#and yet i continued to see her for several months

[sturniololuvz]

Can you do one where Chris’s 14 year old, tore her ACL at a dance competition on stage but no one notices cause she keeps dancing but as soon as they get off stage she collapses and a er team comes and everyone is confused what’s going on but then Chris sees her being carried out by a stretcher, you can do the rest from there 💗

“The Hidden Pain”

⸻

It was one of those high-energy days—the kind where you wake up buzzing with excitement for something you’ve been working on for months. Y/N had been counting down the days to the dance competition. She’d spent weeks perfecting her routine, and now it was time to finally show off all the hard work. Chris was there, sitting proudly in the audience, watching as his daughter stepped onto the stage with the kind of grace and confidence only she could pull off.

Her movements were sharp, precise, and filled with emotion. The crowd cheered her on, and Chris’s heart swelled with pride. He could see how much effort she had put into this routine. She was amazing—so much so that Chris could barely hold back a tear as she danced.

But in the middle of the routine, something went wrong.

A small misstep during one of her leaps sent a jolt of pain through her knee. She felt the sharp, searing pain of a twisted joint, but she didn’t flinch. She couldn’t. Not here, not in front of everyone. Y/N pushed through it, dancing as if everything was fine. The music continued, and so did she, focusing on her next move and not allowing herself to acknowledge what her body was trying to tell her.

The rest of her routine went off without a hitch, and as soon as the final beat hit, she landed perfectly and stood tall. The crowd erupted into applause, but Y/N was already limping slightly as she walked off the stage, doing her best to hide the pain from everyone around her. No one noticed the slight limp in her step as she joined her teammates backstage.

“Good job, kid!” Chris said, beaming with pride as she approached him. He hugged her tightly, not noticing the grimace on her face. “You crushed it out there!”

Y/N returned the hug with a forced smile, nodding. “Thanks, Dad,” she muttered, trying to make herself sound as upbeat as possible.

But as soon as she stepped away from him, the pain in her knee became unbearable. She took a deep breath, trying to shake it off, but every step she took felt like a jolt of electricity running through her leg.

She tried to join her teammates, pretending everything was fine, but as they took pictures and celebrated, she stood off to the side, her hand gripping the edge of a table as she fought to keep from crying out. The pain was sharp and unrelenting, but she wouldn’t let anyone see. Not yet.

As the celebration died down, Y/N’s knee finally gave out. She stumbled, her leg completely giving way beneath her. Without thinking, she collapsed to the floor, landing hard on her side.

The entire room went silent for a moment. Everyone turned to look at her, confusion flooding their faces.

“Y/N?!” One of her teammates rushed to her side. “Are you okay?”

But Y/N didn’t answer. Her face was pale, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. She was trying to hold it together, but it was obvious to anyone who was looking closely that she couldn’t.

Chris was at her side in an instant. “Y/N!” he exclaimed, his heart racing. “What happened? What’s going on?”

“She… she fell… but I think it’s her knee,” one of the coaches said, their voice tinged with worry.

Y/N tried to sit up, but the pain in her leg was too much. She gasped for air, her hand clutching her knee as she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

“We need to get you checked out,” Chris said, his voice filled with panic. He could see the severity in her eyes, and it sent a chill down his spine. He wasn’t sure exactly what had happened, but he knew this wasn’t just a small injury.

The sound of sirens pierced the air, and soon enough, the ER team arrived, rushing into the room with a stretcher. “We need to get her to the hospital, fast!” one of the paramedics called as they gently lifted Y/N onto the stretcher.

Chris’s hands shook as he looked at his daughter, helplessness written all over his face. “You’re going to be okay, kid. I’m right here.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears as she glanced at her dad. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to mess it up.”

“Hey,” Chris said softly, brushing a lock of hair out of her face. “You didn’t mess anything up. You’re tough. You’ve got this.”

But Y/N’s breathing was shallow, and as they wheeled her out of the room, she couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. The pain in her knee was excruciating, and the reality of what had just happened—of possibly ruining her chances in dance—started to set in.

Chris followed closely behind, his heart heavy with guilt. How had he not seen it? He should’ve known something was wrong when she limped off stage. But the thought of his daughter being in pain like this—of seeing her so vulnerable—was enough to make him feel like he had failed her.

When they arrived at the hospital, the doctors quickly examined her knee, confirming what Chris had feared: a torn ACL. The injury would require surgery and months of rehabilitation. Y/N would have to put her dreams on hold, and Chris felt his heart break as he watched his daughter cry in pain.

Nick and Matt arrived shortly after, looking just as shocked and concerned. “How bad is it?” Matt asked quietly, stepping closer to Chris.

“She tore her ACL,” Chris replied, his voice hoarse. “She’s going to need surgery.”

Nick winced. “That’s… that’s awful.”

Chris nodded, feeling the weight of it all. He had always known his daughter was tough, but seeing her like this—vulnerable and hurt—hit him harder than he ever imagined. He wished he could take the pain away, but all he could do was be there for her.

“She’s going to be okay,” Chris said softly, more to reassure himself than anyone else. “We’re going to get through this together. She’s not alone.”

⸻

In the days that followed, Chris was by Y/N’s side every step of the way. He helped her through the pain, comforting her as she faced the reality of the injury that would keep her from dancing for a while. And while the road to recovery would be long and difficult, Chris knew that his daughter was strong enough to make it through. After all, she was his daughter—nothing could break her spirit.

And as for Chris, he’d learned a valuable lesson that day. He may not have been able to stop the injury from happening, but he would be damned if he wasn’t there for her through every moment of the healing process. Because that’s what dads do.

⸻

[lightofunova]

Drayden turned, staring towards the wall as he recalled the history he had pondered time and time again. “After the war ended, both monarchs and more importantly the gods had perished. There are varying accounts on the matter, some say they saw the God before his last breath. Some say they witnessed one of the Kings strike the goddess down. The end however is roughly the same, the lack of leadership thrust the region and it’s kingdoms into mass turmoil. Civil unrest and war broke out for several months. However, it seems that one account docented a man that unified the region under hope for their futures, and began to usher in a new age of peace in an idealistic world.”

Reshi avoided his eyes as he continued. “Technology advanced to where we are today, where Unova continues to push towards a better future, often forgetting where we came from.” Drayden grunted. “That Team Plasma certainly seems to remember, though all the wrong things. The reasons why they persue liberation aligns too heavily with the reasons the Great War was started.”

The Gym Leader seemed taken aback while Tornadus sighed, dropping his illusion as well. “I supposed there is no use in keeping it up. Sorry Sir, it was my idea after all.”

“You are here…This is-“ The elder watched as the blaze settled down, a sense of relief washing over him. “So then, you were listening to that man today, right? Was what he said-“

“True?” Reshi nodded. “Unfortunately so. Zekrom is back as well.” A bitterness in her tone soured the room, yet Drayden wasn’t rattled. “Yet we have you. That is an advantage that damned team has no clue about!” A sigh left her, confusing both the men.

“My Lady?” Tornadus started as she looked towards the ground. “That is not the case. My encounter with that man…Ghetsis. He knows. His speach was filled with little lies and bent truths but make no mistake, he knows what I am.” Drayden’s brow furrowed. “I imagine he would have let that entire team know then.” He crossed his arms. “That doesn’t change the fact that we have you.”

“Do you intend to stand against him and that team?” Reshi asked, watching as he nodded. “Team Plasma have been stealing pokemon from innocent trainers all in the name of this ‘Liberation’ they seek. They’ve been wreaking havoc left and right, including their search for both you and your other half.” The albino’s chest tightened, a grimace on her face.

“Team Plasma’s Leader, a man named N, seems to want to repeat history. He tasked a trainer to try and fond you in hopes to recreate the pivitol battle that decided the fate of the region. He truly believes that the world needs to pursue liberation to achieve a perfect future. She wants to combat it.” Reshi felt intrigued. “What is her name?”

“Hilda. She’s currently trekking through the ruins of Apura as we speak. We can call her if you would like to meet her now?” Drayden offered, to which Reshi shook her head. “Not yet, now is not the time.” She thought for a moment longer. “I must see it without my influence, if her convictions are really true. If we should meet now, I fear neither of us would be ready.”

“Um…Very well then…” The gym leader seemed a bit offput by her answer, scratching his head. “Is there…anything else then that I can assist you with?”

“Actually, yes.” She looked into his eyes curiously. “Do you have a training ground we could use?”

“Ah…I thought you’d never ask.”

[hawkelf]

Shout out to the therapist who, after I told her I had religious trauma and came from a devout Christian background, just straight up asked me if I knew I grew up in a cult. Like it was a meaningful question at that point. No other follow up. We had just met.

Like.

Respectfully.

Log off the internet.

[a-shade-of-blue]

Urgent: Help Mahmoud's 17 Family Members Escape from Frequent Bombings!

Hi everyone. Mahmoud (@mahmoudfamily1) is trying to raise fund to evacuate 17 members of his family (including no fewer than 5 children!), and he has asked me to share his story.

Mahmoud found out the bombing of her sister Tasnim’s husband’s house, the house his entire family was staying at, on the news. He could not contact his family for 3 days after that. He knew that several people had died and several more injured, but he did not know whom among his family survived, and who didn’t.

When he finally managed to reach them, he found out that a close relative, named Alaa, had been killed, along with her children: Ahmed and baby Iman who was not even one month old yet. Alaa was a beloved member of their family. She was optimistic and tried hard to cheer everyone else up. For the longest time, Alaa believed that the world would not turn away from their suffering and the war would end soon. But an airstrike took her and her children’s lives, the bombing continued, and the world remains indifferent.

Mahmoud’s sister Tasnim, was severely injured in the bombing. The attack happened while the family was sleeping, and Tasnim woke up to find her body injured and broken, bleeding heavily with bones sticking out of her leg. She found her 6-month-old daughter under the rubble, severely injured, but thankfully still alive. Tasnim's leg was fractured in multiple places, so severely injured that they all thought it had to be amputated. Tasnim’s husband and her 6-month-old daughter, her father-in-law, her brothers-in-law and Alaa’s husband were all severely injured by the bombing.

A few days later, Mahmoud’s family narrowly survived a second bombing on the street, as the people behind them, too slow to escape from the attack, were killed. They hid in their car, watching the plane flying above dropping bombs, praying that it would not target their car.

Given Tasnim and her 6-month-old daughter’s severe injuries, the family used a lot of money and exhausted all means to get them out of Gaza to receive the essential medical treatment they require. While Tasnim and her youngest daughter managed to evacuate, the rest of Mahmoud’s 17 family members, including Tasnim’s 2-year-old daughter who sustained first degree burns from the bombing, are still trapped in Gaza.

Mahmoud’s 17 family members (including no fewer than 5 children!) risk being killed and injured from the frequent airstrikes every day. They have narrowly escaped death no fewer than 5 times. On 31 August, the IOF dropped bombs on the tent next to theirs, killing 9 young men and women, and Mahmoud’s family woke up to their broken bodies.

Look at the photos Mahmoud sent me. These children, they are all trapped in Gaza where bombs may fall on them anytime. Please do not look away. Please help Mahmoud’s 17 family members reach safety!!

Mahmoud’s campaign is vetted by association. Mahmoud is @hazempalestine's friend, see post here for proof. @hazempalestine is vetted by @/el-shab-hussein and is listed as #281 on the verified fundraiser list by @/el-shab-hussein and @/nabulsi.

I’ve been trying to boost Hazem’s campaign, but we are both worried about Mahmoud’s campaign as donations are coming in really slowly for him. I hope you will support Mahmoud’s campaign and help him evacuate his 17 family members as well!

Extremely Low Funds! As of 3 September, Only $147 CAD raised of $80,000 goal! Last donation was 19 hours ago!!!

Please follow Mahmoud on @mahmoudfamily1 to get updates on his family's situation! And also, please, please, share/reblog, and donate if you can! Every donation helps!!

[poguelandiarafe]

unspoken truths | rafe cameron

pairing - rafe cameron x female reader

warnings - none, just some angst and fluff

summary - during a 'networking event' with your family and rafe's, you discover he's denying your relationship while you've been proudly showing it off. this sparks an argument where rafe admits his true feelings and vulnerabilities.

masterlist

--------

all night, a polite smile has been plastered on your face as you make conversation with people you hardly know. you don't want to be here, but your parents and the camerons, who are co-hosting the party at tanneyhill insist all the kids make an appearance. a united front to keep up appearances as the 'perfect families' of figure eight.

the party, or 'networking' event, as your parents put it, is far more formal than what you're used to. you're used to parties on the beach or some random kook's house, wearing a bikini or mini dress while drinking as much alcohol as you can—not a floor-length dress, sipping on champagne, and only speaking when you're spoken to.

you've been seeing rafe for a few months now, and though there's no official label on it, you know in your heart it's real. the late-night phone calls, the way he always manages to scope you out in a room full of people and never lets his attention stray from you, the stolen kisses in the corner of whatever room you're both in. which is why you see no problem with telling people you're together when your parent's nosy friends ask if you have a boyfriend.

a woman who you recognise as your dad's friend comes over to you, starting a polite conversation before asking, "so, any boyfriend yet?"

a coy smile tugs at your lips as you answer, "yeah actually."

"can i ask who?" she asks, eyes lighting up with curiosity.

"uh-rafe, rafe cameron."

her eyebrows lift and she scans the room, looking for him. you follow her gaze, unable to stop your cheeks from flushing when he smirks at you from across the room. see, he always finds you.

"oh, he's handsome. you're a lucky girl." she laughs before being dragged into another conversation, offering you a small wave which you return.

as the night goes on, you're asked if you're seeing someone by several other people, and each time you respond with rafe's name. what you don't know is that, on the other side of the room, he's in a conversation with people telling them the exact opposite.

"y/n? no, we're not together why?" rafe asks.

"oh, uh- she told us before you guys were. but i must've misheard." the businessman says, coughing awkwardly.

"yeah, you probably misheard her. we're just friends." he replies, his tone indifferent as he sips his beer.

unaware of this, you continue going around as if everything is fine, glowing from the compliments people are giving you. you don't understand how fake the compliments are until later, when you're standing by the bar and overhear a hushed conversation about you and rafe.

"rafe said they're just friends. i kind of feel bad for her, i mean, going around telling everyone you're together when you're not. it's embarrassing." someone whispers.

you freeze, your grip tightening on the glass in your hand. without a second thought, you scan the room looking for him, eventually spotting him laughing with a group of guys as if nothing's wrong. you're fuming, the sight making your blood boil.

marching through the crowd, you stalk over to him until he locks eyes with you, giving you a smile. normally you love his smile, but this time it makes you even angrier. the group of men around him sense the oncoming storm you'll inevitably bring and leave the two of you alone.

"hey, sorry i've barely seen you toni-" he starts but you cut him off, anger flooding through you.

"what is your problem?" you snap, crossing your arms over your chest that he can't help but sneak a look at, "just friends, huh?"

his brows furrow in confusion, "what are you going on about?"

"don't play dumb with me rafe. you've been going around all night telling people we're just friends."

"so?" he shrugs, casually sipping his beer.

"so?" you laugh bitterly, but your voice is laced with hurt, "i've been going around calling you my boyfriend. do you have any idea how humiliating this is?"

suddenly aware of the growing crowd, rafe steps closer to you, "i'm not doing this here y/n, come with me."

but when he tries to grab your hand, you pull it back, "don't touch me."

he knows you'll only argue with him more if he tries to grab you, so instead he walks away, knowing you'll most likely follow him. he's right, the clicking of your heels against the hardwood floor gives you away.

"rafe cameron, you do not walk away from me!" you shout, trailing after him until the door to his bedroom clicks shut behind you both.

you're standing in the middle of his room now, arms crossed and chest heaving in frustration as you glare at him. his beer bottle is still in his hand, bringing it up to his lips to take a swig before setting it down on the dresser. he brushes past you, opting to sit on the edge of his bed instead. the air between you both is tense, full of anger and confusion.

"you finished?" he asks, tone sharp.

"no, i am not finished," you fume, starting to pace up and down, "you humiliated me rafe. i was calling you my boyfriend like i was some delusional girl who's desperately in love with you. people pitied me when you denied us being together. do the past four months mean fucking nothing to you?"

he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, stare locked on the floor. a ringed hand runs over his buzzed head and he lets out a frustrated sigh. all the things he wants to say are swimming around his head, but the words get stuck, like the wall he's built up over time is refusing to let them out.

"of course they mean something to me." he says, voice softer than you're expecting, "but i've got my reasons y/n."

you stop pacing now, turning to face him, "so tell me. because right now you're just making excuses and i don't deserve that. i've been nothing but kind and caring and loving to you. i deserve to know rafe."

when he finally looks up from the floor, you're surprised to see his eyes full of tears, on the verge of spilling onto his cheeks. stepping forward, you cautiously place a hand on each of his knees, parting them until there's enough space for you to stand between them.

"please." you whisper, his hands coming up to rest on your hips.

"i don't know how to do this. i don't know how to love someone and not screw it up. i... i'm a disappointment to everyone and i don't want to be a disappointment to you. i don't want to screw this up." he admits, voice trembling.

"rafe, look at me," you softly demand, cupping his face to brush away the tears that escaped, "you're not a disappointment, okay? you won't screw this up either, but i need you to try. i'm not going anywhere anytime soon but it's not fair for me to put all my effort into us if you don't want this."

"i do want this," the words spill out in a rush, "i want this more than anything, i'm just scared. wanna protect you from all the shit i come with."

your heart aches at how vulnerable he's being. you've never seen him like this, always used to him being his confident, cocky self. leaning forward, you press a soft kiss to his forehead, then his lips.

"you don't think i knew what i was getting myself into? i can handle it, just like i have been. just want you to talk to me, okay? be honest with me." you murmur.

he nods, resting his head on your stomach and tugging you closer to him. for the first time all night, you feel him relax. his shoulders drop and it's almost like you can feel his wall crumbling, wanting to let you further in.

"come on, let's go to bed. i sure as hell don't wanna go back down there."

"okay." he mumbles, "can you stay here tonight?"

"wasn't going anywhere else." you promise.

you let your nails scratch at his scalp for a few seconds before trailing down to his tie, carefully tugging at it until it becomes loose. undoing it properly, you let it fall to the floor. reaching for the buttons of his shirt next, you begin undoing them one by one.

"you don't have to." he starts, but you simply shake your head, pressing a kiss to his lips.

"i want to," you reply softly, "let me take care of you."

your fingers gently brush his skin as you finish undoing the buttons, pushing the material off his shoulders and letting him shrug it off his body. the tension continues to leave his body the more your hands stroke up and down his arms. his hands, once gripping your hips, now trail up your back until they're tugging down the zipper of your dress.

once you're both undressed, you climb into the bed, pulling the covers back to invite rafe in, who's still standing at the side of the bed. letting out a shaky breath, he climbs in after you, instantly pulling you closer and resting his head on your chest. his warm breath tickles your skin as he nuzzles further into you, arms wrapping around your waist to anchor himself. your fingers run over his bare back, tracing patterns while his breathing evens out.

"you're not alone you know? i'm here for you, always will be." you murmur.

his arms tighten around you like he's scared you'll slip away, "i know. sometimes it's just too much. i don't want it to become too much for you."

you lean down, leaving a kiss on the top of his head, "it won't. and if it ever does we'll get through it together, because i told you i'm not going anywhere."

he doesn't say anything in response, but he doesn't have to. feeling how his hand finds yours and laces your fingers together, squeezing them is enough.

a few minutes of silence pass, and when you look down you see that his eyes are closed and his lips are pouting ever so slightly. he's fallen asleep. sleep that's much needed. you glance toward your phone on the nightstand, debating whether to text your parents or let them worry about your absence until morning. you're not in the mood for a fight though, so you quickly send them a message explaining you'd be spending the night at tanneyhill.

as you set your phone on the nightstand, the bedroom door creaks open, and a figure you recognise as ward obstructs the light from the hallway. his eyes scan the room looking for rafe before noticing he's mostly covered by the bedsheets, his head resting on your chest as you gently scratch at his scalp. ward clears his throat, attempting to catch his son's attention, but rafe's in a deep sleep, not even stirring at the sound. the door opens further and he steps fully into the room.

"hey, can i speak to rafe?" he asks, voice quiet but firm.

you shake your head, "not right now, just... leave him alone tonight ward. he's had a long day. he can't deal with anything else right now."

"it'll only take a minute y/n." he insists, eyes narrowing slightly in annoyance.

you don't waver, "no, just leave it. deal with it tomorrow."

with a reluctant nod, ward quietly leaves, shutting the door behind him. the room is left in complete darkness apart from the moonlight shining through the window, and rafe mumbles a sleepy 'thank you' against your skin.

"of course," you whisper, "i love you, rafe."

you feel him smile against you before mumbling, "i love you."

[hgfictionwriter]

Revelations: Part Twelve (and Epilogue)

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie and you continue to reconnect, and Jessie works out some lingering feelings about you being with other people. Then, a brief snapshot into the future that you and Jessie fought so hard for.

Warnings: G!P smut. Dry humping. Clothed sex. Premature ejaculation. Oral (r receiving). Teasing. Very possessive sex. Marking. Rough fucking. J going from kinda subby to kinda soft dom-ish?? Language.

A/N: You didn't think I'd end the series without one more chapter of smut (and tying up loose ends), did you? Rest of the series is here.

You stirred from your sleep, becoming vaguely aware of the heat radiating from the body wrapped up against you.

Jessie.

A smile crossed your face instinctively and you cuddled into her further.

When you opened your eyes, the room was still pitch black. As you quietly took her form in in the darkness, you were filled with a sense of gratefulness and awe at her simply being here.

This wasn't a dream or a wish. She was well and truly here and she was supposed to be. It wasn't a chain reaction from a drunken night and a temporary, forbidden escape. You two were trying again.

Officially.

She belonged here with you. You with her.

You remembered the first night you spent together. How it felt waking up and seeing her next to you. You had to stifle a laugh at the memory. She'd been so awkward and cute. She'd given you a wide berth in bed the night before; you hadn't slept together, she was simply spending the night. She was overly polite and considerate, blushing possibly the deepest shade of red you'd seen from her as you cuddled in to sleep.

In the morning, you remembered her laying stiffly, apparently waiting patiently for you to wake up, afraid to move and disturb your sleep. How she then beamed with nervous, giddy energy as soon as she realized you were awake. You remembered how she eagerly accepted you into her arms that time as you sleepily cuddled in.

During those first months together, you couldn't believe how much you liked her. How deeply you'd fallen. It was unlike anything you'd experienced before. As your relationship grew, so did your love for her. By the time you were engaged, both excitedly planning your wedding, your life together - before your world was shaken to its core - you couldn't possibly imagine loving her any more than you already did.

Yet here you were - watching her quietly in the dark, her expression soft and peaceful, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she slept - and the love you felt for her was somehow transformed and impossibly deeper.

Loving her in a way you only could after losing her and finding her once again.

You found yourself blinking back tears as you reflected on all of this. You couldn't help but wrap your arm around her and pull yourself in. You needed to be closer to her right now.

Her breathing subtly changed and you felt her begin to stir. She let out the sweetest moan as she slowly woke from her sleep.

She opened her eyes, blinking several times and taking you in. A slow smile crossed her face, but she frowned as well.

"Are you okay, baby?" She asked, her voice muffled with sleep. You nodded against her and gave her a long kiss she belatedly returned as she continued to wake.

You nodded as you pulled back, wondering if she could see your burgeoning tears in the dark or not.

"Hey," she whispered as her frown deepened and a hand came up to rest on your cheek. "What's going on?"

You smiled wistfully at her and gave a subtle shake of your head.

"Nothing. I'm just really happy," you told her quietly. "I love you so much and I'm so grateful you're here."

Jessie cracked a sleepy grin and leaned in to capture your lips in a kiss.

"I love you, too. And I feel the same," she said as she pulled back, now idly caressing your cheek with her thumb. Her expression grew somber a few moments later though. "I don't ever want to lose you again."

You pulled yourself tighter into her and kissed her. "You won't."

She let out the faintest moan as she kissed you back, her arm wrapping tighter around your waist.

"I couldn't live without you again," she told you, lips brushing against yours before she kissed you once more.

Between her moan, her words, her kiss and her body wrapped around yours, your core began to pulse with need. Desire and a need for intimacy and connection began to quickly rise within you.

Maybe it was the lingering haze of sleep. Maybe it was the veil of darkness around you. Maybe it was just her and what she did to you. But whatever mindfulness you'd possessed was steadily falling away and your unfiltered impulses made themselves known.

"Behave yourself and you won't need to," you whispered, a lilt in your voice as you kissed her deeper and your hand wandered down her back and under her shirt. She released a breathy moan into your kiss as her fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt.

"I'll be good for you," she promised in a heady whisper as she allowed her own hands to begin to wander. You moaned softly into her mouth as her fingers pushed up under your shirt. You could feel her beginning to grow firm against you already, within the shorts you'd lent her.

"Mm," you voiced as you rolled your hips against her burgeoning hardness. You leaned forward, taking her earlobe between your teeth and flicking your tongue across it. You smiled at how she shuddered in your embrace.

"I can't stop thinking about last time," you whispered into her ear while you purposefully ground yourself against her, relishing how quickly she was aroused. "The absolute best sex of my life."

She inhaled sharply and her fingers dug into your skin as she now began to subtly grind herself against you.

"God, you have no idea how wet I get thinking about it," you went on, feeling her jaw drop, her face flush against yours. "How many times I've made myself cum since then just reliving it in my head. Remembering how good it felt to have your hands on me, your lips, and, God, the feel of your cock inside me. Fucking me so good."

"Oh God," Jessie said, voice already shaky as she clung to you. "Fuck, babe," she nearly whimpered. "It felt so fucking good to be inside you. How tight you hug my cock. The way you move. The way you sound." She shuddered at the recollection, her hand now coming to your ass and pressing you fully against her hardened cock as she rut against you through your clothes.

