#and york was the first thing to come to mind

[uhlillie]

b.b. | i'll be watchin' you – i

bucky barnes x reader | pre-CA:CW, canon divergence

wc. 2133 | no major warnings, no use of y/n, 2nd person pov. reader is gender-neutral with little to no physical description (to the best of my ability). very bucky pov centric. the mildest of allusions of stalker shenanigans, but nothing overtly malicious.

summary | bucky barnes, in his journey to reintegrate into society following the events of CA:TWS, finds himself mildly infatuated with a stranger who mistakes him for a homeless man. you, the reader, inadvertently find yourself a new guardian angel.

a/n | first bucky fic ever after a bout of inspiration hit me upside the head (and after reading tons and tons of amazing fic on this site). honestly, it's pure unplanned word vomit that i've polished enough to post. my apologies for any inaccuracies, as i'm running on poor memory and shitty google inquiries. lmk if this is anything good or if i should just hang up the pen in shame. 🫶

Bucky feels lost.

New York is a labyrinth to the uninitiated, the streets a cypher one learns with practice. It comes easily to some and harder for others. But Bucky is neither new to nor unfamiliar with the city. He used to be one of them, one of the many people who confidently walk these streets, a local well-versed in time-saving shortcuts and hidden gems.

As he wanders around, however, Bucky feels like a stranger lagging behind the rest. The city, to him, is now half-familiar in a way one might struggle to remember a word on the tip of their tongue or like walking through the hazy recollection of a dream conceived the night prior. Many things have changed in the span of seventy-odd years and his memory—shoddy at best given all that he's been put through—naturally fails him.

Bucky's jaw ticks, steel-blue eyes scanning his surroundings from beneath the brim of his inconspicuous cap. (It works wonders as camouflage in a city with maybe half a million or more men dressed just as inconspicuously as him.) He honestly isn't sure what he's come here for, standing idly by a crosswalk opposite of a library.

The building itself is unassuming, with features typical of the era it comes from: old brick and stonework, weathered at the edges and bearing a history that's outlived all of its patrons. Its silhouette falls neatly into place within this corner of the city, among other buildings of similar size and make, and evokes a sense of familiarity within him. But this isn't Bucky's neighborhood from the long lost years of his youth. Far from it, really. His feet had just brought him to this area without much thought.

Part of it must be nostalgia, he figures, of mostly faded memories of him and a younger, skinnier Steve checking out books from a similar looking place on one of their days off from school. Or of quiet afternoons conjuring vivid images from the imaginative worlds of his favorite science fiction novels. It's in this way that the mere sight of the building, older than he is, brings a sense of comfort. He lowers the brim of his cap, contemplative as he regards this relic of the past, when someone—you—stop to look straight at him.

"Hey," you speak first, your eyes wide with curiosity, and Bucky almost wants to melt into the sidewalk. He had snuck out of the Avengers Tower earlier for some fresh air and could not risk being found by a civilian. Steve learning of his absence was one thing, but Stark would definitely have his head if—

His thoughts are cut off as you speak once more. "Are you okay?"

Do I look okay to you? Bucky snaps in his head, the tips of his ears turning red as you scan him from head to toe. In the back of his mind, he wonders if you have any sense of self-preservation.

Because who in their ever-loving right mind would stop and talk to a stranger—a six foot tall, beefy stranger dressed in layers with long sleeves pulled low in the sweltering heat of July and with his eyes obscured in the shade of a baseball cap. Nevermind the fact that his hands are hidden in his pockets, both clad in well worn leather gloves; his movements careful in order to conceal the gleaming titanium of his prosthetic arm. Bucky's entire demeanor screams strange and suspicious, a walking caution sign to all those wary of undisclosed danger.

He answers you anyway, gruff and avoidant. "I'm fine." Sweat beads at his brow as he maps out an escape route from this conversation.

You unfortunately, not having the sense to just leave things be, have the audacity to give him an incredulous look.

"You're not fine," you declare suddenly, rummaging through your bag. "It's hot out and you've got a thick jacket on—" Bucky's almost tempted to walk away, unsure if you are about to alert everyone in the immediate vicinity to his suspicious presence. "—and I figure you're probably overheating in all that. So, here."

Bucky's stoic expression nearly falters when you all but shove a twenty his way. He's awkward as he holds it, the bill half-crumpled in his hand.

"Get yourself a cool drink, okay?" you say, voice soft with what he thinks is misplaced concern. "Wouldn't want you to pass out in this heat."

Bucky knows that you know that the twenty is more than enough for a single drink and a generous amount of change but you fix Bucky with a look of intense sincerity that he can't find the words to object to. Nor does he think to mention the fact that he's actually being housed by a multi-millionaire and that he really doesn't need the money. So he pockets the cash, mumbling a reluctant 'thank you' as you beam at him.

There's not much in the way of pleasantries after that, with you bidding him farewell and wishing him a good day in a manner that compels him to stare after you as you walk off towards the library—the entire reason he had been lingering in this area in the first place. He watches as you ascend the steps leading up to the entrance and disappear behind the heavy glass doors.

It stirs something within him, he realizes later, the random act of charity thrusted upon him. For the kind stranger who seems blissfully unaware of danger, Bucky figures he should keep an eye out just in case.

The late afternoon sun hits the New York skyline at an angle, casting long shadows over its streets. It's still hot out, warmth radiating from cracked concrete and uneven asphault, the natural consequence of an urban jungle built with materials that sap up heat like a sponge. Coupled with the humidity, the air feels heavy and thick as it weighs everyone down with perspiration.

You are hit with what feels like the brunt of it the moment you step out onto the street, a metaphorical slap in the face after leaving the air-conditioned bubble of the public library at which you work.

Summers are a busier time at the library, what with school being out and people looking for cool spaces to 'chill' in, pun intended. The chance to connect with the local community makes it all worth it in your opinion, even as you're run ragged juggling clerical duties, incessant inquiries from patrons, and making sure the shelves are neat and organized.

It's with this thought in mind, as much as you love your job, that you're glad to be free of it for the evening, eager to return to the comfort of her apartment.

The route home is easy at least, learned through trial and error after getting lost many a time in the seemingly identical rows of brownstones lining narrow streets. A prickle of something gives you reason to pause, however, and you still in the middle of the sidewalk. Some passersby shoulder their way past you, mumbling annoyances at the sudden obstacle in their path, but you pay no mind to them. Instead, you identify the feeling as unease even though there is hardly anything out of place as far as you're aware.

It's probably nothing, you think, trying to ignore the chill that trickles down your spine.

It's still the same path you traverse everyday anyhow, from home to work and back again, but you figure it's a little wise to err on the side of caution, so that's what you do. You round each corner with apprehension, avoiding the darker shadows cast by each building you pass. The prickling feeling follows you still, even with every look over your shoulder and cautious glances into dim alleyways. The quiet of the neighborhood hardly helps with the paranoia either, the sound of your heartbeat loud in your chest with every step you take.

As you walk, you think back to earlier, to the strange man loitering across the street from the library. He'd seemed lost with a distant look in his eye as he stared down the building like it had done something to offend him. At first glance, you assumed he was a vagrant: he was wearing clothes that were worn and slightly unkempt, his hair long and his cheek dotted with stubble. He'd looked like he could use a drink, really, so you gave him the money without thinking twice. And despite looking a bit put off by your offer of cash, he'd accepted it without question.

Maybe it wasn't a smart idea to butt into the business of a nameless stranger, now that you really thought about it. The inkling feeling of being watched is proof enough of your mistake. You curse your lack of foresight, picking up the pace towards your apartment, and practically skip up the stone steps into the safety of your apartment building.

You take odd relief in the normally arduous climb up the stairwell towards your floor, happy to hide away in the organized clutter of your shoebox apartment. But as you prepare to go to bed, you can't help but notice a strange shadow hiding across the street from the corner of your eye.

But when you look again, it's seemingly disappeared.

Weird.

"JARVIS," Bucky calls out, sprawled out on the floor of his quarters in the Tower, a duvet draped over his lower half and a pillow wedged under his neck. Despite much persuasion to sleep on the bed, he opted for the floor instead. (The soft carpet is a mild upgrade compared to his previous living situation, all things considered.) "Can you run a background check for me?"

"Of course, Sargeant Barnes," JARVIS complies, the room falling silent soon after as the AI processes his request.

Bucky had returned without incident the evening prior through a well-hidden rear entrance, evading any line of questioning from Steve, Stark, or the others by holing himself up in his private quarters. JARVIS had supplied an alibi for him, an unlikely conspirator despite the distrust the AI's creator held towards him. It was oddly convenient and a quiet reassurance, especially when dealing with the annoyances of Steve's well-meaning interventions.

That was Bucky's biggest problem these days.

Following the fall of SHIELD and his subsequent apprehension by the rest of the Avengers, everything concerning Bucky was treated with an absurd amount of caution. Even Steve had taken to walking on eggshells around him, drawing a shaky boundary in an effort to "make his transition back into the world smoother," or whatever bullshit reason there was.

Sure, Bucky was the furthest thing from a stable person at the moment and, sure, it'd only take the utterance of his trigger words to undo all the progress he's made since escaping HYDRA's grasp, but it wasn't like he was made of glass, as if he'd shatter the moment he was touched wrong.

In fact, he was actually doing quite well for himself.

He self-regulates, following the same simple routine most days: wake up, eat, train, and sleep. He has hobbies; he has a laundry list of sci-fi and fantasy novels to catch up on, a fledgling collection of vinyls comprised of all the hits he'd missed following the War, and he peoplewatches whenever he gets the chance.

JARVIS breaks this line of thought, listing off a detailed summary of your description, occupation, and all other information in between: a library aide living alone, no immediate family nearby, and having moved to the area not too long after the Chitauri invasion that had terrorized the city.

Bucky listens on, eyes shut as he recalls his encounter with you. It was strange, being acknowledged by someone without ties to his past or the knowledge of his time as a living weapon. He clenches the fist of his left arm, the whirring of the inner mechanics just about audible in the quiet of his room. Would you have run if you saw this arm, cold steel and intimidation, in broad daylight? It would have been the most logical response, one he wouldn't fault you for if that had been the turn of events.

But as it stands now, Bucky remains a strange, nameless man to the public, an odd shadow skulking on street corners. He believes you would sooner write him off as an oddity, a curious encounter in a city chock full of them. Better that than any of the other alternatives, of eyes prying into affairs he's loath to unearth after years of brainwashing and torture.

Still, the small taste of "normalcy," even as unusual as it was, lingered on the forefront of his mind. And throughout the rest of his mundane daily routine, Bucky finds himself selfishly wanting more.

dividers by me | thank you for reading 🫶

[hellowoolf]

miss conway, with love

synopsis: when a strange and beautiful invitation arrives at satoru’s door, he supposes there cannot be harm in spending a weekend in new york. an extravagant party coalesced with a funeral, he has no idea what to make of the effervescent miss conway. but oh, it is plain enough to see that he needs you at least once.

pairing: 1930s!gojo satoru x heiress fem!reader

tags: fluff, a little angst, suguboo didn't defect because i say so, everyone speaks the same language because i say so, i take creative liberties please just roll with it, SMUT!!, unprotected piv, masturbation (gojo...and you? you'll see >:)), creampie, gojo needing you real bad, reader has family trauma but it won't get graphic!, not proofread :3

wc: 10.7k

a/n: this crawled right out of my hole and onto the page. i recommend listening to frank sinatra while you read it because that's what i listened to while writing hehe. i hope you like it!! i love you all so bad let's human centipede

18+! mdni <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

gojo does not need much time at all to determine he despises new york city. 

his hotel is a beautiful, gleaming thing overlooking central park, and from the ornamental windows he supposes he may find some merit. he can only see from so many floors up how sharply dressed the crowds are, just how stunning the park is against its steel cradle. yes, embraced by his expansive and exorbitantly expensive room, limbs stretched and suits pressed in the closet, he thinks new york is lovely to look at. 

but on the street, among the bustle of people and the stench of life he becomes, rather quickly, opposed. he finds himself expanding infinity a further few centimeters to carve a greater space between himself and the smoky air, the smell of concrete. the sidewalks pool with water, grotesque and murky, and the passersby glisten with sweat under their beaded dresses and derby hats. his face is a great deal less handsome when he wrinkles his nose, but he supposes it is a necessary concession.

of course, he hasn’t come to enjoy the city. 

when his invitation first arrived, dressed in dark blue ribbon and sealed in pressed wax, it was such a jubilantly presented envelope that he imagined a clan member was announcing a wedding. and then, written in sweeping, almost coyly elegant strokes he found:

in celebration of the death of anwir conway

please join us at the new york city conway international

friday, march 22, 7pm

he had blinked at the paper and it blinked back. anwir conway? he knew that name, though anyone with money must have, he thought. conway international hotels spanned the globe now, the pinnacle of luxury in all major cities people cared to visit. the conway family was surely one of the most wealthy in the west. celebrating the death? he didn’t care much to investigate that. 

but then almost all the powerful sorcerers he knew had received invitations, too. yuki and suguru and a few of his international contacts, all brandishing that cream cardstock. some denied immediately—yuki had no interest in the sort of ostentatious indulgence a conway party promised—and suguru has the girls to care for. and besides, the only person capable of arriving in america without any form of machinery was satoru.

and so, suitcase packed delicately with western style party-wear and fine leather shoes, satoru lifted a leg in tokyo and made contact in the center of new york.

each invitation was fit with a conway reservation for the weekend, and upon satoru’s arrival the lobby had been infested with near-royalty, in wealth and cursed power. there were as many non-sorcerers, he found, as there were jujutsu users, but the whole lot made up the global upper echelon.

nobody seemed all that preoccupied with the implication on the invitation: that the party thrower is elated by the death of anwir conway. satoru supposes now, lying in wait hours before the party, that he has paid it little mind, too. but his host hadn’t signed their name, either. who would so brazenly advertise their disdain for the new york city’s king of elite?

a part of him is almost amused by the unadulterated joy unfurling in the hallways; even beyond the tangible glitter of crystal chandeliers and precious gemmed decor, there was a potent air of delight, the scent of it curling a talon from under his closed door. 

there is so much cursed energy in this hotel that satoru can hardly discern a thing. only that, if he can admit it, he is excited for tonight. the intrigue and the wealth and the subversion of the invitation all inspire a thrill within him. whoever he would encounter this evening, it would be someone worth meeting. a terrible villain, he is certain, but no doubt someone fun.

he stands at the threshold of the room’s closet now, glancing over his various suits and smoker jackets, some a sleek black and detailed with silk, others attached with white or ivory bowties and scarves. is this…a funeral? a party? both, maybe. gojo pads to the phone by the bed and twists the rotary to call the front desk. a man answers, voice rough with use but unendingly polite.

“good evening, conway international front desk. how may i help you?”

satoru grins with the stiff script of it all. “good evening, sir. i’m a guest of…well…i suppose i don’t know. i’m a guest this evening and i was wondering what the attire is for the party?”

there is shuffling on the other end, a hasty “just one moment, sir,” whispered across the line. there are at least three people speaking as his telephone friend holds the phone to what must be his chest. two men and a woman, he thinks. very little can be made out beyond one sentence, wry and full of humor, a feminine voice: let me speak to him.

satoru is transferred hands and then a delicate breathing comes through the receiver. the woman says nothing. is she…waiting for him?

“um…hello?”

“hello, sir,” you says. satoru can hear the smile in your tone, almost like you’re amused to be in this position. it’s clear enough that you don’t typically handle the phones.

“yes, ma’am, i was wondering whether you knew the attire code for tonight’s party?”

your laugh is light, almost teasing. “it’s nearly a quarter past 6, mr. gojo. aren’t you a little late?”

“am i?” he teases back.

you snicker again, and it’s a terribly attractive sound. “you know, i’ve been preparing for weeks. can’t you spare a full hour of your precious time to compose yourself?”

“you’ve spent weeks selecting an outfit?” 

“among other things,” you say, voice trailing off at the end. your cadence is provocative. not quite sexual, more biting. satoru finds himself smiling broader the longer you speak with him. who is this woman? 

“well would you be so kind as to offer me guidance?”

you hum quietly, pretending to consider it. “i suppose i might, if you asked me kindly.”

gojo laughs again, again. “right. oh powerful woman on the phone, might you please indicate a color in which i should dress this fine evening?”

“yes!” you cackle. “that’s exactly the sort of ego-stroking i’m in search of. well done, mr. gojo.” satoru, despite himself, beams, though you cannot see it. “tonight, more than anything, is a celebration. wear something you’d be horrified to see at a funeral. i don’t mind the colors, more the spirit of it.”

“i will work tirelessly to please you,” he returns.

you hum again, pleased. “i hope so. enjoy your night,” you say.

and satoru almost lets you hang up the phone before startling to awareness. “wait—wait,” he waits to hear you settle the receiver on your face again before continuing, “how do you know my name?”

you pause a moment before responding. “it is the job of the front desk to know our guests by name.”

