“These are for you,” she said, setting them down in front of you with a wink.

Your pulse spiked as you swallowed hard. The neatly folded card nestled between the stems read: See you Tuesday. B.B.

Frank raised an eyebrow. “So, what’s the real reason you’re tired?”

You forced yourself to keep your face neutral, but you knew you’d been caught in your lie. “Just a gig.”

“Gig?” He leaned back, studying you more closely. “Didn’t know you were performing again.”

You attempted a smile, but it felt tight. “Just helping out a friend.”

Frank let it go, returning to his grading, but the tension in the air remained, thick and unspoken. The bell rang shortly after, signaling the end of lunch. You grabbed the flowers "I'll see you tomorrow Frank." He just nodded before you left. You ignored the looks from a few lingering staff members as you carried them back to your classroom.

One thought looped in your mind as you walked: You don’t strike me as someone who runs when pushed. 

You walked through the door, kicking it shut with your foot as you adjusted the heavy grocery bags in your arms. The weight pulled at your muscles, and a dull ache settled between your shoulders, exhaustion creeping into your bones. You let out a slow breath, setting the bags onto the counter with a quiet thud. Your handbag, heavier than usual from a day of running errands, slipped from your shoulder and slumped against one of the chairs. You rolled your shoulders, trying to shake the stiffness before reaching for the small stack of mail you had grabbed on your way in.

Bills. Grocery flyers. Another pre- approved credit offer you knew better than to entertain. You flipped through them absently, the paper rough against your fingers, before setting them aside with little more than a sigh. It was already late, but you needed to meal prep. With everything you had a head this week between school and the Armory you'd want premade meal. Last thing you could afford right now was having to buy your lunch. 

The neon glow of a streetlamp bled through the blinds. The fluorescent light above the sink flickered as you began unpacking the groceries, casting a dim, uneven glow over the counter. You pulled out a pack of ground beef, a bag of rice, and some canned beans, canned corn debating if you had the energy to meal prep. "Have you, can’t waste what you bought..”  You mumbled voice tired, at least burrito bowls were-  cheap, easy, and could stretch through the week. Something you were very used too. 

As you reached for the next item, your gaze landed on the bouquet sitting on the counter, its petals still fresh but out of place among the clutter of everyday necessities. You hesitated, fingers tightening slightly on the plastic bag in your grip. The flowers weren’t something you’d ever expect to see in your apartment, and yet here they were, a quiet reminder of something you weren’t sure how to feel about. A gesture, or a warning?

You exhaled, setting the bag down beside the vase and brushing a fingertip along the edge of one of the petals. The note had been simple, but its meaning still felt like a puzzle you hadn’t figured out yet. Was it acknowledgment? Approval? Apology? A way to make sure you understood just who he was, that he knew where you worked?

Shaking off the thought, you turned back to the groceries, pushing the unease aside. The meal prep still had to get done. The flowers, for now, would stay where they were.

Your fingers hovered over a slightly bruised bell pepper before setting it aside with the others. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough. The cheese, though- that had been a splurge, one you had justified at the time, but now it felt like a luxury you maybe shouldn’t have allowed. Even as you tucked it into the fridge, a quiet sigh slipped past your lips.

You rubbed at your temples, staring at the half- unpacked groceries. There was still more to do. Always more to do.

You put your phone out you started getting everything chopped, and laid out, looking at the clock. You couldn't postpone you check in with Kara any longer. You owed her that much. Taking a breath, you tapped her name and lifted the phone to your ear, waiting.

It rang. Once. Twice. Five times.

Then nothing.

Your stomach twisted. Kara always answered, even if she couldn’t talk. A simple ‘can’t chat, later?’ at the very least.

You set the phone down, chewing on the inside of your cheek again. Maybe she was sleeping, or maybe you were reading too much into it. Still, unease settled in your gut as you turned back to cooking. 

As you pulled vegetables from the bag, the weight of your financial reality settled over you like an old, familiar blanket. You had gotten used to pinching every penny, carefully budgeting out meals and making sure every dollar was stretched as far as possible. Even now, you hesitated before placing a pack of shredded cheese in the fridge, wondering if it had been a splurge you shouldn’t have allowed.

Thankfully your little pity party was cut short by the ding of your phone. 

'Can’t talk. Voice is shot.'

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your throat instinctively, a flicker of sympathy tightening your chest. You knew what it felt like to lose your voice, the frustration of needing rest but still wanting to push through. You could almost feel the phantom soreness, the strain of too many late nights singing without proper recovery.

'Just checking in. Wanted to know how you are, and to let you know the sets went well- just like you said..'

'Told you! Everyone being nice?'

'Yeah. Pietro said I could add to the set- if that’s okay?' 

'YES! Just send me anything new I love your arrangements, they're always so cool.' Kara words made your tummy feel warm. She was such a hype girl, your couldn't help smiling as you put rice into the cooker and turned on the stove. 'Make it yours! Just don’t steal my job LOL.' 