"I love when you get hard for me," you praised as you hooked a leg around her and shifted you both so she was on top of you, your legs wrapped around her and her stiff cock prodding your entrance through her shorts and yours.

"Fuck," Jessie nearly grunted as she ground herself against you. "You're the only one who makes me like this. You drive me fucking feral."

You let out a pleased chuckle as your hands ran up and down her body.

"Please, baby," she pleaded softly as she grabbed your hands, lacing together your fingers with hers and pinning them to the bed. She leaned down and kissed your neck. "I need you."

"Do you?" You teased as you rolled your hips in time with hers to enhance the friction. She let out a muffled moan against your neck.

"I really fucking do," she whined as her restrained cock stroked against you rhythmically, desperate for more. You moaned, your heat pooling with want, but your desire to draw things out and push her to the edge was stronger.

"I'm not sure you do," you told her and her chest rumbled in complaint.

"My cock staining the inside of your shorts and straining to push inside of you isn't enough?" She asked.

"No," you answered simply as you continued to tease her.

She let out a pained moan while giving a particularly pronounced roll of her hips, her member pressing into you as much as it could with the barriers between you, but eliciting a moan from you nonetheless.

"Please, baby," she whined further, her pace picking up. "I'm so hard. I need you. I can't wait longer."

"I thought you said you'd wait for me," you said as you freed your hands from hers and caressed her body. She gave another pained sound and you felt her muscles tensing under your touch.

"I'm trying," she said, her voice high with need. She was close. You ground yourself against her aching member and she flexed above you. Her breathing grew quick and ragged.

"God, I want you," she whimpered. "I need to be inside you."

You kissed her hungrily, moaning fully into it and knowing what that would do to her. You clutched her to you and rubbed yourself into her with renewed need and purpose.

Her breathing hitched and her muscles of her back twitched as she rut into you and whimpered further.

"Y/N-" Her tone was urgent, a gasp cutting her plea short. She swallowed and wrapped her hands under your body, hugging you tightly against her, nearly holding you off the bed as she tried to pump into you. "I'm gonna-"

A high moan got caught in her throat as she ground against you firmer and held herself there, her body tensing up in your arms. She drew her hips back and drove against you once more, another muffled groan falling from her lips.

"Oh fuck," she whimpered, her voice shaky. You could feel her cock twitching against you even with the clothes between you.

Her body grew lax atop you, though she held herself up enough to not weigh on you too much. Her shoulders rose high and quick with each sharp breath as she lay in the wake of her orgasm.

Your hands roamed across her body in appreciation. Her head rolled against yours and she groaned.

"You're such a tease," she complained, still working to catch her breath. She nipped at your neck. "So mean."

You chuckled, very pleased with yourself. You reached down and shifted enough so you could push your hand between your bodies and under the waistband of her shorts.

"Mm," she voiced, more in complaint than anything. "Babe, it's going to be such a mess." She exhaled against your neck, sending a new wave of goosebumps across your body. "I'll clean up."

You held her in place and wandered further down. Sure enough, your fingers were met with a heavy load of hot, sticky cum plastered against her skin and staining the shorts. Your core pulsed even stronger than before and you moaned in appreciation.

"Now I really know how much you wanted me," you told her as you began to stroke her softening cock. Your fingers curled into the crown of her head as she moaned at your touch.

You worked your way up and down her length, using her cum and lubricant to massage her. You bit your lower lip in need as she began to grow firm once more in your grasp. Your hips involuntarily ground up against her, your core absolutely dripping wet by now.

"Mm," she voiced as she arched over you, her hands balling into fists as you worked her to full arousal once more. She slowly rocked her hips, thrusting languidly into your hand. She rolled her head back and forth, eyes closed in lust before nuzzling into your neck. "You fucking own me."

Your motions stilled, a pulse going through your whole body as you tensed. Your walls fluttered at her words. Still.

"I don't own you, Jessie," you told her as you began your movements once more. "But I do want you. And need you. And love you. And choose you."

A soft noise worked its way up her throat and she thrust into your waiting hand with a deeper stroke in response. You guided her head up with your free hand to kiss her slowly.

"I don't own you. But you know I love the thought of you being mine." You pulled her lower lip between your teeth and gave a tug. "But you're always free to leave. You're your own person."

"I'm not leaving. Being away from you is the hardest thing I've ever had to do," she affirmed as she returned a kiss, moving it from soft and slow, to hard and purposeful. "I'm yours."

Her cock was now fully hard. You pumped your fist over the head, focusing your efforts there, your thumb teasing the tip.

"Then show me," you invited.

A shaky moan emanated from her throat as she immediately pulled herself upright, shifting onto her knees and looking down at you with an intensity that made you throb.

She whipped her shirt off and shimmied back to push your tainted shorts down and off her legs, her rock hard cock springing up as she got rid of the constraining material.

Next her hands worked over you in a frenzy. Nearly ripping your shirt off, flinging it carelessly off the bed before pulling your own shorts down in urgent desperation along with your underwear that was surely soaked.

She inhaled deeply, sitting back on her heels as your scent filled the room. She pushed your legs apart, you moaning at the gesture as she dipped her head down and dragged her tongue up your slit, your excess of arousal pooling on her tongue as she flicked up past your clit.

"Fuck, baby," she said after she swallowed, wiping her face only to reveal a wicked grin. "You are dripping."

"I fucking know," you said with smirk as you gave her shoulder a teasing push. "You were really fucking hot."

She made a small noise before dipping her head back down and lapping at you again, her tongue travelling easily through your folds.

"Mmm," she voiced in appreciation as she swallowed once more. "God, you're so good." Your hands came to the sides of her head and she turned to kiss your palm before delving back into you.

"Jesus Christ, Jess," you moaned as your fingers dug into through her unruly hair.

She released your throbbing clit from her mouth and looked up at you with a devilish smirk. "Never mind the fact that you're the only girl on this entire planet that could make me cum in my shorts. You drive me fucking crazy, baby."

She settled herself back down onto the mattress, making herself at home between your legs. She wrapped her arms under your thighs and gave a strong tug, pulling you down the mattress and further into her mouth.

"Oh fuck," you whimpered as waves of pleasure were already beginning to radiate from your core.

With all of the build up and anticipation, along with way Jessie always knew exactly how to please you, it wasn't long before your legs began to shake around her head and you clawed at the sheets below you, clutching bundles of the material into your fists as she licked and sucked you to your peak.

She climbed back up the bed, wiping her mouth and grinning down at you.

"Clear that I'm yours yet?" She asked as she kissed you.

You lazily shook your head, still reeling from your orgasm. You offered her a crooked smile.

"No, not yet."

"I thought you might say that," she said with a smirk as she sat between your legs, back on her heels, knees wide to position her hot, firm member at your entrance.

She rocked her hips forward, pushing the head of her cock through your folds and over your sensitive clit. Your legs bowed out wider, inviting her in and you let out a small noise as you buried the back of your head into the pillow.

She pushed down on her cock with her fingers to add friction and pressure over your clit as she thrust back and forth across it. The wet sounds each motion made had you throbbing all over again.

"Who's needy now?" She asked with a smug smirk, her lips parted as she breathed through her own arousal.

"I am," you confessed though a smile slowly spread across your face. "But we promised not to lie - you're needy too, baby."

"Mm," she moaned in agreement as she continued to rock herself along your slit. Your wetness continued to grow at the silhouette of her physique and sensual movements. "I do need you."

You reached down and wrapped your fingers around her length. She continued her thrusts, removing her own hand and allowing your control. You guided her down to your dripping entrance and tugged at her waist with your free hand. You pulled her down into a kiss and she slipped inside of you as she did so, both of you gasping at the sensation.

She exhaled heavily, tilting her head down and resting it against your shoulder. She remained sheathed inside of you to the hilt, her hips flush against yours.

"Jesus Christ," she murmured. "You feel so incredible every time."

You stayed conjoined for several moments, her cock stretching you and filling you in the most amazing way. Your hands tenderly caressed and explored her body. She remained still inside your heat.

She began laying slow, lingering kisses all along your chest, collarbone, your neck as her hands began to roam and worship you.

"I want you," she said longingly as she kissed her way up neck, her hand coming up to hold the side of your face.

"You have me," you told her, feeling breathless somehow even though she'd hardly started.

"Do I?" She asked as she tilted her head to kiss you long and slow on the lips. She thumbed your cheekbone tenderly. She rest her forehead against yours and her other hand nestled between your bodies until her thumb was on your clit. She circled it. "You've been fucking other women." She sealed her declaration with a hard kiss.

You hadn't expected that, but something about her tone made your heat flutter around her length. You dug your fingers into her sides.

"I'm yours," you told her unequivocally. You brought your hands up to caress her face as you kissed her.

Jessie hummed low and deepened your kiss, now finally drawing her hips back, the feeling drawing a gasp out of you. She thrust back into you to the hilt once more.

"I'm yours, Jess," you repeated as you rock your hips into her, trying to encourage her to move. She exhaled heavily and drew back before driving home once more, a small cry escaping you this time.

"Baby, please," you pleaded as you writhed underneath her, begging in more ways than one. "I need you."

She maintained her resolve, allowing you to wriggle and move, her thumb still slowly teasing your clit, but not fucking you the way you needed.

"This pussy is yours, Jess," you said.

That seemed to be the key. Jessie’s whole body tensed up atop of you and her chest rumbled with a low groan. She gave you searing kiss, before shifting quickly, planting her forearms next to your body and drawing her hips back before sinking deep into you. She didn’t stop this time though, instead immediately drawing out and pumping back into you right away, establishing a hard and fast rhythm that immediately had your bed knocking against the wall with every thrust.

You gasped at the sudden stimulation, tilting your head back, mouth agape before a low, delayed moan escaped your throat. She dipped her head down and immediately latched onto your throat, sucking and nipping at you possessively.

You could be mad about the hickeys later. Right now? It was fuelling some deep-seated need of yours. Your head was dizzy with desire and the way Jessie was fucking you fully invited you to lean in and forgot all inhibitions.

“Fuck,” you whined. “I belong to you.”

You gasped once more as she sucked particularly hard on your neck and began fucking you more roughly, the sound of your headboard banging louder against the wall.

She clutched you closer, one hand coming to cradle the side of your head as she began to kiss along your jawline until her lips brushed against your ear, her breath hot and heavy and adding another layer of arousal.

“I can’t stand the thought of you under someone else,” she whispered in a low voice.

You moaned deep in your throat at her claim and dug your nails into her back.

You’d always found it hot when Jessie was possessive with you. But the way she was speaking and acting now was a whole other level. It had you aching and throbbing anew.

You wanted more.

“Sometimes on top,” you panted, venturing to spark a further response from her.

Her reaction was immediate. She growled roughly in your ear and you felt her muscles tense up under your hands as she began to flex more powerfully above you, pounding you harder into the bed. The mattress bowed beneath you with each thrust and you were helpless to do anything other than gasp and mewl as she pumped in and out of you, her breath ragged in your ear.

When she lifted her head to look down at you, it took you a moment to comprehend in the haze of your lust, but you saw her eyes shimmer in the dim light of the room.

You were clutching onto her sides like a lifeline, but you unlatched one hand to rest it on her face. Your body struggled with the conflicting concern for her and the overwhelming physical sensations she was sending through you.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” you said, your mind unable to offer more in the moment.

“Don’t be sorry,” she said, voice curt and short of breath. “Just be mine.” She picked up her pace as if in emphasis and you buried the back of your head into the pillow, biting your lips in response.

You took a breath and nodded rapidly. You tugged her down, her rushing to meet you at your beckon and you kissed passionately until you had to break for air.

“You’re the only one,” you told her adamantly as you locked eyes with her. You pulled her in again, speaking through your kiss. “I promise. There’s no one else for me.”

She whimpered into the kiss, her rhythm faltering for a split second as she got caught up in the emotion. You caressed her and kissed her deeper.

“And nobody could fuck me like you do. Believe me, you’ve ruined this pussy for anyone else,” you said.

She let out a hitched moaned and she reached up, her fingers running through your hair before gripping it into a balled fist and tugging just enough to make you gasp and clutch her tighter.

“I feel like I was made for you,” she declared. You gripped her ass and pulled her in deeper, eliciting a faint grunt from her. "I want you forever," she panted.

"Jess," you moaned. She tugged your hair tighter.

"I want my name to be the only one on your lips," she breathed into your kiss.

You moaned anew as she suddenly wrapped her arms around you and she sat back onto her heels, pulling you with her as she remained buried in you. Your legs quivered as you wrapped them around her waist as she began to drive up into you again as you sat in her lap.

You let your head fall back, your eyes settling on the ceiling once more and she peppered kisses along your chest. Her fingers dug into you as she lifted you up and down on her cock, you hardly able to keep up.

You whined helplessly as she pumped into you. Slick, wet noises filled the darkened room punctuated by the sound of her hips slamming into you. Your hands wandered down her arms, back and chest in desperation, nails clawing into her skin. She let out a moan of satisfaction.

"Mark me up, baby. Show me I'm yours," she murmured as she continued to lay kisses along your chest. She hissed as you allowed yourself to dig in especially hard up her sides and along her ribs. She finished with a breathy chuckle and sucked hard on the skin of your chest, marking you further as well.

You looked down at her to see her now gazing up at you unwaveringly.

"You're so gorgeous," she said. "My sexy, beautiful girl."

"I'm not going to last much longer," you said with a whine as you dug your fingers through her hair. She smiled.

"Then let go," she told you. "I want you cumming on my cock."

"Yes, baby," you affirmed.

"Just make sure it's the only cock you cum on from now on," she warned in a low tone.

"Make sure I'm the only girl you fuck and knock up from now on and we won't have a problem," you countered teasingly, holding her gaze.

She didn't break her rhythm as she stared steadily at you, her eyes dark. You nearly squealed as she suddenly threw you both forward onto the bed, you on your back once more. She bounced her hips off of you, pulling out to the tip before driving back home with such intensity that your legs shook and your cries filled the room with every thrust.

Your mind was in a complete daze, your body entirely overstimulated as your core began to pulse and spasm around her cock.

"Ah, Jesus Christ," she nearly hissed as you tightened around her continuously. A muffled moan caught high in her throat before she slammed home and buried herself, pushing her hips as flush against your core as she could. Her noises evolved into a low groan as she began to twitch inside of you, dumping her cum deep inside your heat.

She rut into you a few times, a low grunt marking each motion before she let herself fall slack on you with a deep exhale.

Your mouth was open as your chest heaved up and down while you tried to catch your breath. She turned her head to kiss your cheek, her lips lingering. Her hand slowly and gently began to run through your hair as you two lay together.

"Was that a 'yes'?" You managed to say a while later.

"Hm?" She asked sleepily.

"That I'm the only girl," you prompted.

She recalled your demand with a low moan and an appreciative chuckle.

"1000%."

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

Epilogue

Three years later

"Can we watch a movie?" Zoie asked hopefully as you both walked through the front door of the house you and Jessie purchased together a couple of years ago.

You placed your hands on your hips and gave her a mild look coupled with a smirk. "You know the drill. Homework first. Then, yes, we can watch whatever you like."

"Are we still making mama her birthday cake tonight?" She asked excitedly in what was probably meant to be a whisper, but was only half successful. You held a finger to your lips and stifled a laugh. She clasped both hands over her mouth as her eyes darted past you.

"Yes," you replied quietly as you took a quick look over your shoulder to see Jessie still grabbing things out of the car. "After she leaves for dinner with auntie Janine." Zoie gave a series of rapid nods of her head.

You heard Jessie's steps coming up the path. You spoke normally again.

"If you want to watch the movie with mama before she goes, you better get started on your homework," you said gently as you placed your hands on her shoulders and lightly turned her around towards the hall.

She was nearly nine now, and although her hair had lightened some to look more like Sara's, her physique and height was still very much like Jessie's.

"I finished my math homework in class," she relayed very nonchalantly - she had Jessie's scientific brain as well. "I just have to finish my book report. I'm nearly done though!" She said over her shoulder as she took a couple of steps before turning back to you. "Can you read it over for me when I'm done?" She asked.

"Course, sweetie," you told her as you put your jacket away. "Oh. Lunch bag," you said as you held out your hand to her. "I don't want another science experiment surprise."

She laughed and swung her backpack around to retrieve her lunch bag and hand it to you.

The screen door opened and Jessie stepped in, precariously balancing an arm load of groceries.

"Good one, Zo," she said as she nodded to the lunch box as she slipped off her shoes. "No more science experiments."

Zoie made a face teasingly. "You guys sound the same."

"Great minds think alike," Jessie teased back.

"'Kay, go on, hon," you said with a nod towards the hallway. You glanced over at Jessie who gave you a barely concealed smile. "Oh, and we have a little gift for you in your room. But you have to come out here with us in the living room to open it."

Zoie didn't even say anything, she just took off like a shot around the corner and down the hall to her room. Jessie and you both laughed and gave each other knowing looks.

"Babe, give me something," you said as you held out your hands to take something from Jessie.

"No, I've got it," she said very satisfied with herself as she turned and went to the kitchen.

"Babe," you chided as you followed her in. "I'm perfectly capable, you know."

"They're heavy," she protested as she set them down on the counter with a small huff.

"Exactly," you said flatly. "So let me help you."

"Too late." She smiled broadly. You simply rolled your eyes fondly.

You heard footsteps stomping rapidly back towards you both and you held out your hand to her. The light in the room caught the ring and band on your hand. Your chest still warmed at the sight even though it was far from new at this point.

"Come on. We'll do that later," you said softly as you beckoned Jessie. She smiled fuller, walking towards you and stopping to give you a kiss.

"You ready?" She asked quietly as she wrapped her arms around your waist.

"What is it? Can I open it now?" Zoie asked in succession as she threw herself onto one of the sofa chairs in the living room and turned the wrapped box around in her hands, studying it with fervent curiousity.

"Don't think she'd let us take it away even if we changed our minds," you muttered with a laugh and a conspiratorial look to Jessie. You smiled. "And yes, I'm absolutely ready. How about you?"

Jessie kissed you earnestly. Her gaze was soft and adoring as she pulled back. "So ready."

"Can I open it?" Zoie asked again as you two walked hand in hand into the living room. Jessie stepped aside and let you take a seat first before joining you.

You looked to her and she gave you a gentle nudge with her shoulder. She gave a subtle nod and smiled in encouragement.

You turned back to Zoie who had the box at eye level and was studying it as if that'll give her some clues. You couldn't help but smile.

"Go ahead, sweetie. You can open it," you told her.

She didn't need to be told twice. She ripped open the paper to reveal a lidded box. She glanced briefly at you two before peeling the lid off and peering inside.

She pulled out a t-shirt and held it out in front in front of her, the fabric unfolding. She scanned the text on the shirt and her eyes went wide before they darted over at you and Jessie, back to the shirt and back again. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes fell back to the box. She dropped the shirt urgently to the chair cushion and retrieved the remaining item. A set of photos - scans to be exact. Jessie placed her arm around you and kissed your cheek.

"You're going to be a big sister," you told Zoie, feeling yourself get choked up.

Zoie's eyes snapped up to you, tears in them already. She shot out of her chair and threw her arms around you and Jessie with a watery, excited laugh.

"Finally!" She cried as her small arms squeezed you both tight.

She pulled back, simply beaming.

"Is it a boy or a girl?"

You and Jessie looked to each other with soft laughs. Jessie kissed your cheek again and hugged you closer to her side, her other hand coming up to rest on your stomach, just the slightest bump making itself known the past couple of weeks.

"A girl," you told Zoie. "You're going to have a baby sister."

"Oh my God!" Zoie exclaimed, standing and stomping a foot in excitement and nearly pumping her fists. "A baby sister! Can I help name her? When is she coming? Can she sleep in my room?" A stream of words continued to flow out of her mouth as she grabbed the t-shirt and threw it on, momentarily holding the hem of it out to show off the "Best big sister" wording.

"-I'm going to teach her to dance someday. I'm going to teach her everything. I-"

More tears formed in your eyes as Zoie's enthusiastic questions and comments continued. You couldn't stop yourself from smiling if you tried. Despite the flurry of excitement around you, you couldn't help but reflect.

All the things and moments you'd once been so worried about losing, missing out on or being diminished weren’t true. Your firsts were Jessie’s firsts as well and each milestone had managed to be even sweeter than you'd hoped. This most recent one was no exception.

She was so proud and ecstatic. Doting and protective. And now Zoie added joy and anticipation - being so thrilled and excited at the impending arrival of a sibling for her to love.

The mere thought of a time where this seemed an impossibility, a timeline where you would've let this connection and this love pass you by, seemed incomprehensible now.

All those years ago, you’d been terrified. You'd mourned the loss of a future the way you’d pictured it. Jessie told you the future was different - not ruined. As you sat here surrounded by love - new, old, and still to come - you felt how right she really was.

Your future hadn’t been ruined. Far from it. It was so much better.

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

Bonus:

Your phone buzzed incessantly as notifications came through on your socials. The Thorns had just posted your pregnancy announcement. To your surprise, Jessie had been all for the Thorns photoshoot. She wore her Thorns kit and you wore her jersey, Jessie beaming with her hand on the swell of your stomach.

Big news! Our tiniest playmaker is about to make the sweetest assist—baby Fleming incoming soon!

You smiled as you saw the post again, but your brow soon furrowed with surprise as you saw a long forgotten name in your notifications.

Melissa? You shook your head in mild disbelief as you were transported back to that night - the night - that corrected the paths you and Jessie were on. One moment you were trying not to watch Jessie play on the corner television of a local bar, to the next morning, returning to her arms and, thankfully, never looking back.

You opened the message from her.

"Guess you're a big soccer fan after all 😂 jk. Congrats to you both. I'm happy for you."

---------

Tag requests: @ryuushou @marvelwomen-simp @valuyhh

A/N: Well, folks. That's all! Thank you for enduring all of the heartbreak and melancholy. I promised a happy ending and hopefully I've delivered. Also thank you SO much for all of the comments and feedback you shared throughout. I'm so grateful I could share this with you and that you've enjoyed it.

If you have any last thoughts, I'd love to hear them ❤

[vunblr]

The Memory Remains

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Smut. Unprotected sex.

Summary: An unexpected encounter brings Bucky face-to-face with someone from his past, stirring memories he thought were long buried.

Word Count: About 13k.

note: Let’s pretend the incident with Renata in CATWS never happened. Bucky's presence at Pierce’s house is a bit more lenient for the sake of this story.

The Winter Soldier moved through his assignments like a shadow. So, when he was stationed at Pierce's home for a week, he was given explicit instructions: remain masked, both arms concealed under a layer of clothing and stay out of sight as much as possible, but if seen, remain silent, a faceless piece of security.

On his first day, he heard voices down the hall before he saw them, a child’s laughter, paired with a softer, patient tone. The child -a boy around five or six- bounded into view, dragging a toy truck and blissfully oblivious to the stranger cloaked in shadows. But the woman with him was different; she immediately caught sight of him. She looked surprised but quickly cast her eyes down as she guided the boy past.

Pierce’s strict warning echoed in her mind. He explained to her that his guest was part of a high-security detail, trained to avoid all unnecessary contact, just another eccentric demand of his government work.

New to America, she had recently left her home country after a severe burnout as a lawyer and the lingering shadow of an abusive relationship. She managed to pay a year’s rent in advance with her savings, but reality quickly slapped her in the face when she began looking for a job. Now in her late twenties, she had no experience outside a desk or a courtroom with foreign laws.

This job as a nanny was the first real opportunity she’d found, and she took it. The pay was excellent, and the boy’s parents were kind. With an arrangement between Pierce and his son, she spent part of each day with the child at Pierce’s apartment after kindergarten until his parents picked him up after work, which was conveniently close by. In the two months she’d worked for the Pierces, she hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary in the house, so the appearance of a security guard was an unexpected twist.

She understood the "no interaction" rule well enough; her brother had worked in federal law enforcement before he passed, so she knew about the necessity of concealing the asset's identity and the formality of the job. Yet, habit got the best of her. She’d nod or offer a polite “good afternoon” when she arrived and a quiet “see you” when she left. Sometimes she’d even throw out a casual comment about the weather or crack a joke, knowing she wouldn’t get a response. His silence was a constant, and his blue gaze kept drilled into an inexistent point in the horizon. By the third day, she found herself relaxing into the new routine, no longer unnerved by the silent figure lurking in the house. She resumed her usual activities while the child napped: baking small snacks for when he woke up, or sitting at the kitchen table with her crochet project in hand. She even started putting on a playlist mostly with songs from her home country, the soft, lively tunes filling the quiet rooms.

Sometimes, when she baked treats for the boy, she’d make a few extras, placing them on a surface near the man in the shadows. Her brother had told her enough stories about hours on guard, the hunger and thirst that crept in with the silence. This was her small way of saying I know the circumstances -Though she didn’t. Oh, she didn’t even scratch the surface of his circumstances.- “You can take it later when you are alone.” She had offered quietly.

The first time, the food sat untouched for hours, and she thought he’d rejected the gesture entirely. But, just minutes before she had to leave, she found the plate empty, and she could swear the right pocket of his tactical pants looked slightly stuffed. Taking it as a sign, she continued doing it, sometimes offering a simple piece of fruit, or a chocolate if she hadn’t bake. Each time, the plate ended up empty, and his pocket a little bulkier.

Unbeknownst to her, one song in her playlist seemed to provoke a reaction in the stoic custody. Its melody -a blend of mid-1900s music with a modern twist- stirred something faint and unreachable within him, persistent enough to catch his attention. Each time the tune played on shuffle, his gaze would flicker in her direction, his brows knitting slightly as if he were straining to recall a memory just out of reach. And yet, she remained blissfully unaware, humming along.