“but you don’t work at the front desk, do you?” satoru probes.

something sweet and self satisfied pushes out of your nose and he hears it crackle on the line. you let the silence stretch one moment too long, he suspects just to make him wait. “because i invited you.”

the sound clicks, and you are gone. gojo lowers the phone slowly, wondering what sort of ravenous thing it was he just spoke to. 

the city lights twinkle through his window as the sky darkens, and in the flickering gleam satoru selects a pressed tuxedo, which on its own would be altogether normal, but attaches about his waist a shiny, light blue cumberbund. the reference to his own eyes is so overt that he snorts as he asses himself in the mirror. would this satisfy you? he looks, he thinks, like the worst, most vain young man in the world. perfect.

descending down to the ballroom, gojo still thinks of you. the lilt of your voice, almost reticent, but not at all sheepish. would he know you by sight alone? this is—you made sure he knew—your party. who are you to awrin conway? satoru supposes you must be his daughter, in which case your more than manifested glee at his death is rendered even more fascinating. are you to inherit the empire of your father? do you relish this bequeathment of power, or do you resent the responsibility? how close would you let satoru get to your lips?

that last musing would concern him, but just then the elevator bell sings as the operator pries open the door, and he steps slowly into what would be better described as an auditorium. a dance floor beams the diamond starlight, enormous and full of people already, and along the waist of the high ceilings rounds a second floor, trimmed with silver railings, over which glamorous people of all ages drink champagne and watch the dancers below. a live band bellows from the front stage, alto saxophones and violas and the deep voice of the vocalist, sorcerers and non-sorcerer's alike making fools of themselves, dripping in all manner of fine fabric. it looks like all the most exquisite curtains in the world have gathered to dance here, twirling and draping themselves around the expanse of the room. 

contrary to his norm, nobody seems particularly interested in satoru, white-haired and beautiful and teeming with cursed energy. in this room he fits in quite nicely, and the throng hums, full, but makes room for his entrance. 

and despite it all, against his better judgment and against this howling opulence which demands his attention, satoru finds himself searching for you. he hardly has a plan in the case that he even finds you, but nonetheless his eyes flit and scrutinize the crowd for a face he’s never seen.

across the way there is a woman engaged in fierce dancing with two other men, twirled between their arms and agonizing the both of them, entirely pleased with the way they each reach for her when she turns towards the other. but her dress is black and simple; gojo imagines this woman did not realize your insurgent intentions until her arrival. not you.

another young lady crosses the dance floor, cutting into his line of vision. she has had multiple glasses of champagne already, clear in her gait, and she still grips two of the offending flutes. her friend guides her towards a table to deposit her, and they cackle at her inability to place her feet properly. not you.

satoru lifts his gaze again to the surrounding platform making up the second floor. 

there you are.

he has no reason to know it so certainly, but you lean there, forearms crossed over one another on the railing as you assess your invitees below you. if your hands weren’t so relaxed, dangling like white flowers held by their stems, he might wonder whether you were controlling the entire crowd. you simply have that air about you, that free and open confidence, and it makes satoru want to be your puppet, too. 

your dress is a deep blue velvet, homage to the night, draped just barely over your shoulders and down your back. satoru climbs the stairs towards you, eyes locked on the incline of your back, watching you even through the pillars as he passes them. nobody even seems aware of you there, aware that it’s you who has invited them, you who, satoru can only assume, owns everything around them now. 

does he offer his condolences? no, that much has been made obvious. he wonders whether he should congratulate you. you choose not to turn to him as he leans against the railing, too, mimicking you. you wait, again, for him to speak first, for him to give.

“you didn’t give me enough time on the phone to thank you for the invitation.”

you turn now and smile in greeting, so dazzling, so familiar, but still you give nothing away. “i hoped you would come thank me in person.”

satoru bows his head a little in a show of gratitude that makes you giggle. “miss conway, i thank you kindly for your invitation this evening.”

your chin tips in response, “i’m simply delighted to have you.”

he resettles on the railing and gojo watches your face turn again. your eyes are wide open, so bright as they bite at the scene below and around you. “you look like you’ve never thrown a party before.” this is not entirely true, you stand far too self-assured for him to really mean it. but there’s a newness, too, in the way you glance about.

“i haven’t,” you admit, easily, like it’s cost you nothing.

“i’ll admit i’m surprised.”

“everyone is. but until now it was my father who liked to host,” you say. and your voice is casual, the way it has been thus far, but something wriggles awake beneath it. satoru pretends not to notice.

“so you were his daughter, then.”

you nod. “the one and only.”

he gestures to vivacity abound. “and is this how you mourn?”

you straighten to standing and tilt your head back a bit as you laugh, humorless but cut short. “i don’t suppose i’ll mourn at all.” you make a conspiratorial face. “come drink with me.”

satoru, with an absurd flair of showmanship that makes you laugh, takes your hand to guide you back down the stairs.

there are only brief and fleeting passes of recognition in people’s faces as you pass them on the ground floor. they are all uncertain, it seems, if you’re really his daughter, if you’re really their host. the few that are brave enough to approach you introduce themselves, every one of them. the question tugs at satoru’s sleeve: do you know any of the people here? though his wonderings don’t seem to matter much as he walks beside you. you shine like you’ve swallowed a comet, entirely awake and alive. there are moments when, at the right angle, satoru thinks he can see you have cursed energy, but it’s almost impossible to tell in this room.

the bar comes into view and he collects a flute of champagne for each of you. the chime of your glasses makes you disproportionately giddy and you take a long pull. 

“so ask me what you’d like to ask me,” you say suddenly. satoru blinks.

“what is it i’d like to ask you?”

you drink again, lick your lips, and he tracks the pink of your tongue. you notice. “well,” you walk around the dance floor and he follows in step, “there are a few things i’d imagine most people here are wondering, and still none of them have chosen to talk to me.” you glance up at him, eyes narrowed. “so you must have something you really want to know.”

he wonders if you’re right. he thinks he can’t admit that what he wants to know most of all is what you’d taste like under your dress. “i’d like to know why you’re celebrating your fathers death so voraciously.”

you falter but only a moment, a minute second. “anything but that.”

gojo does his best to recover as quickly as you. “have you inherited everything?” he goads.

“what a gauche question!” you admonish, but you’re dripping with sarcasm. “yes, every last dollar is mine.”

“what are you going to do with it?”

you tap your pointer finger to your chin. “it’s more than i could ever make a meaningful dent in. i’d like to keep the hotels, i think. i think being a hotel owner is sort of chic,” you start.

“very chic,” satoru agrees, smiling like an idiot.

“but beyond that i’d like to travel, i suppose. go somewhere. go everywhere, even.” you pause again to watch the dancers; they’re even drunker now, even more pleased.

“where will you start?”

still enraptured by your guests, you say without thinking, “new york city.” and though he doesn’t have the tools to decipher it, gojo suspects it’s your most intimate confession of the evening.

satoru deposits your empty flutes on a table nearby. “come dance with me, new york city,” he says softly, lips tilted into your ear. you shudder and beam, taking his hand to the dance floor.

the pair of you work seamlessly into the body of the crowd, it breathes you in, and satoru takes your waist in his large hand. you squeeze his fingers between yours in the other, waltzing as you orbit each other. with each twist and spin your neck cranes a little further, your joy stretching out further as the melody of your laugh wraps around gojo’s skin. the music swells.

it’s here, too, tethered to you, that he knows for sure; you have cursed energy, something viscous and awake, something with a heartbeat. and it’s impossible not to feel close to you now in a spiritual sort of way, with his hands over your dress and yours smoothed over the lapel of his jacket. 

“can i ask you another question?”

you tip your gaze back to his and nod, smile still spread delicately across your face. 

“what is your cursed technique?”

for a moment your eyes widen, but like every passing vulnerability it is fleeting. and something else emerges too, a realization maybe, or the settling of something long kicked up. 

and then—it happens so fast gojo has half a mind to shove you off of him, it’s startling and striking, and beautiful, too—you’re cackling. 

a full and vibrant resonance beating from your throat, he can almost track it as it’s born in your stomach and claws out from between your lips. your dancing suffers as you shake with it, but the sudden and nearly disturbing sound of it pulls gojo under. he can only hardly keep himself from howling, too.

you keel over, still gripping his hand, and then right yourself with a shock of breath in. “come with me,” you tell him, breathless. all he can do is nod.

you buzz with adrenaline and champagne and something else, something bigger, as you pull him towards the elevator and the lift tugs you both up, up, up. the rising seems to further surge your frenetic excitement. satoru leans himself against wall.

“where are you taking me?” he tries to sound teasing at the provocation in his voice but really he would like if you did something untoward to him this evening. he wants to break rules with you, wants to see how an heiress sounds with her face in his pillow.

you shrug with a grin. “through my personal suite.”

he preens, it’s exactly what he had wanted to hear. “oh, sweetheart, aren’t you being presumptuous?” he teases. somewhere in his periphery he feels badly for the elevator operator, who stands solem in the corner, pretending not to listen, but mostly gojo is hot with your sunlight, basking.

you roll your eyes. “through my personal suite, mr. gojo. you’ll remain a virginal saint in the morning,” you promise as the elevator doors are opened and you step out.

you have no interest in showing him around, though satoru pays little mind to that. you trudge straight through the living room, the kitchen, all of it enormous and lavish, and along the way he collects the little things strewn about your floor. you keep a clean living space, and it’s altogether impersonal, but there are whispers of your living here dotted about and he all but lunges for them. a newspaper, smudged at the edges with your fingerprints: two different-colored socks, thrown together like you’d worn them both: a lacy bralette, clasps tight, like you’ve never undone it in a rush. you’re about to swing open the doors of your closet when you turn back to him, words in your mouth that you swallow again.

“put that down!” you screech, scandalized and still laughing, you’re always laughing. he knows what of his menagerie you want back, and he holds the garment above his head. you jump for it, bracing your hands on his shoulders as you propel yourself up and make to grab at it, but satoru continues to twist out of your hold, maniacal and giggling.

“you’ve inherited an empire! can’t you spare me one gift of good fortune?”

you pant a little from your attempts at retrieving it, your skin beginning to flush and satoru’s body practically pulls itself towards you. your chest heaves and he’s right there, sternum brushing yours with each breath in. you seem unbothered by the proximity, though he knows better. you each grin at the other, both pink and so uncomplicatedly drawn together. “my gift is forthcoming, mr. gojo.”

“call me satoru.”

“satoru,” you purr. god he wants to hear that again. he wants to hear that in the dead of night while the rest of the city sleeps, wants to hear it in his ear and against his chest, you are so captivating. he drops your bra, sufficiently tamed.

“yes?”

you have won, and it shows on your face. “follow me.”

the doors of what he was sure was a closet fly open with your greedy hands, and gojo finds himself at the base of a ladder. you start up it immediately, dignified even scrambling up the rungs in your evening dress.

“sweetheart, i really must know, where are you taking me?”

“to new york city!” you call down as he begins to climb.

“that cannot be your answer to everything!”

“yes it can!”

vaguely he hears a hatch open above him, feels the blanket of the night sky unspool down the ladder as he makes his way up. when at last his shoes meet steady ground, satoru has all the remaining air knocked from his lungs in a great, ceremonious push.

you’ve taken him to the roof of the hotel, a slab of concrete among the stars, and all around you the city shimmers. it is a strange and profound feeling, satoru thinks, to watch over a thing so tall. the park hides behind the shadow of the skyline but still boasts a deep emerald green, the larger streets twitch with the movement of people, hardly discernible from up so high, the streetlights glimmer faintly from hundreds of floors away. they look like stars, too; he is surrounded by stars, below and above him, and a sun ahead of him.

you run towards the wall circumscribed about the platform like those few feet closer to the sight and sounds of the city will make a difference in how it appears to you. he hears you breathe in, deep. 

“isn’t it amazing?” you ask him.

he approaches the wall with you. “it is—and it pains me to admit this—truly stunning.”

this makes you delighted. “i know,” you agree, halfway to a reverie satoru can only hope he’s a part of. you look up suddenly, remembering something. “it’s cloudy enough.”

gojo furrows his brows a little. “enough?”

“you wanted to see my technique.”

“i asked you what it was, miss conway, not to see it,” he laughs fondly.

you whisper a name, yours, and satoru nods, says it again. and then he says nothing, hoping you’ll speak to him more.

“yes, well, i want to show you,” you confess, smile smaller, realer, he could reach out and touch it.

gojo raises his hands and takes a step back: well, show me then. you give him a brief and almost secretive smile before tilting your head back again, eyes fluttering shut and opening your palms. your energy licks at your wrists and flares, hungry, big-bellied.

for the first few moments, nothing happens. and then, a bellowing crack of thunder, the clap spread through the clouds. 

the rain comes down so torrentially, so immediately, so everywhere, that gojo fears the sky has opened before you can show him your technique. but when he glances your way, you are smiling so wide it must hurt your cheeks. you extend your arms out, scream and whoop, as the rain trails down your body and traces your shape.

satoru assesses his surroundings again. the entirety of the city, all some odd 500 square miles of skyscraper and horde, is pelted by the sudden and open-armed rain. the light and the buildings drink it in, too, even shinier when wet and seeming as jubilant to feel it as you are. his mouth drops open.

“are you…are you doing this?”

you turn to him, soaking wet. “yes!” looking at him a moment you add: “you aren’t wet.” you look almost hurt.

yes, satoru thinks looking down at his own arms, his infinity is on. he turns it off immediately. this suit will be irrecoverable, but then you beam again at the way his hair plasters to his head, vaguely gray with the sheer amount of water in it, and he doesn’t mind at all.

“this is wonderful,” he says earnestly, raising his voice slightly so you can hear him against the pounding. 

you take his hands and pull him towards the center of the platform, place his hands at your waist again and revive your dance from earlier. there is no music beyond the beating of your rain, and the cold threatens to set in, but you spin satoru in your hands and he spins you in return, and it feels too much like an incandescently perfect moment to want for anything. the water splashes under your shoes as you prance about together.

“are you enjoying your party, miss conway?” he asks, face much closer to yours than it was a moment before. gojo hopes you’re blushing, he thinks you may be, but in the dark it’s harder to tell. still, you are a scorching heat between his palms.

“very much so,” you say.

he dips you once, then brings you close again. your steps slow, each of you loosening further, more ready to admit you only dance to hold each other. 

“i have another question now.”

“i’m terrified,” you joke.

“why would you invite all these people you don’t know?”

you look unbothered as you sigh. “who else should i have invited?”

“friends, family,” you twirl between his arms, “lovers, maybe.”

you laugh, almost into his mouth you are so close. “i have none of those things.” but there’s no sadness in it, no regret, all freedom. “but i wanted to spend tonight with people who could dwarf this inheritance, who could do things like i can,” you explain. and then, with a wry grin, “so i wrote to the wealthiest, most powerful people i could find.”

gojo nods once, twice, mulling it over. you’re almost unmoving now, but his palm still skates slowly across your back, tugging as much as he is capable without insulting you. he takes the hand held out at your sides and places it over his shoulder, and you clasp your fingers behind his neck. with his other large palm he slides down your wet dress, reverent, impossibly slow. 

“and which would you like to be, satoru?” you ask, so sincere it cuts him.

“i’ll be whoever you’d like me to be,” he breathes. your noses bump and it sends a thrill down his spine. he’s already hard and he can’t tell if he hopes you can feel it. you take another deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

“i’ll have to think on it,” you whisper.

and satoru cannot wait another moment, he clips the centimeter of space to kiss you. your lips are so warm against his despite the cold of the night as it sticks to the rain. he kisses you slowly, there is no ask in it at first, and brings one hand up to cradle the back of your head. but then you whimper into his mouth a little and he all but consumes you there on the roof of what is now your hotel.

you are both hungry, pushing into each other and making demands with your hands. you tug the hair at the nape of his neck, the lapel of his jacket, smooth your fingers behind it to get closer to his skin. and he is no better, running his hands down your arms, gripping your ass as he pulls you towards his cock as it jumps for you. you moan again, wild, and he groans at the sound, at your soft feeling rutting against him each time he pulls. 

with your lips parted satoru slips his tongue along yours to lick at you from the inside. you let him explore, feel behind your teeth, squirming at the feeling and canting your hips slightly into his. with each wet smack of your lips he is increasingly hot, increasingly hard, and you seem no better.

you pull away for a quick breath and satoru whispers a small fuck as you leave him.

you both still, though, eyes open for the first time since he began touching you. 

it’s unlike anything he has ever seen. 

the drops of rain hang, completely still in the air, little diamonds on strings. you turn your head looking just as stunned as he is. gojo brings his lips to your ear. 

“am i that fantastic a kisser?”

you turn to him, take in his little grin, sheepish and still hungry and hair mussed. you bark another one of your laughs out, dizzy with the pleasure of satoru, of your constellation of water droplets as they hang suspended. and then, all at once, they fall with a blowing splash to the ground. you make no more as you look his way again. 

“we should dry off,” you say, breathless. gojo nods and helps you down the ladder again. the silence between you now has no discomfort in it, only the residual, searing print of your hands on his body, your lips on his. you stand on your tiptoes to wrap a fluffy towel around his head, looking dazed in an elated sort of way. “we should get some sleep.”

“many things we should do, it seems,” satoru says.

your laugh is breathy, your eyes wide. “will you come see me tomorrow?” you ask. satoru opens his mouth to respond but before he can, you add, “i don’t need you to be any more than a friend.”

the towel hangs down his shoulder as he tilts his head. “i think i may need to be more than your friend.”

you let out a puff of air, relieved and insatiable again all at once, but you try to blow the heat from your body. “so come see me tomorrow.”

“yes, miss conway,” gojo whispers, closing in on you again. this time he kisses you only a moment, as softly as he can manage, just to see you make that wild face again. 

there are no more words from each of you then, just his contented, silent leaving, and your beaming smile as you close the door.

gojo looks sufficiently undone as he tows himself back to his room. much like your living space he is frayed at the edges with relics of you, your grip in his hair, your lipstick on his chin. his cock is aching in his trousers still, jumping and desperate, and he wonders if the elevator operator can tell from the shifting gleam of the shiny fabric as he twitches underneath. if he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t much mind either way.

as soon as the heavy door clicks behind him he sheds himself of everything, of his fine fabrics and bowtie and dignity, and they pool in the entryway as his head tips back against the door. he grips his shaft and tugs it once, twice, crazed beyond deliverance.