Your eyes flickered back to the bouquet on the counter. The scent of them was faint but persistent, weaving through the smell of cooking beef. The sight of them still unsettled you, a reminder of a moment you couldn’t quite place into the right category- gesture, warning, or something else entirely. You hesitated before adding, 'Bucky sent flowers.'

Kara’s response was quick. 'Good sign.'

You scoffed, stirring the beef with the edge of your wooden spoon, adding seasoning with a slightly heavier hand than necessary. 'Not sure about that.' Your grip on the spoon tightened as the unease in your chest curled into something sharper, something resentful.

You leaned against the counter, staring at the flowers like they might suddenly explain themselves. You wanted to tell Kara everything- the interrogation, no, the 'discussion' Bucky had cornered you into the night before. The way he had leaned back in his chair, looking so at ease while prying into your life, asking questions that felt invasive, inappropriate, unnecessary. How he knew where you worked. How he made you feel small, like your morals were something to be measured, judged. But then he sent flowers?

It didn't make sense. It was almost insulting. The contrast of it was what unsettled you the most- how someone could be so cold, so demanding, and then follow it up with something so... delicate. If it had been a veiled warning, it would have been easier to stomach. But a gift? A sign of approval? It felt more like a taunt. And yet, Yelena hadn’t even flinched when she told you Barnes wanted to see you. Hadn’t reacted at all, like this was just another night, another inevitable meeting. Was this just typical of him? Was this what Kara had been dealing with this whole time?

You exhaled sharply, turning the heat down on the stove. Maybe Kara was right. Maybe you were reading too much into it. But honestly, you felt like you weren’t reading enough. Like there was an entire chapter missing in a book you hadn’t been given access to. Your brain was too tired for this, too tangled between paranoia and exhaustion to make sense of any of it. And it was only Monday.

'Do you think you’ll be better by Thursday?'

'Seeing a doctor tomorrow. Maybe?'

Your stomach twisted. You had only agreed to a week. But it was Kara. And you’d promised. Bucky’s words echoed in your head: You don’t strike me as someone who runs when pushed.

'If I need you to cover for longer, you're going to right?'

You sighed, staring at the bills on the counter- ones that sat right next to those damn flowers. It wasn’t like you could say no. That wasn’t who you were. You were the reliably friend who showed up, the one who didn’t flinch under pressure. Kara needed you, just like your mother had.

Even if your stomach churned at the thought of more nights at The Armory, of being on stage with Bucky Barnes’ sharp gaze pinning you in place. His scrutiny, the way he had spoken to your like you was a problem to solve, a variable in an equation he was working out in real- time.

Your fingers drummed against the counter,  thoughts racing. This wasn’t just about a job. It was about loyalty, about trust- about Kara having a job to come back to. And if that meant keeping Barnes happy, well you'd grit your teeth and handle it. Like she always did.

'Totally. I got you.'

If you just avoided being alone with Barnes again, you’d be fine. You were always fine. 

[wifihunters]

i like. i never try to be alarmist but it just kind of baffles me how many years I've tried having conversations about information sharing and how no, no one has "nothing to hide", no one has a life where they will never become a target of suspicion, some people just live lives that have never forced them to think about that fact and face it.

i can tell a traffic stop is just a possible fine to you. it is to me. i also could see on the cop's perplexed face when he pulled younger me over at 1am when leaving a late shift that from the moment he smelled fried corn and restaurant sweat wafting out the window rather than weed and found a pale kid in an apron and ball cap--yeah, he didn't stop me because i had a charm obscuring my rear view mirror. He stopped me because my car was old and cheap and left the lot at the same time as another old car. He stopped me because the hat and hairnet I forgot to take off didn't let him see my face first. He stopped me because he was rolling the dice he would find someone else. When he rushed through without realizing that i handed him my provisional, vertical license from 5 years back, I knew it wasn't me he wanted at all. But he still turned his lights on.

Eventually the lights will come on behind you. You were out late. You were sick and just trying to get to the medicine aisle, and when you passed an employee, they took your sore throat mumble and cloudy eyes as something else.

You took too long, looked too long, showed up at the wrong time, or said something that was too loud for Susan behind the counter. Combative, non-compliant, manipulative. You feel so distant from the homeless man laying down in the parking lot and blocking traffic until an ambulance finally answers his calls, but you are five steps from him and five miles from the cop who looks through the window at the scene and shrugs, knowing and companionable, at you.