After a week, he was gone. The masked figure had simply vanished from Pierce’s house as if he’d never been there at all.

-----

Nearly nine years had passed since that afternoon when Bucky threw himself from the helicarrier into the water to rescue Steve, somehow re-emerging as a fugitive from Hydra’s grasp. Since then, there had been one chaotic chapter after another, ending in a shaky kind of freedom and a conditional pardon. He’d been granted the basics of a civilian life -even if he wasn’t sure what to do with it-, a place to live, and the requirement to attend therapy sessions. 

One night, after a familiar nightmare left him panting and staring hollow-eyed into the bathroom mirror, his gaze landed on his hair. It hung long and unkempt, framing his face with shadows from another life, a reminder of missions in the dead of night, of orders he’d had no choice but to follow. His reflection stared back, haunted, tethered to the past.

A voice urged inside him, low and insistent. Cut it. Shedding the hair felt like severing the ties that still bind him to memories. His hand moved instinctively, reaching for the familiar weight of his knife, the same one he’d carried for years, an extension of who he’d once been. But he hesitated, hovering his fingers over the blade. If he was serious about moving forward, this had to be more than just an impulsive cut in the dead of night. It had to be his choice, deliberate and clear, reclaiming himself one small step at a time. He’d find a hairdresser, endure the closeness, the touching, the vulnerability of someone holding sharp scissors near him, and let it be a test. A small, tangible proof that he could start anew, piece by piece.

The next morning, he stood outside a shop near his apartment, with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, and wrestling with the urge to turn and walk away.

He lingered on the sidewalk, eyeing the parlor's weathered sign and chipped paint. Its old, familiar look was oddly reassuring as if the place had been untouched by time. That decided it for him. He scratched his beard and stepped forward, and as the door chimed overhead, he knew there was no going back now. Behind the chair, an old man was trimming the hair of a customer nearly as old, both with the unmistakable air of a veteran. The barber gave him a polite nod, but Bucky didn’t miss the shared look between the two: a quick, appraising glance that seemed to mutter, hippie motherfucker.

“Y/n!” the old barber called, his voice rising as he looked toward the back room. “You have a customer.”

The moment Bucky heard a woman’s name, he froze. An image of an elderly lady popped into his mind: chatty, distracted, and maybe with a knack for giving creative haircuts. He could already hear Sam’s laughter echoing in his head if he came out of this with some uneven cut or something worse.

“Well, actually…” he began, trying to backpedal, but his retreat stalled when she appeared in the doorway. She wasn’t old, far from it. And attractive. Very attractive. His mind blanked as he stood there, frozen, just staring.

The old man caught his hesitation and cast a pointed look his way, a touch more disapproving than before. The customer in the chair joined in, nodding in silent agreement.

“Well, young man?” the barber asked, his voice gruffer now. “You gonna stand there or sit?”

Bucky cleared his throat, murmuring, “I… thought you were the barber.” His voice was low, almost defensive, as he looked between the old man and the woman.

Her eyebrow quirked high, clearly amused, while the old barber scoffed. “What? because she’s a woman?” he huffed, crossing his arms. “Kid, I’m pretty sure she can handle that hippie mane of yours better than I ever could.”

The man in the chair gave a quiet chuckle, nodding in agreement, and Bucky’s mouth went dry. This was not the quick, anonymous cut he’d imagined. But there was no turning back now; he could feel three sets of eyes on him, each waiting for his move.

So, with a quick breath, he took off his jacket, walked over, and sank into the chair, stealing a glance at her reflection in the mirror.

She got closer from behind, amused by the fact that he already sat on the chair. “So, what are we doing today?” her tone was professional, though her eyes sparkled with a hint of curiosity.

He cleared his throat, shifting slightly on the seat. “Just… cut it short. Something easy to manage.” He answered gruffly.

She nodded, assessing the length of his hair. “Alright, but I must wash it first since it's this long. Sprinkling it with water won’t be enough.”

He blinked, a hint of tension flashing across his face. The thought of sitting there with his head tilted back, felt almost unbearably vulnerable. He nearly reconsidered, but the not-so-subtly narrowed gazes of the two older men lingering on him kept him in place.

With a quiet sigh, he managed to make a nod. “Fine.” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

She gestured for him to follow, and he found himself standing and trailing behind her to the hair-washing station in the back. Every instinct screamed to keep his guard up, but his need to change this physical marker of his past kept him moving.

As they reached the back, Bucky’s eyes landed on her phone, resting near a small speaker that hummed with soft, melodic tunes. At first, he barely noticed the music since he was too focused on the discomfort of the situation and strengthening his resolve to not get up and leave. His shoulders stayed tense as he sat there, hovering on the edge of the chair, every part of his body coiled with instinctive caution.

Then, the warmth of the water broke over his scalp, and against his will, he felt the tension start to dissolve, just a little. Her touch was gentle, she made no sudden movements, just a calm rhythm as she applied the shampoo, working it through his hair. She didn’t say a word, either; it was as though she understood something of the guarded edge to him, or maybe she sensed that he wouldn’t welcome small talk.

A few beats into the quiet, the song changed. It was still low and unassuming, just background noise. But then the melody drifted in, a tune with an old rhythm and a foreign lyric, hauntingly familiar, and his attention flickered, drawn in by the music without him fully understanding why. His eyes closed briefly, and fragments of memory teased at the edges of his mind: a dim hallway, shadows, the scent of baking, and the quiet hum of a woman’s voice.

Before he could grasp it, the memory slipped away, leaving only the echo of familiarity, a ghost of something he almost remembered.

As she massaged his scalp, the tension that had gripped Bucky’s shoulders melted away. The gentle pressure lulled him into a rare calm, his body betraying him with a warmth that crept over him like a slow wave. For the first time in a long time, he felt close to letting his guard down entirely, since the comfort of her touch drew him into an almost sleepy haze.

Then she reached for the conditioner, moving her hands with the same unhurried rhythm, but this time, she couldn’t quite keep from humming along to the song that played softly from the speaker nearby. Her voice was low, almost shy, as though she hadn’t meant for anyone to hear. But as she sang, each note seemed to tighten a thread in his chest, snapping him out of the drowsy trance.

Then it hit him.

The music and her voice brought him back to Pierce’s household, to those days he spent stationed in the shadows, monitoring everything in silence before the events of his escape. The faint aroma of something sweet drifting through the house, cookies, or bread, something good, something he hadn’t expected to find. He could still feel the strange weight of those illicit traits in his pocket, things she’d left out in silent offering, her small, unspoken kindness filling a gap he hadn’t known was there.

This woman... could it be?

His breathing grew shallow, each breath catching in his chest as a faint tremor ran through his body. His gloved hands twitched against the armrests, fingers curling and uncurling as he fought the urge to reach up, to pull himself upright and turn to look at her. He needed to see her face, study her features and search for that glimpse of familiarity, confirm that this wasn’t just some blurred, mismatched memory dredged up by the lull of her voice and the warmth of her hands. Worse yet, he needed to know this wasn’t some fragment of imagination, a scene conjured by his mind to taunt him with memories he couldn’t piece together. But before he could move, she stopped singing, her hands paused in his hair and he felt her hesitate, as if sensing his restlessness even though he hadn’t said a word.

“The wash is almost done,” she murmured, as if offering reassurance.

She inwardly groaned, mortified. Why on earth did she start singing? Way to scare off a customer, she scolded herself when she sensed his body tense beneath her hands. And of course, it happened with a handsome customer. She could feel the rush of embarrassment creeping up her neck, flooding her cheeks. Taking a breath, she forced herself to refocus, working to rinse the last of the conditioner as quickly as she could, moving her hands just a bit more briskly than before. Okay, finish up and keep it professional, she coached herself, feeling the sting of humiliation all over again.

As she finished rinsing the conditioner from his hair, she reached for a nearby towel. Without a second thought, still reliving the horror of exposing herself like that, she wrapped it around his head, pressing gently to soak up the excess water. “Alright,” she said softly, stepping back. “We’re done here. Just head back to the front, and I’ll set you up for the cut.”

He rose from the chair a bit unsteadily, as though waking from a daze, and started toward the front of the shop, acutely aware of every step. He glanced sideways at her once, catching a hint of embarrassment lingering on her face. As he reached the main area, he caught his reflection in the mirror opposite the chair and froze. Wrapped around his head, neatly turbaned and unmistakably bright, was a fluffy pink towel.

The old barber glanced up from the new customer he was tending to, settling his gaze on Bucky’s reflection with poorly concealed bemusement. "Good lord, Cecil, look how things have changed," he muttered dryly only for the other old man to hear, unaware of Bucky’s enhanced hearing.

The other old man, Cecil, leaned back, shaking his head with a smirk. “Used to be, folks would at least keep that kind of thing under wraps,” he muttered, his voice low but pointed. “Remember Karen’s brother? Now there was a guy who kept things to himself, blended right in,” he muttered with a knowing glance at Bucky.

Bucky gritted his teeth, faintly aware of the heat climbing up his neck, but he forced himself to keep a straight face. He was determined to get through this without snapping. His reflection caught his attention again, and he let out an almost inaudible sigh.

Behind him, she approached, unaware of the old men ranting. She held a bunch of hairpins in one hand and a comb in the other, gesturing toward the chair in front of the mirror. “Whenever you’re ready”.

As he settled into the chair, his gaze drifted to the handful of hairpins she was holding, and cleared his throat, struggling to keep his tone steady. “Uh, I thought I asked for it short,” he murmured, nodding toward the pins and comb with a faint frown.

She didn’t miss a beat, propping a hand on her hip with a half-smile. “And I thought you might like it to look decent,” she quipped, raising a brow in the mirror. “To get it even, I’ve got to section it out first, or you’ll end up with a patchy disaster.”

She worked focused, weaving her fingers through his hair and clipping sections with colorful pins until his head was dotted with bright little half-buns. Bucky’s jaw clenched as his gaze drifted somewhere distant, the rhythmic tug of the comb stirring faint, elusive memories. He barely registered the chime of the door until the soft shuffle of footsteps and murmured greetings filled the air.

Two more elderly men ambled in, one of them clutching a checkers game under his arm. They greeted Frank the old barber, then his client casually, and lastly waved affectionately toward her, who acknowledged them with a smile. As their eyes landed on Bucky, they paused, taking in his partially pinned-up hair and the bright clips dotting his head. They shared a wordless look of faint, unspoken disapproval, the kind only those with a few extra decades under their belts could master.

Bucky tightened his jaw again, pressing his tongue against his inner cheek, as he caught the old men’s exchanged looks. What, was this some kind of veteran association headquarters or something? He’d endured enough stares over the years, but the situation's absurdity hit a new level. If only they knew he was older than all of them. The irony almost made him laugh -or maybe just get up and walk out.- But he forced himself to stay put, keeping his gaze fixed on his reflection as if nothing at all were out of the ordinary, while she worked oblivious to the silent standoff between him and the retirement brigade.

As she started to cut with the scissors, couldn't resist trying to break the tension that clung to him like a second skin. “So, how long did it take you to grow this out?” she ventured, with her eyes focused on his hair.

Bucky made a vague grunt, somewhere between polite acknowledgment and indifference. “Couple years,” he muttered, the words barely escaping his mouth as his gaze flicked to her face again.

Trying not to stare, he let his eyes drift down, but they always found their way back to her. As she carefully moved around him, he observed the cadence of her movements, and the subtle kindness in her tone, and all completed the picture in his mind. The woman from Pierce’s household, he was certain of it now.

She tilted her head thoughtfully as she continued cutting, briefly meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Going short can feel like a fresh start,” she remarked, casual yet reassuring. “Sometimes, it’s about more than just hair, it’s like letting go of whatever it held onto. It happens a lot.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked up, catching her gaze in the mirror before he could stop himself. There was a beat of silence as her words hit a little closer than he’d expected.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice low, almost as if speaking to himself. “That’s… kind of the point.”

She met his gaze again with a glimmer of understanding in her eyes, but she didn’t press him. She just nodded, lifting the corners of her mouth into a gentle smile. “Well,” she said softly, resuming the rhythm of the scissors, “then let’s make sure we do it right.”

Eventually, she paused the trimming, assessing the hair’s new length with a critical eye. “Alright,” she said, lifting the electric clipper with a raised brow. “Any specific style you want, or…?”

Bucky met her gaze in the mirror again, hesitating just for a moment. If he knew anything about styles, he might’ve had an opinion, but all he cared about was the fresh start he’d come here for. “Just… short,” he replied, with a hint of uncertainty.

She nodded with a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Got it,” she said, setting to work. The clippers buzzed to life, and as she deftly worked them through the remaining length, Bucky let himself drift, trusting her to handle the rest. By the time she stepped back to survey her work, he barely recognized his own reflection; shorter, cleaner, a stark shift from the man he’d tried so hard to leave behind.

As she brushed his shoulders for stray hairs, the old men ambled back to the front, their voices rising in a familiar, lively argument about the weapons used in the Vietnam War.

“I’m telling you, the M16 was practically useless in those conditions,” one of them grumbled, shaking his head as if reliving the frustration.

“Oh, don’t start with that again,” the other scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “The M14 was a good rifle but couldn’t match the firepower.”

Bucky couldn’t help himself. “There were issues with both models,” he interjected. The men turned, eyebrows raised as he continued, “M16’s jamming problems, and the M14’s recoil, that didn’t make it any easier in the jungle.”

One of them raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms with a slight smirk. “So, you a collector or something, son? Not many people remember those details.”

Bucky paused, weighing his words. He shot them a sideways glance, with a hint of something unreadable in his expression.

“Nah,” he murmured. “Just... good memory.”

It was all he said, but the weight behind his words was enough to hold their gaze for a moment longer than either man expected.

She watched them leave with a smile tugging at the corner of her lips before she turned back to Bucky, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Well, would you look at that,” she said, amused yet curious. “Didn’t think I’d get to see you join in the shop banters so soon. Well, there you go,” she said, stepping back. “Sharp as ever.” She reached over to grab his jacket from the hook, handing it to him with a small, encouraging smile that held a warmth he hadn’t felt in ages.

Bucky gave her a faint nod and took his jacket, slipping it on. “Thanks,” he muttered, feeling her eyes on him as he reached for the door.

As Bucky left the parlor after his haircut, the chill in the evening air prickled against his skin, grounding him in the present but doing little to quiet the memories that kept surfacing in his mind. Each step felt like shaking off a shadow of something long gone, something buried. He told himself, firmly, that she was just another person from his past, just a woman who once showed him kindness in a place that had none. It shouldn’t mean anything after all these years.

But over the next few days, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d left something unresolved. Her image haunted him not in the sharp, painful fragments of his past but in small, lingering echoes. He remembered the sound of her humming when she thought no one was listening, the soft click of plates, and the surprising warmth of the treats she’d left for him, knowing he might never touch them. She had looked at him, masked and silent, like he was a person, not just a thing covered in shadows.

A few days later, in session, his therapist caught on to his distracted state. She didn’t exactly push, but she revisited the topic they’d been circling for weeks: reconnecting with people, finding his place outside the shadows of his past. Her advice nagged at him as much as it reassured him. Connection. Yeah, right.

Then, one afternoon, his phone buzzed. It was Sam. He was doing outreach work in the neighborhood, trying to connect local veterans with PTSD resources. “Look, I could use a hand with some pamphlets,” Sam said, in a way that didn’t leave much room for negotiation. “Some old-timers hang around that parlor you mentioned. I think they’d be more open to it if you dropped these off.”

Despite his reluctance, Bucky ended up agreeing. Maybe he needed to see her again to put the memories finally to rest.

When Bucky stepped back into the parlor with the pamphlets clutched in his hand, Frank was busy with a client, and she was at the counter, writing something down in a small notebook. She looked up when the door chimed, and her gaze settled on him with a flicker of recognition.

Bucky cleared his throat and handed some pamphlets to Frank, who glanced at them with a barely concealed frown. “What is this, some new-age help group thing?” the old man muttered, though he took them anyway.

Before Bucky could respond, Sam walked in behind him, a wide grin plastered on his face. He slapped Bucky on the shoulder. “Hey, pal, didn’t know you’d actually do it,” he said, casting a friendly nod to the old-timers who regarded him with wary interest.

The veterans, having heard the conversation, perk up. “What’s this?” one of them asked, and Sam jumped in, explaining with his usual charm about the outreach work for veterans, PTSD resources, and community support. Bucky stood back, feeling the walls around him starting to rise, the familiar urge to retreat coming over him. But then he caught her watching him. He returned her gaze, and suddenly it was as if no time had passed. She was the same woman who used to hum softly in a house that held no warmth.

Before he knew it, Frank was muttering about “newfangled therapy and pamphlets” while the veterans grumbled, though one of them eventually accepted a flyer with a shrug. The moment felt absurd, but then, with a quiet laugh, she came to Bucky’s side. “Welcome back,” she said, with a soft voice and a suspicious biting on her bottom lip.

He cleared his throat, barely meeting her gaze. "Hi. Just, uh, helping Sam here with these pamphlets." He gestured awkwardly at the handful still clutched in his grip as if that alone explained his return. But before he could slide into silence, she tilted her head, curious.

"So… were you in the service, too?"

The question caught him off guard. His body stiffened, and for a moment, he considered deflecting. But then he took a short breath, composing himself before speaking.

"Yeah. Sergeant… a long time ago.” The words came out almost hollow like he was not even talking about himself. “Feels like it, anyway.”

Her eyes roamed his face as if she was noticing the wear and ache behind his expression for the first time, but she didn’t press him for more.

Behind them, Frank’s sharp gaze flicked over Bucky, his usual squint softening just a touch. He straightened, nodding with something closer to respect, and his gruffness was replaced by a rare moment of understanding. Bucky felt it, too, the unspoken acknowledgment from one who’s seen their kind wear the years like scars. “Well,” Frank said, his voice a little less brusque, “good on you for helpin’ out.” He didn’t look directly at Bucky as he said it, but the words were meant for him all the same.

He nodded, unsure of what to say.

Her smile grew softer as she met his gaze again “Guess we’ll be seeing you around, then, visiting the boys?”

Bucky shifted, glancing down with a faint nod. “Yeah. Maybe,” he muttered. Then he glanced back at Sam, who was deep in conversation with the veterans, seemingly in no rush to leave. He noticed the way Sam’s gaze occasionally flickered their way and caught the subtle grin playing at the corner of his mouth. To anyone else, it’d seem so, so casual, but he knew better, Sam was doing it on purpose.

Bucky shot him a glare, but Sam kept his focus on the other vets, though his eyes flickered with barely concealed amusement when he glanced back.

The silence stretched a little too long, and she cleared her throat, slipping behind the counter. “You know,” she said lightly, “if you’re waiting on your friend, might as well have a coffee. It’s on the house.”

Bucky’s eyes fell to the floor, and he hesitated just a second before nodding. “Sure. Thanks.”

As she moved to make the coffee, he leaned on the counter, resting his gloved hands awkwardly on its surface as she prepared a mug for him. Then, without warning, she reached under the counter and pulled out a green tupperware, popping the lid to reveal neatly cut slices of pasta frola. The sight caught him off guard, furrowing his brows as a faint but vivid memory flickered to life, the faint smell of jam in the kitchen, the delicate pastry offered to him wrapped in a paper napkin, so his pocket wouldn’t get stained.

She noticed his look and chuckled lightly, misreading his reaction. “Don’t worry, it’s just a family recipe. I swear it’s not poisoned.” She gave him a half-smile, nudging the container closer. “It’s filled with quince jam, it’s tangy but sweet. Hard to come by here in the States, I know. But... it’s worth a try.”

Bucky blinked, as the memory lingered in his mind. “I’ve had it before,” he said quietly, more to himself than her, before reaching over and picking up a slice. The taste was startlingly similar, he didn’t realize how vividly he remembered it. “Pretty good,” he murmured, almost begrudgingly. But before he could stop himself, a flicker of raw emotion tightened in his chest, and he felt the familiar sting of tears prickling at his eyes.

He turned away quickly, bracing himself against the counter, willing for the feeling to pass. He couldn’t explain it if he tried, not to her, not even to himself. A stray laugh reached him from across the room, and he forced himself to breathe, focusing on the sound of Sam’s voice, the distant grunting of the men, anything to distract him.

Her voice broke through his lapsus, warm and light as she cleaned up the counter beside him. “Well, if you like it, there’s plenty more where that came from,” she commented with a playful smile. “The ‘boys’ practically fight over the last slice every time. You should see them, it’s like watching kids in a schoolyard,” she laughed softly, wiping down the counter. “I swear, I’ve had to start hiding an extra plate in the back just to keep up the peace.”

She glanced over at him, still unaware of his reaction, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “So, no pressure, but if you plan on sticking around here, you’ll have to stake your claim early.” Her voice was so light and easy, almost teasing as if sharing a small, harmless secret.

Bucky managed to make a nod, keeping his face averted until he was sure he was composed. Only then did he turn back, giving her a quick, curt nod. “Thanks. It… brings back memories,” he said, with his voice a little steadier now, though the weight of those memories lingered in his mind.

“Oh?” She tilted her head, eyes bright with curiosity. “I hope good memories?” Her smile was warm, perhaps imagining a grandmother’s kitchen or a friendly neighbor’s table, after all, it was rare for an American to have tried this kind of tart.

Bucky’s mouth curved into a faint, thin smile as he met her gaze for a fleeting moment before looking away again. “Something like that,” he replied, with a carefully neutral tone, edged with something unreadable. He lifted the coffee mug, taking a slow sip, hoping the gesture would gently close the conversation.

Before she could respond, the door chime sounded, and a man in his late thirties strolled into the shop with an air of familiarity. His gaze landed on her, and his expression shifted into something smug and self-assured as he greeted her by name. His eyes lingered a little too long, sliding over her outfit in a way that barely bothered to conceal his interest.

Her posture stiffened, but she managed to smile, nodding his way. “Hey, Brian. Frank will be back in a few if you’d rather wait.”

Brian chuckled dismissively as he made his way to the chair. “Nah, it’s just a maintenance cut. I don’t need Frank for that.” He settled in, leaning back with a casual grin. “Besides, I’d much rather have you take care of me. Your hands are way more skilled.”

“Right…” She gave him a thin smile. Glancing at Bucky, she excused herself from his side and headed over to tend to Brian.

As she set up her tools, Brian leaned back in the chair, angling himself to keep her in his line of sight. “Looking good today,” he praised, dropping his tone slightly as he studied her reflection in the mirror. “Gotta say, it makes my day to come in and see you here.”

She responded with a brief laugh, brushing off his comment as she began trimming his hair. “Just here to make sure you’re looking sharp.”

Bucky stayed a little longer by the counter, pretending to be absorbed in his coffee. But his eyes flicked up occasionally, catching the exchange in the mirror’s reflection.

Watching him quietly eating the last bite of tart at the counter, Brian smirked, leaning back in the chair with a lazy grin. “You know,” he drawled, gazing at her intently, “One of these days, I’ll have to get my mouth on that pie of yours.” The words were laced with an unmistakable undertone, his gaze lingering on her as if testing the waters.

Her hand stopped just for a fraction of a second before she responded, a quick, professional smile in place. “Well, I’ll let you know if I ever start taking special orders.” Her words were smooth and dismissive, sidestepping his implication.

Bucky’s fingers tightened around his mug. Was this modern flirting? He found himself suppressing the urge to remind Brian of a little respect. But with what right exactly? Some possessive urge rooted over a long-ago act of kindness? They’d barely exchanged a handful of words, words that, by the way, he could hardly string. Still, he couldn’t shake a barely contained irritation that crept inside him, a feeling both unfamiliar and too familiar all at once.

Brian’s flirting continued, tone growing bolder as he lounged in the chair with his eyes fixed on her as she tried to maintain her professional composure. Eventually, Bucky’s patience snapped.

He placed his mug down with a soft clink, rising to his full height and striding over, casting a long shadow across the two of them.

With a calm, steely edge to his voice, he focused his gaze on her. “Well, sweetheart, I’ve got some things to take care of with Sam. But I can’t wait to see you in that dress later.”

She blinked, pausing her scissors mid-snip as she processed what he’d just said. Then, catching on to the improvisation, she broke into a warm smile, tilting her head with a look of mock apology toward Brian before turning fully to Bucky.

“Oh, of course! Can’t wait to see you too, handsome,” she replied, adding a playful lilt to her voice. And without missing a beat, she tiptoed up, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s cheek, resting her hand on his shoulder for a bit of extra effect.

Brian’s smile faltered, and his expression shifted to discomfort as he glanced away, and the bravado vanished from his eyes.

Bucky turned smoothly, not sparing Brian a single glance as he made his way over to Sam, calm and unhurried. The entire shop seemed to hold its breath, caught in the aftermath of the exchange. Sam looked at him with a quirked brow, and Frank… just narrowed his gaze. Has something been going on under his nose with this redeemed hippie and he didn’t know about it?

Meanwhile, she could barely keep her thoughts straight. Her heart pounded wildly, and a thousand questions assaulted her mind as she mentally replayed what had just happened. First, the shock that Bucky had stepped in at all, with that calm authority that had left Brian squirming. Then, there was how effortlessly he’d delivered his line, so convincingly she almost believed it herself. And finally... God, the way he smelled when she leaned up to kiss him. Cedar, leather, and masculinity. She could still feel the trace warmth of his lean, muscular shoulder beneath her hand.

Had she overdone it? The kissing, the touching… she wasn’t sure, though part of her almost wished it had been real. She bit her lip, determined to focus on the task at hand as Brian shifted uncomfortably in the chair, with his earlier smugness replaced by an awkward silence.

Bucky reached Sam, who glanced up with a grin as he passed over the stack of pamphlets. “So… all this time you had a girlfriend and didn’t say a word, Tinman? That is low, even for you” he teased under his breath, low enough that only Bucky could hear.