“fuckfuckfuck,” he mutters, a groan ripping from his throat as he strokes himself in earnest. he thinks of the bunching of your dress between his fingers, the give of your ass as he practically rut into you, god it was a shameful display, he thinks, and it only makes him harder.

precum pearls at his tip and he pulps himself further, the vague pain a baptism for the rest, imagines the lick of his own wetness is your tongue down the underside, along his veins. he wants to fuck you up against this door, cup your chin in his palm as he takes you from behind here, wants to hold you against a wall and grind his pelvic bone along your clit to feel you squeeze. he’s so close so quickly and it would bother him, normally, but not now, not with the myth of your body purring, an apparition, behind his closed eyelids, and the scent of your perfume still clinging to his neck. 

his bedside lamps flickers in protest as he moans again, his own cursed energy spreading its legs as he fucks his palm faster, and then with a whine of your name his hips stutter and he’s gone. he cums more than he ever has alone, hot and damning and everywhere, dripping over his hand and navel. he says again, more conclusively this time, “fuck.”

satoru cleans himself before climbing into bed, bunching the duvet in the cradle of his limbs to shackle himself to sleep. he wants you now, too, wants to hold your spine to his chest without taking a thing. satoru has always been an urgently insatiable thing, has put the world on his tongue like a pill, but he is a moment from utter consumption by this wanting. he steps into the mouth of it as he closes his eyes.

the morning light filters through his windows tentatively from behind the filter of clouds. gojo blinks awake, bleary and nearly hungover with last night’s lechery, but with no small amount of effort begins dragging each long limb off the bed to get dressed.

come see me tomorrow, you had told him. oh, he’s hard just thinking of you again, something animal in his belly clawing its way out. with the glow of daybreak, too, another realization dawns upon him; satoru will not be satisfied with just fucking you, either. 

this should alarm him. you are incalculable, potent with power, terrible and charismatic and ephemerally sad. there is something almost unseeable about you, something visible only when you spin and catch in the light. and even with your newfound familiarity with him, even after nearly allowing him to fuck you like an animal on your roof, you would not divulge gojo’s first question. what reason could you have to rejoice so resolutely in the death of your father? 

you had told him last night that you have no one now. or, satoru things, no one besides him, though as soon as he allows that thought he knows urgently that he should teleport home. but then he considers the pucker of your body splayed lazily in bed, your skin dappled by the sunrise, and finishes buttoning his shirt.

when he opens his door, there is a man waiting for him, dressed in a three-piece suit and ticking faintly with a pocket watch dangling from a chain. he might look jolly if he had a more pleasant look on his face, a round man with ruddy cheeks, but he assesses gojo almost aggressively, takes stock of his posture and the slope of his nose.

“can i…help you?” gojo asks, hip leaning on the threshold.

“good day, sir,” the man seems to have swallowed whatever disaffection threatened from behind his teeth. “i have been instructed to escort you to miss conway’s suite.”

satoru’s face spreads slowly into a smirk. “i spoke with you on the phone yesterday, didn’t i?”

“yes, sir, we spoke for a moment.” 

“before miss conway usurped the phone from you,” he lilts, tilting his head slightly.

“yes, sir.”

gojo exits the room fully but makes no move to follow this man anywhere else. “and now she has sent for me?” a rhetorical question, he is endlessly pleased. the man just barely restrains himself from sighing before turning sharply on one foot and setting off towards the elevator. and for all his deriding, satoru follows straight after him.

the elevator protests slightly under the mass of his companion and it endears gojo to him immediately. “and what should i call you?” he asks.

“ramon, sir.”

satoru nods. “well, ramon, you can call me satoru.”

ramon keeps his sharp gaze trained on the elevator doors like he knows precisely the moment they’ll be opened. “no, mr. gojo.” the operator hides his snicker in a cough and satoru pouts, hoping ramon will turn around and see it, but just then the silver doors and heaved up and they both pad out.

the sound of you approaches him slowly, tentatively, and then completely, a wild beast made docile with familiarity. a record crackles somewhere a few rooms away, more jazz—you must like it—and you hum along with the swing of the melody. the song of your morning washes over him and he nearly parts his lips to drink it.

you’ve laid yourself across your living room couch, back to him and ramon, hair tumbling down one armrest. a new newspaper has found its way between your fingers, ready to be smudged. it crinkles a little as you focus and ramon clears his throat.

“my dear, i have brought him,” he says. it is infinitely more kind than any order leveled at satoru in the past few moments, so much so that he might even think ramon was your father if he didn’t know better. you twist up and face them, all beaming smile and still in your nightgown.

“oh, po, thank you!” you say. it is satoru’s turn to snicker now.

“po?” he asks, mostly to ramon, mostly to needle him.

“my last name is poyard, sir,” he explains, losing again that affectionate look reserved for you.

“when i was a kid,” you interject, “my father insisted i call him mr. poyard, but i couldn’t really make out the yuh sound. so i called him mr. po.” 

ramon says to you, in a voice softer than satoru would have thought possible, “mr. po is leaving now, my dear.”

you nod, waving him out. your nightgown is a barely pink silk, provocative as it pleats over your shoulders but you make no attempt to exaggerate the arc of your body, the swell of your tits. you have no need for such parading, you surely must know: satoru’s eyes catch on the shadow in your collarbone, the most mundane of you.

“good morning, miss conway,” he begins.

your legs rock slightly as they hang off your sofa, in no rush to meet him, slack with sleep. “good morning, satoru.”

“you asked me to come see you.”

“and you have! i am very pleased.”

“no,” satoru starts goodnaturedly, taking one step towards you, “you sent someone for me.”

“i didn’t care to leave it to chance.”

another step towards you. your only indication that you care at all to see him is the way your head slowly tips to keep your eyes locked on his. “you’ve divested me of my power. what of the few minutes you would spend wondering if i’d show? i so looked forward to that.”

“well by all means, if you have little interest in accompanying me today you may spare me the hesitation,” you stand to stroll towards your closet, sweeping right up to the heat of him before you say: “feel free to leave.”

you leave your closet door ajar as you begin changing. the rustle of your clothes makes his cock stir, but he leans himself on the wall nearby and says instead, “what exactly would i miss if i abandoned you now?”

you hum through the muted swishing of fabric. “i’m beginning my new york travels today.”

gojo considers this, considers again your face last night as you promised—yes, it sounded very much like a vow—to visit new york first. “sweetheart, i could take you anywhere right this moment: india, france, the spanish alps. and you would choose to travel a city you’ve lived in since birth?”

to this you have nothing to say, punctuating your silence only with the faint clink of a buckle before you step out before him. you are a completely radiant display, white dress pendulous down your body, cinched in with a belt at the waist.

“how is it?” you ask, shifting your weight from side to side. and you really mean it, this question, and the sincerity punches at satoru’s lungs.

“stunning, miss conway,” he murmurs. your cheeks are pink like your nightgown was, and as it licks down your neck he thinks for a moment about how captured he is by everything you do. he doesn’t linger on it, though, because with a delighted cackle you’re grabbing his hand and pulling him out.

new york through your eyes is revolutionarily different. the people on the street part for you, the puddles of dirt and smog reflect you from new angles, the smell of metropolis is dulled by your scent, sweet and ambery and almost natural; all of it looks romantic in your shadow as you drag him about the city. he knows it isn’t wise to be so willing to recontextualize for you, to so quickly reevaluate, but god help him he cannot help himself. 

you point at street signs and tap against window displays like you’re seeing it all with new eyes, like you’ve never experienced anything so wonderful in your life, and somewhere in the back of his mind satoru suspects that dark and frightened thing you seem to harbor has something to do with it, but then you beam at him again and he forgets it.

you stop together at no less than three cafes and order nearly the entire glass case of pastries at each of them. with sugar still on your lips—satoru wants to kiss them—you stroll through central park, letting satoru dare to lay a hand on the small of your back. he tells you about his life in tokyo, about the school and suguru and his students, and you respond eagerly with questions about teaching jujutsu. you poke at his infinity with an amazed curiosity—though he’d prefer to keep it down with you—and giggle when he runs a tiny ball of blue energy up your arm.

the afternoon sun peaks above you and you find yourselves at some rooftop bar, cooling off with mint juleps you lap at; satoru wants to kiss you again and taste the bourbon. he takes his turn to ask you things, then, but even a little tipsy there are holes you skirt around. you refuse to tell him much about your father and why you are so overjoyed that he’s dead, you divulge nothing of your childhood, though you are so elegant at avoiding answering that satoru thinks he wouldn’t have noticed if he was any less desperate to know.

you run a finger along the rim of your glass as you tell him about now, though. the person you’ve become, your plans for the future: these things you give easily and satoru is all but desperate to reel them in.

“part of me wants to travel forever, to never stay in one place long enough to be remembered there,” you admit, head tilted, “but another part of me wants to dig my heels in somewhere. to know everyone.”

satoru clinks his glass against yours lightly. “you’ll be remembered no matter where you go.”

your face scrunches and you shake your head, but the corners of your lips pull up and satoru feels his chest sing. “you’re very suave, mr. gojo, i’ll give you that.”

he has grown to like that, too; you call him mr. gojo when you have something to admonish, which is almost always. his first name, satoru in that breathy lilt of yours, is reserved for when you’re pleased with him. pulling it from you is a victory he has grown drunk on; there is great triumph in seeing your mouth form the vowels, thinking to himself all the while: 

he wants to kiss you, he wants to kiss you. 

how many times has he thought that today? he wants it like he hasn’t had it yet, needing you with the same sort of appetite you seem to have for this city. still, he can’t help but feel it isn’t time yet somehow. the fact of your joy to explore a place you’ve spent more than twenty years living in rubs satoru raw somewhere in his lungs, he wants to let you have this day for yourself before he swallows you down again.

dusk cloaks the city and hues the sidewalks blue above the growing shadows of the skyscrapers. lights beam from apartment windows and office buildings in the throes of overtime, and you lace your fingers through his as you explore further. surely your feet ache and your waist is sore from twisting about in that sleek belt all afternoon, but if you feel any of it you show nothing on your face. 

partially sated by a day of exploration, you stroll together much slower than earlier, looping your way back to the hotel. with each passing block satoru feels you softening in his hands, sticky and sweet like a peach. your sense of satisfaction rubs off on him, too, he thinks, the pair of you heavy with the sights of the day. 

satoru hasn’t walked this much in years; he has never found much use for the sort of meandering you did today, not until it was you linking your arm in his and blushing lightly under his stare. he feels sort of like a teenager, like he’s never met another woman in his life, sensitive to the feeling of your fingertips along his forearm, to your breath on his neck. 

the hotel’s silhouette approaches slowly as you walk in step together.

“satoru,” you breathe.

satoru hums in response and squeezes your waist a little, not trusting his sense of propriety when you murmur his name like that.

“thank you for today,” you offer quietly. you almost sound…sheepish, if he could even call it that. it is entirely unfamiliar on your face, your soft smile and eyes tracking the planes of the sidewalk.

“it was my pleasure.” he means it. a bellman opens the door for you and the cinnamon perfume of the hotel lobby wafts about you both. you do not let go of him as you walk to the elevator, lean your weight into his side as you settle behind the operator. 

satoru is slightly alarmed to find he is nervous. he’s spent the last day and a half wanting you, needing you, kissing you on your rooftop and fucking his fist to the thought of you, but now, with the bump of your spine under his wandering fingertips he feels as inconfident as he’s ever felt. he leans down to your ear.

“are you taking me to your personal suite again, miss conway?” he whispers. your breath catches but you grin all the same.

“would you like me to, satoru?”

he doesn’t miss a moment: “yes,” and it comes out breathy and desperate but it only seems to fray your nerves further. he runs his thumb just above the curve of your ass, relishing in the way your lashes flutter shut.

eyes still closed, you say to the operator, “just take me to mine, please, james.”

the operator doesn’t turn back, only nodding politely and bringing you up. satoru wants to capture the thrill of the rise as you scale floors upon floors, in the heat of it brushes your hair from your back to place one, slow kiss on your neck.

for the purposes of your company you make no noise but gojo hardly needs it: the taste of your skin—he has missed it since last night—enough to leave him twitchy and half hard. the doors open and you both stumble out. there’s something endearing, he thinks, about the way you cling to your propriety even now, mistress to half of new york city and a dozen luxury hotels across the globe.

but as soon as he hears the creak of the doors closing again satoru is on you, big hands threaded through your hair and groaning into your lips. fucking finally.

you fare no better, fingers gripping tight on the collar of his shirt as you practically mewl into his mouth. he groans in return, even more candid tonight about how terribly he wants you. you seem to remember the cadence of him because you part your lips quickly to let his tongue in now, he wants to bite down around the way you moan when he nibbles on your lip, kneads your tit in his right hand.

“fuck sweetheart i’ve needed you all day,” he whispers.

“yeah?”

he tears his lips from yours to kiss down your jaw and neck, leaving marks hot and wet along your skin, looking for places along your jugular that make your thighs squeeze. your fingers card through his hair and tug at the roots, and he sinks his teeth in right under your ear; you wilt, a sweet whimpering thing in his hands.

god, his hands. he moves them everywhere, they are ferocious and have an endless appetite for the plush of your body. with one hand he runs his fingers soft and teasing along your pert nipple over your thin dress, circling and then dancing along the tight bud, while the other pulls you close by your waist, the dough of your ass, the meat of your thigh as he hikes it around his waist. he walks you carefully into a wall so he can grind his aching cock against your pussy properly and you keen for him.

“satoru,” you plead, holding your leg to his waist on your own now as you rut your hips in response. 

“oh, sweet thing, i have more questions for you,” he breathes into your neck, weak with the friction of your lace panties against the front of his slacks. you whine and he smiles on your skin so you can feel it.

with his left hand he grips to your hair and tugs your head back, straightening fully to watch you as you strain in his hold. you look so fucking pretty like this, so candidly needing him in that way that flushes your cheeks. practically into your mouth he asks you: “did you touch yourself last night?”

you squeeze your eyes shut and grind on him again, your wetness seeping through now and he can feel it but still he doesn’t let you off, not even when you whisper a desperate satoru from somewhere in the back of your throat.

“answer me.”

you nod, not quite ashamed, more disappointed to give it up so easily. but when you open your eyes surely you see how crazed satoru has become, feral and inhuman as he appraises you, his heiress humping the tent in his pants. “show me,” he insists, no small amount of anguish in it. 

you slowly disengage one hand from his hair and move it between your bodies, drag it slowly down your dress and then under the hem as it hikes against your thighs. satoru watches it all with rapt attention, breathing loud and chest heaving but still he hardly blinks. you hesitate as your fingers trace along the waistband of your white panties, exposed to him with your dress bunched further up, so he encourages you, “that’s it, baby, just like that.”

your head tips back and makes a soft thunk against the wall, relinquishing yourself fully to him. your fingers, deft and familiar with yourself, slip slowly under the lace, chest arrested in place when you make contact with your swollen clit.

“god, baby, i can hear you, you’re so fucking wet,” he pants. you only nod wordlessly as you rub tight circles over your little button, thighs clenching around his waist. the squelch and slip is filthy and it takes just about every ounce of strength he has not to simply pull the fabric to the side and fuck you like this alongside your fingers. 

“satoru,” you plead again, and he rolls his hips against you again in reward.

“that’s it—shit—i can feel you fucking twitching through my pants.”

your whines come easy and grow hoarse as you rub yourself faster, shoes falling off as your toes curl inside them, begging him again please, please, and gojo doesn’t know what for but it is almost impossible not to give it to you. it seems almost like you don’t even notice as you bring your two fingers lower and enter yourself slowly, he can see it all draped in the tight fabric of your panties, and simply to keep from setting the entire hotel ablaze satoru uses one hand to jerk his cock from over his slacks.

“fuck—did you think about me? did you touch your pretty pussy last night thinking about your satoru?”

“y–yes, fuck, yes,” you cry, and he bucks his hips so hard your standing leg jumps slightly from the floor. 

“i—fuck—i had to fuck my fist the second i left you,” his forehead bumps the wall next to your head, “i—shit—i couldn’t stop thinking of fucking this sweet cunt,” he whines.

he can tell from the twitches of your eyebrows, from the canting of your hips, that you’re bringing yourself closer and closer to the edge and satoru is about on the brink of insanity, so he untangles from you to rid himself of his clothing.

you collect your dress in one beautiful mess of white fabric before ruching it up and over your head, left only in those white panties. you look fucking edible there against the wall, a vision and almost too unreal to touch, satoru almost cums just seeing it, but instead he’s back on you, entirely naked and bare cock jumping in the cold air as he hooks two fingers under your last garment to drag it down your legs.

with one palm under each thigh he grunts into your cheek, “jump for me.” you hop into his grip and he holds you stable against the wall, your entrance dripping and hot right above him. precum beads at his tip, his cock is practically crimson and so angry looking, but the feeling of your nails digging into his shoulders keeps him grounded.

he teases his wet tip along your slit to gather your slick there, groaning, “i swear to god, baby, next time i’ll use my mouth, i’ll open you properly, i swear it, but f–fuck i need you now.”

you nod quickly, watching, mesmerized, by the weight of his cock as he teases your hole before finally, finally, pushing the tip in.

“fuck, oh fuck,” gojo grunts. your pussy clamps like a vice around him as he fucks into you slowly, sinking into your wet heat, he hopes he drowns. 