[revelboo]

so what im getting from that sparked up post is that theres a possibility that starscream, reader, and soundwave are gonna be playing some weird, sexy hot potato with the baby. im only half joking on that buT DAMN YOU LEAD UP TO THAT SO SMOOTHLY???? LIKE I WAS READING THE POST AND JUST GOING LIKE "ok, yeah, that happened, and then That happened and then-" and just. goddamn. ALSO TF1 BEE AND THAT LAST BIT FROM THE LAST CHAPTER YOU DID FOR HIM DIDNT HAVE TO HIT THAT HARD, GOD??? GOD. im breaking the laws of reality to hold him, i know readers not there yet but i am and im having a mental standoff with him on whos knocking who up first

So far, Star is the only one fully bonded at this point. Sounders has a partial bond. I like the idea that spark bonds are pretty much nonexistent by this point in the timeline because it’s too risky to tie yourself so completely to someone during a war. Star and TFP Megs didn’t realize they could bond to a human. Sounders had seen it was possible and decided it was worth the risk, but most of the Cybertronians have no clue at this point. I’d think that spark bonds would have started becoming almost a taboo even before the war- the senate painting the bonds as blasphemous when really they just didn’t want the lower classes bonding. If one parter dies in an accident, you end up losing two workers and hurting production.

😂 Y’all making me think and actually world build my Transformers smut instead of just BSing it.

Also: sorry about the Bee! I needed to lay some groundwork for why he is the way he is and that he’s not actually okay at all for what’s eventually coming. Because he’s not getting abandoned ever again, no matter what he has to do to ensure it.

18+ Mass displaced mech 🌶️

The Coma Kid Pt 5

TFO B 127 x Reader

�� “Are you warm enough? I could hold you, I’m warm.” Offering his hands to you, he tries not to wilt when you immediately lean away, that smile of yours so brittle. “Okay, yeah. No holding.” Hands folding into his lap where he’s sitting on his berth watching you stare up at him with no small amount of suspicion from your blanket nest, he fidgets. That pull, that urge to touch you chiming through him. Almost painful to ignore. You have to be able to feel it, too. Which means you’re uncomfortable. Rocking forward, he scoops up you and your nest despite your startled gasp and deposits you into his lap. “I just need this. Sorry.” Hooking a servo around your middle, the tension eases, but that insatiable need to touch you just grows hotter.

• Teeth gritted against that hollow need twisting through you ats his servo slides against your stomach and under your shirt. And that ache shifts infuriatingly, becoming lust on steroids. Completely unfair and unwanted. Because at this point you’re so frustrated, you’re not sure if you’d go through with your escape plan if he leaves you alone for a minute or if you’d give yourself a helping hand instead. What is wrong with you? Actually, what did he do to you? Because whatever this is, it’s absolutely some weird alien BS. “Okay, no,” you gasp as that servo slides up further and you squirm out of his grip, pitching backwards and he grabs for you. Back hitting the berth as he falls forward and you close your eyes expecting to get crushed. Not to have the air driven out of you and to somehow not die.

• Mass displaced, he freezes as your eyes open and just stare at him. Your lips parting when he doesn’t move from where he’s sprawled on top of you, snared by those eyes. “Sorry,” he whispers, but he can’t bring himself to move. Shifting slightly against you, settling his hips into the cradle of yours just to feel how you fit together. Like you’re made just for him. For the first time that he can remember, he’s lost his words. Speechless and shaken. Wonders what your mouth would feel like against his. If you’d let him kiss you. Finding your hand, he interlaces his servos with your fingers and pins it by your head. Wanting, but unsure if he’s allowed.

• Swallowing as his mouth opens and closes and he’s silent, that hungry need lifts through you. Whispering deviant things. Like that you could ease that ache with him and then escape. It couldn’t hurt anything. Those servos of his would feel better than your own fingers. Breath catching as he lowers his head like he’s going to kiss you, you turn your head away and his mouth brushes your cheek and jaw. Over to your neck as his hips rock against yours. “Stop that or-”

• “Or?” He whispers against your soft skin. You’re not struggling, not pushing or shoving at him. Mouth sealing against your throat and sucking until you arch into him, like you want him to mark that soft skin as his. “Just let me take care of you. Be such a good mate.” Sitting up when you shiver but don’t protest, he runs his servos against you, trying to figure out the layers of your coverings before just tugging the lower half down your legs. “It’s okay.” Afraid you’ll stop him at any moment, he stretches out between your thighs and nuzzles against you. “Let me have this. Just a taste, okay?”

• Breath catching when he vents against your bare skin, there’s a shiver of alarm. That you’re playing with fire knowing you’re about to get burned. Knowing you should stop him, kick him in the face if need be, but when that glossa slides against you, you make a ragged sound of need instead. Big hands sliding under your butt and squeezing as his glossa tunnels inside you, your hips lift, buck. His bright optics stare up your body as he laps at you and you let your head fall back unable to deal with the intimacy of him watching you while his mouth is on you. Biting down on the pad of your thumb when his mouth slides against you, sucking, nipping, and licking until your release rushes unexpectedly through you and you cry out feeling his glossa drive inside you again. And that hollow need grows instead of diminishing.

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