“No, I didn’t,” Bucky muttered with a tight jaw, but the faintest hint of a smirk broke his factions. He didn’t meet Sam’s gaze, keeping his eyes on the pamphlets.

-----

One day, after a month since that unusual afternoon in the shop, she got out in her free time and settled on a park bench, skillfully crocheting yarn into neat, colorful granny squares, fully absorbed in her work.

Life wanted Bucky to pass through the park on his way home, hands stuffed in his pockets, with his troubled mind preoccupied with dark thoughts, a product of a grueling therapy session. But then he saw her, sitting just across the path and he halted. There she was, peaceful and intent on her project, just as she’d been all those years ago. Back then, he’d only dared to steal quick, curious glances, being a silent observer bound by his handler’s whims. But today, seeing her absorbed in those same small stitches, he felt an undeniable urge to bridge the distance between them. It took him a moment to remind himself that he was free to walk over, to break the silence himself. He took a breath, then walked toward her.

When his shadow fell over her work, she looked up, and her eyes widened with recognition. “Oh!” she said, surprised, but quickly smiled, recovering from the initial shock. “Hey, stranger.”

He felt a small, tentative smile come through despite himself. “Hey,” he murmured. His gaze flickered down to the granny squares arranged on her lap. “I’m interrupting? You just looked focused.”

She chuckled, lifting the half-formed square to show him. “Not at all; it’s my therapy, I guess. Helps me unwind.” Then, after a beat, she patted the space beside her. “Want to join me for a bit?”

He hesitated briefly before nodding. “Yeah… yeah, I’d like that.” Then he sat down.

Neither spoke for a while, just content to share the moment under the sun. Then, she glanced over at him. “You know, I never got the chance to thank you properly… for that day at the parlor, it meant a lot.”

He looked up, with a hint of surprise in his expression, then shrugged slightly, as a modest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t need thanking. But… you’re welcome.”

She smiled back, and that gesture eased something tense in his chest. He swallowed, gathering his thoughts, as his fingers traced the line of his glove. The moment felt right, and finally, he broke the silence. “There’s, uh… something I’ve been wanting to tell you.” He glanced down at his hands, stilling his thumb over his gloved palm. “If… if you’ve got some time.”

She paused, looking at him with a hint of curiosity, resting her hands on her project. “Of course.”

He sighed heavily as if exhaling years of hesitation. Slowly, deliberately, he began tugging at the glove on his left hand, peeling it off to reveal the metallic gleam beneath the fabric. The sun's soft light caught on the intricate panels and joints, giving the hand an almost otherworldly sheen.

Her hands stilled, and the yarn was left forgotten in her lap. Her eyes widened briefly as she took it in. At first, she assumed it was just a particularly advanced prosthesis. But then he flexed his fingers, and the subtle, fluid movement was far too precise, too seamless for any ordinary piece of tech. And then everything clicked. She’d seen that hand -arm- before, on news reports and grainy footage, the infamous name whispered in fear, The Winter Soldier. But alongside that news had been another truth: the revelation that he’d been a victim, conditioned to act against his will. A mere puppet of Hydra’s schemes. A human pet trained to secure their darkest ambitions.

Her gaze softened, with a mix of understanding and sorrow replacing her initial shock. She didn’t flinch or retreat. Instead, she studied his face, the way his jaw tensed, and how his shoulders braced as if he expected her to pull away. She hesitated, hovering her hand over his for a moment before gently resting it on his vibranium fingers. “Why are you showing me this?”

He stared at her hand, as if the touch was foreign to him, something he didn’t know how to accept. Finally, he sighed, the weight of the confession was evident in the way his shoulders slumped. “Because,” he began “almost nine years ago, you worked as a nanny for a family that went by Pierce.”

Her brow furrowed, surprised that he’d brought up something from so long ago, also puzzled by how he could possibly know. Only a handful of people had ever been in that apartment, and none of them had been a man with a metal arm.

“How… how do you know that?” she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral, though a thousand questions began to swirl in her mind.

“They told you I was security detail,” he said, watching her closely. “Some faceless bodyguard lurking in the shadows. Except it wasn’t exactly… just that.” His voice softened, with a hint of remorse lacing each word.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she tried to connect the dots. She then remembered the quiet figure who’d kept to the periphery, masked, rigid and composed, an entire presence veiled in secrecy. His silence had unnerved her at first, but soon, it had become as much a part of the background as the furniture in the apartment. “You’re- that was- you were-” The realization dawned slowly, and her hand covered involuntarily her mouth as the pieces slid into place.

He nodded, not breaking eye contact. “I couldn’t say anything back then. Couldn’t even… react on my own accord. But I remember you. I remember the little things you did. The treats you left, the music… your hobby.” His gaze fell briefly to her hands, where her current project lay forgotten. “It was… one of the only kindnesses I knew, back then.”

She stared, absorbing the weight of his confession, piecing together the faint memories of that silent figure in the shadows, the one she’d tried to reach in small, gentle ways. The realization that the man in front of her, the Winter Soldier, was him left her feeling so sad, revealing a hidden, tragic depth.

“So… you were there, but you weren’t allowed to… be you,” she said softly, the words tumbling out as she tried to grasp it all.

“Yeah,” he murmured, almost a sigh. “There’s a lot of shit I’m still sorting through, but… I couldn’t shake the thought of telling you. What you did back then,” he paused, his voice dipping to a whisper, “it meant more to me than you ever know.”

She looked down, and her heart caught at the tone of his words. Before she could respond, he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck with a bit of hesitation.

“Look,” he started, and she noticed his ears had turned a faint shade of red. “I, uh… don’t want to scare you off here. I get it if you think I’m coming on too strong, or if this seems… creepy.” He shifted, holding her gaze. “But I wanted to ask if maybe you’d like to… if you’d want to get a coffee sometime… or, I don’t know, maybe dinner?” A hint of nervousness flickered in his blue eyes, and he broke into a self-conscious grin. “Unless that sounds like a terrible idea, in which case, we could also just… feed some ducks in the park or something,” he said, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. ‘Feeding ducks? Do people still even do that?’

Seeing him tripping over his words made her heart skip. Smiling, she let the silence linger for just a moment before nodding. “I’d like that, whatever you’d prefer, coffee, dinner… or even feeding the ducks.”

A noticing relief flooded his face, and his shoulders relaxed. He chuckled, and for the first time, she saw a glimpse of someone who had spent far too long hidden behind walls, someone who was finally allowing himself a chance to live.

-----

Saturday’s sunset hadn’t even fully settled in when Bucky found himself pacing toward the parlor, with the nerves buzzing under his skin. This was his first proper date since 1943, and he felt like a high school boy. An awkward, brooding, traumatized, and scarred high school boy. Great, he thought, glancing up at the swirling clouds that promised rain, thunder echoing faintly from afar. He checked his reflection in a nearby window, adjusting his collar, brushing a hand through his hair. The frown he caught staring back only made him feel more ridiculous.

He stepped into the shop and spotted her immediately, busying herself around the place, her brows knit in concentration. She didn’t notice him at first, but when she finally looked up, her eyes lit up in surprise.

“Oh, hey,” she said, smiling wide as she took him in.

“Hey,” he replied a little awkwardly, realizing he’d arrived early. Clearing his throat, he lifted the small bouquet, feeling hopeful and self-conscious as he handed them over. “Uh… these are for you.”

She blinked, clearly touched. “Bucky… thank you. They’re beautiful.” She inhaled the scent, and he could have sworn he saw a soft glow in her cheeks. Frank, was sitting behind the counter and watched the whole exchange, and Bucky saw how his usual skeptical gaze softened just a little at the sight of the flowers. For a moment, he felt like he’d earned a point of approval from the old man.

Just then, another roll of thunder echoed in the distance, making her glance up at him with a teasing smile. “You think we’ll beat the storm?”

He held out his arm, “Guess we’ll find out,” he said with a lopsided grin, trying to keep his cool despite the nerves.

And with that, they headed out, stepping into the evening together, the storm chasing them as they walked to the nearby bistro.

The rain came down fast and thick, a relentless curtain that left them drenched within seconds. They huddled under a small awning, Bucky grimacing as he realized he hadn’t even thought of bringing an umbrella -not that he owned one, anyway-. He glanced over at her, taking in the way her damp dress clung to her body. He raked a hand through his dripping hair, sighing.

“Didn’t see this coming,” he muttered, half to himself, half to her. “I’m… sorry.”

She blinked up at him, surprised. “Why are you apologizing for the weather?”

He shrugged, as a sheepish look crossed his face. “Guess I feel like I should’ve been prepared.” He shifted uncomfortably, feeling a little foolish for not planning better. “I could… call you a cab? We can try for another night.”

She gave him a tentative smile. “Or… if you want, my place is just upstairs from the parlor. You’re already here, and it’s warm. We could dry off and… watch a movie? Order some dinner?”

Bucky blinked, a bit taken aback. The invitation tugged at something deep and old-fashioned inside him. A woman who lived alone, inviting her date to her house at night... But then again, times had changed and so had he. He could feel the pull, that magnetic urge to spend a little more time in her company, and really, wasn’t that the whole point of tonight?

With a flicker of a smile, he nodded. “Yeah, that sounds nice.” He followed her through the rain-drenched streets, his boots splashing lightly in the shallow puddles until they reached the stairwell beside the parlor that led up to her apartment. She fumbled with her keys, glancing over her shoulder to flash him a quick, almost conspiratorial grin.

As they stepped inside, she chuckled, eyeing his soaked clothes. “I can get you some of Frank’s stuff to change into,” she offered, giving his drenched jacket a sympathetic look. “I do his laundry, so I’m sure we’ll find something that fits you. Just… don’t tell him.” She winked, with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Despite the cold clothes sticking to his skin, Bucky felt a warm chuckle bubble up. “I think I can keep a secret,” he said, playing along, as his gaze lingered on her smile a second longer than he meant to. There, surrounded by warm, mismatched furniture and soft, inviting blankets, he felt welcomed into a place that felt… real, lived on, totally opposite of his apartment.

"Sorry about the mess," she murmured, disappearing toward a small laundry room tucked around the corner.

Bucky gave a noncommittal grunt, following her with his gaze despite himself. He tried to focus on anything else, but the soaked dress clung to every inch of her body, tracing her silhouette in a way that made it impossible to look away. He found himself rooted to the spot, too aware of his heartbeat drumming harder than it should. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair. Get a grip, he told himself. Standing there in a small puddle, he felt more out of place than ever, and yet, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be anywhere else.

She returned a moment later with a bundle of clothes in her hands: a pair of worn pants that looked like they’d sit loose and just shy of his ankles, along with a white tank top and a blue flannel. “It’ll do for now, though, fair warning, he’s got about half your shoulders, so don’t blame me if the fit’s a bit... weird.”

Bucky accepted the clothes, glancing at the pants with a wry smile. “Weird’s fine,” he mumbled, grateful for anything dry but wondering if he’d end up looking like he’d raided a teenager’s closet.

Her laughter was light as she stepped back. “I’ll give you a minute to get changed,” she said, nodding toward a corner of the room. Then, she grabbed a set of fresh clothes for herself, giving him a quick nod before slipping off to the bathroom.

Once alone, Bucky looked down at the makeshift outfit. It was strange how easy she made things feel, and stranger still how much he found himself wanting to fit, if only for this evening.

Eventually, she emerged from the bathroom with a casual skirt and a matching blouse, feeling more comfortable, until her gaze landed on Bucky. He was leaning against the window, looking out at the rain-soaked street, lost in thought. The borrowed pants hung low on his hips, but it was the white tank top that made her brain stutter. It clung to him in a way that left little to the imagination, stretched taut across his broad chest, outlining every defined line of muscle. She could even make out the slight press of his nipples through the fabric, proof of the strain his frame put on the shirt that was clearly never made for him. She noticed the blue shirt he’d left folded on the table, and before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “Couldn’t make the flannel work?”

Bucky glanced over, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a self-conscious smirk. “Yeah… tried it,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t quite fit.”

She quickly averted her gaze, trying to mask the impure thoughts racing through her mind as she gestured toward the bulky cabinet under the TV. “So… movie or board game?”

Bucky’s gaze lingered on her for a beat, soaking in the warmth of her place, and the coziness of being alone here with her. He felt a soft pull again, something that made him want to take another step closer, to reach out and-

“Let’s play,” he murmured, a bit roughly. Then, he gave her a slight smile. “Show me what you’ve got.”

They fell into the games as if nothing else existed. The hours slipped by unnoticed, each turn they took erased a little more of the self-consciousness they’d started with. Laughter broke through the usual stillness of her living room, paired with playful jabs and shameless victory dances as they bickered over the rules and accused each other of cheating.

At some point, she stopped worrying about how much she was watching him. It didn’t matter if her gaze lingered on the way his broad shoulders hunched with focus, or if she found herself distracted by a rare, soft chuckle he let slip when she pulled a fast one on him. And Bucky, for his part, began to let go of his usual reservations. Here, in her warm, cluttered living room with mismatched furniture, and board game boxes stacked by the couch, he felt no need to carry the weight of conversation or second-guess every gesture. He didn’t need to measure himself against the usual question of what was “normal” or “appropriate.”

As the night wore on, they were sitting on the floor, engrossed in another game, the coffee table cluttered with pieces and cards. The mood had shifted from playful to fiercely competitive. Both of them were leaning forward, so focused on the game that they barely noticed how close they’d become.

Amid a particularly tense round, she reached forward quickly to snatch one of his pieces. Bucky, acting on pure instinct, grabbed her wrist to stop her. But when doing so, his grip was a little too forceful, and before either of them could react, she lost her balance. She lurched forward, crashing into the coffee table as her hands scrambled for purchase and toppled over, knocking the game pieces everywhere.

Bucky froze, and his eyes went wide with shock as he realized what had happened. His heart raced against his ribs as guilt and embarrassment washed over his body.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurted with panic. His hand hovered near her, unsure whether to touch her or give her space. “I didn’t mean to- I didn’t think- are you okay?”

She sat up, a little dazed but unharmed. She managed to smile softly, trying to ease the tension. “I’m fine, really. Just… caught off guard.”

Bucky didn’t move from his spot, his entire body taut with self-reproach. He ran a hand through his hair, avoiding her gaze as he muttered more apologies. “I shouldn’t have- I didn’t mean to grab you like that.” His words tumbled over each other in a hurried mess.

Her eyes softened, and she quickly tried to reassure him, though she could see the increasing discomfort in his posture. “It’s fine,” she said calmly. “I’m alright, seriously. You didn’t hurt me.”

But Bucky wasn’t listening. The self-reproach was already spiraling in his mind, the usual inner monologue of guilt and doubt taking over. “I’m a fucking mess,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “I can’t even-”

She reached out slowly, touching his arm lightly to calm him. “It’s okay,” she said again, but she saw it happening, his retreat, and it made her heart sink. He was going to pull away. She could see it in his posture, the way his gaze avoided hers, the tension in his shoulders as if he was already preparing to leave.

Without thinking, without any plan, she blurted out the only thing that had been swirling around in her head since the moment they started this strange, unpredictable connection. "I like you."

The words hung in the air, louder than anything she’d ever said before, a sudden bomb dropped in the middle of their awkward standoff. Her breath caught in her throat as soon as they left her mouth, and her heart skipped a beat, the rush of adrenaline almost as strong as the surge of fear. She could already feel her cheeks heating, but she couldn’t take it back now.

Bucky’s head snapped up at her words, and the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly as he looked at her, stunned. For a moment, all he could do was stare at her, as if he were trying to make sense of what she’d just said.

“You- you like me.” he finally managed, his voice barely more than a whisper, slightly skeptical.

She smiled in a way that was both reassuring and a bit teasing. “Well, that was the whole point of accepting going on a date with you, right?” His gaze flickered up, surprised, as she continued, “Why do you think I’d say yes to your invitation in the first place? I was even down to feed ducks with you.” Her smile widened, trying to lighten the mood, and a bit of that earlier sparkle returned to his eyes.

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he shook his head, with a mix of relief and amusement in his expression. “I thought maybe- I don’t know. Maybe you’d just be nice, humor me a little.”

She straightened up, putting on her best impression of an old-fashioned debutante. “Excuse you, but I don’t feed ducks with just any man, what kind of woman do you think I am?” The statement had him laughing, a deep, hearty laugh that made his eyes crinkle and his nose wrinkle in an adorable way, making her knees feel like jelly.

He held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t realize I was asking for such an honor. Guess I’ll have to work my way up to that level of duck-feeding trust.”

Her heart pounded as she met his gaze, and managed to find her voice. “So… if you’re serious about making up for that offense,” she teased, “I might be open to… one little act of apology.”

He paused, and his eyes widened just a fraction as he took in her words. A small, amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and his gaze softened as he reached up, almost on instinct, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear with a featherlight touch.

“I… think I can manage that,” he murmured, in a warm, low tone. His thumb skimmed her cheek, brushing his fingers along her jaw as he leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to stop him. Then, finally, his lips touched hers, in a gentle and chaste gesture. When they broke apart, they stayed close, foreheads nearly touching, neither quite ready to pull away. His hand lingered on her face, grazing his thumb on her cheek as he whispered, “Is that enough to earn back your trust, or do I still have some work to do?”

She laughed softly, “I think… that was a pretty good start.” Then she bit her lip, leaning further into his touch, “Though, maybe…” she whispered, her voice dropping to a daring, playful note, “you might have to put in a bit more effort to repair the affront on my reputation.”

He didn’t need any further invitation. His hand slipped around the back of her head, as he pulled her close, capturing her mouth with a force that made her knees feel weak. This wasn’t the gentle, tentative kiss from before; this was raw, heated, as though he was pouring all the things he couldn’t say into the way his lips moved against hers.

His mouth parted, and his tongue slid against hers, drawing a soft, involuntary moan from her lips. She melted against him, her hands finding his shoulders and gripping tight. He angled his head then, deepening the kiss, brushing the back of her neck with his thumb as he sensually assaulted her mouth.

When he finally broke away, his burning gaze met hers, and he managed a rough, breathless murmur, “Was that… enough effort?”

Her cheeks heated, her voice barely a whisper. “Yeah, that’ll… do.” But the playful smile on her lips told him she wasn’t entirely ready to let go either.

Bucky’s hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer, whispering her name, low and reverent, as he trailed kisses along her jaw and down her neck, each warm breath sending shivers over her skin. Her fingers wove into his hair, her other hand tracing the rough line of stubble along his jaw. Slowly, she tugged him up, and their lips met again in another heated kiss.

The world around them seemed to fade entirely, the patter of rain on the window was the only sound other than their breathless murmurs. His lips were hot and demanding against hers, his hand firm on her waist as he eased them both down to the plush carpet. The scattered board game pieces were forgotten, pressing into their knees and elbows as they moved together, desperate and unrestrained.

Bucky’s vibranium fingers brushed up her side, cool and deliberate, as his other hand still cupped the back of her head to angle her closer. His lips left hers, trailing down her throat, nipping at the sensitive skin just above her collarbone as his hand slid beneath her blouse, fingertips tracing patterns along her skin.

Her hands roamed over his shoulders and his back, as she tugged him closer, her nails grazing just enough to make him hiss. His breathing was uneven “Tell me-,” He rasped, voice thick with need, “Tell me you want this.”

She reached for his face, tracing her fingers along the rough line of stubble in his jaw. “I do.”

Bucky’s lips crashed onto hers, drinking in every soft gasp she gave him. His weight pressed her down against the plush carpet as his hand slid up the curve of her thigh beneath her skirt. The soft fabric bunched under his touch, as his fingers brushed higher until the cool air met her exposed skin. She shivered, but not from the chill. The vibranium hand moved to the buttons of her blouse, steady but reverent. One by one, the delicate closures came undone, and as the fabric fell away, and his knuckles brushed against the warm skin of her chest, drawing a quiet moan from her lips. When the blouse finally opened, he pulled back just enough to look at her, his heavy-lidded eyes dark with desire as his chest heaved with ragged breaths.

“God,” he murmured, his voice rough and full of want. The hand on her thigh squeezed gently, while his other hand grazed her exposed collarbone, slipping beneath the straps of her bra.

Her breath hitched as his fingers teased along the edge of the fabric before slipping it down her shoulder. His lips followed, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses that made her arch beneath him. The scrape of his stubble against her sensitive skin only heightened the sensations. His mouth moved lower, dragging over the curve of her breast until his lips hovered above the thin lace of her bra.

She gasped as he nipped lightly through the fabric, licking promptly to soothe the sting. “Bucky,” she whispered, her voice trembling, filled with need.

His gaze flicked up to hers as his hand came up to cup her other breast, his thumb brushed over her nipple through the lace, drawing a soft, breathy moan from her, and then repeated the motion, this time circling the stiffened peak with a deliberate slowness that had her squirming beneath him.

Her hips shifted instinctively, brushing against his, and that’s when she felt his erection, pressing insistently against her thigh through the loose fabric of his borrowed pants, and she arched into him, slipping her hands beneath his tank top to trace the hard planes of his chest.

“Feel what you do to me?” he rasped, his voice breaking as her fingers trailed lower, tracing the edge of his waistband.

Her answer was a breathless kiss, open and hungry, her teeth tugging lightly at his lower lip before her tongue swept into his mouth. He groaned against her, pressing his hips against hers in a slow, deliberate grind that made them both gasp with want.

The friction between them built as his hand moved from her breast, sliding down her side to grip her hip. He tugged her leg higher around his waist, pressing himself more firmly against her. Her nails scraped lightly down his back as he thrust his hips again, and the pressure of his cock against her clothed clit sent sparks of pleasure through her body.

“Please,” she whispered, a needy, whiney sound.

He stilled for a heartbeat, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes, and his lips curled into a sly smirk. “I need you to use your words, doll,” he murmured, voice gravelly and thick with desire.

Her cheeks heated, and the weight of his tired gaze made her shy for just a moment. But the throbbing between her thighs burned hotter than her embarrassment. She licked her lips and she found her voice, a little bolder now. “I… want you inside me.”

His smirk vanished, replaced by something darker, hungrier. He reached behind his neck to pull off his tank top in one swift motion.

The scars on his shoulder and chest caught the dim light, jagged reminders of everything he’d endured. Her fingers stilled against his chest, breath catching as she took him in. But there wasn’t fear or pity in her gaze, only awe, tenderness, and something that made his throat tighten.

“You’re so handsome,” she murmured, leaning forward to press her lips to his collarbone. Her kisses trailed across his skin, soft and reverent, lingering on the edge of a scar.

The last of his self-consciousness melted away at her touch, and he growled softly, pushing her back down onto the carpet. His vibranium hand wrapped around her wrists, pinning them above her head with just enough pressure to make her breath hitch.

“You’re so pretty, you know that?” he said, brushing his lips on her ear as his free hand slid down her body. He traced the curve of her waist, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties. Her breath hitched as his hand dipped beneath the fabric, teasing her, tracing slow circles over her clit with controlled and deliberate movements as if savoring every little sound she made.

“So wet for me,” he murmured, lips ghosting over her jaw before pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “All for me, huh?”

“Bucky,” she gasped, bucking her hips against his hand.

“Patience, doll, I’m a little… rusty.” he whispered, as his fingers slid lower, parting her folds and slipping inside her. Her moan was like music to his ears, her body arching beneath him as he set a slow, maddening rhythm.

She writhed against him, and her breathless gasps and whispered pleas spurred him on. He watched her intently with a dark and focused gaze, seeking each stroke and curl inside her that made her moan, learning what made her gasp his name like a prayer.

Her hands twisted above her head where his metal hand kept them pinned, and her thighs trembled as her body moved instinctively against his. "That's it," he murmured, his lips brushing over her neck. "Let me hear you. Tell me what feels good."

A strangled cry escaped her lips as his fingers found just the right spot, and his thumb brushed over her clit in perfect tandem. Her hips bucked against his hand, chasing the pleasure he gave her. Her voice was breathless, broken as she moaned, "Right there- oh! God, right there."

His tongue traced the shell of her ear “Got you, sweetheart. Just let go for me.”

She shattered beneath him moments later, tipping her head back as the waves of her release washed over her body. Her cries filled the room, mingling with the rhythm of the rain outside. Bucky felt the tight coil of his own restraint loosen at the sight of her release. Any lingering self-doubt evaporated, replaced by the raw satisfaction of knowing he’d done that, that he’d learned her, that he’d given her this.

He slowed his movements, easing her down gently, still stroking her as she trembled beneath him. When her breathing steadied, he brought his hand to his lips, his gaze never leaving hers as he licked his fingers clean, savoring her taste with a low groan.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly under his gaze. “Rusty, huh?” she murmured with a shaky laugh.

With a grin, he shifted, fumbling to rid himself of his pants. But as he pushed up onto his knees, something sharp jabbed into him, and he froze.

“Son of a-“ He hissed, lifting his knee and finding a pointy plastic game piece stuck underneath it. He held it up between two fingers, glaring at the offending object like it had personally insulted him. “Seriously?”

She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh, but the sparkle in her eyes gave her away. “That’s what happens when you’re too eager and don’t clear the battlefield first.”

“A battlefield, huh?” he grumbled, tossing the offending piece aside with a flick of his wrist. Despite his frustration, the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying a suppressed grin.

He stood quickly, tugging his pants down with a low, irritated huff. Her gaze lingered on his body, and her breath caught as her eyes traced every line of his body, every mark that told a story he didn’t always want to remember.

The heat in his expression faltered for just a second, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his gaze, but it was gone as quickly as it came, and his lips twitched in a self-conscious smirk. Climbing back on top of her, he didn’t hesitate as her hands slid up his arms, guiding him closer. Her lips found his pulse point, trailing lower to the curve of his collarbone. When her lips brushed over a jagged scar, he exhaled sharply, and his hand caught her chin, tilting her face toward his.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” he rasped.