“sweetheart, don’t squeeze me like that,” he pleads.

you laugh breathlessly. “i can’t help it.” somehow that makes him harder and he slips another wet inch in. “fuck, fuck, oh fuck satoru that’s so good.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

gojo cannot help himself, grinning stupid and feral as he ruts down to the hilt. you all but scream out, neck extended, but neither of you seem to care. even unmoving satoru can hear the soft sound of your slick around his aching cock. he kisses you again, slowly, giving you a moment to become accustomed to him. after only a moment, though, you’re grinding your clit into him and begging something like please move, and who is he to deny you?

your bodies are so close as he fucks you, there is hardly an inch of either of you that isn’t pressed up against the other. your tits squish against his chest as he presses open-mouthed kisses to your lips, your jaw, the line down your neck where he can taste your heartbeat. his thrusts are deep and calculated, not so fast as to bump you painfully against the wall but hard enough that you can feel him hit that spongy spot in the back that makes you squeal.

“that’s it baby, fuck, fucking take it,” he heaves. the wet crack of his skin on yours echoes softly through the room, your cries humming alongside them, a symphony of your pleasure and his and god he wishes someone were recording this.

“harder, satoru,” you whisper, your hole fluttering around his veins, and he snickers something disbelieving.

“so fucking greedy, huh?” and he punctuates it with a sharp snap of his hips. with one hand he fits his palm behind your head on the wall before starting to pound into you in earnest, his hip bones clapping against the backs and insides of your thighs, surely red and raw with his effort but you arch back with the feeling, moaning out like you hope the entire hotel hears, and the tight grip of your pussy is so good he can’t think straight.

with each rut you roll your hips up to his in time, arms and legs wrapped around him tight to leverage your weight as your rub yourself on the neatly trimmed white hair at his base. your slick is dripping everywhere, down your legs and his, but with each stuttering grind your hole thumps and squeezes, and satoru fucking loves the smell of your want for him as it paints his lower body.

in between the harsh smack of his thrusts he whispers praise into your skin.

 “so pretty for me.”

“this pussy is fucking perfect.”

“fuck, sweetheart, squeeze me like that again.”

you bite down on the lean muscle of his shoulder and gojo’s hips stammer with the jolt of pain. 

“close?” you nod, tongue peeking out as you bounce between him and the wall. “fuck i wanna feel you cum around me, baby, fucking cum for me,” he begs.

your ankles lock up behind him as you seize, your heartbeat loud and pounding everywhere, down your neck and in your pussy and through your veins. you gush down his cock and satoru moans wildly.

“fuckfuckfuck i’m g’na cum,” he warns, thrusts more erratic as he chases it and fucks you through your high.

“inside me,” you whisper, hardly any voice left, apparently hoping to kill him stone dead.

just the breath of your pleading makes him lose it, thrusting hard once more, twice more, before ropes of hot release come pouring out and he growls out something unintelligible. you whine one more time, high-pitched and needy, and it pulls further wisps of his seed.

still plugged with his cock but boneless, now, satoru holds you steady in his arms and slowly, slowly, brings you to your bed. only once he’s sitting on the edge of it does he pull you off of him, the both of you groaning in sensitivity, and splays you gently onto your pillow.

sitting up like this satoru can see all of you in your sticky glory. your skin shines a little with your sweat and his, fuck his cum drips out of you leisurely and it makes something possessive and animal rumble and howl in his chest.

with the backs of his fingers he runs his knuckles up your calf and back down again, and he watches the goosebumps rise and fall behind them. seeing that you’re settled comfortably he follows after you, one arm thrown over your waist and chest presses up against your forehead.

he tilts your head up and you look at him with a small smirk, eyes bleary. “good?” he asks.

you smile bigger, toothy. “great.”

satoru beams back and lets you rest again on his damp skin, petting your hair delicately. 

“ask me again,” you say suddenly, quietly, like it’s imperative he take this opportunity as you present it to him.

“ask you what?”

“the question i won’t answer.”

his hand stops moving. “you don’t have to answer me.”

“i know,” you assure him. and there’s no trepidation in your voice, no darkness, just the sweet gravel of the way you had screamed for him and the lingering sense that you want to tell him the truth.

satoru repeats his question. “why are you celebrating your father’s death?”

you trace a nail in little shapes over his chest. “because i hated him,” you supply.

“why did you hate him?”

you breathe deeply, only once, and satoru worries your candor has been siphoned from you again, but you only tilt your head enough to look at him with one eye. you explain sleepily, “when my technique manifested i was six. nobody else in my family had ever had one before.”

gojo nods. “it’s much less common in the west.”

“my dad wasn’t willing to send me abroad to learn how to use it. my mom had died in childbirth with me and there wasn’t anyone to dispute that call. and i was upset with him, i mean, god, i hated him. i wanted to learn.”

satoru resumes the soft movement of his fingers in your hair: go on, he wants to say, but he lets you speak without interrupting.

“i only wanted to throw water at him or something. i didn’t know what i was even doing. and then…it—it was like a blade.” you run your pinky finger slowly across the side of your neck. “i cut him right here.”

satoru tries his best to show you on his face that he cannot judge you, that he wouldn’t, that you didn’t know any better.

“i knew even then that he would never forgive me. when he recovered he banned me from leaving the hotel, for all intents and purposes. he hired po to watch over me and i’ve been here ever since. it’s sort of felt like i’ve been stuck in time.”

there is something tragic and fascinating in the way you explain it, like the rage is too old to stay, but regardless it leadens something cold in satoru’s stomach. 

“he said i was dangerous. that i’d hurt people.” that part seems to hurt you, still. the insinuation that you have evil in you somehow the only piece of memory still strong enough to bite at you, and it makes his heart twist. his fury flares briefly, simmering under his skin, but then you hook your leg over his and he is docile.

satoru has a terrible, soft, awful, love-sick idea to suggest to you, this enigmatic woman he met a day ago.

“why don’t you come back to tokyo with me?”

you lift your head fully, eyes wide and owlish like always. “what?”

his heart hammers but he does not cower. “why don’t you come back with me? i could…” his voice is smaller than he’s ever heard it, “train you, if you wanted.” and then, to soften his sincerity, he adds with a smirk, “it is what i do for a living.”

your mouth opens and closes again, some serpent in your throat you can’t seem to swallow. “i don’t know what to say,” you admit. and then, a confession of your own: “i want to learn,” you whisper.

satoru smiles at you, mild and unexpectant. “if you hate it i can take you right back here.”

you laugh through your nose and bury your face in his chest again. when you think it is loud, almost, a fitting of cogs satoru thinks he can hear as clearly as the clanging of pots and pans a few rooms away. and he spends a long moment like that, holding you in the near-silence, scored by the metal chime of your deliberation. and then, into his ribs you say, “okay,”

he perches his chin on your head, thankful for the way you push your nose to his sternum so you cannot see the triumphant grin on his face, surely entirely idiotic but beaming nonetheless.

he would never hear the end of this—of collecting a beautiful young woman from his weekend away—from suguru, but oh satoru feels the warm puff of your breath as it evens in your sleepiness and he knows he could not have left you here without some enormous show of self restraint.

it had to be you, he thinks. it had to be you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist: @missingnozw @trophywife111 @cheesecakeislazy @adictiss @kyungjunnies @hbhbhbhbhby @megapteraurelia @not-aya @heiranni @starlight5cat @jiupark @vraiao

[spideyhexx]

poor wayfaring stranger

JULY 23rd - luck of time

a seven year slip inspired fic with modern billy bonney

When your new New York City apartment brings you back in time, you meet a down on his luck musician who takes you for his muse, as you take him for a miracle. For the next few weeks, the burden of longing and the delicate thing that is time clashes in front of your eyes, leaving way to newfound love and resolute endings.

sneak peek

i.  the big rock candy mountain

On July 12th, 2025, you move into the apartment of your dreams. 

And on July 13th, it was the first time he was brought to you. It felt like a romance. A meet-cute without the meet being cute. It was rather startling. Mind-bending. Something out of a romance novel. You had tossed your keys to the tray that would sit on your foyer table, only for the keys to collide onto a blank table, nothing there. No dish tray. None of the eccentric candles you bought from a shop down the street. All that sat on the entry table was a vase, red in color but transparent, full of some type of yellow flower that you could not discern. 

Initially, you brushed it off. Maybe you moved things in your tiresome state last night. Maybe your friend who was over last night gifted the flowers before they left the apartment this morning. 

You shook your shoulders and walked further into your new apartment. Before you were able to process how much was actually different, something, no, someone walked out from the hallway, clad in only a towel. 

He shrieked. You shrieked. 

His chest was broad. A few droplets of water were still dripping down his shoulders, and his hair, a darker brown in it's dampness, and the curls at his neck stuck to his skin as though they were hugging him. The towel was low enough on his waist, you could see the hair at his navel go below the waistline, but that was the least of your concerns. Of course. 

You threw something at him. It was a shoe. But not your shoe. It was some ruddy boot that collided right at his nether regions and he recoiled, grasping at his crotch, shouting that he would not hurt you. 

After an initial shock, you grabbed your phone from your purse, only to find the service completely out. The man, still in his own pain, pleaded with you, his voice so smooth and honey-filled, “I’m Billy, I…I live here and listen if somethin’ is wrong, I can get you help, I promise, miss, just let me go change and then-”

“You live here? I live here,” you cut him off and the next few seconds were spent staring at each other. The mutual confusion tethered by a line that then, you didn’t know was so strong. 

The two of you went back and forth. Arguing over who owned the apartment. With no answers coming to fruition, you had given up. You turned on your heel, intent on leaving the apartment and grabbing your neighbor, old Betty, to sort this out because she would know you lived here. 

But as you walked towards the foyer, your eyes caught on the calendar hung up near an old-looking record player that had a Johnny Cash album atop it that was definitely not yours. It still read July 13th as the date. But the year was wrong. Only two years prior, but it was enough to give you pause. And when you lifted the page to the next month and the next, they were all blank. You reasoned maybe he was lazy with his calendar, but then again, why was his calendar here? 

How silly of you to forget the old tales Betty told you when you accepted her offer for coffee just a few days ago. Who could blame you? A magical apartment was as far-fetched as a decently priced apartment in Manhattan. You tried not to believe it but this Billy kept calling out for you. You must've stood frozen looking at the calendar longer than you thought. 

[t1red-twilight]

hey oomfie !!! ur #1 fan and glazer here forever and always EUEUE 😋😋 (trust) … i have a request 4 you !!! :-D

so i saw ur request prompts masterlist and im not sure if u already did this but the “8. “come and sit with me.” prompt with spencer reid or peter parker (whichever u decide works better!!) would be SO SWEET 💔💔 im a sucker for hurt/comfort so maybe reader is having a bad day and they call reader over to sit with them and try to cheer them up with small tactics while also comforting them ^_^

i think thatd be so cutesy <3 pls take ur time !!! hope u have a good day/night lysm !!!

“come and sit with me”

content/warnings: gn!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, i wrote about hating work often because i was born to lounge not to be a slave to capitalism, cursing, poor spelling/grammar probably

notes: HELLO POOKIE🤭 ur my fav mutual<333 tysm for this request! i went fur peter because ive been in a peter mood lately. feel free to request something whenever you want:-)

wc: 1.2k

masterlist p. parker masterlist

you felt it when you first clocked in. you could always tell when a shift wasn’t going to go the way you wanted it to. sometimes peter would joke you had your own spider-sense but for the mundane, and occasionally hellish environment that was your job.

when you clocked in, you knew that something or other was going to go wrong. and, as always, you were very correct. someone tried coming in before you were even opened, and yelled at you once you had. an old man tried to haggle you for lower prices, and yelled at you when you told him that the prices weren’t under your control. oh, if only you could say, “dude, i just work here.”

you hit your limit when an upset middle aged woman poured her half-empty soda down your front. it was then that your manager let you go home. it was only thirty minutes before you were off anyway, but thirty minutes was thirty minutes.

so, you walked home in the new york summer heat covered in what you thought to be dr. pepper. you were quite sticky and very unpleasant.

by the time you had gotten back to your shared apartment, pete had already left for his evening patrol. you had figured that he’d be gone, but that didn’t stop you from hoping that you’d get a goodbye kiss. oh, well. you’d see him later when he slipped into bed and pressed his cold fingers against your back.

after setting your things down the first thing you did was get in the shower. leaving your clothes on the floor, you decided that you’d deal with that once you weren’t sticky nor covered in grime. the water from the shower was almost a little too warm, but you didn’t mind. it was quite relaxing to stand and do nothing for the first time all day.

you got out of the shower, put on your crummiest, most comfortable pjs and borderline face planted onto the bed. your shoulders ached as you desperately tried to release the tension from your body. you couldn’t quite fully relax into the mattress.

a soft tapping came from the window. at first you ignored it, but it didn’t relent. you craned your neck just to see the one person that you wanted to see most. crouched by the window was peter on the fire escape, and if he wasn’t wearing the mask you were sure that he was grinning from ear the ear.

you slouched off the bed and padded over to the window. unlocking it, you pulled the old window up to open it as far as you could. peter noticed your struggle and pushed it up the rest of the way. “hey, you,” peter teased.

“hello, bug boy.” you tried to keep the exhaustion out of your tone, but you had a feeling that your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes.

peter pulled the bottom of his mask up just so you could see lower portion of his face. “what’s wrong?” he asked. when you shook your head, he continued: “hey, hey- what’s up?”

attempting to brush it off, you waved your hands in a dismissive manner. “i just had a bad day, is all.” peter leaned backwards onto the fire escape.

“come and sit with me,” he swung his legs over the edge of the fire escape. you followed and sat next to him. it was only then that you noticed that his backpack was placed precariously up against the brick of your apartment building. he reached out behind you and shot out a web, pulling the bag closer to him. “got you a sandwich.”

he handed you a sandwich, and you knew you wouldn’t have to check to make sure that it was your correct order. peter took it upon himself when you started dating to memorize your orders at every place you frequented.

you leaned your head onto his shoulder and took a bite of your sandwich. “i had a shit day at work, pete,” you mumbled through sandwich. he hummed in response, urging you to continue. you swallowed the bite you had taken. “got yelled at a few times, some lady poured a soda over me and i got to go home early. at least.”

your eyes flicked over to him, and you saw him nodding as he ate his own sandwich. “i’m sorry honey.” he took another bite, “i knew you probably weren’t doing too hot today.”

“why do you say that?” your gaze lingered on him as he nodded his head back and forth. it was a movement so particularly peter, you had come to recognize it. pete’s cheek rested atop your head and you thought that he faintly left a kiss on your crown.

a moment’s silence passed between you before he answered. “i have the spider-tingle thing, i’m starting to think i have a tingle thing for you too.” you heard him chuckle and his sandwich wrapper rustled again.

“well that sounds helpful. maybe next time you can tell me when there’s dr. pepper incoming.” peter full-belly laughed this time; the sound brought a real, genuine smile to your face.

peter reached behind the both of you and into his backpack again. “oh, i got you this today.” in his palm he held what looked to be a bottle cap with a painting of his mask on it.

peter handed it to you, and you turned it over in your palm. on the back of it was a safety pin shoved through the sides. “a pin…of you?” your head lifted from off his shoulders. peter shrugged, and you smiled crookedly.

he opened his mouth once, trying to find the words. “okay, uh-“ he shrugged again, “a cute little kid gave it to me. said that he made it himself. i thought you’d like it.” he held up his hands in defeat. you moved a tad closer to him and kissed a spot on his cheek that was just slightly covered by his mask, but moved the mask to the side with your finger so you could kiss his cheek again fully.

you whispered, “thanks, pete.” your head returned to his shoulder. “do you think anyone can see us up here?” it was nearing half past nine, so the sun had fallen quite a while ago. yet, the new york lights lit up the streets and the buildings along them still. you tucked the pin into the pocket of your pajama pants.

peter hesitated, taking another bite of his sandwich; it was almost gone now (you’d have to catch up, seeing as you had quite a bit left of your own). “…mmm, i don’t think so.” he placed his cheek back on top of your head, an arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer to his side.

“you don’t sound too sure of yourself.” your foot that dangled close to him inched closer so that your thighs were touching and your ankles were just about curled around each other’s.

he pretended to think for a moment. “…i’m like 65% confident that no one can see us right now.”

you snorted a laugh, “finish your sandwich, bug boy.”

[asgard23]

Surprised | One-Shot

Warnings: Descriptive Cheating, Unwilling Cucking, Smut, Threesome, Insecurity, infertility. Written from Nat's POV. **This is probably one of the most unhinged things I have written thus far. I don't know what came over me LOL.

Also Nat’s not an avenger in this for whatever reason 🤪

Natasha stared at Bucky, her boyfriend, as her nerves spiked, while he fidgeted, his gaze pleading. They were curled on the sofa. “Look, Nat,” Bucky began, “you know how much I love you. And you know we’ve tried new things before, right?” He paused, clearly bracing himself. “I was thinking… Y/N moved back, and she’s… well, she’s amazing. And you know, we’ve always had a good dynamic, she and I. And I was just thinking… maybe… maybe we could… include her?”

Her mind raced, a thousand thoughts colliding at once. A threesome. With Y/N. His best friend. And they weren’t strangers to threesomes, either. She and Bucky had explored that territory before, with both men and women. It was usually fun, a way to spice things up, to explore new boundaries. They had three rules for threesomes:

Always use protection.

Never leave hickies or marks.

Never ignore each other.

 Nat liked that about her relationship with Bucky. But this… this was different from the other times. This was Y/N. She pushed it down and dismissed it as paranoia, the insecurity of a girlfriend who’d seen too many relationships crumble. He was her Bucky. But the thought that he might like her had always been a whisper at the back of her mind.