Her eyes gleamed with mischief as her lips curled into a teasing smile. “I thought we’d already established this was a battlefield,” she whispered.

“Well… I’m not exactly known for doing sloppy jobs while battling sweetheart” he countered, and with one swift movement, he ripped the seams of her panties and guided himself with one hand, pressing lightly the thick tip of his cock against her slick entrance. Slowly, deliberately, he dragged it up and down her folds, catching on her clit with every pass. Her hips jerked against him, and a breathless moan escaped her lips. “You’re so ready for me,” he murmured, as he pressed himself harder against her, the friction almost too much. “Think you can take all of me, doll?”

“Well, I guess we’ll never know if you don’t-”

A satisfied smirk tugged at his lips before he eased into her slowly, inch by thick inch, interrupting her sass with a gasp that turned into a long, broken moan as he filled her completely. He groaned, pressing his forehead to hers as he stilled for a moment, letting her adjust to his size.

He started slow, rolling his hips into hers with a cautious rhythm, his breath hot against her neck as he groaned softly with each thrust. Her body arched beneath him, meeting him as best she could, though the stretch of his cock left her gasping.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he murmured with roughed voice, as his lips brushed her temple.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, and beneath her, the scattered cards and pieces dug into her back, but the discomfort was barely registered through the haze of pleasure coursing through her body.

“Bucky…” she whimpered, scrapping, her nails lightly against his skin as she clenched around him, lifting her hips to grind them against his.

“Hold on, doll,” he rasped, sliding his hand behind her thigh, lifting her leg higher to hook it around his waist. The new angle sent a lightning bolt of pleasure through her body, and she cried out, throwing back her head as he thrust deeper, harder.

“God, look at you,” he groaned, as his dog tags swayed with each movement. The faint metallic clink added to the symphony of their labored breaths and the rain tapping against the window.

She couldn’t think as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her body. Her fingers tightened in his hair, and the sharp tug sent a low, primal growl rumbling through his chest. He shifted, sliding his arm beneath her other thigh, resting the back of her knee on his inner elbow, thrusting deeper, harder, making her cry out, arching her back as he drove her closer to the edge. “That’s it,” he rasped, his voice rough and commanding. Her nails scraped against the rug beneath her, trying desperately to find some kind of anchor as her body writhed beneath him. “You feel so damn good,” he muttered, finding her mouth with his in a searing kiss as he continued to take her apart.

Sensing he wouldn’t last much longer, Bucky shifted slightly, sneaking his metal hand between their bodies. The coolness of vibranium against her overheated skin sent a jolt through her hips, and then his fingers found her clit. He circled it with slow, deliberate strokes, pulling a sharp gasp from her lips. But he wasn’t done. Shifting slightly, he slowly pressed his index finger at her entrance, sliding it inside alongside his cock. The new stretch made her gasp again, arching her back at an impossible angle against him.

“Bucky!” she cried, her voice breaking on his name.

He froze for a fraction of a second, giving her time to adjust, before driving his finger in knuckle-deep. The motion coaxed a pleasured cry from her lips as he curled the digit, pressing into that spot deep inside that made her see stars.

His thumb resumed its work on her clit, circling in time with the thrust of his hips and the curling of his finger. Her cries grew louder, and louder, each sound spurring him on.

“You’re so perfect like this,” he muttered, pressing his forehead against hers, his breath hot and uneven on her skin as he continued to work her over. “Falling apart for me.”

Her nails dug into his shoulders and back, the only thing grounding her as she spiraled closer to the edge. The combination of his relentless thrusts, the pressure on her clit, and the maddening stretch inside her finally shattered her. She cried out, and her entire body trembled with pleasure as the climax ripped through her body, blinding and all-consuming.

Unable to hold on any longer, he groaned deeply as he felt her tighten around his shaft, her release dragging him quickly over his own edge. He withdrew his finger, gripping her hip as he buried himself inside her with one final thrust, spilling his hot seed on her welcoming pussy. His breath came in heavy pants against her skin, and his body kept shuddering with the force of his climax.

For a moment, the only sounds in the room were their ragged breathing and the faint patter of rain against the window. He shifted slightly, resting his forehead against hers while their bodies were still entwined.

She let out a soft, contented hum, tracing lazy patterns along his shoulder. “Again, Bucky, you call this being rusty?” she murmured, curling her lips into a smile, but before she could tease him further, his expression shifted slowly, a flicker of self-doubt breaking through the earlier confidence.

He ran a hand through his hair, and a faint blush crept up his neck. “That thing I did,” he started, hesitant, “with y’know, my finger-” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely. “Was that too much? Too… weird?”

Her lips parted in surprise, but then a small, warm smile curved them. “Weird? Bucky…” She leaned in, resting her hand on his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heart beneath her palm. “It wasn’t too much. It was… creative.” She chuckled softly, her cheeks heating at the memory. “Unexpected, yeah. But in the best way.”

His brow furrowed, still caught in his head. “I just didn’t know if- it felt right at the moment, but it’s been so long since I-”

She interrupted him with a light kiss, sliding her hand to cup his jaw. “It was right,” she said firmly, locking her gaze on his. “Don’t overthink it. Just… trust me when I say you don’t have anything to worry about.” Her lips quirked into a teasing smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have pointy things prickling at my ass.”

Bucky blinked, and then his eyes darted to the floor around them, suddenly remembering the scattered game pieces and cards beneath her. “Shit,” he muttered, immediately shifting off her. “Sorry, doll, hold on.”

He backed off her quickly, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes darted between the scattered cards and her disheveled state.

“Relax. I was a little… preoccupied with other things to notice.” She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow.

Still, he bent to pick up every piece around her, muttering about “pointy plastic landmines.” When he finished, he straightened and extended a hand to her, pulling her gently to her feet.

“I’ll make sure next time is on a battlefield… less hazardous,” he declared, quirking his lips into a small, self-conscious smile.

“Next time, huh?” she teased, brushing her fingers lightly over his chest. “Confident now, are we?”

Bucky’s grin grew, and a flicker of his earlier confidence returned to his factions. “I might be. If you’re not scared off by my… tactics.”

Her fingers continued to trail lightly along his chest, stopping just above his heart. “Not scared. Intrigued.”

Bucky bit his lip, and his eyes darkened with a renewed spark as he slipped his hand around the back of her head. With a gentle yet insistent pull, he drew her closer, capturing her lips in a sensual kiss. Outside, the rain continued with its soft and unrelenting rhythm, a distant soundtrack to the moment they shared, where nothing else mattered but the heat of their kiss.

Just in case someone is interested, this is the song that inspired the story.

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[just-aake]

Detecting Love Part 2

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel to Detecting Love. Can a spy who's been trained to lie her entire life show the person with the power to detect lies the truth what it means to be loved?

Warnings: fluff, light angst, hurt/comfort

Words: 5171

Natasha Romanoff lies.

Now, that’s to be expected, considering she is one of the greatest spies in the world. Ever since she was a child, she has been trained to be able to deceive everyone she meets.

Lying comes as easily to her as breathing, and deception is woven into every fiber of her being.

A charming smile here. A flirty wink there. 

Sweet words flow from her lips like honey.

Making everyone fall in love with all of the different false personas that she created for herself.

With a life and a past as shadowed as hers, it makes sense why she never even dared to imagine finding a person who can tolerate, let alone embrace, someone like her.

Then, she met you.

With your unique power to literally see through lies, you can detect the truth from her even when she’s at her most convincing. And despite learning about who she was and how she is, you accepted her unconditionally, not just as a friend, but as a partner.

For Natasha, being with someone who can truly see her is scary, and yet, that feeling is also better than breathing itself.

The two of you have been dating for several months now, and Natasha has never been happier.

Even if she sometimes occasionally struggles to express her affection openly in public.

As the two of you stroll through the compound, her eyes drift down once again in contemplation to your hand swinging casually at your side.

As if sensing her silent deliberation, you suddenly ask her curiously.

“Do you want to hold my hand?”

Natasha straightens at your question and faces forward, responding promptly in an even tone, “No.” 

Now that is sure to sound honest to anyone else who heard it, but you’re different.

Natasha makes sure to trail back slightly behind your line of sight in an attempt to hide the glow she knows you’d probably see around her.

You don’t comment on her evading action, but a faint smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you maintain your pace toward the Avenger’s personal elevator.

The two of you stand side by side, waiting for the elevator to arrive when Natasha suddenly feels the back of your hand lightly graze her fingers before quickly pulling away.

She narrows her eyes in suspicion at you, but you maintain an innocent expression, your gaze fixed on the decreasing numbers above the elevator doors.

Facing forward once more, Natasha is about to dismiss the action as an accidental touch when she feels it again – the fleeting brush of your hand against hers. 

This time, she doesn't hesitate to shoot you an accusing stare. Yet, you continue to feign ignorance, your expression a perfect mask of innocence. 

A couple of seconds pass before your hand makes contact with hers for the third time. 

Before you can retract your hand, Natasha swiftly catches it and intertwines your fingers with hers before letting out a defeated huff.

You don’t utter a word about her actions, but a subtle smile curves your lips, exposing your amusement at her reaction. 

With a soft squeeze of her hand, you pull her into the elevator, the door closing shut behind the two of you.

It's moments like these that remind Natasha why she fell for you — your ability to see past her lies, even the most trivial ones.

Once the elevator door slides open to the private floor, the two of you are met with sounds of a heated argument between the Asgardian Avenger and his visiting brother.

“I know you did it, Loki! This is not the first time you’ve taken and hidden a treasure of mine!”

“Oh, would you stop being so dramatic? We're talking about a mug, not some enchanted artifact.”

You raise a questioning brow at her, silently asking her whether you two should come back at another time, but Natasha shakes her head resolutely in response, not willing to let anything prevent her from missing her morning coffee.

As the two of you walk past the brothers, Thor finally notices the new presence in the room.

“Y/n!” he calls excitedly. 

His hand lands on your shoulder, catching you in place between the two of them which in turn pulls your hand from her grasp.

Thor’s other hand points accusingly at his brother.

“Is Loki lying about taking my mug?”

Realizing that you’re being dragged into the middle of the argument, your eyes dart to Natasha for help, only for her to give you a thumbs up in encouragement as she takes a sip of the coffee that she just poured from the freshly made pot.

The other Asgardian crosses his arms and snickers derisively at his brother.

“Do you really think that this simple mortal can expose the literal god of mischief? I didn’t take your stupid mug, and she can’t prove any—”

“He’s lying,” you answer plainly, seeing the red aura surrounding the Asgardian.

Loki shuts his mouth in surprise, blinking at you for a moment in disbelief, before pointing at you with a disdainful look.

“I don’t like her,” he states bluntly.

“Ah ha!” Thor exclaims victoriously. “You did take it!”

The two continue with their arguing as you discreetly sneak away to Natasha’s side.

She hands you a cup of coffee which you accept with a soft thanks before an alarm on your phone rings, showing your reminder for the day. 

You groan lightly in disappointment, causing Natasha to raise a questioning brow at you as she raises her cup for another sip.

“I have some interviews to get to this morning, so I’ll have to see you later,” you tell her before pressing a quick kiss goodbye to her cheek.

“I love you,” you whisper against her skin.

Swallowing her sip quickly, Natasha turns her head towards your direction, the reciprocating words also on her tongue.

“I—”

But you’ve already rushed away around the corner, disappearing from view. 

“…love you too,” Natasha finishes in a soft disappointed tone, her lips twisting at your action. 

Public displays of affection aside, Natasha has no problem wanting to tell you how much you mean to her.

But for some reason, you always seem to conveniently find ways to escape whenever she’s about to say those words to you.

“Now I’m no expert on relationships, but that right there was some cunning evasion tactic,” Loki comments, smirking at Natasha. “It appears that she’s not really interested in receiving such words from you.”

A slap on Loki's shoulder propels him forward a couple of steps as Thor reprimands, “Stop trying to cause problems for them, Loki.” 

He then turns to Natasha with a firm nod. 

“Don’t listen to him, Nat. Y/n loves you.”

Of course, she knows that. 

You whisper those words against her skin every morning when you think she’s still asleep and then again against her lips when you wake her up. 

The problem is that it seems that she never gets the chance to return the gesture before you find some way to rush away from the room or keep her mouth otherwise occupied and distracted.

A thud on the counter pulls her from her thoughts as Loki leans against the table with a mischievous grin.

“That girl can detect lies, right? Then why don’t you just tell her that you don’t love her, and then she’ll see the truth. That should be easy enough for you. After all, lying is your specialty,” Loki remarks before a smug expression forms on his face. 

“Unless that is, the truth is that you don’t actually love her,” he taunts.

Natasha glares at him silently, refusing to fall for his baiting provocation. Not wanting to give the trickster god any more amusement, she quickly downs the rest of her coffee and leaves for the meeting room, deciding to try again with you later.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

With the briefing finishing early, Natasha decides to visit your office during this break in between her meetings. Conversations flow around her as she walks past the front desk toward the administrative part of the building.

“I’m sorry, miss, but I can’t let you enter without an appointment.”

“Well, is there any way you can just send a message to Y/n to let her know I’m here?”

Natasha’s head snaps up from her tablet at the sound of your name and curiously turns to the person who said it, only for her eyes to widen slightly in surprise at their identity.

Your ex-fiancée 

Stopping in her tracks, Natasha redirects her attention to the two of them.

“What did you need to see Y/n for?” she asks.

Your ex turns to her at her question, and an expression of amazement crosses her face.

“Oh, wow, you’re Black Widow.”

Brushing off her awed exclamation, Natasha crosses her arm expectantly as she repeats, a slight tone of protectiveness entering her voice.

“Why are you looking for Y/n?” 

Noticing her serious gaze and intimidating demeanor, your ex fidgets with her hands nervously as she responds.

“It’s kind of a private matter with an old case that I need her help with,” she explains.

Despite being the one who broke your heart, your mutual break up with her meant that the two of you are still somewhat friends, and as much as Natasha wants to, she can’t prevent your ex from seeking you out, especially since it seems she needs your help.

With an internal displeased sigh, Natasha gestures with her head towards the direction of the elevators.

“I’m heading over to her office right now if you want to come with me,” Natasha offers, nodding at the receptionist reassuringly to indicate that it’s okay, before walking away without another word. 

Natasha hears your ex scramble to follow quickly after her once she processes her words.

As the elevator doors close with the two of them inside, Natasha pulls out her phone to send you a warning text.

I’m on the way to your office with your ex.

A read message quickly appears under her text, indicating that you have seen it, and then a text bubble promptly pops up as you respond.

?!?!?

“So, do you and Y/n work together often?” your ex asks, trying to fill the silence with casual conversation.

Natasha looks up at her question, tucking her phone away. She crosses her arms and leans back against the elevator walls, adopting an intimidating posture, as she gives her a hard stare.

With a calm yet assertive tone, she tilts her head curtly and replies with the truth. 

“She’s my girlfriend.”

An awkward silence fills the small space after her answer, and your ex’s eyes dart around the enclosed space, seemingly realizing she’s essentially alone with the Black Widow who just revealed that she is in a relationship with you. 

Sensing her nervous energy, Natasha relaxes her posture, offering a more friendly demeanor.

“Relax, if I was going to do something, I would have done it already,” Natasha reassures. 

Your ex nods hesitantly, acknowledging Natasha’s attempt to diffuse the tension. After a moment of contemplation, she gathers the courage to speak up again. 

“So, you know about Y/n and her ability?” your ex asks, her voice tinged with curiosity.

“Yes,” Natasha confirms, adding, “And about what happened between the two of you.”

The revelation hangs heavy in the air, plunging the elevator into an uncomfortable silence once again. 

Honestly, Natasha knows she shouldn’t keep putting your ex in these awkward positions with her responses. 

However, just because you are on friendly terms with her doesn’t mean Natasha has to be, especially considering she never held any goodwill toward the woman before.

Natasha redirects her focus to the digital display above the door, silently cursing and blaming Tony for the sluggish pace of the elevator. 

“I-I honestly did love her,” your ex confesses, breaking the silence once again.

At her statement, Natasha regards her with a raised eyebrow, silently prompting her to elaborate on her sudden declaration.

"I mean, Y/n’s great. It’s just…it got hard to imagine being with someone who always knows if you’re telling the truth or not,” your ex explains with a small sigh, offering a tiny sympathetic shrug before asking. “I’m sure you understand that feeling too, right?"

Irritation flares in Natasha’s chest at your ex’s words, her protective instincts surfacing in defense of you.

"Maybe the fact that she can see someone for who they truly are is what makes being with her so special," Natasha counters, her voice firm with conviction.

The remainder of the elevator ride passes in tense silence until the doors finally open with a ding, signaling their arrival at your floor. 

Throughout that time, one part of the conversation continues to bother Natasha, and she finds herself asking, wanting to know the answer.

“Did you tell her often?”

“What?” your ex asks, blinking in surprise and caught off guard by her sudden question. 

Natasha presses her lips together momentarily in displeasure at the topic before clarifying, “Did you tell Y/n that you loved her often, you know, before your feelings changed?”

“Oh, um, kind of,” she admits, a faint chuckle escaping her lips. “It’s actually kind of funny. Y/n would always have this cute little shy smile whenever I said it, so I ended up saying those words to her a lot.”

The irritation in Natasha’s chest intensifies at her answer, and her feelings must be evident on her face because your ex starts waving her hands frantically in a slight panic.

“But I’m positive Y/n won’t react the same way if I said it now,” she adds quickly.

Instead of responding, Natasha leaves the elevator without another word. 

Your ex’s reassurance does little to ease the irritation that she feels at not yet having been able to say those words to you herself.

The two of them arrive at the door of your office, only to find it locked with the lights turned off.

Just as Natasha is about to text you to ask you about your whereabouts, you emerge from around the corner, skidding to a stop in front of her.

Confused at your flustered state, Natasha gives you a questioning look as she asks, “Why are you rushing?”

You take a couple of deep breaths to catch your breath before answering.

“Because…I didn’t want to…to leave you waiting.”

Natasha feels her heart flutter at your words, her posture relaxing for a moment.

“…wow…you look good, Y/n,” your ex comments.

Natasha’s body immediately tenses again at the reminder of your ex’s presence, and she becomes further annoyed when she takes in the state of your appearance that prompted the remark from your ex.

You are in your usual workout outfit, a standard black tank top, showcasing your body with a gleam of sweat still on your skin, evidence of your workout session.

As if sensing Natasha’s increasing irritation, your ex gestures awkwardly in fear toward the waiting area some distance away.

“I’ll just wait over there.”

Natasha watches your ex walk away with a slight glare in her eyes. 

When she turns back to you, her expression instinctively softens with affection and curiosity.

“Where were you?” she asks.

“My last couple of interviews had to cancel, so I decided to go train for a bit,” you answer with a slight shrug. “You know, since you suggested that I try training whenever I’m bored and have some free time.”

Natasha's lips twist slightly in conflict at your response. She's happy you took her suggestion to heart, but now she's also upset that it led to you appearing in front of your ex in such a state.

Gesturing toward your ex, you ask, “Did she say why she’s here?”

Natasha sighs and shakes her head.

“She only mentioned that it was an old case that you can help her with.”

“Okay,” you say, nodding in understanding, probably already knowing what she’s referring to. 

Then you look at Natasha with a cute tilt of your head. 

“After I finish up with her, do you want to go out for some lunch?”

A small smile forms on Natasha’s face, her earlier irritation melting away at your suggestion. 

However, she knows she might not have enough time to wait and go out before her next meeting.

“How about I go ahead and pick up some takeout first, and then we can have lunch in your office when I return?” Natasha offers as a compromise.

You smile at her in response and press a soft kiss against her cheek.

“It’s a date.”

As you’re about to move past her, Natasha presses her hand firmly on your shoulder, stopping you and pushing you back to your original position.

You give her a questioning look in confusion.

“Did you take my hoodie again?” Natasha asks accusingly. 

Your eyes dart guiltily to your office before you mutter under your breath with a soft pout, “Maybe.”

Natasha nods slightly in contemplation, her eyes glancing at where your ex was waiting and then back to you.

“Put it on,” she says plainly.

You raise a brow at her in confusion and gesture to your body.

“Nat, I’m covered in sweat. I didn’t get a chance to hit the showers before you texted,” you explain.

“That text didn’t mean that you should come here all hot and sweaty in front of your ex like this,” Natasha remarks pointedly, crossing her arms.

A teasing grin pulls at your lips as a look of understanding crosses your face.

“You think I look hot right now?” you ask happily.

“Seriously?” Natasha deadpans. 

Unbothered by her signature intimidating gaze, you pull her closer by the loops on her belt and lean in with a slight tilt of your head.

“Are you jealous?” you tease lightly, your bottom lip caught in between your teeth as you try to hide your pleased grin.

Natasha rolls her eyes, though her lips quirk up briefly in amusement. She knows whether she responds truthfully or not, you probably already know the answer without the help of your ability, so she responds instead.

“Keep it up, and I’ll just come back with one takeout box for myself,” she warns.

You laugh lightly at her response, nodding your head in concession.

“Alright, I’ll put it on,” you promise, before leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips. 

As you pull away, you whisper, “I love you,” the words brushing softly against her lips.

Natasha’s eyes had fluttered closed at the touch of your kiss, but they snapped open when she remembered she wanted to say those words back to you too.

However, to her disappointment, before she realized it, you had disappeared from her side. 

Turning around, she finds you already in your office, putting on her hoodie.

A mocking chuckle sounds beside her, and she turns to see Loki leaning casually against the wall.

“Oh, you didn’t even try that time,” he taunts.

Without hesitation, Natasha raises her wrist and shoots a widow bite at him. It flies through his body, dispersing the apparition that he had left there.

Groaning in annoyance at his presence, Natasha quickly leaves to go get your lunches before he can reappear and provoke her further.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“So this is the one lie detector that you can’t beat,” Fury comments with intrigue, as he examines your file.

Natasha closes the folder promptly and takes it from the table in front of him, stating firmly, “Her name’s Y/n, and no, you can’t have her. She’s just going to help review the list of potential recruits for you. Nothing else.”

She gives him a pointed look, stressing, “Especially not any SHIELD interrogations.”

Leaning back in his chair, Fury chuckles amusedly and raises a brow at her.

“Protective, are we?”

Before she can affirm the lengths she would go to minimize the risks you have to take, the door slams open, and you stroll in, giving her a wave and a charming smile. 

You stop in front of her, taking her hand suddenly in yours and giving it a light swing. 

“Ready to get started?” you ask. 

Natasha’s eyes narrow in suspicion. Something about your behavior was off and unlike you. 

She examines your expression critically, and then in one swift, fluid motion, she grabs your wrist and upper arm, pivots on her heel, and shifts her weight, seamlessly flipping you over her shoulder. 

With a resounding thud, Natasha slams you down onto the meeting table, the impact rattling the room.

Fury whistles lowly with a slight wince, a mixture of sympathy and admiration in his tone.

“Tough love, huh?” he remarks to her.

Natasha rolls her eyes at his comment and shakes her head, reaching to her side to grab something. She takes one of “your” wrists and snaps a golden cuff onto it. 

Immediately, the figure on the table shifts from your face and form to Loki’s. 

His eyes glare at her as he gathers his bearings, giving a slight grunt of pain when he moves.

“As if this woman knows anything about love,” he scoffs, standing up from the table with a groan.

Fury hums curiously at the sight of the trickster god, turning to Natasha.

“Who let him in here?”

Natasha sighs as she crosses her arms, replying, “Unfortunately, Thor and he are on friendly terms at the moment.”

Loki raises his hand and waves his finger at her in reprimand.

“Exactly. Now, is this any way to treat a guest of yours?” he taunts with a smirk before his eyes drift to the cuff on his wrist. His expression falls in recognition. “Where did you get this?”

A smirk forms on Natasha’s face as she answers, “Thor lent it to me when I asked. Since I know better than to just take his things.”

The cuff in question is an enchanted artifact that temporarily blocks the magical abilities of the wearer as explained by the god of thunder.

Loki scoffs in disbelief, placing one hand on his hips while waving his other wrist at her. 

“Hilarious, now take these off,” he demands.

Natasha’s smirk remains fixed as she shakes her head.

“I don’t have the key,” she admits, tapping her chin thoughtfully before revealing, “It must still be with Thor. But I’m sure you’ve already apologized to him for earlier, so you’d have no problem asking him to release you.”

Loki scowls, his expression darkening with disdain, and then he swiftly turns toward the exit.

“It’s no wonder that girl doesn’t want to accept any love from the likes of you,” he spits out angrily.

Natasha’s lips twist downward at his words, but before she can respond, a knock on the door interrupts the tense moment. 

Taking a calming breath, she calls out, “Come in,” already knowing who it is.

You open the door at Natasha’s invitation, only to dodge out of the way as Loki storms past you out of the room, muttering angry curses under his breath.

Turning back to Natasha, you notice the telltale red aura fading from around her and wonder what was the lie that you assume she had just told him.

As you approach her, Natasha’s contemplative, sullen expression quickly shifts to a neutral one when she catches your concerned gaze.

Before you can question her about it, Fury claps his hands firmly, looking between the two of you.

“Alright, let's finish this quickly then.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Seated on your sofa, Natasha hugs a cushion pillow closer to her chest, seeking comfort as Loki’s harsh words echo in her mind.

Is it just a coincidence that you manage to avoid her every time she’s about to say those words to you? Or is it possible that the truth is you don’t actually want to hear those words from her?

You place a bowl of popcorn on the table in front of her, snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts as you finish explaining what your ex needed from you.

“So, I just need to submit my notes on the case so that the court can close it out,” you explain.

Natasha hums absently in acknowledgment, but her mind drifts back to her insecurities.