She suppressed the urge to snap and shut the idea down immediately. Could she deny him this? Was her own insecurity worth sacrificing his happiness? Besides, Y/N was gorgeous. 

So, she agreed. She pushed the knot of jealousy deep down, plastered on a smile, and said, “Sure, baby. Could be fun.” She tried to sound enthusiastic, convincing herself it was true. She wanted to please him. She wanted to be enough. And perhaps, a part ot her thought, seeing them together like that, in such an intimate setting would finally dispel her fears. It would prove that he chose her, not Y/N.

He’d lit up like a Christmas tree, his face breaking into a shit eating grin. He’d spent the rest of the week bouncing with excitement, planning the night with thoroughness that bordered on obsessive. It was unnerving, to say the least. For so many reasons.

︶︶︶︶༉

The first time Natasha met Y/N, it had been at the welcoming party for Y/N’s return. Y/N had just moved back to New York after four years running a specialized recovery operation for SHIELD assets in Europe. Bucky had talked about her for weeks leading up to her arrival.” Y/N’s coming back! You are going to love her, babe! “ Nat had tried to be enthusiastic, but apprehension had already begun to form in her stomach.

“So you must be the girlfriend I hear all about,” Y/N had said, holding out a hand. Her nails were polished a deep red, complementing her (S/C) skin tone. She was exactly how she imagined this mysterious woman to be. Annoyingly beautiful.

Natasha had taken the offered hand. “Only good things, I hope,” she’d said awkwardly, trying to sound light, even as a chill made its way to her skin.

Throughout the evening, Natasha watched as Bucky and Y/N fell in sync, like two peas in a pod, for most of the night. They traded inside jokes, declaring a shared history she wasn't a part of. Y/N would lean into Bucky when she told a story, her hand sometimes resting lightly on his arm, and Bucky would chuckle, his gaze only lingering on her. It wasn’t overtly flirtatious, not in a way Natasha could point to and call out, but it was there. An unspoken tension that made her feel like an outsider looking in. She’d tried to interject but found herself feeling increasingly awkward, a third wheel, even though she was Bucky’s girlfriend.

Later, Y/N had excused herself to the bathroom. Natasha’s eyes followed her, noting the confident swing of her hips, and the way she had heads turned. When Y/N rounded a corner, out of sight, Natasha turned to Bucky, only to see him still watching the empty space where Y/N had been, practically checking her out. He snapped back to attention when he felt Natasha’s gaze.

“So you guys seem to have great chemistry, babe… why did you guys never get together?” Natasha asked, her tone tighter than she’d like it to be. She tried to sound casual a but the question was loaded with her own rising insecurity.

Bucky shifted almost guiltily, crossing his face. “Well, she’s always had a boyfriend, and she went away to college right after high school. Then the SHIELD gig took her overseas for years. The timing was just never right, I guess.” He shrugged, a little too dismissively.

Natasha’s stomach dropped. She hadn’t known what she was expecting, but she certainly hadn’t expected that. He wasn’t reassuring her, wasn’t saying there was nothing there, only that circumstances prevented anything from happening. So if she had given him a chance, would he take it? Natasha swallowed, the lump in her throat making her gulp.

From that night forward, Natasha’s already present insecurities had intensified. She was capable and sexy. That’s what apparently attracted Bucky to her. But privately, she often felt insufficient. This feeling was magnified by one particular painful fact: she was infertile. Bucky had always spoken of wanting a family someday, a house with a yard, kids running around.

He’d told her countless times that he was “fine” with it, that she was enough, that they could adopt if they wanted to, but a part of her didn’t truly believe him. She saw the wistful look in his eyes when they passed a young family, the way he’d light up around Clint’s kids. What if Y/N, with her beautiful, fertile body, represented something Natasha couldn’t give him? Those thoughts plagued her relationship ever since Y/N came back into Bucky’s life.

︶︶︶︶༉

The days leading up to the threesome, Nat saw a different side of her boyfriend. Bucky was practically buzzing with an energy she hadn’t seen in weeks. Every time his phone lit up with a message from Y/N, her stomach twisted. He was planning. He was excited. More excited than he usually would be for these things. Sure, before he enjoyed having the attention of two women. Even from men, and of course, his lovely girlfriend. But for Y/N, he was elated. 

Finally, the night arrived. Nat was in a haze of anxiety, trying to convince herself that this was a good idea, that she was doing it for Bucky, that she wasn't a jealous, insecure mess. They had spent the afternoon tidying the apartment, lighting candles, and arranging pillows. Bucky had insisted on the “relaxing prelude”, wine, a movie, just easing into the atmosphere. But you could tell, just by the way he kept glancing at the clock, at the door, how utterly thrilled he was. He barely settled on the couch before a light knock came abruptly.

Bucky was up in a flash, a wide grin stretching across his face, a look she realized hadn't been directed at her in a while. He threw open the door without a second's hesitation, and there she was. Nat had to admit she looked beautiful. She wore a cute, slightly sheer blouse and a denim skirt that showed off her legs. 

“I come bearing gifts,” Y/N said, as she lifted up a bottle of deep red wine. Bucky’s favorite, Nat noted, the detail stinging more than it should. Y/N's gaze lingered on Bucky longer than Nat liked, a shared smile passing between them that felt like a secret whispered over Nat’s head.

Nat swallowed as she forced a smile. "Y/N, so glad you could make it,” 

Y/N’s smile widened, not quite reaching her eyes as she stepped over the threshold, already moving towards Bucky. "Wouldn't miss it for the world," she chirped, and without a moment's pause, she reached out for Bucky, her hand resting on his arm.

Bucky chuckled. "Perfect timing, as always. You want to open this, or should I?" He took the bottle from Y/N, his fingers brushing hers, and the simple contact made Nat’s eye twitch.

"You do the honors, Buck," Y/N said, her eyes still locked on him. "I'll grab some glasses." She turned, finally, her gaze flicking over Nat with a brief glance, before heading towards the kitchen as if she already knew the layout of the apartment better than Nat herself.

︶︶︶︶༉

The third glass of wine tasted like vinegar in Natasha's mouth. She watched, her knuckles white around the stem, as her boyfriend leaned across the coffee table, his gaze locked onto Y/N like she was the only one there. They’d barely finished pouring the wine, barely an hour since Y/N arrived,  and the air was already thick with a tension Natasha had not signed up for. Bucky hadn’t even pretended to watch the movie previews; his eyes kept straying, his knee bouncing with restless energy directed at his best friend. Regret pricked at Natasha’s insides.

"Soooo..." Bucky finally tore his eyes from Y/N’s laughing face, turning to Natasha for the first time since Y/N arrived. "You ready, doll?" he asked.

Natasha’s throat tightened. Ready? 

Y/N grinned, biting her plump lower lip in a gesture Natasha instantly knew that drove Bucky crazy. "Oh, I’ve been ready since you texted the idea, Buck" she purred, her eyes sparkling as they met Bucky’s.

Natasha forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat. "Yeah… okay," she managed, her voice thankfully steady despite the tremor in her hands. She hated how eager Y/N sounded.

Bucky didn't hesitate. He stood, reaching first for Y/N’s hand, his fingers intertwining with hers, then turning to grasp Natasha’s with noticeably less fervor. He led them wordlessly down the short hallway to his bedroom. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing Natasha in with the suffocating reality.

Bucky walked straight to the edge of the bed. He sat down heavily, legs sprawled wide open in a blatant display of dominance. His eyes, hooded and dark with intent, scanned both women standing before him, but lingered longest on Y/N. He began unbuttoning his dark Henley, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest and abdomen.

"Why don't you kiss each other?" Bucky commanded, his voice a low rasp. It wasn’t a question; it was an order.

Y/N suddenly became shy, her gaze dropping to the worn carpet. Forcing her thoughts to the back of her mind, Natasha closed the small distance. She cupped Y/N’s chin firmly, tilting her face up. Before hesitation could paralyze her, Natasha pressed her lips against Y/N’s. The kiss was stiff, unfamiliar, lips meeting lips with little warmth. But beside them, Bucky groaned, deep and guttural. Natasha heard the distinct rustle of fabric as he shoved off his clothes completely.

Fueled by Bucky’s reaction, Natasha deepened the kiss slightly, her tongue darting tentatively against Y/N’s. Y/N responded, softening, her hands finding Natasha’s waist. Bucky surged up from the bed, moving behind Natasha. His hands felt impersonal as he peeled her fitted black top over her head, then made quick work of her bra clasp. Cool air hit Natasha’s skin, followed by the heat of Bucky’s palms sliding over her bare breasts. He squeezed, his thumbs brushing her nipples, but his attention wasn’t on her.

"Take her clothes off, Nat," Bucky instructed, as he sat back down on the edge of the bed. Natasha glanced at him. He was completely naked now, his impressive erection jutting up proudly, thick and flushed. Precum glistened at the tip. Natasha’s eyes darted to Y/N, who was staring at Bucky’s cock, her lips parted, swallowing visibly. Another sharp pang of jealousy hit her.

"Go slow," Bucky commanded again, his eyes fixed not on Natasha undressing Y/N, but on Y/N’s face. His right hand wrapped around his cock, pumping it slowly, his gaze hungry as he watched Y/N’s reactions.

Natasha’s stomach plummeted, but she obeyed. She reached for the hem of Y/N’s blouse, pulling it up and over her head. Underneath was a lace bralette. Natasha unhooked it with numb fingers, letting it fall away. Bucky’s pumping hand sped up, his breathing growing heavier. Y/N’s breasts were better than hers, and Bucky’s rapt stare felt like a physical violation.

Once Y/N stood in just her panties, Bucky was off the bed again. He moved past Natasha as if she were furniture, closing the distance with Y/N. He framed her face with both hands. "Beautiful," he breathed, spoken with reverence Natasha had never heard directed at her. Then he kissed Y/N.

It wasn't a kiss Natasha recognized. It was hungry and passionate. Bucky’s hands sliding down Y/N’s back to cup her ass, pulling her flush against his naked body. He kissed her with an admiration, a desperation that made Natasha feel invisible. He hadn't kissed her like that… ever.

As if suddenly remembering Natasha existed, Bucky broke the kiss, leaving Y/N breathless and flushed. He turned, grabbed Natasha’s hips, and kissed her too. It was fast, his lips mashing against hers, devoid of the fire he’d just shown Y/N. It was over before Natasha could even react. Bucky suddenly grabbed both women around the waist and propelled them backwards onto the bed. Y/N giggled, the sound grating on Natasha’s ears.

Before Bucky could descend on Y/N, Natasha acted. Pushing past the hurt, she shoved Y/N flat onto her back and lowered her head between Y/N’s spread thighs. She pressed her mouth against the damp lace of Y/N’s panties, licking roughly through the fabric. Y/N gasped, arching off the mattress, her hands immediately tangling in Natasha’s red hair. "Oh God, Nat!" she moaned.

Natasha angled her hips back, presenting herself to Bucky, silently demanding his attention. She felt vindication when his hands settled on her hips. He got the memo. But he didn't kiss her neck or whisper praise as he usually did. Instead, his fingers slid roughly between her thighs, finding her wetness.

Two fingers plunged inside her without preamble, stretching her, curling against her inner walls. Natasha moaned into Y/N’s core, the sensation familiar but hollow without his passion. She focused on Y/N’s gasps, trying to lose herself in the act.

But she missed the reaction of Bucky. His fingers moved inside her mechanically, his gaze fixed not on her, but over her shoulder, locked onto Y/N’s face. He was watching Y/N’s reactions, listening to Y/N’s moans, timing his thrusts to Y/N’s gasps. Y/N stared back at him, her eyes glazed with lust. That Natasha missed.

After a few more pumps inside Natasha, Bucky pulled his fingers out with a wet squelch. His hand slapped Natasha’s ass hard, causing it to sting. He pulled her body away from Y/N. Natasha stumbled sideways onto the mattress, blinking away the sting in her eyes as much as the one on her skin.

Bucky didn't hesitate. He positioned himself between Y/N’s thighs, hooking her knees over his arms. With one smooth, powerful thrust, he sheathed himself fully inside Y/N. Deep. Unprotected.

No. No, this couldn’t be right. They always used a condom. Always. That was one of their rules. 

Natasha’s eyes widened in horror. "Bucky!" she gasped, scrambling onto her knees. "A condom!"

Bucky’s response was a ragged, embarrassingly loud groan that shuddered through his entire frame. He didn't pause. His hips pistoned, driving into Y/N with deep, punishing strokes that made her cry out. "Huh? Oh fuck..." he gasped, his voice thick with pleasure, eyes glued to where his cock disappeared into Y/N. "...Babe, sorry." He didn’t sound sorry. He didn't stop. Not for a second. He couldn’t even pull out?

He leaned down over Y/N, his chest pressing against hers. "You'll give me this, won't you?" he pleaded to Nat, but against her lips, his voice with a need utterly unfamiliar to Natasha. He didn’t truly care for his girlfriend's answer. Y/N, a moaning, writhing mess beneath him, slid her hands over Bucky’s sweat-slicked abs. 

"So good!" Y/N panted.

Bucky kissed her again, while his hips slammed relentlessly into her. Natasha watched, frozen, as her boyfriend fucked his best friend with a passion she'd never inspired. Bucky then braced himself differently, tucking his feet under his knees. He sat up, pulling Y/N’s hips higher, changing the angle. His thrusts became piston-like. Y/N screamed, her back arching off the bed, her eyes rolling back.

"Thank you!" Bucky suddenly roared, his head snapping towards Natasha. His eyes were wildly desperate. "Thank you for letting me fuck her! Fuck! Thank you!" Then his gaze snapped back to Y/N, his hands flying to her bouncing breasts. He squeezed and kneaded them, pinching her nipples hard, making her cry out. One hand slid down her trembling belly, his thumb finding her swollen clit. He rubbed tight, fast circles.

Y/N shattered. "BUCKY!" she screamed, her entire body locking, thighs clamping around his waist, inner muscles visibly pulsing around his cock buried deep inside her. Her orgasm was violent.

Bucky watched her come apart. "Oh fuck," he gasped, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Oh, I'm gonna cum... gonna cum deep in this perfect pussy..." He slammed home one final, brutal time, his body locking rigidly over Y/N’s. A groan tore from his chest as he emptied himself inside her, pulsing, flooding her unprotected depths. He collapsed onto her, shuddering, his face buried in her neck, whispering words Natasha couldn't hear. She just watched, frozen in place, a silent observer in her own bed, as he spilled inside Y/N. 

“She didn’t cum,” Y/N said, catching her breath pulling Bucky’s head up slightly. Nat felt mortified. He hadn't even remembered she was there, let alone the crucial detail of her own satisfaction in this… You know threesome. Y/N then pushed Bucky off of her and climbed towards Nat. At this point, Nat didn’t even want to do this anymore. She wanted Y/N to leave. She wanted to be alone with Bucky, to understand what had just happened. But Y/N crawled towards her and gently pushed her down, spreading Nat’s legs.

Nat couldn’t help the reluctant moan that escaped her lips as Y/N’s warm, wet mouth descended, her tongue beginning to eat her out. It was good, technically. Y/N knew what she was doing, twirling her tongue expertly on Nat’s clit, sending electric jolts through her. But the pleasure felt… distant. Her eyes were fixated on Bucky. The entire time, he was getting hard again. She noticed him bite his lip, a familiar tell, before he crawled behind Y/N again. He got hard again? Usually, when Bucky came, it was hard for him to get hard again so quickly. But he was doing it now. For Y/N. Why? That why only caused Nat to feel even more insecure about herself again.

She watched as her boyfriend grabbed Y/N’s hips, pulling her onto her knees, and then, without hesitation, he shoved his face between her legs. Y/N let out a moan, a sound of pleasure that resonated in Nat’s own pussy as the vibrations from Y/N’s body, pressed against her, added to her reluctant pleasure. But it wasn’t enough. Out of a sudden, surge of jealousy, Nat grabbed a handful of Y/N’s hair and shoved her face deeper into her pussy an attempt to reclaim some control of some part of this experience.

Nat watched, her vision partially obscured, as Bucky began to fist his cock frantically. He ate from Y/N’s asshole to her clit with wild abandon. Y/N moaned wildly and uninhibitedly, and Nat could tell Bucky wanted to hear those noises unrestricted.. He got on his knees, his eyes gleaming as he shoved his cock inside Y/N, fucking her with his own cum as lube for the second time that night. Y/N screamed, a piercing cry that vibrated inside Nat’s hole, still being stimulated by Y/N.

Bucky grabbed Y/N’s hair pulling her head back and making her arch her back while he fucked her relentlessly, not caring that Nat hadn't cum yet, not caring about anything but the woman beneath him. Y/N made eye contact with Nat, her eyes unfocused, glazed over, as she was getting completely destroyed by her boyfriend. Nat watched as Bucky fucked her with such focus, such clear and undeniable pleasure, that it soured her further, curdling in her stomach.

“You’re gonna make me cum again, Buck!” Y/N yelled, causing Bucky to smirk. He fucked her harder and faster driving her to the edge. Y/N, still focused on him, then sloppily inserted two fingers into Nat as she tried to maintain her balance while being fucked brutally by Bucky. Nat watched as Y/N’s eyes went crossed, her mouth opening in a silent scream as her body bucked and seized.

She watched as they both came together, a synchronized release, and how Bucky came inside of her again, completely lost in Y/N.