Was Loki just messing with her or were all of your previous evading actions really on purpose?

Unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, Natasha decides to settle this once and for all.

As you take your seat next to her and start the movie, Natasha initiates her plan. She quickly maneuvers herself over your lap, straddling you as her hands rest on your shoulders, pressing you firmly against the sofa with her body.

Your hand automatically rests on her waist and begins tracing light patterns against her side, but your lips twist into a small pout of confusion as you remark, “As exciting as this is, I thought this movie was your favorite.”

Natasha closes her eyes briefly, internally groaning at your adorable words and how incredibly in love she is with you. 

If only you could hear it from her for once.

Determined to not fail this time, she tries again.

“I lo—”

Her words are cut off, swallowed by you, as you pull her down into a deep kiss. 

Instinctively, she melts against your body, sliding her hands to caress the back of your neck, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss as she gets lost in the feeling of your lips moving against hers. 

Then, realization hits her, and she snaps her eyes open and pulls away. 

“Hold on, I’m trying to tell you that I—”

“I know,” you interrupt, your hand covering her mouth to stop her mid-sentence. 

That’s when Natasha sees it.

The fear in your eyes.

“I know,” you repeat, giving her a look of understanding before swallowing nervously. 

You close your eyes as your head drops to your chest, a sad chuckle escaping from you. 

“You know, in all my life, I have never been afraid to discover if someone was lying to me,” you admit, shrugging lightly. “I’ve always known that people can lie, so it’s never really surprising or hurtful when it happens.” 

You let out a weary sigh and look up to meet her gaze with a sad smile. 

“Except for that one time.”

Natasha knows what moment you are referring to — the night your powers revealed that your ex no longer loved you.

The memory flashes in your mind, vivid and raw, as if it happened only yesterday. The betrayal, the heartache, the crushing realization when the red aura appeared around her after she uttered those fateful three words to you.

Your attention returns to the woman in front of you, the one who helped heal your heart. The one who now holds it. 

The one who also has the power to hurt you in the exact same way, even though you know she won’t.

“I love you so much, Natasha,” you say with breathless adoration and honesty, but your expression pinches in fear as you continue, your voice trembling slightly. “But I don’t think I'm ready to hear it from you yet. Just…not those exact words.”

You sigh sadly, understanding how unfair your words are to her, and your chest tightens guiltily as you apologize, “I’m sorry. Look, I’d understand if you want to leave.”

You look away from Natasha, your mouth pressing together tightly, fighting the urge to cry. 

The silence stretches out in the room before Natasha gently cradles your face, bringing your gaze back to her.

“You make me happy,” Natasha declares firmly.

You give her a confused look at her words.

“Wh-what?”

Ignoring your question, Natasha continues, asking meaningfully, “Am I lying?”

Your eyes observe her for a moment, but you don’t see any indication of a red aura appearing.

“No,” you answer in confusion.

Natasha nods before continuing, “I don’t mind that your powers reveal truths about me, like the moments when I want to hold your hand or when I’m jealous.”

She tilts her head at you in question.

“Am I lying?” she asks again.

Still not seeing any red aura appear around her, you shake your head at her in response.

Natasha rests her forehead against yours, letting out a deep breath, before continuing, “I’m afraid that one day…” she pauses, taking in a shaky breath to prepare herself for what she’s about to admit out loud. 

“…one day you’ll wake up and decide that because of who I was, who I am now is not enough for you to stay with me anymore.” 

Your eyes widen in surprise, and you go to reassure her, “I wouldn’t—”

“Am I lying?” Natasha interrupts, not wanting you to worry about comforting her at this time.

Your eyes soften sadly when you see the vulnerability and fear in her eyes at her words. 

You reach up to cup her cheek, your thumb caressing her face gently in comfort as you whisper, “No.”

Leaning against your touch, Natasha lets out a steadying breath to compose herself for the final part of her point.

“So when I say I can wait…” she pauses, looking into your eyes with a serious and determined expression, making sure you can see the sincerity of her next words. 

“…I’ll wait for as long as you need so that one day I can say those words to you…am I lying?”

You watch her carefully for a moment, but nothing appears to counter her claim. Realizing her intentions to reveal her feelings in another way, your heart fills with love and adoration for her as you answer with a soft smile. 

“No, you’re not lying, Natasha.”

She gives you a gentle grin and cups your face, pressing a soft kiss against your lips before admitting, “That’s because when I’m with you, Y/n, it never feels like I’m living a lie.”

A breathless, awed gasp escapes from you at her words, and you can’t help but pull her in closer, her red hair falling around you like a curtain.

“I love you,” you whisper against her lips, the words filled with genuine adoration for the woman.

Natasha smiles softly at your words and closes the distance between the two of you once again, her kisses tender and filled with all of her unspoken feelings. Her lips move against yours with gentle urgency, conveying everything she can’t yet say aloud.

The warmth of her touch, the sincerity of her kiss, and the way she holds you protectively — all of it reassures you. 

It doesn’t matter that those three words haven’t been spoken explicitly — her actions, her presence, the look in her eyes says it all already.

Natasha may be considered one of the greatest spies in the world thanks in part to her exceptional ability to lie, but even she can’t hide the truth from you.

Without needing to hear her utter those fateful three words aloud, you already know the truth in your heart.

That Natasha Romanoff truly loves you too.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 3

a/n: Thank you for reading and for all the love that you all gave to the first part! I hope you enjoyed this one too!

[beloveds-embrace]

Noonaaa can I possibly request more angst Dukedome without kiong pretty please? 🙏🏽

You kept this pretty vague for me lovely so i went a little crazy on it 🫶🏻

Dukedom au masterlist

Dukedom angst, no könig

It began during one of the smaller gatherings in the duchy- a midday luncheon in the grand dining hall. Though informal, it was still attended by the many members of the household, key ones, and that obviously included: John, Kyle, Johnny, and several senior servants and as always, a special invitation extended to Simon.

You rarely attended such gatherings anymore, but John’s clipped instructions had left you with no choice and you didn’t want to make him upset at you. So you dressed simply, more out of habit than care, and sat at the far end of the table, an unwanted ghost in the company of the living.

Conversation flowed around you, lively and warm as always, and as always, you were left out. The words blurred together into white noise while you toyed with the edge of your napkin, staring at the untouched plate before you. The cooks had oh-so-kindly prepared yours in advance, and so you knew it was cold and bland even without tasting it.

Then it happened.

A maid- young, recently hired, and eager to impress- stepped forward with a fresh carafe of wine. As she refilled glasses, her gaze darted to you, a spark of something sharp in her eyes. Her lips twisted into a smile that wasn’t kind, and you prepared yourself in advance.

It still wasn’t enough.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” she said, syrupy sweet. “I couldn’t help but notice you haven’t touched your meal. Is it not to your liking?”

The table stilled. All eyes turned to you, and you froze under the weight of their scrutiny. You managed a small, polite shake of your head, your voice barely above a whisper. So softly said, you doubted you’d disturb dandelion puffs even if you tried. “It’s fine.”

But she didn’t stop.

“Perhaps you’re saving your appetite?” she continued, the tone of her voice sharpening. “Though, I suppose it’s not surprising you wouldn’t eat much. After all, you’ve grown so thin… like a shadow. It’s almost hard to tell you’re here at all.”

Her words rang through the room, cutting sharper than any blade. A ripple of unease passed over the table, but no one spoke. Not yet.

“Be quiet.” Kyle muttered, his tone warning and cutting her a sharp glance, but the maid wasn’t finished.

“Apologies, sir,” she said, bowing her head slightly, though the venom in her voice remained dripping off each letter like fresh ink. “It’s just… Her Grace is so very quiet these days. One can’t help but wonder if she’s even meant to be here at all. Perhaps she’d be more comfortable elsewhere? Somewhere she’s actually wanted and needed.”

The last sentence struck like a thunderclap.

Months of this. Months of this. Hours, days, weeks, months spent under this cruel treatment and thinly-veiled resentment.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

You rose abruptly, the legs of your chair scraping against the floor in a sound so loud it scared even yourself. You could see the maid flinch back, not having expected this. The room felt too small, the air too thick. Your chest heaved as you struggled to contain the emotion clawing its way up your throat, but it was no use.

Your composure shattered.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as your breath came in gasping, broken sobs that clawed their way out of your aching chest. For a moment, you looked around the table, searching- desperately- for something. A kind word, a gesture of comfort, anything.

But there was nothing.

You turned and fled the room, the sound of your sobs echoing behind you. No more- you couldn’t stand being there anymore. You didn’t care. Couldn’t. What did it matter anymore?

The maid’s cruel words hung heavy in the grand dining hall, a dark echo that left no one untouched. Her sharp tone and pointed barbs had started with smug confidence, but as you had risen and fled, your tears visible to everyone, the air turned cold and she faltered, falling silent.

The silence you left behind was deafening.

No one moved at first. Every pair of eyes shifted between the maid, whose face had paled as the reality of her actions set in, and the now-empty seat at the far end of the table. Even the usually indifferent servants, who kept away from interacting with you in general, shifted uncomfortably, their gazes dropping to the floor and shame curling in their veins.

It was one thing to quietly resent the Duchess, to mock you among themselves. But this… this was something else. The cruelty had been too deliberate, too naked. And it had broken you, right in front of them all. What could anyone even say?

John had never felt colder in his life. The weight of the maid’s words hit him like a physical blow, but it was your tears- the way you’d crumbled before them all- that haunted him. He sat frozen in his chair, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.

When he finally moved, it was with an urgency that surprised even him. He strode toward your chambers, ignoring everyone and everything, his mind racing with half-formed apologies, excuses, something to make you understand that he hadn’t meant for things to come to this. He hadn’t liked you, but that- it was too much. Too far. A line that shouldn’t have been crossed. He had never seen you cry- not openly, not like that- and that image of your broken form looking around for anyone to support you will haunt him.

But when he reached your door, it was already locked and your sobs muffled. He knocked softly at first, then louder, calling your name.

There was no response.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “Please, just… let me in. I need to talk to you, please.”

Still, nothing.

He pressed his forehead against the door, guilt clawing at his chest. Stupid, stupid- he should have stopped the maid from the damn start.

In the grand dining hall, Kyle and the head maid dismissed the maid immediately, his voice sharp and cold in a way that made her turn even paler and understand how severe her mistake was. But the satisfaction of snapping at her did nothing to ease the twisting guilt in his stomach. He had allowed this to happen. No, worse- he’d encouraged it.

He wasn’t the only one: the head maid, an older woman, simply stood there, biting her chapped lips as she stared at the door you’d fled through and then Duke Price went to. She didn’t have the time to say anything before Kyle was following, as well.

When he reached your door, John was already there. Kyle stopped a few paces away, unsure if he had the right to intrude, but the memory of your tears spurred him forward.

“Your Grace,” he said softly, his voice more gentle than you’d ever heard it. “I… I’m sorry. For everything. Please, let us talk.”

Silence.

Kyle exhaled slowly, stepping back, his shoulders heavy with shame. He could tell John had received the same answer, as well. Closing his eyes, he made his way back to the other butlers; ordering them to their posts with a sharpness he hadn’t displayed in months. “We’re done with this,” he barked. “No more of this disrespect. Do I make myself clear?”

He also ordered the maids to care for you as they should have all along, making it clear that any further mistreatment would not be tolerated.

But his authority rang hollow in his own ears. He knew it wasn’t enough- not for you.

Though they weren’t the only ones buried in guilt;

Simon had been the first to stiffen when the maid spoke, his eyes narrowing as her words grew sharper. He wanted to interrupt, to stop her, but by the time he opened his mouth, it was too late.

Now, hours after that mess, he stood outside your door with a small tray in hand. On it was a book, the newly released next part to one he knew you liked to read by your lonesome, and a steaming cup of tea. Between the pages, he’d slipped a note that simply read:

You deserved better. I’m sorry.

He hesitated for a long, dragging moment before setting the tray down gently by the door. He didn’t knock.

“I’m sorry.” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

In the kitchens, Johnny’s chest burned with shame. He’d always thought himself kinder than this, better than this, but the truth of his inaction was undeniable. He hadn’t stopped the maid. He hadn’t said a single, blessed word. His mother would’ve disowned him if she knew how far he’d gone, how little and much he’d done.

Now, he hovered by your door, a freshly baked loaf of bread and a warm stew in his hands. He shifted his weight awkwardly, his throat tight as he tried to think of what to say. You… didn’t even get to eat.

“Lass- Your Grace?” he began, his voice faltering. “I, uh… I brought ye something. Ye dinnae have to open the door. Just… just eat, aye?”

He set the food down carefully, lingering for a moment before stepping away.

Inside your room, you sat on the floor with your back pressed against the door. The sound of their voices reached you- pleas, apologies, hesitant words- but you couldn’t bring yourself to answer.

You hugged your knees to your chest, tears streaming down your face as their voices faded into silence. The weight of everything pressed down on you, suffocating and unrelenting.

You wished they did not see you now.

(Come morning, the head maid would leave a fresh tray of tea and an apology letter outside your door. The scullery maids ensure your office is spotlessly clean and leave fresh flowers from the garden on your desk. The cooks, spearheaded by Johnny, prepare your favorite dishes and leave them outside your room, warm and carefully covered.

The door to your room remains closed.)

[foxika]

the fox and the hound everyone… does anyone see the vision. they’re friends, we’re going to be friends forever right, fox? hello??

(my personal hc of hound and fox being pals has taken over my fox lives on tantiss au)

+++++++++++++

“He’s killed brothers!” Howzer snarls, gesturing wildly at Fox. His burning red face and furious gaze magnified in comparison to Fox’s cool, unbothered demeanour. Rex wouldn’t be surprised if Fox started to examine his nails to complete the look. “Fuck’s sake— he worked under Palpatine for 3 years, he had to have known what was coming!”

One brother, Fox signs. I killed one brother.

Thankfully, Howzer doesn’t see what Fox says, more than happy to speak over him and ignore any motions Fox makes. Rex gives Fox a wry look anyway.

Not helping.

Fox shrugs back.

“Palpatine fooled us all,” Echo speaks up, voice level. He’s been handling Fox’s arrival well enough. Sad, not quite angry, but not quite neutral either. Rex has been meaning to talk to him about Fox and Crosshair. “Even his closest confidants, like General Skywalker. We don’t know for sure what Fox was told.”

A sharp snap interrupts Howzer’s intake of breath. Fox leans forward with a raised brow, hands moving deftly.

Speaking of, why aren’t we interrogating Rex and every other 501st member here? Skywalker was just as complicit.

Time stands still, the temperature drops several degrees. Rex can feel his mouth is hanging open, but can’t drag his eyes away from Fox to clock everyone’s reaction to such a blatant lie.

���What?”

Rex isn’t sure if that was him or another clone.

Fox leans back with a frown, looking around the room. Darth Vader?

No reaction.

Fox continues. Tall, black armour, insane helmet asthma, helped Palpatine fight off the Jedi Order and led the 501st and Coruscant Guard march on the temple?

Like they needed a description—

“Anakin Skywalker died defending the temple you lying sleemo!” Howzer bursts out, slamming his fists on a crate. Rex can hear murmuring just outside the room they’ve commandeered.

Fox remains unfazed. Thire dragged his overdone body out of a volcano. I watched him stab that Windu guy in the back.

“That can’t be right,” Rex manages to get out, his voice weak. He looks helplessly at Echo for support, but his friend seemed far away. “I knew him. We knew him. The General would never—“

He’s interrupted by the mechanical whir of the door sliding open and familiar footsteps. “They sounded pretty upset, I don’t think they want to us to interrupt them!” Omega fretted, her blonde head coming into view as she trailed behind another trooper; Batcher on her heels and Crosshair continuing to be Omega’s shadow everywhere she goes.

He hadn’t let her out of his sight, Rex absently notes, focusing on the new trooper in the room. He’d seen him around, heard he mostly kept to himself and hadn’t given a name to anyone yet, but he was a valuable asset on recovery missions. Especially on Coruscant. Rex had a sneaking suspicion he was a former Corrie.

And the way he was looking at Fox and how Fox was looking at him all but confirmed it.

“Fox?” The trooper breathed out. He took a hesitant step towards the commander.

Omega crossed her arms and frowned, grumbling under her breath to Crosshair. “It took me months to learn his name.” Her voice quiet enough that Rex barely heard it.

“Hound,” Fox’s voice was rough and low, more air than tone and words. The pain of speaking is evident on Fox’s face but that doesn’t deter him from whispering again, his voice cutting out prematurely. “Hound.”

That’s all Hound needs to hear before he’s rushing forward with a choked sob, strong arms wrapping around Fox’s waist and lifting the commander off his feet.

Chest wracking sobs and his face buried in Fox’s chest muffle Hound’s voice as he struggles to choke out coherent sentences. “I saw- I found you. He dropped you out of the aircraft and I looked and looked and I found you so far down and you were gone-“

Through his wet rambling, Hound continues to hold Fox up, and while Fox looked equally heartbroken as Hound(minus the tears, but Rex knew this was about as expressive Fox would get surrounded by strangers), Fox was ready to be put down.

A light tap on the shoulder has Hound inhaling one last rattling breath before setting Fox on his feet. “Sorry,” Hound sniffs but doesn’t let go of his hand. Fox doesn’t seem to mind.

With one hand available Fox awkwardly signs. You brought me to the Chancellor?

Hound huffs wetly. “No, I left you in the alley I found you in. For the tookas. I know you liked to feed them.” He scrubs his face in an attempt to clear his teary eyes, though it only serves to make him look more miserable leaving splotchy marks on his skin.

You left my corpse to be eaten by tookas? Fox looked incredulous and mildly offended, ducking his head to meet Hound’s gaze. What the hell.

Hound nods solemnly. “It’s what you would’ve wanted— ow!”

Fox forgoes speaking to smack the backside of Hound’s head.

[dollfacefantasy]

FACE DOWN, DOLLED UP ♡

pairing: light yagami x fem!reader

summary: over the past few months, you've reunited with your best friend from college. in the midst of your blossoming connection, he has a special role he wants you to play for him.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, dollification, infidelity

a/n: i wasn't gonna post this till later but i got excited... i love him so bad. he is everything to me. all night. all day. no lube. no protection. i hope my fellow light bulbs enjoy 🙏 and comments and reblogs mean the world to me <3

kinktober slot: day 11 - dollification

"The goddess of the new world. The one I'll keep by my side as I rule. The only being I'll cherish in this reality. That will be you."

The words fell from between Light's lips with ease. To anyone else, they would sound like the absolute truth. After all, he said them with such conviction. But you knew better.

As much as you adore him, you would never call Light someone you trust.

You'd met him at university years ago and had been taken with his intelligence and blunt way of viewing the world. At that time in your life, you weren't sure of anything. You couldn't help but be drawn to someone so absolutely certain of everything.

It was a cult of personality, yet you were the only member. You longed for Light, craved his confidence, which then turned into just basking in his mere presence. You wanted him bad, but the timing just never seemed right between the two of you. He got a girlfriend, and you became swept up in your studies.

Now when he says these words telling you that you're special, you want to believe him. You want him to give you what you yearn for. You want for them to be real so badly, but you still can't fully give in to that hope. Why did he need you so much now when he let you slip away from him for years?

He called you a few months ago, asking to go to lunch. There'd been no reason to decline, so you met up with him the next week to 'catch up.' When you arrived at the small restaurant and took your seat across from him, he smiled at you like you'd just come from your shared lecture all those years ago. You fell into a conversation as if you were still best friends.

After that initial meeting, more followed. You kept seeing him even when he mentioned that he and Misa still lived together. In your head you reasoned that you and him were just friends. It was fine to hang out with your friend. But then your dates started to include lingering looks and fleeting touches. Then soft confessions and stolen kisses. You were no longer Light's friend, but you shamefully continued to come to him time after time.

I loved him first you told yourself.

You found out he was Kira when he confessed several weeks ago out of necessity. Too many people in your circles had died. You couldn't lie for him if you didn't know you should be. He didn't want you mentioning off-handedly that these deaths started happening not too long after your reconnection. Or that they only seemed to occur within days of you complaining about the victim bothering you.

At first, it scared you, finding out that Light had such power. But it also made sense. If anyone you knew could wield the force of death, it would be him.

As with everything else he did, you accepted it. Unlike your compliance with his infidelity, this wasn't your fault though. What was the other option? You didn't believe you meant more to Light than his crusade. Even though he killed for you, he was Kira before your lover. You would die before he lost his war. 

He would take a life for your presumed benefit, but you didn't credit that fact to you being special. Your love didn't blind you to his arrogance. More than you, he loved to show off, craved the satisfaction that came with having ultimate power over someone. Or in his case, everyone.

That's why when he proclaimed you his goddess last week at one of your rendezvous, you were still hesitant to accept the words. 

He lives with Misa. His speeches about having no love for her ring hollow when half of your bed remains empty each night. Why can't he just commit to you instead of trying to fill your head with ideas of divinity?

Tonight, you meet him in a hotel room. One he booked just for the two of you. It was a nice space. Not some cheap place rife with other affairs and unfaithful couplings. The elevator ride to your floor is smooth and quiet. 

He's already inside when you arrive.

You see him sitting on the edge of the bed as you push the door open and enter silently. All the linens were still tucked in place. His eyes lift to meet yours.

"There you are," he says. 

His voice comes out softer than usual. Not with affection necessarily. It almost sounds weary.

You pad over the smooth hotel carpet with caution. Light was never weary. Never showed vulnerability. No one was ever allowed to see weakness from him.

"Are you alright?" you ask, tone matching his in its lack of intensity.

Stopping between his legs, you bring your hand up to cup his cheek. Your thumb swipes back and forth across his smooth skin. His rich brown eyes linger on your features, a whirlpool of emotions storming within them.

"Yeah," he answers in contrast to what you see.

Curling his fingers around the dips in your waist, he sits you on his thigh and pulls you close on his lap. He noses the curve of your neck, kissing the flesh tenderly and breathing in the smell of you.

"I want to try something tonight. Will you let me?" he murmurs.

"What is it?" you ask, your own fingers stroking through his sandy locks.

The question puts a smile on his face and draws a quiet laugh from his lips. "Don't you trust me?"

You mirror the expression with your own mouth. 

Do you trust him? It’s a loaded question. One you would think deeply about if it were asked in another context. But here, you do what any person desperately seeking the approval of their lover would.

"Yeah."

"Exactly. So say yes, and let me show you," he says.

Staring into his eyes for a few seconds more, you contemplate the request. You had no clue what he was going to do. Why couldn't he just say it? What was there to hide? Maybe it's more of an embarrassment thing. You still don't know even after thinking it over, but you decide to agree anyway. After all, you said you trusted him.

"Ok," you whisper with a small bob of your head.

Upon seeing your little nod, his smile morphs into a grin.

"Good girl," he says and pecks the corner of your mouth.

He moves you off his lap and onto the bed before getting up. Walking to the chair by the window, he picks up a couple bags. They look like nice ones from luxurious stores, names of brands you'd never even heard of displayed across the sleek laminate exteriors. He sets them down at your feet.

"If I'm going to have you by my side as I rule, I want us to be united. I want you presented as if you were made in my image," he says, voice dropping and the words oozing out a bit cooler.

Your eyes watch him as he speaks. So wide and innocent. The ache for his affection visible within them even if you don't want it to be.

He drags two of his slender fingers down your cheek again. When they reach your jawline, he maneuvers your face around. His hand tilts it to different angles as if studying you.

"You're going to be perfect," he says quietly.

Bending down, he fishes the items from the bag and lays them out next to you on the bed. First a black dress made of sheer chiffon with velvet roses laying over obsidian satin. It's the prettiest thing that would ever be on your body in your life.

Next comes a matching pair of glossy pumps. He drops them next to the dress on the mattress before pulling you to your feet. He positions you in front of him looking down his gifts and rests his chin on your shoulder. You can feel his eyes on your face, scrutinizing each detail for a reaction.

"Are those for me?" you ask.

"Of course they are. Who else would they be for?" he responds as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

You shrug, your own pupils scanning the items up and down. "They're nice," you continue slowly. This wasn't at all bad, and the pieces were beautiful. They just weren't what you had imagined.

"I want you looking your best when you're by my side," he whispers.

His hands drift down to your hips, and he turns you around. He brushes his nose against yours, coasting his lips by so that they just barely touch your own.

"Let me show you how good it'll feel. Be my little doll for the night," he whispers, his breath tickling your face.

It feels so good being this close. You nod and tilt your head to connect your mouths. He kisses back, palm sliding up to cup the back of your neck.

You get a few more soft smooches before he pulls back.

"Let's get you dressed up then."

He begins to remove the clothes you wore here. Your top is the first thing to hit the floor. It crumples in on itself next to your ankles. You're left bare, little chills erupting over your skin as the cool air hits you. He spins you around slowly and unclasps your bra, letting your breasts fall free.

His hands weave under your arms to come around and cup the mounds. They press into the flesh, absorbing their warmth and savoring the feeling of you. His precious reprieve. His sweetest escape.

Your nipples pebble from the cold and the heat of his hands hitting you all at once. Sighing, you tilt your head back and allow the tension in your shoulders to melt away for now. The same slender fingers that whip a pen around with ease tweak and pinch at the hardened buds until you're whimpering.

After he's satisfied his interest, he lets them go and then removes your bottoms. The button comes undone and the zipper follows. He slides the garment down your legs. To aid him, you step out of it and kick the bundle of cloth aside to sit with your shirt. The move earns you a light pinch to your hip.

"Dolls don't move," he whispers and nips at the skin of your neck, teasing a potential love bite, "They don't do anything on their own. You leave everything up to me."

The words send a chill down your spine. "Sorry, Light," you say softly.

"They don't talk either," he says and kisses up your neck, "They stay quiet and still. Just a good girl for me to play with."