Y/N then began to fuck Nat with her fingers and suck her clit, that forced an orgasm out of Nat. It was intense, almost painful in its forced nature. But as soon as Nat’s body shuddered with release, Bucky pulled Y/N in for a deep, lingering kiss, his lips still shiny and wet from their shared pleasure.

Then, as if Nat were an afterthought, he turned his head. His eyes, still hazy with lust, found Nat’s lips, and he gave her a quick, almost dismissive peck. “Thanks, babe,” he mumbled, his voice already fading into weariness. And then, without another word, he rolled off Y/N, pulling Nat down with him to lie next to him.

“Let’s go to sleep, baby,” Bucky murmured, already half-asleep, his arm slung loosely over Nat’s waist. He didn't even care if he got his own girlfriend off. This has never happened in other threesomes before. Bucky always made sure she was satisfied, always checked in. He didn’t seem to care about anything but the lingering warmth of the woman next to him, the woman he’d just so thoroughly enjoyed. Nat just stared at the ceiling, naked and burning. 

She watched Y/N, all sated and content, pull herself into her boyfriend’s side under the covers. She snuggled close, her head resting on Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky, in his slumber, turned over and pulled her impossibly tighter, burying his face in her hair. Nat forced herself to lie down, pulling the sheet up to her chin, her back turned to both of them.

︶︶︶︶༉

To be honest, Nat wasn't surprised when she woke up later, in the dead of the night, to the sounds of moans and the movement of the bed, the headboard knocking faintly against the wall. Not after last night's performance. Nat turned around, a single tear escaping her eye as she watched.

 Bucky was on top of Y/N, her lying on her stomach, one leg casually kicked to the side, her ass covered in cum. A tell-tale sign they had been at it for a while, long before Nat had even stirred. Y/N’s head turned slightly to look at him, her mouth an ‘o’ shape as she moaned under him. Bucky leaned over her, his hands balled into fists on either side of her head, his hips driving into her with heavy, ball-deep thrusts that resonated through the mattress.

She could see the thickness of Y/N's cream on his cock and some dripping onto the white sheets of their bed. The sound of skin slapping skin was aggressive, almost animalistic. He fucked her with a vigor she had never seen. He never responded to her in such a way. 

Nat couldn't hold it in any longer. The tears streamed down her face as she watched her boyfriend have no regard for her or for the space she occupied on their bed. He looked at Y/N as if she were a goddess, as if she were his entire world, his eyes glazed over with a passionate intensity Nat rarely saw aimed at her anymore. A tremor shook her to get up. Nat shakily rose up from the bed. They didn't seem to hear it, or if they did, they didn't care. She stumbled into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. 

Yet, she could still hear their moans, faint but still present, seeping through the thin wood. With trembling hands, she turned the shower on, letting the hot water stream over her body, hoping it would wash away the humiliation. She clutched her arms around herself, trying to figure out how she should react to this.

"It's just a threesome," Nat whispered to the steam, trying desperately to comfort herself. She stood there, unmoving, until the water finally turned lukewarm, then cold. Still, she couldn't bring herself to leave the small sanctuary.

Hours crawled by. She sat huddled on the floor, wrapped in a large bath towel, knees drawn to her chest. The house remained silent, no longer filled with the sounds of....her. She listened intently, straining to hear any sign that Bucky might be looking for her or might realize she was missing from their bed. But there was nothing. No calls or soft knocks on the door. Her heart tightened at that.

Then, just as the first hints of dawn began to paint the sky outside the small bathroom window, she heard the click of the front door closing. Finally. She left.

Nat slowly uncurled herself. Her limbs felt stiff from hours of immobility. She wrapped the towel tighter around her shaking body. The floor felt icy beneath her bare feet as she pushed open the bathroom door, stepping into the now quiet apartment.

The aroma of sizzling bacon filled the air. Her eyes widened, focusing on the kitchen. At the stove, Bucky stood. He was humming while flipping bacon in a pan, a picture of a man more than satisfied. His back was to her, oblivious. He even swayed his hips slightly to an unheard rhythm. He never danced.

"Hey, babe," he said, without even turning. He flipped a piece of bacon, then finally glanced over his shoulder, a wide grin plastered on his face. "Breakfast is almost ready! I was just thinking of making us some eggs too—"

His words trailed off. That stupid grin faltered, replaced by confusion as his eyes landed on her. He saw the shaking and her tear-streaked face.

"What's wrong, babe?" he asked, his tone losing its cheerfulness, the spatula clattering onto the counter as he dropped it and took a step towards her. His brow furrowed in confusion.

Nat’s lip trembled. She stared at him, the sight of his apparent obliviousness enraged her. "What's wrong? Bucky? Really? What's wrong?" Her voice was hoarse from the crying. "I was like fucking chopped liver! What the hell was that?!"

Bucky stopped a few feet from her, his hands hovering awkwardly. "What are you talking about, Nat? Last night? We had a great time... didn't we? I thought you were into it." He says, still looking utterly bewildered.

"Into it?" Nat practically scoffed, her voice rising now. "I mean... You didn't even care if I came! You just... you just went off with her! Like I wasn't even there! I was in the bed, Bucky, right there! And you practically ignored me for half the night, then you just... You just kept going with Y/N after I fell asleep! Or after I pretended to fall asleep, because I couldn't bear to watch you practically worship her!"

His confusion slowly morphed into defensiveness. "Whoa, whoa, Nat, that's not fair! We were all just having fun. Babe, you know how these sorts of things go. They can get... intense. I got carried away, okay? I wasn't trying to ignore you, I was just... being in the moment."

 "You were on her, Bucky. You were looking at her like she was the only person in the room! And I was right there! I heard you. You didn't even notice I was gone from the bed this morning, did you?"

He winced, finally looking a little guilty. "Okay, look, I'm sorry about that, babe. I really am. But Nat, it was just sex. You know that. Y/N's my best friend, she's amazing, but it was just... a kinky night. Nothing more." He took another step, reaching for her, but she flinched away.

"Then why did it feel like you completely forgot about me? Like a prop for your fantasy with her?" Her voice trembled.

"No! Never!" Bucky insisted, finally closing the distance between them and gently taking her shaking hands in his. "Nat, come on, you're my girlfriend. You're the one I love. Y/N is a good friend, that's it. It was just a wild night. I was into it, she was into it, you were into it at first, too, right? It was just... explosive. Sometimes that happens. It doesn't mean anything about my feelings for you. It's just physical."

"But it felt so... personal," Nat whispered, barely audible. 

"Natasha, look at me," he insisted, his thumbs stroking the back of her hands. "There is no connection like that with Y/N. Not like I have with you. What we had last night was a one-off thing, a bit of fun between friends, for us. It was for our enjoyment, all three of us. If I got too focused on her for a moment, I am truly sorry. I genuinely didn't mean to make you feel excluded. I was just... lost in the moment, you know how it gets."

Could it be true? Could she have misread it? Her heart ached for him to be right, for it to be just a misunderstanding, a moment of passion that got carried away, meaning nothing more than what he said. 

"Are you... are you really sure?" she mumbled. "You really don't feel anything for her? Like... romantically?"

"Absolutely not," he said immediately. " Y/N and I are just friends. We've known each other forever. But you're my girl, Nat. You're the one, babe." He took a step closer, looking her in the eyes. 

She wanted to believe him. She needed to believe him. The alternative was too painful to contemplate. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was overreacting, letting her insecurities get the better of her. He chose her. He was making breakfast for them. He was apologizing.

Nat finally nodded. "Okay," she whispered fragily. "Okay, Bucky. I... I believe you." A part of her still harbored doubt for his words, an image of him on top of Y/N briefly flashed in her mind, but she pushed it down, deep, deep down. She wanted this to be true more than anything. She would make it true. If he said it was nothing, then it was nothing. It had to be.

︶︶︶︶༉

Things between Nat and Bucky had not been the same since that night. Bucky was on his phone more often, smiling at the screen. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was off between them. He'd been distant, coming home later and later, and spending more time on his phone than ever before. Nat tried to tell herself it was the base. Being an Avenger, the workload never really lightened; missions piled up. Of course, he’s tired. Of course, he’s glued to his comms. But the knot in her stomach tightened with each passing day.

Bucky had been gone for three days on a mission, so he'd said, without so much as a text. Nat paced around her apartment anxiously. She picked up her phone, her thumb hovering over Bucky’s name. Don’t be co-dependent. Trust him. He’s a soldier. But the truth was, she wasn’t trusting the soldier; she wasn’t trusting the man. She was trusting her gut, and it screamed, Call him.

The line rang, and when his voice finally crackled through, it was strained, rough around the edges, like he was holding something back, or holding something in.

"Nat... hey."

"Hey, babe," Nat said a little too desperately. She tried to inject all her longing into those two words. "I've missed you."

A beat of silence, then a faint rustling, like sheets shifting. Followed by a muffled hum from somewhere in his background, a sound that wasn't Bucky. Nat’s blood ran cold. The phone felt like ice in her hand. He cleared his throat loudly.

"Yeah. Me too, Nat. Just… been a crazy few days. Really slammed." His words were rushed. The rustling came again, distinct this time. 

"Oh. Okay. Good to hear your voice, though," she managed, although she felt absolutely sick. She wanted to demand the truth. But she couldn't. Not over the phone, not without proof.

"Yeah, you too. Look, I gotta go, I just… landed. Need to debrief," he stammered.

"Right. Be safe. Love you," she whispered, but he’d already hung up….

Tonight was the annual Stark charity gala. Nat resolved to push her insecurities aside. I’m not going to be that girlfriend, she thought. She wore a skin-tight black dress to feel confident, but as she and Bucky entered the gala arm in arm, she couldn’t shake the gnawing sensation in the pit of her stomach. Y/N is going to be here.

The atmosphere was buzzing, with chatter swirling around, but Nat felt disconnected. She spotted Y/N across the room, a vision in a backless dress that hugged her every curve. Bucky’s eyes lingered on Y/N, a sparkle in his gaze that ignited jealousy within her. Why can't he look at me like that?

“Hey, you good?” Clint nudged her playfully, pulling Nat from her thoughts. She plastered on a smile, but she couldn’t help but glance back over at where Bucky and Y/N were chatting, their heads leaning slightly together as they exchanged laughter. It was as if they were pulled into their own universe.

“I’m fine,” she said reluctantly.

While Nat mingled with Vision, and Rumlow, Bucky, and Y/N seemed to vanish into the crowd. Just when she thought she would call it out, Y/N strolled back into view 30 minutes later, but the look Y/N shot her was strange. It made Nat feel things she would not wish on her worst enemy.

“Everything alright?” she asked Y/N, casually trying to probe.

Y/N flashed a perfect smile. “Of course! Just... catching up with Bucky."

Natasha felt her chest tighten as she forced herself to respond. “Glad to hear it!” She wished she could believe it.

Later that evening, as they entered their apartment, she noticed that Bucky hadn’t made a move to kiss her the way he usually did. Instead, he melted into the couch, eyes glued to his phone.

 After that, she decided she wouldn’t be the insecure girlfriend who just stayed home, waiting. No, not Nat. She decided to dress up, choosing a new dress that se bought just for her man, then grabbed Bucky’s favorite take-out. She was going to surprise him at the office.

She ascended in the private elevator. The higher she went, the more the general office chatter faded. It wasn’t until she stepped out onto Bucky’s floor, turning down the familiar corridor to his private office, that she started to hear sounds. A familiar groan. Her stomach clenched. And then, unmistakable, Y/N’s moans.

Nat slowed, the moans grew louder, more desperate, intertwined with the slap of flesh on flesh. She knew that sound. Knew it well. Dread wrapped around her. Her hand trembled as she reached for the doorknob, the plastic bag with the takeout slipping slightly in her grasp. The sounds amplified with terrifying clarity now.

She pushed the door open. Bent over her boyfriend’s desk was Y/N. She was facing the door, her hips thrusting back with each powerful stroke from Bucky behind her. Her eyes were closed, a blissed out expression on her face as she moaned, her head thrown back. His hands were fisted in her hair, pulling her head back further, exposing the delicate line of her neck. Her skirt was bunched up around her waist, her blouse open, displaying her breasts, spilled and heaving with each thrust.

“This pussy is mine, yeah?” Bucky’s voice was hoarse, a sound yet again that Nat had never heard from him before. He watched Y/N, utterly absorbed in her. “Gonna breed this pussy, gonna get you fucking pregnant,” he grunted, slamming into her again.

Pregnant. The word was like a blade that sliced through her mind, a reminder of everything she could never be. Y/n only moaned in response.

They didn’t notice Nat until the plastic bag slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor. 

Both of them froze. Y/n’s head snapped up, her gaze locking with Nat’s. Bucky’s eyes, still glazed with lust, followed hers. Nat could tell they were on the very precipice of climax. Unluckily for her, Y/n, caught in the sudden shock, instinctively thrust back onto Bucky, causing him to groan, with a reluctant and mind-blowing climax, all while looking directly into his girlfriend’s horrified eyes.

Nat stood, rooted to the spot, shaking so violently she thought her bones might splinter. She didn’t know what to do. She watched, mesmerized by the horror, as Bucky pulled out of Y/N. Y/N winced, as Nat’s eyes focused on his softening cock, glistening with Y/N’s cum, before he buckled up.

Bucky slowly approached Nat, his arms raised slightly, like he was approaching a scared, feral cat. At least he has the decency to look guilty.

“Look, Nat, I’m… I’m sorry you had to catch us like this,” Bucky said.

That’s what he’s sorry about? Nat thought, a bitter laugh dying in her throat. Not that it happened, but that she saw it? She glanced back at Y/N, who was now casually fixing herself up, adjusting her skirt, buttoning her blouse, smoothing her hair. So unconcerned, like she hadn’t just played a starring role in the destruction of Nat’s relationship, like she hadn’t just murdered Nat’s self-esteem. Y/n was about to walk out, slipping past Bucky, when Nat’s voice caused her to pause.

“Do you not even feel guilty? You homewrecker?” Nat spat venomously. Her heart broke all over again when she saw Bucky instinctively move, stepping in front of Y/N, shielding her from Nat’s wrath.

Y/n paused behind Bucky, her eyes scanning across Nat’s face. There was a hint of guilt, but it left as soon as it arrived.

“It was always gonna be me, Natasha,” Y/N said, irritatingly calm. “You were there for him when he needed it.”

Nat blinked at her words spacing out whatever else she had to say. Always gonna be me. She was right the entire time. Bucky’s words be damned. She had been a placeholder. 

“Listen, Nat,” Bucky began, his voice apologetic, “we haven’t been working out for a while. You know that.”

Nat stared at him, truly seeing him for the first time, stripped bare of all the love and trust she’d poured into him. He was a coward. She looked past him to Y/N, who met her gaze with that same, infuriatingly serene expression. The one that said, I won.

Nat didn’t say another word. She turned on her heel, leaving the smell of takeout and betrayal behind her. She walked out of that office, out of that building, and out of their lives without looking back.

And after the breakup, Nat couldn’t say she was even surprised when she got a wedding invitation eight months later in the mail from Bucky and Y/N. She wasn’t surprised when she heard, three months after that, from the team, that Y/N was pregnant. And she certainly wasn’t surprised when Bucky and Y/N were still together 10 years later, their perfect little family unfolding as if it had been promised.

Because deep down, she knew. She had always known. They were meant to be together. And she had simply been in the way.

[asmileworthahundredlies]

You’re on my mind way too much.

[youlooklikeabeeandilikebees]

so since the real hustle argument was voted as the most iconic being human scene, i wanna know what do you think is the most iconic moment from seasons 4 and 5/from the second trio?

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

three times

a/n: some time ago i asked you guys on a poll what dude you wanted in this story and you all chose bucky, so here it is! also, i partly blame you all for how unhinged it turned out... like you get maybe 6,69% of the blame for the push you gave me... the rest is just me being a hoe

summary: a tale of the three times a nurse was kidnapped by new york’s most notorious gang. 

warnings: dark!mob boss!bucky barnes x nurse!reader x doctor!peter parker, smut, dark content, noncon/dubcon, mob au, mobsters!steve rogers, clint barton, tony stark, scott lang, bruce banner, the gang is called the avengers, doctor!kate bishop, enemies to lovers, kidnapping, violence, weapons, blood, being drugged, alcohol consumption, possessiveness, kissing, clothed x completely naked, panty sniffing, dirty talk, manhandling, size kink, gaping, belly bulge, oral, fingering, fisting, pussyjob, in bucky's mind it's brat taming, dumbification, impact play, squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, somno, bondage, mild knife play, mild gunplay, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cumplay

word count: 11.574

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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You flinched jaggedly as the dark cloth bag was finally ripped off your head. Eyes immediately squinting, they still strained to take in the unfamiliar space you’d been dragged to. 

You were no longer in the hospital’s dark parking lot, nor were you in the black van you’d suddenly been tossed into, but instead, you found yourself in a dark living room. It was elegantly decorated, from the Persian rug to the dramatic, antique fireplace flicking behind the cluster of suit-clad criminals glaring down at you. 

“This her?” one of them grumbled. 

“Yep, one doctor as per your request,” the one who’d abducted you grinned, proudly planting a palm on his hip, “even choose a pretty one just for shits and giggles,” his starkly different mannerisms only made the others seem that much more intimidating. 

The broad-figured one with a shock of sandy hair then stepped closer to where you stood, “alright, here’s the thing, doc,” his head tilted slightly to get on your level as he spoke to you directly, “you’re gonna do exactly as we say and then everything will be alright, okay?” he stared in your eyes as you offered him a shaky nod, “okay,” he exhaled, “you got a name?”

“Y/n Y/l/n…” you uttered before hearing yourself try to correct, “but I–…”

“But what?” the same man croaked. 

“I-I’m not a doctor…”

“God damn it!” someone rumbled as everyone’s eyes flicked to the man who’d captured you, “we can’t fucking trust the new guy to do anything.”

“Well, she’s wearing scrubs,” he tried, frantically gesturing to your uniform, “I just thought–”

“You fucked up, Lang!” the first man who you’d heard speak barked loudly, “and now we’re not just gonna lose one of our brothers tonight, but also the head of the snake. Great fucking job,” a sharp click then caused your eyes to find the gun he yanked out, “and now she gotta die as well–”

“Wait!” you shrieked as both of your palms shot up in the air, “no! Please don’t kill me! I-I’m a nurse! I’m a nurse! I can help! Whoever’s hurt, I can help!”

Seemingly superior to the others present, the blonde one stared at you intensely for a while before exhaling a verdict, “shit… well, I guess it’s better than nothing…” his polished shoes then began to shuffle before he gestured to you, “come this way.” 

Hesitantly, you slowly shadowed him out of the living room, down a dim hallway, and into the chamber that bloomed at the bottom of the corridor. In the centre of the dark room, bathed by two glowing pendants, stood a large pool table, and upon the green felt, with colourful orbs haphazardly scatted all about, there laid a man, unconscious and bleeding. 

The brunette’s suit was sodden with crimson, though you couldn’t tell from here how much of it was his own. 

The gangster who was standing by the side and watching over the wounded individual glanced up at your arrival and asked his fellow men, “this the doctor?” 

“No, it’s a fucking stripper,” you twisted your neck at the sarcastic tone as the guy who’d only moments ago pulled a gun on you waltzed past you and entered the room as well, “yes, of course it is, Tony. How’s the boss?”

“Still alive,” he answered in a sigh and cast his glance back down upon the man on the pool table. 

Slowly stepping up, you carefully let your stare wash over the mobster, from the frazzled and blood-soaked attire to the metal-looking hand poking out one of the sleeves. 

“What happened?” you asked carefully. 

“Miss,” someone grumbled as they set a bag of supplies down beside you on the games table, “just fix him.” 

“If you wanna give your friend a better chance, then you give me as much information as possible about what happened to him,” you uttered as you found a pair of gloves and slipped them on. 

Letting out a sigh, the blonde fellow then said, “it was a shootout.”

Snatching up a pair of scissors, you began to snip in the man’s clothes, staring at the sleeve closest to you, “how many times was he shot?”

“I don’t know, he–… a lot of rounds went off,” he grunted, the events of the night weighting his broad shoulders down, “I wasn’t exactly counting.” 

Two bullets. That’s how many you found when his dress shirt was in tatters on the floor. One was lodged in his right arm four finger widths above his elbow, while the other had strayed a bit further north and buried itself in his bulky bicep. You also found other scrapes and scratches along his torso, assumingly from other bullets that hadn’t been as lucky as those two. 

The smallest of relieved sighs flowed from your lungs as you discovered that he wasn’t in a critical enough condition to be in need of a surgeon, at least not from what you could tell with the limited resources currently at your disposal. 

As you carefully set to work, first digging the bullets out before cleaning the wounds with saline, your lips slowly parted as you treaded a curved needle, “…so, not that I don’t love the change to my evening plans,” you didn’t dare shift your glance as you asked, “but don’t you have a regular guy for cleaning up these sorts of messes?” 

“We did… he died tonight, trying to stop that from happening,” the blonde man gestured to the injuries you began to stitch up. 

Blinking up to find his eye, you uttered sincerely, “I’m so sorry for your loss…” feeling yourself, even under such circumstances, uncontrollably slip into those compassionate parts of your profession. 

A slight scoff bubbled out of the gangster, taken aback by your unexpected gentleness, “yeah, me too. Banner was one hell of a guy…”

Once each of the wounds were sutured closed and you’d bandaged him up, you pushed yourself back from the pool table. 

“Alright,” you exhaled and glanced up at the criminals lurking in the shadows of the chamber, “I’m done.”

“Yeah?” one of them stepped up to get a better look, “he’s alright?”

“No, he’s not alright, he was shot multiple times and should be in a fucking hospital,” your eyes briefly fluttered shut as you heard yourself snap, “now, can I please go home?” 

Catching the eye of the blonde one, second in command, you watched as his jaw briefly clenched, the muscles dancing beneath his skin before he breathed, “no, you’re not done.”

“But I did exactly as you asked–”

“Like you said, he should be in a hospital right now, but we can’t have that happen, so instead, you’re gonna stay here till he’s out of the woods.” 

“What? I can’t–”

“You’re a nurse, right?” he croaked to shut you up, “so fucking do your job and nurse him back to health.”

Three whole days ended up passing by before Mr Barnes slowly began to regain consciousness. 

“Oh, you’re awake!” you snapped back into work mode, springing from your seat and leaning in over the bed which he’d previously been moved into. As the mobster instinctively began to sit up, his eyes barely open yet, you laid a soft palm upon his metal arm and uttered, “sir, please don’t move,” and watched as his clenched jaw almost silenced a groan, “one second, I’ll give you something for the pain,” before you shifted a moment to scavenge through the supplies you’d been given. Once the medicine was found, you exhaled slowly as you injected it, gently pressing down the plunger of the syringe, “there you go…” 

You let yourself suck in a deep breath before your sharp eyes washed over him, briefly assessing him as he woke, though as your gaze flickered up to meet his own, initially with the intent of checking his pupillary response, the manner he stared back at you caught you so of guard that a shiver trickled down your spine.  

“Sir, do you know what your name is?” you asked in a clear tone. 

“Mhm…” he hummed and continued to stare at you as if you were an angel, “Bucky…” 

“Bucky, great, that’s good,” you nodded, “and do you know where you are?”

His gaze didn’t shift away from your visage as he then murmured, “heaven…”

“No, I assure you, you’re not dead,” grasping the stethoscope draped around your neck, you shifted it into place to take a quick listen to his heart, “you almost were, a few times, but you aren’t.” 

As the steady thumping of his pulse filled your ears and seeped into your soul, his deep voice washed over you once again and layered atop the beat, “I’m guessing you had something to do with that?” 

Catching his unwavering eye a moment, you then averted yours and muttered, “I was just doing my job…” before retracting the stethoscope from his chest and casting your glance towards the door, “I should probably go tell the others that you’re awake.” 

TWO WEEKS LATER

“…and Mr Jensen in 401 is complaining of a headache, so you might wanna check that out as well.” 

“Alright, cool,” the doctor scribbled down the last of your words on the little notepad in his palm before his gaze flickered up to catch yours, “thank you so much, Y/n,” he flashed you a warm smile. 

Mirroring his expression, you hugged the charts in your grasp closer to your chest, “any time, Dr Parker.” 

“Peter, please,” his thumb extended to click the top of his blue pen before sliding it into the breast pocket of his white coat, “hey, I was gonna go grab a cup of coffee right now, do you wanna join?” he tried to keep his tone casual. 

Blinking back at him, your breath couldn’t help but get caught in your throat, “I–, uhm… I’d love to, but I get off in a little bit. Wednesdays are always just morning shifts for me.” 

“Oh, alright,” he nodded understandingly, though the gentle rejection still tainted his features slightly. 

“But another time,” you offered, successfully brightening his smile once more. 

“Yeah?” his elbow curled up to lean against the supportive railing that lined the hospital hallways. 

“Sure. I mean, I drink coffee, you drink coffee,” you awkwardly began to dig yourself into a hole, “the chances of us bumping into each other at the coffee cart are pretty high–” 

But your sentence was then cut short as Peter’s pager suddenly pinged in his pocket.

Fishing the small device out, his eyes flickered down to the small screen before he croaked, “oh, sorry. I gotta run.”

“Of course,” you swiftly waved a hand and watched as his feet began to shuffle into a run. 

“Talk later!” Peter called over his shoulder before he rounded a corner and disappeared into the maze of the hospital. 

Twisting around, your feet carried you the remaining distance towards the nurses’ station overlooking the ICU. As you laid the stack of files in your arms down on the counter, a familiar voice found your ears right before her visage popped into your periphery.

“Please tell me that that was what I think it was.” 

Your gaze stayed glued on the charts a moment longer as you ignored your friend’s prying, “hello to you too, Kate.”

When your head finally raised and you let her catch your eye, her wide ones questioned you before she expectantly poked once more, “well?”

“Well what?” you shrugged, though your feeble attempts at shutting the pending subject down failed as she shot you a glare, efficiently causing you to crumble with a sigh, “yes, he asked me out again–, or kinda. It was just coffee.”

“And you finally said yes?” she smiled keenly. 

Holding back your scoff, you simply uttered, “no,” before spinning on your heel. 

“Again?” she shuffled slightly to catch up to the pace you swiftly slipped into, “why not? He’s kind, he’s a doctor, he’s hot,” she listed off, counting on her fingers, “he’s literally perfect for you.”

“I know he is…” you tilted your head, almost with an air of shame, “he’s exactly the type of guy that I should be running after…” 

Though you liked him as a person and cared for him enough to call him your friend, those feelings you caught yourself forcing just hadn’t bubbled up yet. He was the kind of man that you deserved, that you should fall for, and certainly not the monster that still haunted you, that for some reason wouldn’t stop popping into your mind, especially at inappropriate times, like very late at night�� 

“So then why aren’t you?” Kate asked as you entered the employee locker room.

And though thoughts of a gruff gangster caused your heart to swell, you still muttered, “I don’t know…” as an excuse before you popped open your locker and uttered, “hey… what do you know about mobsters here in the city?

“Other than the horror stories I’ve picked up in the ER, not too much,” she leaned against the row of cubbies beside your own as you dug out your bag and began to change out of your scrubs and back into the clothes you’d worn early this morning when the sun was still only a promise waiting to rise, “though I did grow up here, so I probably do know a bit more than you,” she acknowledged your move to the city only a few years prior, “why? Are you suddenly in the mood for a change in careers?”

Though the truth was on the tip of your tongue, you still found yourself obeying the commands the gangsters had sent you home with. Telling the cops was no use because they were all in their pockets, and confiding in a loved one also wasn’t a smart choice as that would only put them in danger. 

“Have you ever heard of someone called Bucky Barnes?” you asked, instinctively lowering your voice to a whisper. 

The ever light-hearted expression plastered upon Kate’s face fell at the recognition of that name, “yeah…”

“Really?” your brows rose, “what do you know about him?” 

“I mean, other than that he’s the supposed leader of the Avengers, not too much.”

“The Avengers?”

“Yeah, one of New York’s most notorious gangs,” she let out a breath, “from what little I know, they get up to a shit ton of stuff straight out of a De Niro movie or something, but their real money maker is cocaine… I mean, that’s why the head of the group is known as the winter soldier.” 

“How do you know about all this stuff?” you squinted back at her in slight amazement. 

“Went to med school with a few coke heads, might have dated one of them,” she blurted before shaking her head and getting back to the subject at hand, “anyways, Y/n, the point is, you don’t wanna mess with those types, trust me.” 

“I know,” you uttered quietly as you shrugged on your coat and pushed your locker closed, “I wasn’t planning on it, I was just curious…” 

As you dragged your foaming toothbrush over the last of your teeth, a loud knock suddenly rattled your front door, causing you to jump atop the pink bathmat in your tiny bathroom. 

Neck twisted out towards the entryway of your apartment, you briefly leaned over the sink to spit out the toothpaste slowly leaking out of your mouth, before your feet began to carry you towards the exit. 

One of your palms momentarily ran over the edge of your pyjama-clad arm as the night chill soaked through the cotton and made you yearn for the warmth of your bed. 

Though as you pulled on the handle, the haunting figures on the other side of the door caused your blood to freeze with recognition. Standing tall on the other side of the threshold, there stood two of the Avengers’ henchmen. 

“You need to come with us,” the one called Barton ordered coldly. Over the few days the gang had held you captive, you’d picked up on the names of many of the members, including the two that stood before you now. 

“What?” your chest rose and fell rapidly, “I–, please, I swear, I haven’t told a soul.”

Having them knock at your door was one thing, but even just the thought of criminals such as them knowing where you lived sent you into a spiral. 

“Yeah, we know you haven’t,” Scott put a hand on the doorframe, “that’s not why we’re here.” 

“What happened?” you murmured as you were led into one of the many sitting rooms in the mysterious manor they once again brought you to. In an armchair before you, half-empty glass of bourbon in metal hand and the sleeves rolled up on his blood-tainted shirt, there sat the big bad winter soldier himself, panting as he slowly sipped. 

Though when the sound of your voice filled the room, Bucky’s eyes only snapped up to yours for a moment before he shot a glare at his men.

“What is she doing here?” he grumbled lowly. 

“Boss, you busted your stitches,” Lang gestured tensely to the crimson slowly staining his crisp white shirt, “what else were we–”

Intersecting the conversation, the broad form of Steve stepped into the space between the gangsters and swiftly snuffed the pending argument out, “thank you, Barton, Lang,” he nodded to each of them, “you can go,” and you watched the pair that had brought you back exited the room. Shifting his weight, Bucky’s right hand man turned to you and offered you a polite smile, “Y/n, pleasure to see you again.”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, not masking your disdain of the situation you’d been dragged into yet again, “I wish I could say the same…” before you shifted your eyes to the man in the chair, though still directed your question at Steve, “what do you need me to do?” 

As you shifted closer to the intimidating leader, ever drinking, surely to dull the pain, Rogers murmured as you kneeled down to assess, “I think it’s just the one on his shoulder that’s–”

“Yeah, I see it,” you cut him off, then glanced back over your shoulder at him, “do you still have that medical bag?”

“Yeah, one second,” he swiftly disappeared to fetch it, leaving you all alone with the feared mob boss. 

With the crackling fireplace off to the side as your only source of light, you cautiously raised your hands and asked, “do you mind taking this off?” motioning to the shirt he wore. 

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky sighed and sat down his glass before shrugging the item off. Though you’d stared at his bare chest for hours on end before, soaking in his reveal once again for some reason caused your heartbeat to pick up, though you swiftly averted your gaze in an attempt at staying professional. 

Not long passed before Rogers had returned with the supplies, and you’d commenced redoing his stitches. 

“So,” you murmured though your concentration, weaving his skin back together, “do I even wanna know how this happened?”

Blinking down at you, your face close to your work and therefore his skin, Bucky breathed, “probably not...” and as his stare only intensified over the next few stitches, his low timbre once again washed over you as the corners of his lips tugged into the slightest of smirks, “cute PJs, by the way…”

“Yeah, I didn’t exactly get a chance to change,” you felt your cheeks heat up. 

“Oh, I'm not complaining,” his gaze shifted to take in the way the cool night air had caused your nipples to become visible like pebbles beneath the thin stripy fabric, the comment making you shift tensely on your knees. 

Once the last of the knots were tied off and you’d snipped the end of the thread, you wrapped the wounds back up with clean bandages before placing the roll of gauze back into the medical bag. 

“Alright, uhm,” you shifted back, “you’re good now,” a slight winch shot through you as you watched him briefly test out his arm’s mobility, “just be careful, try not to use it too much.”

Catching your eye, he uttered softly, “thank you,” before shifting his gaze to the gangster by the door, “Rogers?” 

“Yes, boss?”

“See to it that she gets home safe.”

ONE MONTH LATER

“I’ve heard the risotto here is really good,” Peter noted as you both skimmed the menus resting on the tablecloth before you, the crystal chandeliers illuminating the restaurant cast a soft glow down upon the choices.  

“Yeah?” you briefly glanced up to catch the doctor’s eye, “well, maybe I should get that then,” you shrugged before shifting slightly in your seat, “hey,” you captured his gaze once more, “could you maybe order for me? I just need to–…” you trailed off, letting the thumb you discreetly pointed over your shoulder in the direction of the bathrooms fill out the rest of the sentence. 

“Oh, yeah, of course,” he nodded. 

“Great, thank you,” you smiled as you rose. The long, cobalt-blue, velvet dress you wore briefly swooshed around your legs before the soft click of your heels against the polished floors carried you through the maze of tables. 

It was the third date you’d ventured on with the kind doctor. The third one and yet you still didn’t have any feelings towards him. 

Stubbornly trying as you might, you still couldn’t get the poison out of your system and do the right thing. 

Once you exited the ladies’ room, and big breath of courage in your lungs as you pushed open the door, it all seeped out as you walked through the small hallway that connected the lavatories with the dining space, and you accidentally bumped into two figures that waited in the space. 

Unsure of who was to blame for the collision, you immediately just muttered, “oh, sorry–,” before you glanced up at the pair and your apology crumbled from your lips, your frame immediately freezing up at the recognition. 

“Listen to me. You are going to quietly walk back to your little date, tell him that you’re not feeling well and need to go home,” Stark kept his voice hushed as both he and the other gangster slowly cornered you, the other one grasping your arm to keep you in place, “and then you’re gonna come with us.”

Sucking in a breath, you then tilted your chin slightly, “and if I don’t?” 

“Then we won’t hesitate to make a scene,” Barton shifted the edge of his jacket out of the way to flash you the gun strapped beneath, “so you can either walk with us and safe a life or you can not only have a dying gangster’s blood on your hands, but also everyone in this fucking restaurant.”

With the clench of your jaw, you glared up at them and murmured, “...fine,” before you ripped your arm free and began to walk back into the dining area and the table where Peter still sat. 

Flashing you a smile as you neared, the doctor swiftly said, “so, I ordered this chardonnay that the waiter said was good. You drink wine, right?”