You sink back into him upon hearing that because it's exactly what you want. All you desire is to be good for him. To be the thing he wants to play with. The one he uses to feel safe when everything else is one minute away from spiraling out of control. 

He strips you of your own socks and shoes. You're only left in the dainty panties you arrived in, but he ends up taking those too. He drags them off your legs - you stand completely motionless this time, letting him lift each limb to free you of the underwear. After he shoves them in his pocket, it's time to dress you in your new attire.

He picks up the elegant black dress and steps you into it before shimmying the cloth up your body. Slipping each of your arms into the sleeves, he then zips up the back. The fabric clings to your curves, highlighting your figure in a flattering shape. He rakes his fingers up the dark material, feeling it move with his digits.

Next, he sits on the bed. Even now, Light wouldn't crouch or get on his knees for you. He perches on the edge of the mattress and pulls you onto his lap again. Taking one of your legs behind the knee, he bends it up so your foot rests on his thigh. He grabs one of the heels nearby and unfastens the buckle. Sliding your foot into the sole, he clasps in place again and then repeats the process with your other.

Finally, he stands you up and walks you over to the mirror. The feeling of his eyes moving over your body in the new dress and shoes is palpable. His hands stretch across your belly while he holds you there for his appraisal.

Looking at your own appearance, the image standing before your eyes pleases you. The dress fits perfectly, and the shoes gleam beneath them just right. You look like his. Feel like it too with the way his arms cage you against him.

"You look beautiful. Don't you think?" he says.

You wonder if this is a trick or if you're supposed to know how to answer without moving or speaking. But before you can dwell too much on this, he cups your jaw and squishes your cheeks. His hand propels your head up and down in a little nod.

"That's my girl," he praises, smile absolutely sinister across his face.

Even though you didn't do anything to earn that praise, it makes you swoon all the same. His. Maybe it wasn't just a feeling, maybe it was closer to being real. As long as you showed him that you could be good, that you could listen, he would see that you're the better fit for him.

He pulls a chair up in front of the reflective pane and sits down, perching you on his thigh once more. The side table sitting next to the mirror held another bag like the one your outfit came from. This one was much smaller but still chic looking.

Light reaches for it and fetches a few small items from within. On your lap he places a compact of powders, a tube of lip gloss, some mascara, and a few brushes.

"I want those to stay right where I put them. Knock them off, and I won't give you anything else," he warns.

You don't say or do anything, not even a nod. This pleases him, and he pecks your cheek.

Never did you think you'd see the day where Light did your make up. But here you sit in his lap, obediently calm as he brushed dark powder across your lids and coated your lashes in mascara. You open when he says open, close when he directs as much. You hold your position like a statue as he glosses over your lips and swipes away any excess with his thumb.

Watching you sit there without a move or a word has his cock stiffening up beneath you. You're following everything he says down to the letter, treating him with the respect he deserves. He can't get enough. If he wanted your head to be empty, it would be. You'd sit on his lap or at his feet or wherever he fucking asked because the only thing you need is him, and that's so clear now.

When he's all done, he guides your face back in the direction of your reflection. Your eyes meet the pair looking back at you and then cast on the other version of him. He's staring right back.

"I knew you'd be perfect," he says.

You can feel his semi beneath your thighs. Knowing he's feeling worked up has your body responding in kind. You're still bare down there since he didn't bother replacing your panties. You can feel your folds becoming a little damp, but you still don't move, not a single squirm or whine.

He keeps you there, staring at you, taking in what he had made with your body. His hands roam over your curves, digging into your plush flesh.

"Your hair is pretty enough. I won't have to do anything with it tonight," he praises.

He then boosts you to your feet. His body doesn't follow right away. He takes a moment to stay behind in the chair, admiring your ass and leaning forward to hold your hips between his palms.

"Just look at you," he says.

Now he stands. He walks around you, leaving you in front of the mirror by yourself. He goes back to the bed and sits at the end.

"Come over here," he commands.

You suppose since it's an order that it's ok to move. Your first step is hesitant as you find your footing in the tall heels. It only takes you a couple seconds to get used to them though. You manage to walk the rest of the way with ease.

His cock hardens further as he watches you obey without question. You come to him like a well-trained pet. Exactly what he wants.

When you come to a stop in front of him, he pauses and takes a moment to think. He wanted you now. The urge to undo all his work, nearly insatiable. He tries to pace himself though.

"Do you feel pretty?" he asks you.

You hesitate, but he gives you a nod to speak. "Yeah," you answer.

"Yeah? Can you see your place at my side?" he asks, eyes raking over every detail of your form.

"Yeah."

"That's where you belong, hm?"

"Yeah," you say. It almost comes out a whisper.

He chuckles lowly before waving at you. "Come here."

You take the few remaining steps and close the distance between you two. His arms wrap around your waist and twirl you so you fall back on the bed. He climbs on top, grinding his growing bulge against your hip.

"That is where you belong. And that's where I'll keep you for the rest of our days," he mutters.

He leans down and engulfs your mouth in a flurry of kisses. His hands float across the dress, groping and squeezing your body. He doesn't silence the little whimpers and squeaks that come from you right now. Instead, his mouth drifts to your neck, making good on those love bites he teased earlier.

"You won't have to worry about anything, pet. No thoughts in that little head except being good for me," he mutters.

When he pulls back, his eyes are blown with lust. They focus on you with intensity so passionate it's almost frightening. He grabs your chin and holds you in place as he seemingly inspects your appearance once more.

"Fuck, how could anyone not want to worship you when you look like this?" he mumbles.

He rises back onto his knees, pushing down his fly and pulling his cock out. His fingers rise to fiddle with his shirt's buttons before he shrugs it off too. He doesn't bother with his pants beyond pushing them down enough so they're not in the way. Once his cock is available, he strokes it a few times and lets it fill out all the way.

The sight is enough to have more slick collecting between your thighs, which is fortunate since Light isn't the most patient. On his best days, he was needy for you. On his worst, he was inconsiderate. Right now seems to be a mix of both.

Reaching out, he grabs your thighs and yanks you down the bed to him. Your dress bunches at your hips as it catches between your back and the sheets. It works out since he pushes it up the rest of the way.

Seeing you in the outfit he chose, the shoes he bought, with nothing underneath strokes his ego in a way he can't explain. You being exposed now, no barriers keeping you from him just makes it worse. It brings to mind visions of a future where he could have you whenever he wanted. You'd exist for him, easily accessible, his for the taking. And he'd take advantage of it every moment he could.

He slots his cock at your entrance, rocking forward at first and gathering some of your wetness on it. After seeing the glisten of you on his tip, he rotates himself so he's at the right spot to push in. Your tight hole accepts his shaft inch by inch, clamping around him from the first seconds.

You whine as he splits you open, now squirming beneath his body, unable to stay still.

"Feels too good? My little dolly can't hold herself together anymore?" he taunts breathily.

You shake your head in response, and he laughs. It only encourages him to shove more in.

He has you completely full moments later, hips flush against your center as deep as he can go. You don't get any time to adjust with Light. He wants to fuck now, so that's what you're doing. Along with no talking or moving, you're pretty sure dolls don't get a say on this matter either.

More needy sounds pour from your lips, but he still doesn't get on you for it. It drives his confidence through the roof seeing that someone as well-behaved as you couldn't manage anymore when he slid inside.

His hips push and pull, slamming in and out of your cunt with a steady rhythm. He lifts your legs to sit over his shoulders. The heels he bought and paid for and had fantasized about you in for weeks bobble by his head. He grits his teeth as the pure satisfaction from the thought flows through him.

"Everyone will worship you, and you'll worship me like the good girl you are," he moans more to himself than you as his hips speed up a bit.

You get so tight for him when he talks that he can't stop. Words just keep leaking out in an endless stream.

"Gonna fuck you like this everyday. Put you in new pretty outfits and then bend you over in 'em. Make sure you remember you're mine. Every inch of you, all for me," he grunts.

His thrusts get harder. You feel little tears pricking at your eyes from all the stimulation, but you can't cry. You can't ruin your makeup. Not when he'd been so careful with how he applied it. You sniffle and wipe at your waterline, but lucky for you, he doesn't seem to notice what you're trying to avoid.

"No one else can have you. No one else gets to know how good you feel or how obedient you are. You're the one for me, the one I'll keep," he mutters. The pleasure rushing throughout his body and fogging up his head makes half of it incoherent, but you eat it up anyways.

"Light!" you finally cry out and arch your back when his cock rams against the sweetest spot inside you, "I'm all yours. Swear. Don't want anybody else. Just you. Forever and ever and ever..."

You trail off as he fucks all the thoughts right out of your pretty little head. His body comes down on yours again, bending you in half and sliding against you as he works himself all the way inside over and over. You claw at the thin hotel bedding for some form of relief, but there's no escaping him.

Release builds in your tummy, your toes curl and your breaths become ragged. You know better than to finish without asking though.

"Can I cum, Light? Please, need it so so so bad," you beg, eyes still almost teary.

He looks down. A wave of lust crashes into him as he sees how your lip quivers and water rests at the edges of your eyes, waiting to spill.

"You have been so good for me," he says, wanting a bit more pleading out of you before he gives his permission.

"Mhm! Please. I'll keep being good. Just gotta cum cause you make me feel so good," you whine.

He grins and ruts forward particularly hard. "Go ahead then."

And you do. You cum so hard you feel like your body is gonna twist into knots. You squirm and mewl, noises coming out unfiltered and unrestrained. Your vision goes spotty, and all that's left is him. Him pummeling into you, panting above you, not stopping as you crest over the peak.

He grips onto you harder and keeps fucking you through it. His bangs fall across his eyes from all the movement. You're so warm and tight and wet as you release all over him that it only takes a few more strokes before he shoots his load inside you.

A needy moan seeps from his lips as he works it into you. He thrusts it deep inside, he didn't want any of it spilling out and making a mess on your new dress. At least not the first time the two of you did this.

After he finally pulls out, he lets your legs drop onto the bed. They bounce against the mattress that's too springy. Your chest puffs up and down from the exertion you just went through. After taking a few minutes to come down, you yawn and stretch, limbs sprawling outward to reach for him.

But you don't find him. You turn to see why that is and find his back facing you. He sits at the edge of the mattress hunched over - one of his hands clicks through his phone while the other runs through his sweaty hair. You're about to ask what's the matter, but he turns to you and answers that question himself.

"I have to go. There's a problem back at the apartment. Misa needs my help," he says and rises to his feet.

He straightens out his clothes and tries to make his hair look more presentable. You watch in disbelief. He wasn't even going to stay the night?

"But Light..." you say softly and sit up.

As if he can read your thoughts, he reaches out to pet your head.

"I'll see you again soon. It won't be like this for too much longer," he says. You can see the hesitation in his eyes before he makes his next move. He leans down and kisses your forehead. "Keep being good for me. My little doll."

Those are the last words he says before he leaves you there alone.

Flopping back on the bed, you stare at the ceiling in silence. You may have been dressed like a goddess in your expensive get up, but you'd never felt so cheap.

[robinminustherichard]

Several Sentences Sunday or whatever the kids are calling it

And If you See Me in the Darkness, I Hope You Know I'm Not Alone

BuckTommy | MCD Aftermath | Getting back together

It's a little under a month after they've buried Bobby that Tommy hears Evan laugh again. They're at the cemetery, Evan sitting at the side of Bobby's grave and Tommy leaning against the tree that throws just a few inches of shade over the headstone, five feet away.

He knows Evan has been here a few times with other members of the 118, with May, with anyone who has needed him; but based on the stoic face he wore to the funeral and beyond, Tommy imagines he hasn't actually talked to Bobby too much himself yet.

Tommy hadn't been listening in, wanted to give Evan privacy while still being present in the way he knew Evan needed--evidenced by the way he had texted Tommy earlier with can you come see Bobby with me? Please? Just me; but he hears the laughter anyway. It's loud and bright and more hysterical than Evan's laughter usually is, but it might be the best thing Tommy has heard in his life.

"--and, and get this, Bobby, he ran from the Army. He was pulling maneuvers I'm pretty sure he's only seen in movies--" Evan cuts himself off with more laughter and Tommy feels warmth welling up inside of him.

"God, if Athena really had been in that chopper I think she would have arrested Tommy when we got out just for scaring the hell out of her."

Evan laughs again, and Tommy sees one of Evan's hands reach up to swipe across his face. Tommy is torn between going to him and being rooted where he stands.

Evan, of course, makes up his mind for him by turning at the waist to look at Tommy. He holds a hand out towards Tommy, and Tommy can do nothing but go to him. He makes it to the grave in three long strides, letting their hands connect and his knees fold until he's sitting next to Evan.

"You told me once that Tommy is good people, and that he's good for me," Evan says, cracking and raw but firm, "at your fu-funeral, Athena pulled me aside and said," Evan hiccups on an breath in, another tear slides down his face. He composes himself before continuing.

"She said, 'Buck, that man came when you called. He loves your family just as much as you do. He looks at you like you're his everything. When I found that, in Bobby, I married him. It was the best five years of my life. I only got five years. Don't you dare waste another second denying yourself."

Tommy feels stunned down to his bones, only able to look at Evan in awe.

"I didn't listen to her, clearly," Evan says, and laughs under his breath, "because I haven't been fair to Tommy. I've relied on him through all of this but he has no idea what I'm thinking, where we are--"

"No, Evan--" Tommy finds the words to interject, but Evan only squeezes his hand and turns his eyes on Tommy's.

"It's true, Tommy. I'm sorry we haven't talked. It's never felt like the right time. But Athena was right, I can't keep denying myself...or you."

Tommy stays silent, knows that Evan needs to get his thoughts out all at once. He can't help but feel hope burst into his chest, however.

"I wan't you, Tommy. All of you. I want my great life love--that's you. If losing Bobby has taught me anything it's that I need to go after my happiness, and let it into my life completely. Because we never know when our lives will end."

Tommy feels tears in his own eyes well up, and he can't stop a shaky gasp from falling from his mouth.

"Tommy," Evan says, still looking right into Tommy's eyes, "any chance you'll give this another go with me? I've got it on pretty good authority that we're pretty stupidly in love with each other. I'm ready to admit that if you are."

"Yes," the answer is ripped from Tommy, "Yes, Evan. I want that too. I am so, so stupidly and hopelessly in love with you."

Evan laughs again, warm and delighted. Tears spill down his cheeks, but he grins blindingly. "Okay," he gets out between laughs, "Okay, Tommy."

Tommy's laughing too, suddenly finding himself unable to resist and further unable to stop. His sides are hurting but Evan is leaning into him, here in this cemetery, in the sunlight, and they're laughing and it feels like life running up to meet them.

[zoofzoofxx]

„OH MY GOD THAT’S JOOST KLEIN!”

(pt.1?????)

Pairing - Joost Klein x Fem!reader

Summary - As you and your little sister walk home, you notice a commotion near a car where a group of people is shouting excitedly. Your sister catches the name of a famous singer and eagerly wants his autograph. However, Joost seems more intrigued by you and proposes a compromise.

Genre - Fluff

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"Thank you very much,” I heard my sister express while embracing me. We were presently walking home; the evening was approaching, and we still had quite a lengthy distance to my flat. Several months back, I turned 22 and purchased a lovely apartment and moved out from my parents. My sister recently turned 16, so I invited her to my flat for the weekend, to go shopping, and then enjoy a delightful dinner as a gift. We were discussing the time my sister prefers to depart tomorrow because the journey to my parents' home is rather lengthy. Suddenly, we heard a cluster of individuals shouting and congregating near a rather luxurious car.

"What is happening back there?" my sister asked, wanting to go and see, but I grabbed her arm. "Let’s just go," I said while pulling her.

“JOOST CAN I HAVE AN AUTOGRAPH?!” “JOOST KLEIN PLEASE SIGN THIS!” “SMILE JOOST I’M MAKING A BEREAL!!!”

"Wait, was that Joost Klein?!" In a matter of seconds, my sister was by the car, fangirling like the rest of the group.

"Lorelei, let's just head back, I'm exhausted," I expressed, pulling on her jumper. The surroundings began to darken, and I had forgotten to bring a coat or a hoodie, assuming we'd return home early, but the chill was intensifying by the minute. I started to rub my hands together to generate some warmth. Lorelei continued to call out for the Dutch man who was sitting in his car, disregarding my words. I let out a sigh and decided to wait for her to meet Joost before we could head home. As time passed, the crowd dwindled, with many leaving, yet a few lingered. Eventually, it was Lorelei's turn, and she seized my wrist, pulling me along for moral support.

"HI JOOST, I’M SUCH A BIG FAN!" my little sister exclaimed. Joost chuckled at her excitement until his friend nudged him and pointed directly at me.

“Ey zij is echt mooi! (Ey she’s really beautiful!)” His friend grinned at me. I felt puzzled, so I returned the smile. Joost gazed at me, and we locked eyes for a moment before he looked away.

“Inderdaad. (Indeed.)” Joost said while nodding to his friend and then turning back to me.

"Feeling chilly?" the blond guy inquired, swinging open his car door and walking towards me. As he towered over me, he took a cigarette from his pocket and ignited it. He took a drag, glanced away, removed the cigarette from his lips, and exhaled the smoke. Then, he locked eyes with me, placed the cigarette back between his lips, and waited for a reply. I was at a loss for words. In the background, I caught my sister's amused chuckle, and I noticed a few onlookers capturing this moment on film.

“I’m not cold.” I say looking away. Joost didn’t hesitate to grab my hand.

"False. Your nose is pink and your hands are chilly. And I saw you rubbing your hands and attempting to heat yourself up," the blond man remarked as his strong Dutch accent was evident. He chuckled, unzipping and removing his coat, then passing it to me.

"I-I can't accept that," I stammered, motioning for him to put his jacket back on, but he remained still. My sister gently nudged me, signaling to take the jacket. I glanced at her, seeing her thumbs up, and suddenly, it felt like I was back in high school chatting with my crush and getting support from my best friend. Joost nodded for me to accept his jacket. After a moment of hesitation, I finally took it. He blew the smoke in another direction, placed the cigarette back between his lips, and helped me zip up my jacket. The scent of his expensive cologne filled my lungs. He turned to my sister with a smile clapping his hands together.

“Sooo… You wanted a picture and an autograph?”He inquired of her, and she enthusiastically nodded. He strolled back to his vehicle while his friends chuckled. He retrieved a sheet of paper and a pen, passing them to my sister.

“Can you write your sister her phone number?” He said gazing at me, giving me a wink as I averted my gaze sensing that my face would blush a light shade of pink. My sibling didn't even pause. She penned down the phone digits and aimed to pass it over but halted him.

"I want a hug too," she utters, and he chuckles.

"Let’s compromise, will you write her name and surname for a hug?" He said pointing at me, as I could hear his friends laugh, and I buried my face in my hands due to embarrassment. I could also sense the excitement among Joost's supporters who were laughing heartily.

"Of course! Her name is Y/n!" She mentioned writing something down and passing the paper and pen to him without any delay to offer her a significant, extended embrace. I caught her whispering something, and he burst into loud laughter. I simply grinned, relishing the sight of my sister's joy. Joost murmured something in return, and Lorelei stepped back and approached me. She began to quietly murmur something in my ear.

“No way-.” I said backing away and furrowing my brows.

"Please for my birthday!" She pleads, casting me those adorable puppy eyes.

"No Lorelei, that's an excessive request," I utter firmly, feeling utterly exhausted.

"Please." Joost emerged alongside my sister, giving me pleading eyes. I turned my head and exhaled deeply.

"What will you receive in exchange?" I inquire, exhaling and turning towards my sister.

"A meet and greet for an hour after his concert," she says, pleading with me and giving me those puppy eyes. I sigh and walk over to Joost, who's already lowering himself to my height. I glance at my sister, who's holding her phone out, waiting for the perfect photo opportunity. I just shake my head no, and she pouts. Looking at Joost, I notice he's smiling, his cigarette is gone. As I get a closer look, I realize he's actually really handsome. He gives me one last look and winks. I give him a light peck on his cheek, leaving a faint pink mark. The people around us go wild, especially his friends in the car. I glance at my sister, who's snapping a picture. I furrow my brows and turn back to Joost. His expression is gentle, and he's blushing, as am I.

"You smell pleasant." He chuckled, and I playfully hit his shoulder.

"Lorelei, go get the autograph and the image, and let's head back." I express, glancing at Lorelei as if nothing has happened. My sibling nodded, and a short while later, she bid her final farewell. Joost walked towards me, coming closer with outstretched arms for an embrace. I embraced him, then stepped back and started unzipping the coat Joost had given me.

"What are you up to?" He inquires as I glance up at him.

"Returning your coat. I'm warm, and it belongs to you," I mention, but he took my hand halfway and zips it back up.

"Take it, please, I insist." He casts those pleading puppy eyes once more. I exhaled in surrender, feeling weary and not in the mood for a conversation with anyone at the moment.

“Jij bent echt schattig. (You are really cute)” he said and I tilted my head to the side in confusion and he grinned. Embracing me once more and walking back into his car.

“Ik hou van jou! (I love you!)” Lorelei mentions, and Joost chuckles while glancing at the paper my sister handed him earlier.

“Ik hou van Y/n. (I love Y/n.)” He speaks, and my sister shrieks and pinched my arm while I remain confused. I simply grasp my sister's shoulder, and we depart. Glancing back one last time, I notice Joost Klein still gazing at me with a smile. He winks, offers a small wave, and raises his phone, indicating that I should check mine. I acknowledge with a nod, thumbs up, and a wave as we turn the corner..

After a few minutes of silence I heard a phone notification coming from my phone.

“Send me a message once you arrive home safely with your little sister.”

I passed my phone to my little sister so she could check the message, and she burst into screams of excitement once more. After what seemed like an eternity, we arrived at my place. Then, I heard yet another notification, this time from Instagram.

“@joostklein ✓ started following you.”

As we stepped into my apartment, the initial thing Lorelei did was play the track "Buurman Uit Berlijn" by Joost Klein and MCR-T. I strolled into my room and overheard my sister say:

"Y/n, remember to reply to Joost!" I just sighed and took my phone, sending him a brief message saying: "we got back home alright, appreciate the autograph and photo with my sister."

In less than 10 seconds, Joost replied, saying: "I have a lipstick mark on my cheek, thanks for that and the hug. You smell really good. If I were you, I'd check the jackets right pocket. I left a little surprise." With my toothbrush in my mouth, I headed to the living room, picked up the neatly folded jacket, and looked through the pockets. It was a letter that said ‘Y/n’ I opened it and inside were 2 passes for the Eurovision Song Contest… I almost chocked on my toothbrush, quickly grabbed my phone, and messaged Joost: “When did you slip those in!?” I hit send quickly and immediately got a reply: “When we embraced. Give one pass to your sister. I'll cover the flight and hotel, unless you'd like to stay with me in the same hotel room ;)” I knitted my brows in confusion. I hastily texted him: “I'm truly grateful. Goodnight.” And received a swift response: “Slaapzacht schat. (Sleep tight darling.)” I just left him on read going into sleep thinking about the kiss with Joost.

A/n- HELP THIS WAS MY FIRST STORY EVER ON TUMBLR DON’T HATE PLS 😭 HAVE A NICE DAY YA’LL 😊☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

#JUSTICE FOR JOOST

[alittlebitofsainz]

- just don’t want your friends to see -

prompt: “said you needed me, wanted to be with me, just don’t want your friends to see”

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: the pressure of keeping the relationship a secret is getting to you both. is he ashamed of you? (everyone needs a little soft and reassuring lando in their lives every now and then)

a/n: can be considered a lil’ part two to told her you were just a friend. lyrics from ‘you to you’ by maisie peters :)

masterlist | the spotify wrapped collection

“hey, you guys, hope you haven’t been waiting long!”

your head turned to follow the sound of the voice, seeing max and his girlfriend pietra approaching, a few minutes late for lunch. you noticed lando doing the same, his fingers immediately disentangling from your own as soon as he spotted them, your hand feeling empty without his clasped around it as he took a step away from you. you knew you should be used to it by now, you’d both agreed that this was for the best, keeping your relationship in the shadows, locked behind closed doors. I want this relationship to be just ours, he’d said. it had sounded nice at the time, poetic, even, and you’d agreed, maybe a little too eagerly. but as you sat at lunch with max and pietra, perched awkwardly on the edge of your seat so as not to seem too close to lando, listening to him laugh off questions about his romantic life and saying he hadn’t really met anyone special yet - you had to admit that it stung. it stung the same way it did every time, and you found yourself unnaturally quiet throughout the meal, eyes flicking between person to person as the conversation continued around you.

if you’d thought it had gone unnoticed by lando, you thought wrong.

“baby, everything okay?”

even the pet name stung, the façade of ‘friendship’ falling by the wayside as soon as you made it back to lando’s apartment. just the two of you, a safe space, away from prying eyes and listening ears. you could be in a relationship again, having put it on pause for the time you were out in public.

you looked up, trying to plaster a fake smile across your face, the expression faltering slightly at the edges.

“yeah, fine. just tired, that’s all.” came your reply. but lando wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t blind, either. you tried to escape through to the kitchen, but he wasn’t having any of that.

“y/n, I know you. I can tell you’re not fine. talk to me, please.”

the gentleness of his voice coaxed you to be honest, letting out a sigh as you turned to lean against the kitchen counter, facing him. you couldn’t quite meet his eyes, almost embarrassed. you’d both agreed on this - why were you suddenly feeling so upset about it all? you knew lando loved you, appreciated you, but something about the way he acted when the two of you were out in public, around colleagues, around friends, even, that just got to you.

“are you embarrassed of me?”

the words left your mouth before filtering through your brain first, and you regretted them immediately; the way lando’s face fell, pain and guilt etched across his features - you swore you would never forget it, and you never wanted to see it again.

“no, no. fuck, y/n, I could never be embarrassed of you.” his voice was strained as he took several paces towards you across the kitchen, casting a cautious gaze over you as he tried to decide whether to give you space or comfort. you felt emotions bubble up inside you, ones you’d been trying to keep hidden for months, for the sake of your relationship. you’d always worried that if you caused a fuss or spoke about your emotions in any way, it would push lando away. why would he want someone who was such a problem when he could have pretty much anyone he wanted? it was irrational and you knew it, but keeping it inside for so long, unable to talk to anyone about it…? well, it had festered in your mind until it had taken over.

“I just feel like that’s why you don’t wanna tell your friends about me…” you eventually said, voice coming out as more of a whimper than you’d intended. lando closed the remaining space between you, hesitating for split second before taking your hands in his, his eyes searching yours imploringly.

“baby, I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel like that.” his voice was firm, filled with conviction and sincerity, but also tinged with a hint of emotion, upset that he’d ever hurt the person in his life that he cared the most about, “I swear, I never meant to. I’m so sorry.”

“it’s just difficult.” you murmured in reply, relishing the feeling of your hands being in his once again as you dropped your gaze down to look at them. “I feel like I’m always acting in public, like I can’t relax. and I can’t even talk to anyone about it.”

“I wish you’d talk to me.” lando’s voice was equally as quiet as yours, his tone so genuine that you couldn’t help but relax just a little, fears of pushing him away by being too honest dissipating by the second. he reached a hand up to cup your cheek, and it was only when he brushed a thumb across your skin to wipe away a tear that you realised you’d started crying.

“really?” you blinked up at him with wide, watery eyes. “I thought you wouldn’t wanna hear about it.”

he took your face in both hands, eyebrows curved up into a soft frown. “why would you think that? is it… is it something I said? something I did?” you could tell he meant it genuinely, but it made you realise just how irrational you were being. nothing lando had ever said or done had given you any indication that he wouldn’t want to hear your thoughts, your concerns, the things that made you upset. you were still navigating things, but you were beginning to realise that this was someone who you could really open up to. someone who cared about you. you shook your head, brushing away your own tears with the palm of your hand, letting out a wet chuckle.

“no, no. you didn’t do anything wrong. I was just being stupid.” you admitted, but now it was lando’s turn to shake his head.

“you weren’t being stupid.” he murmured, dropping his hands from your face and instead wrapping them around your waist, drawing you into his chest as he placed delicate kisses to the top of your head. “nothing you feel is stupid. it’s not easy keeping us a secret, trust me, I know.” he sighed, resting his chin on your head as he held you close. “I’m not embarrassed of you, y/n, I’m just trying to protect you. people… they can be pretty crazy when it comes to people I date. I just wanna keep you away from that just a little longer.”

you nodded into his chest. deep down, you knew that. you just needed to hear it from him. you let out a soft, contented sigh, the sound mirrored by lando as he tightened his grip round you just a little. he didn’t want to lose you, especially not over something like this, a fact he told his mum on the phone later that night as he finally told her all about you.

the final part is out now :)

a smau based on this fic is out now :)

[insidekatmind]

My Boyfriend's Father~Cho Sang woo

Wearning: +18,smut,age gap,cheating.

A/n: Inspired by a handcanon I read <3

You look at yourself in the mirror for the umpteenth time, nervously licking your clothes. Your heart is pounding in your chest as you wait outside the door, shaking your boyfriend’s hand so hard that his knuckles turn white. "Are you afraid?" he asks with a funny smile. "No!" you answer in a whisper, but your voice betrays you. It’s the first time you meet his father and the idea of making a bad impression terrifies you. But when the door opens and your eyes meet his father’s, the breath is stuck in your throat.Cho Sang-woo is... attractive. Much more than you would have imagined. He has a confident, elegant posture, and his piercing gaze pierces you like a sharp blade. He looks at you for a moment too long, then smiles, a light but intense smile.

“We finally know each other,” he says in a deep voice, holding out a hand to you. When you hold her, the warmth of her skin surprises you. “My son was lucky to find you.” You blush slightly, you are alone under the attention of his father, who tilts his head and looks at you with interest. “So, come here, let me see better,” he says, opening his arms to you. You have no choice. You move closer and he hugs you warmly, but it's the way his hands rest on you that makes you hold your breath. One remains on your back, the other slides dangerously down, touching the limit of what is permissible. It's a moment. Maybe it's just you imagining it. Maybe it's an innocent gesture... or maybe not. When you release yourself from the hug, his smile is still there, reassuring, kind, but something indecipherable shines in his eyes.

“Come on, have a seat,” he tells you, with an elegant wave of his hand. You sit next to your boyfriend, but still feel the warmth of Sang-Woo's hand on your body. And when you look up, he's there, looking at you, with a smile that seems to know something you don't even dare think about. You try to concentrate on the conversation, on the words of your boyfriend who tells you something about his work, his day, but your brain is a mess. Every time you try to turn your thoughts away, the memory of Sang-Woo's touch still burns on your skin. You shouldn't feel this way. He's your boyfriend's father. It's wrong. But every time you look up, he's there. He watches you, attentive, with a hint of amusement in his eyes. It makes you feel vulnerable, exposed, and at the same time… alive. “So,” Sang-Woo’s voice creeps into your thoughts, deep and velvety. “How long have you been together?”

“It's been several months already,” your boyfriend replies, taking your hand with a smile. “She's amazing, Dad, really.” Sang-Woo nods, then tilts his head slightly. “Oh, I can see it clearly.” He says it with perfect calm, yet his voice has something insinuating, almost provocative. You seem to feel it glide across your skin like an invisible touch. Your breathing becomes shorter and he notices it. You can tell by the way his lips curve ever so slightly into a satisfied smile. You try to look away, but it's like being sucked into a vortex. His magnetism keeps you trapped. And the biggest problem is that you like it. You like his look, his control over the situation, the way he seems to read your every hidden thought. “I hope my son treats you as you deserve,” he continues, sipping his glass of wine with an air of complete relaxation. “Because if it wasn't… well, that would be a real shame.”

When the night comes to an end and your boyfriend is drunk, Sang-Woo looks at him with a disapproving glance. “You shouldn't drink too much, Son,” he tells him, his voice stern and authoritative. His tone seems to carry a hint of warning. Your boyfriend apologizes, but Sang-Woo just shakes his head. “Go and rest, I'll take care of her.” Your boyfriend nods and staggers to the bedroom, and you're left alone with him. Sang-Woo's gaze turns to you, his eyes studying you with sharp attention.He takes a step closer, invading your personal space with his imposing presence, and you feel your heart beating faster in your chest. There's something in his gaze that makes you nervous, but at the same time, intrigued. "Let me take you home," he says, and there's no room for refusal in his tone. "It's late. I don't like the idea of you traveling alone."You stare enthralled him for two seconds and then nod. “Thank you,” you whisper.

Sang-Woo's lips curve into a half-smile. He seems pleased with your compliance. "Don't thank me," he replies, his voice low and almost velvety. "It's the least I could do. I wouldn't want you to end up in trouble." He offers you his arm with a small gesture, and you hesitate for a moment before accepting it. His touch sparks a current inside you, a mixture of excitement and uncertainty.Sang woo smiled satisfied now that he had you all to himself and he could have sworn that he would seduce you.

As you both walk to his car, Sang-Woo feels satisfied with the situation. He has you next to him at this hour, and he can't deny that the idea of having you all to himself excites him. He glances at you from time to time, noticing the way your body tenses under his gaze, the way you unconsciously cling to his arm. He knows the effect he has on you, and he relishes it.When you reach the car, he opens the door for you with a gentlemanly gesture, but his hand lingers a little too long on your waist. You feel his touch like a warm flame on the skin, and it makes a shiver run through you. "Careful," he murmurs, and there's something in his voice, an almost possessive note, that makes you swallow. He's enjoying the situation, and you feel like a mouse in the hands of a cat.

You get inside the car, and the interior is enveloped in an intimate silence. Sang-Woo takes the driver's seat and starts the engine without saying a word. The car glides smoothly on the road, and the only sounds are the hum of the motor and the occasional murmur of the radio. You're aware of his presence next to you, his scent invading your senses, making your heart beat faster. His hand is on the gear shift, and for a moment you wonder if his fingers would feel so good on your skin.

As if Sang Woo could read your mind, he put his hand on your thigh and caressed it as he drove. Just as the thought crossed your mind, you feel his hand on your thigh, and gasp softly. Sang-Woo's touch is firm, and his fingers seem to leave a trail of fire on your skin under the fabric of your dress. He looks straight ahead, but the corner of his mouth curves into a sly smile. He looks like he's enjoying making you feel so out of control, and it drives you crazy.Your breath becomes shallower, and you try to ignore the effect he's having on you. But it's impossible. His thumb moves in slow circles, tracing an invisible pattern on your skin, and it takes all your willpower not to shiver. You're hyper-aware of every gesture, every move he does. You don't understand why you're reacting this way, why your body betrays you so shamelessly.You feel your panties getting wet, and it drives you crazy. You can feel the embarrassment rising in you, and you start to wonder how he will react. Will he notice the effect he's having on you? Will he use it against you? You try to move, to shift positions, to do something, anything to break the tension, but he doesn't let you.

Sang-Woo looks in your direction as if he sensed that something was bothering you and you see the hint of a smile on his lips, almost a challenge. "Everything alright?" he asks, and his tone seems innocent, but you know he's fully aware of the situation.You nod. "Your son is very lucky to have a father like you" you say trying to change the subject while still feeling his hand on your thigh. Sang-Woo's thumb continues to draw languid circles on your thigh, and his amused smile widens. "Is that so?" he asks, tilting his head slightly. "Why do you think that?" His tone is relaxed, but there's something in his eyes, a glimmer of challenge, that makes you feel a shiver down your spine.

You notice him pulling into a parking lot and you lick your lips. "Well you take care of him" you whisper feeling more excited with every touch of his. You curse yourself for wearing a skirt. Sang-Woo parks in a secluded spot away from any other cars, and the silence that descends upon you is almost electrifying. "Yes, I take care of him," he murmurs, his voice dropping lower, almost a whisper. His hand moves higher on your thigh, and it takes all your effort not to moan in response. "But tonight, I want to take care of something else..."His words create a shiver deep in your body, and you can't deny the effect they have on you. You're almost panting now, breathless, waiting for his next move. You know it's not right, you know you shouldn't feel this way, but it's becoming impossible to resist. His touch seems to awaken something primal inside you, something you didn't even know was there.

Sang-Woo can feel your excitement, the tension that builds inside you, and it fuels his own desire. He leans closer, his hand now resting on the inside of your thigh, and you're acutely aware of his proximity, his warmth, his scent surrounding you.Your breathing is heavy as you look at him longingly.

Sang-Woo's eyes are fixed on yours, their gaze almost hypnotising. He's aware of the effect he has on you, and he enjoys seeing you at his mercy. "You know, I've been watching you all night," he whispers, his voice dripping with sensuality. "The way you laughed, the way you talk... you're an absolute distraction." His hand slides higher up your thigh, and you gasp softly, barely able to contain yourself.His touch is almost possessive now, and it fuels your arousal even more. You've never felt so alive and so vulnerable at the same time. It's intoxicating, the way he can make you feel just with a few words and a touch. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to regain control of your own reactions, but it's no use. He has you completely under his spell.

Sang-Woo leans closer, his lips hovering just an inch from your ear. "Tell me," he says in a low, velvety voice, "what do you want?" His hand continues to move up your thigh, his thumb tracing an invisible line on your sensitive skin. You're trembling now, your mind a chaos of conflicting thoughts. You know you should stop this, but you don't want to.You try to find your voice, but all that comes out is a soft moan. "I ..." you stammer, trying to find the words, but your brain isn't working anymore. Your whole body is on fire, responding to his proximity, to his touch, and it makes your head spin.

Sang-Woo chuckles softly, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine. He knows he has you right where he wants you, and he's enjoying it immensely. "Use your words, darling," he teases, his breath on your neck sending another wave of desire through you.You take a deep breath and try again, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I... I want you," you manage to say, and the words leave your lips before you can even think about it. As soon as they're out, you feel a strange mix of embarrassment and excitement.Sang-Woo's gaze darkens at your confession, and his smile turns predatory. He moves even closer, his hand fully placed on your hip now, his touch firm and possessive as he draws you closer to him. "Good girl," he murmurs, his voice a low growl. "That's what I wanted to hear."

Sang woo drags you into his lap.Sang-Woo wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his lap with surprising ease. You're suddenly sitting astride him, your legs on either side of his thighs, and the position is both intimate and intensely vulnerable. His eyes are fixed on yours, his breathing heavy with desire.You can feel the heat radiating off his body, the strength of his muscles under your palms as you put your hands on his shoulders. His hands grasp your hips, fingers digging into your flesh through the thin fabric of your dress. He's in control, and you're fully aware of it. He's the one who set this situation in motion, and you're completely at his mercy.

You were shaking with excitement and Sang woo smiles "I bet you're wet" he whispers moving a finger inside your panties.Sang-Woo's words send another wave of heat through your body, and you're unable to suppress the moan that escapes your lips. You're trembling all over, and every touch of his seems to set your nerves on fire. You're both panting, your breaths mingling, and as the tip of his finger grazes your wetness, you gasp, your knees buckle, and your fingers in his shoulder.

Sang woo smiled and put two fingers inside you and hummed satisfied feeling how wet you were. "My son makes you feel like this too, hm?" he hummed moving his fingers inside your pussy.Sang-Woo's words make you shiver, and you feel a sudden pang of guilt in your chest. But his touch, his fingers inside you, are too much for you to think straight. You're lost in the sensation, consumed by the desire he elicits from you. "No," you gasp, your voice barely a whispers.

You know that what you're doing is wrong, that you should stop, but you can't. His fingers, his voice, they're like a drug, and you're addicted. The guilt and the pleasure mix inside you, a dangerous cocktail that makes your head spin. "Sang-Woo..." you breathe, and it's like a prayer, a plea, filled with need and hopelessness.Sang-Woo's smile widens, pleased with your response. He knows he has you right where he wants you, and no one will ever know about this except for the two of you. It's a secret, a moment out of time. "Yes?" he murmurs, the word wrapped around by his deep, velvety voice. He scissors his fingers inside you, drawing another moan.

You bury your face in his shoulder, unable to face him in this state. It's too much, this mixture of guilt and pleasure that clouds your mind. You're lost in a sea of sensation, and Sang-Woo is the one steering the ship. "Don't," you breathe, your words muffled against his shirt. "We shouldn't," and this time it's a plea.Sang woo adds a third finger making you scream with pleasure. "Now?" he teases you. There’s something wrong with you…You can’t stop this…

Sang-Woo’s gaze darkens as he sees the conflicting emotions in your eyes. “Don’t think,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding. “Right now, just feel.” He fingering you with passion.

You moan and cling to him tighter. “So good,” you murmur. Your words fuel his ego and he smiles, pleased with himself. “That’s right,” he whispers, his breath hot on your ear. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” It was almost like a statement because he knew he had you in a mess.

You can feel how much this excites him, how much he enjoy the fact that he can make you react this way. And the worst part is that you enjoy every moment of it, despite knowing how wrong it is. Your body betrays you, responding to his every touch, his every word.You're drowning in an ocean of pleasure, and there's no way back. Sang-Woo is in complete control, and you're caught in a net from which there is no escape. The guilt and the desire mix to form a potion of ecstasy that keeps you hooked.

“I'm coming” you moan and then kiss him.The kiss is a desperate attempt to ground yourself, to find a anchor in the storm of emotions that threatens to overwhelm you. And Sang-Woo responds, his lips moving hungrily against yours, devouring you with an intensity that takes your breath away.You feel your body tremble as the wave of pleasure builds inside you, your fingers clinging to Sang-Woo's shirt, desperately trying to hold onto something, anything, as the world around you spins out of control. He smiles against your lips, pleased with the effect he has on you.You tremble with pleasure and come into his fingers as you moan into the kiss.

It seems like there is no break. There is no room for any other thought than that of what was going on here and it was a vicious cirlce of lust and desire. Lust that was consuming two bodies that were unable to restrain themselves and the desire to let this go on forever.Sang-Woo breaks the kiss to look at you, his eyes burning with an intense look that makes your heart beat even faster. There’s a smirk on his lips, the satisfaction of someone who knows he has you completely in his power. “You like that?” he whispers, and it’s both a question and a tease at the same time.

He takes your fingers off and licks them, moaning. "You taste so good, honey," Sang woo murmurs in satisfaction. His words make you shiver, and you can feel your body responding to his touch in ways you thought impossible. You're completely at his mercy, and he knows it. His gaze is dark, almost predatory, as he looks at you, his words filled with a mix of desire and satisfaction.

“I need more” you whisper desperately as you grind yourself against him like a bitch in heat, moaning. Sang-Woo's expression is satisfied, a dark smile on his lips. "Greedy," he whispers, tilting his head back and enjoying the sight of you so desperate. "You want more, huh?" And before you can answer, he pulls you even closer, his hands roaming over your body, exploring every inch of you.He undresses you with a satisfied smile. His eyes roam over your naked body, taking in every curve and contour. Sang-Woo murmurs an approving sound as he runs his hands over your skin, his touch possessive and hungry. "You are beautiful," he whispers, his voice low and hoarse.

Sang woo kisses and lick one of your nipples while squeezing the other. He continues this for three minutes. Then he takes it out of your mouth with a pop. You're a mess, shaking with pleasure and desire, and you can hardly think straight anymore. Sang-Woo's hands on you are like a flame that just burns brighter with every touch. You want more, you need more, and the words leave your lips unbidden. "Please..." you breathe, and it's a plea, a prayer.

"Are you that desperate to get fucked by your boyfriend's father?" Sang Woo mutters as he squeezes your nipple. His words make your heart skip a beat, and you can feel a pang of guilt mixed with desire. This was wrong, but you couldn't deny the effect he had on you. You wanted him, with a fervor that made no sense, and the shame of the situation only added to the excitement. You could only whimper in response, your body trembling with need, and you knew that he enjoyed it.

"I need you," you moan softly, the words coming out as a plea, a desperate need. It's true, you need him more than you'd like to admit, and it scares you a little."I need you," you moan softly, the words coming out as a plea, a desperate need. It's true, you need him more than you'd like to admit, and it scares you a little.

Sang woo smiles and makes you stand up for a second to pull down your pants and boxers and then you stand back up. "Tell me honey, has my son fucked you yet?" He whispers while caressing your ass.

You can almost taste the desire in the air, the forbidden longing that hangs like a heavy mist. His lips were like velvet, soft and deadly, and you couldn't get enough of them. And his words...they were like a dagger, a reminder of the terrible thing you were about to do. “No,” you replied, your voice barely a whisper.Sang woo smiles. "Good" he whispers and takes you in with a bang fucking you hard without making you adapt to his Big size.

“You’re so fucking tight” He growls fucking you harder as you moan loudly whimpering in pleasure. You ride him as he fucks you and you moan loudly screaming his name over and over again. You're a mess, trembling with pleasure and desire, and you can barely think straight, let alone utter a coherent sentence. The sound of your moans and whimpers fills the air, and they echo in both of your heads, drowning in the pleasure.“your pussy is heaven darling” Sang woo murmurs as he pushes himself harder into you.

You can barely form a thought, let alone say anything, but the words are like a prayer to you. You're lost in a world of sensation, and his name is the only thing you know to say. "Sang-Woo..." you whimper, and it's like a mantra, a plea to never stop.He's a man in control of the moment. In control of your body and mind. He knows what he's doing and how to make this pleasurable for you. He's driving you closer and closer to the edge, and you feel like you're losing your mind.He slaps your ass and nibbles your ass as he fucks you harder making you scream with pleasure.

You're beyond the point of no return now, completely his. There's no going back, no turning away from what's happening. His words, his touch, they all make you feel alive, and it's overwhelming.

"I'm cumming" you moan and Sang woo moves faster kissing your neck. "Come baby, cum on daddy's cock" Sang woo whispers. You moan at his words and come screaming "Daddy" he grunts and cums inside you.

The words escape your lips without you even realising it, and they're so natural, so unexpected. But when they're out, you feel a sense of shame mixed with satisfaction. It's like a secret you both share now, a small act of rebellion against the world

[miniy00ng1]

Home

Five Hargreeves x Female!Reader

wc: 1189

warnings: swearing, lila likes five (ew), lmk if i missed anything!

find my masterlist here

hiiii lovelies! it felt like i wrote more than i actually did, butttt whatever. please ignore any grammar errors and i hope everyone enjoys! thank you <3

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He dreams of you every night. Thinks about you during his every waking moment. He longs to see your beautiful face again. To hold you tight in his arms and never let you go.

Your relationship with Five is one he could only dream of having. He met you during the apocalypse. You were severely injured and stuck under rubble but, you were alive when he stumbled across you.  

Five had nursed you back to health and in return you provided him company for what would have been 45 very lonely years. During that time, you and Five had fallen in love and had married.

Since arriving in the new timeline 6 years ago, you and Five had started to build a normal life together, just like Five had wished for. But now he’s found himself stuck in a neverending hellscape with the last person he’d ever want to be stuck with.

Six years had gone by since he last saw you and all of them were agony. Five tried to find a way back to you and vowed he wouldn’t stop trying until you were back in his arms. There were times where he wasn’t sure he would ever see you again and it broke his heart–he would never admit this to anyone.

“I cannot stand to eat another subway rat.” Lila says, scrunching her nose up in disgust. The pair were sat on the floor of the station cooking yet another rodent. “Maybe…we could rest up for a bit at the greenhouse we found the other day? The place wasn’t too bad.” Lila glances at Five with a hopeful look in her eyes. Five ponders the idea, he wouldn’t mind a soft bed to sleep in and definitely wouldn’t miss getting shot at. He nods at Lila, “Only for a couple of days.” 

A few days had turned into weeks which turned into months. And soon enough the pair had been there for three months. The greenhouse and surrounding area had provided a sufficient source of living and was considerably more comfortable than the subway station floor.

Five was watering the strawberries in the greenhouse when he felt something hit his back. He could hear Lila giggle and felt another thud, “Quit it Lila, you’re wasting produce. We’re not going to have enough for the winter if you keep throwing them at me.” Lila continued to toss strawberries as she approached Five, “Oh please, we’ll have plenty and we aren’t staying tha–”

Lila tripped over her feet causing Five to drop his watering can and catch her. The two were face to face, he could feel Lila’s breath and her eyes staring at his lips. He quickly pushed Lila to her feet and distanced himself from her. “Look Lila, I know we’ve been here a long time and you’re not happy with my brother but I love Y/N. And I just want to get back to her.” Five was never the kindest man but in that moment he had hoped he let her down gently.

Lila nodded quickly, tucking her lips as her eyes welled with tears, “No, yeah, I get it. I’m sorry. It’s just–what if we never get home?” Five shook his head, “That’s not happening. I’m never going to stop until I get us home.”

Five left the greenhouse to give Lila some space. In the meantime, he returned to the subway station and decided to take a ride to clear his head. As he sat on the grimey seat he tried to think about how you might try to decipher the station–you were always just as smart as he was, helping solve equations in the apocalypse. You had even told him his calculations were off but he would never listen, he smiled to himself thinking about you.

The train let out a ding signifying he had reached the next stop. As the doors opened he heard the sound of footsteps fading. What the hell? he thought to himself. He shot out of his chair with urgency, following the direction of the footsteps and calling out for the mystery person to stop. 

Five came to a halt, his eyes widening at the bright sign and the warm presence of a restaurant. If he wasn’t confused before, he sure as hell was now. Five neared the door with caution, but as he entered the deli he was awestruck. He was surrounded by himself, some workers and some patrons of the deli.

“Hey, you! Yeah, you! Come sit with me” A voice called out, his voice, but he wasn’t speaking. He glanced around to see who was calling for him when he saw himself in a booth waving him over. Five approached the table and slid into his seat.

“So you’ve made it.” Booth Five says enthusiastically. Five looks at himself quizzically, raising an eyebrow he asks, “And where exactly are we?” “It’s where we all come when we’ve given up.” “Given up?” Five questions. “I haven’t given up. I need to get home to Y/N.” Murmurs erupt at the sound of your name. Many surrounding Fives sigh or give a sad smile.

“We here don’t have our version of your Y/N anymore. We lost everyone, including her. As soon as we did, majority of us gave up trying to save the world.” Booth Five states, a sad gleam in his eyes. “I’ve saved the world three times already. I don’t plan on doing it again anytime soon. I just want to get home to her. So do me a favor and tell me how to get home.”

Booth Five gives a call out to Waiter Five. Waiter Five brings over a notebook and hands it to Five. As Five inspects the journal, his eyes widen. “Holy shit…it’s a cipher. This is how I get back.” Five immediately gets up. As he leaves Booth Five calls out,

“We’ll see you soon.”

Upon returning to the greenhouse Five starts to gather everything in preparation to make his return home. “Lila!” He calls out, “Lila! Where are you? Get ready to leave, we’re going home!” Lila bursts through the door looking disheveled.

“You–You’re not fucking with me are you? Because if you are, I will kill you.” Five shakes his head and Lila squeals running over to hug Five. “Let’s go home.”

The pair arrives at Diego and Lila’s house. Lila excitedly runs up to the door and throws it open. As she disappears into the house Five begins to approach. As he gets closer, he can hear you giggle as Lila envelops you in a bear hug. 

Lila eventually lets you go and that’s when you notice Five’s presence at the entryway. You make your way over to him with your beautiful smile. You throw your hands around his neck and pull him down slightly as he is a couple inches taller than you. Five snakes his hands around your waist, face in your hair as he breathes you in.

You go to pull away but Five’s grip tightens. You let out a laugh, “Someone must’ve missed me.” “You have no idea” He whispers.