“I–, uhm…” your fingers clutched the back of the chair as you tried to appear as you had before, even though now you felt as if your hammering heart might spring straight out of your ribcage, “Peter, I’m really sorry, but I gotta go,” you briefly scrambled your brain before adding, “the hospital paged me. There was a big accident downtown.”

“Really?” he fished out his own beeper from his pocket and furrowed down at it, “I didn’t get paged, so it probably can’t be that bad.”

“Yeah, but nurses shortage, you know?” 

“Right,” he nodded, disappointment slightly polluting his understanding expression. 

“I'm really sorry,” you uttered as you picked up your small purse from the chair.

“No, it’s fine,” he shook his head gently, “hey, I get it,” he shrugged before waving a hand, “go.”

“Thank you,” you stood there a moment longer, unsure of how you should depart, “uhm… bye,” before you awkwardly shifted closer to his seat and leaned down to press a brief kiss to his cheek as you offered him a half-hearted hug. 

“Who is it this time?” you sighed as you were led into an elegant space, surely intended for parties judging by the long bar that stretched along the back wall. Glaring at the only man seated on one of the barstools, you asked impatiently, “is it you? Did you hurt yourself again?”

Glancing over his shoulder as you halted your stride halfway down the short steps, a smile appeared on Bucky’s face as he leaned a forearm against the bar top and bellowed, “Y/n! Come, have a drink with me,” he waved a hand for you to take the seat beside him. 

Standing your ground, you squinted back at him in confusion, “no, I can’t, I–, where’s the patient?” 

“The patient?” he echoed as if you were speaking a foreign language. 

“Yes,” you huffed, your annoyance simmering into a full-on boil, “the person who’s on death’s door, the reason why I, a medical professional, is here,” you placed your hands on your hips and asked once again, “is it you?”

“No, I’m phenomenal,” he pursed his lips as he snatched up the stout glass waiting for him on the marble counter, “never been better.”

“Okay, so who is it?”

Tearing his gaze away from you, he then uttered, “no one,” before raising the drink up to his lips. As your mouth parted and your glare nearly burned straight through him, the mobster casually added, “you look stunning, by the way,” before twisting in his seat to face you more, “I didn’t know they changed scrubs out with gowns.” 

“No, I–, I was on a date–,” you muttered faintly through your confusion, slightly shaking your head in an attempt to clear it before you raised a hand, “wait, excuse me, no one’s injured?” 

“No,” Barnes shook his head, “no one’s hurt or dying,” then added as if your reaction was a tad bit too dramatic for his taste, “you can relax, it’s fine.”

But instead, the opposite emotions roiled inside of you as you slowly ascended a single one of the remaining steps, “so you mean to tell me that your men threatened me, my date and a whole restaurant of people, then dragged me all the way out here again, for nothing?” you fumed.

“No, it wasn’t for nothing,” he shrugged, “they brought you back here because I told them to,” he kept his ocean eyes upon you as he once again repeated, “now, come drink with me.” 

“No, I don’t want a fucking drink,” you roared. 

But then, just as swiftly as you had raised your voice, Bucky’s steely hand dipped beneath his suit jacket and pulled out a gun.  

“I asked you nicely,” his stern tone rolled off his tongue slowly as he aimed the weapon upon you, “now sit your ass down and share a drink with me.” 

Carefully, you finally followed his orders and sat down at the bar beside him. 

“Good girl. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” he uttered as he sat the gun down beside his drink. Raising up a hand to the silent shadow behind the bar, a glass was soon slid across the counter, one Bukcy pushed closer towards you, “here,” he said as you stared down at the orange peel floating at the top. As you lifted up the cocktail, the gangster beside you raised his own to click yours, “cheers.”

You briefly toyed with the thought of just taking a sip, though opted instead to down it all, both out of the desperate hope that the alcohol would aid the strange evening, but also in an attempt to fast forward a tad closer to your longed-for departure, ripping the bandage off instead of nursing it all night long. 

Though as you sat the glass back down on the bar, the bottom clanged against the marble much more forcefully than you’d intended as the fingers you clutched it with began to tingle. Blinking heavily a few times, your hand accidentally knocked over the empty drink as a numbing sensation began to bloom within your chest and spread throughout your body. 

Trying to get up from your seat, you mumbled foggily, “what the hell?” though quickly stumbled as your legs felt like jelly beneath your velvet gown.

“Whoa, careful now, angel,” Bucky’s calm gaze trailed you chillingly as you tried to steady yourself. 

“The fuck did you do?” you panted as your wide eyes watched him raise from his seat. 

“It's okay,” he uttered softly, “it’s all gonna be okay,” before your world turned to black and you passed out into his arms. 

When you finally stirred, you were no longer at the bar, nor any other room you’d been in before. You were in a bedroom, situated on a spacious mattress and alongside countless fluffy maroon pillows. 

As you sat up, a low rustling found your ears and drew your vision down towards the coldness clinging around your ankle. Strung between the bottom corner of the bedframe and your own foot, there shined a chain, one that, try as you instinctively did, you couldn’t snap out of. 

But then, as the door to the room creaked open and caused your body to flinch, a plea swiftly flowed out of you as you watched Rogers step inside, balancing a small tray with a glass and a tall decanter of clear water. 

“Steve!” you crawled to the bottom of the bed, “I–… help me, please,” you begged, hearing tears thicken up your voice as they rolled down your cheeks, “you’re a good man, deep down I know you don’t wanna stand by and let this happen. Can you unlock me? Please? Help me get out of here.”

But just as you waited for Steve’s lips to part, you instead heard, “shh, don’t waste your breath, honey,” as in strolled Bucky, causing you to swiftly scramble as far back on the bed as the chain would allow. 

Sitting down in a chair just out of your reach, the fireplace opposing the bed, directly behind where he sat, clacked and lit up his spine as he settled into the seat and directed his cold gaze upon you.

“Glad to see you awake,” he uttered calmly.

“Fuck you!” you swiftly spat as you hugged your knees tightly to your chest. 

“And with all of your charms still intact,” he tilted his head, a light smirk blooming on his lips as your vulgar language hadn’t fazed him one bit. 

“Let me go,” you demanded. 

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen, my angel,” his burly arms folded across his chest, “this is for your own protection,” he briefly gestured to the chain, “we wouldn’t want you to do anything stupid or rash now, would we?” one of his eyebrows twitched, “I can’t let anything happen to you,” he uttered as you continued to stare daggers at him, “you need to be kept as safe as possible so you can keep on helping me the way that you have.”

“What? You want me to be your gang’s personal nurse?” you scoffed, “is this your sick and twisted way of offering me a job, because if so, no thanks!”

“Yeah, no, this isn’t a job offering, I’m not interested in those talents of yours,” he leaned further back in the seat before he began to explain, “you see, for the past few years, I’ve had a serious string of bad luck. Deals have fallen through, rats have been found, the feds have been snipping at our heels and countless of my men have lost their lives,” he listed off, “but, then I met you,” his eyes flickered up to capture your own, “and it all turned around,” he uttered, “I tell you, when you’re here, it’s fate herself is on my side and nothing whatsoever could go wrong. Like having you has made me a fucking god or something, that’s the level of power you’ve bestowed in me,” a faint smile tugged at his lips as those words rolled off his tongue, “so no, you can not leave. You have to stay right here where I can make sure you’re safe and sound. Although, just because you get to be kept safe, that doesn’t mean you’re free of any consequences if you step out of line… it also doesn’t mean that I’ll deny anyone of your beauty if it pleases them… so, I guess it’s more along the lines of you just staying alive under my watch.” 

In the blind rage his words threw you into, your fingers wrapped around the bedside lamp before you chucked it across the room. Though just before it could strike the gangster’s head, he casually ducked out of the way, the lamp instead smashing on the floor behind him as a chuckle began to rumble within his chest. 

“That’s cute,” he laughed lowly, “you’ve got some bite. It’ll get you in trouble, but it’s adorable.” 

“I'm not interested in being your good luck charm, you superstitious fuck!” you yelled as he got up from his seat. 

Huffing out a condescending grin, “give it some time, angel,” he fastened the button on his dark suit jacket before smoothing a palm down over the front, “the human psyche is much more fragile than you’d think and can get used to some surprising conditions,” he ignored the scream that desperately tore from your lungs and instead turned to Steve standing by the door and asked him calming, “Rogers, would you mind cleaning that up?” gesturing to the broken lamp on the floor, and as he received a small nod in return, he murmured, “thank you,” before exiting the room and leaving you to your fate. 

“Seriously?” Steve let out a laugh when he finally coaxed the truth out as to why you hadn’t been touching any of the food they’d brought you, “and here I thought you were just a picky eater.” 

“Well, you’ve already drugged me once so what’s stopping you from doing it again,” you explained, glaring down at the plate before you as he attempted to stifle his laughter. 

“I swear, cross my heart, your pasta is not poisoned.”

Continuing to squint down at the food, you kissed your teeth, “prove it.”

“Really?” his brows floated up, “alright,” he sighed as he sat down across from you. Dragging your plate closer, he twirled some of the spaghetti onto the fork before slipping it into his mouth, “see?” he chewed, “I’m fine, and so will you be when you get some food in that belly of yours.”

Pushing it back towards you, hesitantly, you picked up the fork and slowly began to eat. It had only been little things you’d consumed the past couple of days being here, things you could be certain weren’t tainted, like the odd apple and such. 

Though as you chewed and finally began to settle your stomach’s nauseating rumbling, tears began to stream down your cheeks. 

No matter how hard you tried to beg, none of the mobsters would help you, as their loyalty was just too hard for you to crack. 

“Hey…” your bloodshot eyes then flickered up to Rogers as he noticed your weeping, “it’ll get easier, I promise,” he attempted in a soft tone. 

“How?” you blinked back at him hopelessly, “I am being locked up in a room by a maniac as if I’m just some trinket for him to own.” 

Throwing a brief glance over his shoulder, he then leaned in a bit closer to cautiously advise you, “…there might be some things you could do to change your situation…”

“What?” a spark suddenly flickered within you, “I’d do anything.”

“…you might consider trying to get closer to Barnes…” his words remained hesitant, “…if he begins to care for you, then he might treat you differently…”

“Like, he’d let me go?” 

“I don’t know,” he exhaled, “but maybe it could get that chain off your ankle,” he gestured to your foot, “baby steps.” 

ONE MONTH LATER

“Here,” Steve croaked as he suddenly burst through the doors to your room, a big flat box in his arms which he tossed on the bed beside you. Peeking inside, a folded-up bundle of black fabric met your eye, “put it on,” he ordered hastily, “make yourself presentable.”

“Why?” you blinked up at him, your brows knitting gently together. 

“Because the boss requested it,” he answered impatiently. 

“What, he wants to play dress up with me now? Treat me like a doll?”

Over the past month, you had gone from being scared out of your mind, barely sleeping at night, horrified of what they might do to you, till the paralysing fear slowly began to melt away as not much happened at all, in fact so little that you grew bored in your imprisonment, thinking that the big bad gangsters were just all bark and no bite. Perhaps that was a dangerous confidence to develop, growing cocky in your restlessness, but you couldn’t help it. 

Letting out a low sigh, “just put it on,” Rogers’ head tilted before he said, “I’ll be outside, yell when you’re done.”

Popping the lid off all the way, you then slipped into the black gown waiting within. It was long and simple in its beauty as it hugged all of your curves like a second skin. 

Right before you called out to the mobster in the hallway, you leaned in closer to the mirror on the left side of the room. The dark storm clouds visible out the gothic windows that filled up the wall behind you blossomed in the reflection alongside you as you momentarily fussed with your hair to make it match the elegant dress better. 

Once Steve had entered the room once again, the very last thing you expected was what he did next. 

Walking straight up to you, without a word, he bent down and unlocked the chain binding you to the bedpost. At first, a wave of hope washed over you till it was drowned out by the unsettling notion as to where he would take you and just what plans were on the horizon. 

Grabbing you by the arm, he dragged you out of the room and down the dark hallway you’d only seen glimpses of before. You tried to ask him what was going on, though he didn’t offer you any clue in return, only remained silent as he hauled you through the maze-like manor till a wide set of steps found you, leading you down into a garage where a group of the other gangsters already stood beside the black car rolled up by the base of the stairs. 

Standing in the middle with an arm resting against the roof of the vehicle, Bucky’s gaze swiftly landed upon you as you ascended the stone steps. 

“Well,” the mob boss’ eyes roamed your form, “don’t you look pretty.”

Biting your tongue, you greeted him politely, “Mr Barnes.”

“Shall we go?” he cracked open one of the car doors. 

“Where?” you tried, though your question only caused him to breathe out a smile as he ignored it and instead commanded softly. 

“Get in the car, angel,” his metal arm rested atop the door. 

Riding in a different vehicle than you, it was Clint who slipped in behind the wheel of your car and drove you the silent route towards the mysterious destination. 

Though once the car came to a stop, the door to your left cracked open from the outside and there to greet you was an outstretched metal hand to help you exit. 

You didn’t recognise the building that loomed before you, though it was grand and opulent with large steps leading you and all the other arrivals up to what sounded like a party already buzzing on.

“So, you needed a date,” you exhaled as Barnes took your arm and began to lead you up the stairs, a cluster of his men shadowing behind you both. 

“No,” he cocked his head, “I didn’t need it...”

Casting your glance around at the other guests that passed, you asked, “what kinda party is this anyway? Let me guess, human trafficking auction?” you were completely serious, though still managed to make the gangster laugh gently. 

“It’s a wedding,” his chuckle finished billowing out of his lungs, “or a funeral,” he tilted his head, “I'm not quite sure.”

“How could you not be sure?” you shot him a glance as you reached the top of the steps and he dragged you inside the marbled halls, “there’s a pretty significant difference.”

“They all just kinda melt together at this point,” he sighed, “I have at least one of these a week I gotta show my face at, just out of respect.” 

Taking a look around, you uttered, “well, do you at least know who this funeral wedding is for?”

“No fucking clue,” he exhaled before following the signs and leading you into the venue’s ballroom.

Turns out it was a wedding for some couple you hadn’t yet spotted, though you’d already read their names a thousand times with all the stuff they were plastered upon. 

You stayed quiet and lingered by Bucky’s side as he shook some people’s hands and made some small talk before the two of you found yourselves seated at one of the many round tables in the hall. 

Blinking up at the floral centrepiece, your fingers fiddled with the white tablecloth as the hours rolled by. Soon, not only the complementary glass of champagne you’d been handed back when you arrived was sloshing in your belly, but also quite a bit more alcohol as you decided that was a good tool to make the evening more bearable. 

It however also came with the hindrance of boosting your cockiness as you eventually found yourself poking the bear. 

“You know for a big bad gangster,” you stared over at him, leaned back in the seat next to yours, “you’re actually not that scary up close,” you pursed your lips, causing a chuckle to rumble within his chest because of just how untrue that statement was, “smiling at everyone, being polite. Are you sure you really are the big bad winter solider? The king of New York with no heart and only an imagination for torture…”

“Well…” he huffed out a short laugh as he met your gaze, “don’t you have me just all figured out.”

“Some of your guys may have filled me in a bit,” you tilted your head. 

“Have they now?” he continued to look amused. 

“Yeah, well, a bit at least,” you seized your glass and took another sip.

As you placed the flute back down on the table and rested your cheek in a propped-up palm, your stare only intensified into a squint as Bucky’s eyes flickered back around the room.

But as his gaze fluttered back to notice your gawking, he muttered, “what?”

“Why aren’t you mean tonight?” you uttered through the haze fuzzing up your mind. 

Tongue flicking out to wet his lips, his eyes briefly dipped before he uttered, “do you want me to be mean?” a playful smirk twitched at the corner of his lip in a threat to appear. 

“Is it all just a lie?” you asked, the subtext of his previous words flowing directly over your dizzy head. 

“What?”

Squinting back at him, you then breathed, “there’s always a part of me that’s still scared, imagining what you might do to me… but now,” you slowly drew out, “I don’t think you’re actually ever gonna do anything,” you blindly decided, “that’s not really who you are, they’re all just empty threats…” 

“Hm…” he hummed, a slight smile blooming upon his lips as he stared back at you, “okay…” before he leaned in closer to utter, “and just what makes you think that I haven’t already?” your face immediately dropped as his words caused your frame to freeze up, “tell me, Y/n,” his breath fanned across your cheeks, “did you sleep well last night? Or the night before for that matter, or–, well, just during the time you’ve spent here with me?”

As your shock not only showed in your expression but also in your complete lack of speech, he simply grinned back at your stunned features before grabbing you by the hand and breaking the moment. 

“Come on,” he dragged you with him as he then stood up himself, “let’s dance.”

With an argument on the tip of your tongue, the appendage, just as the rest of you, still remained too dumbfounded for it to come to fruition. You didn’t manage to gather your wits once again till he had you on the middle of the floor, wide hand on your waist as you swayed to the music. 

As his hold slowly tightened and he brought you closer to his broad frame, your breath suddenly hitched as you blinked up into his eyes, the air between you growing thick. The hand that grasped your own near swallowed your palm in a dizzying contrast. Goosebumps began to erupt across your skin as you felt your heartbeat thump not only in your chest, but also much further south, a mortifying clue to the dark truth you hoped he didn’t somehow notice. 

Gliding his palm up the length of your spine, it came to rest between your shoulder blades as he then drew you in closer and your gaze fell to the band strumming over his shoulder. 

“Does the thought of me playing with you at night turn you on?” he whispered in your ear and continued to gently sway you to the music, “because if you want me to wake you, all you have to do is ask. Though my attempts so far at rubbing your luck off on me have been rather eventful, I’m still sure it would be better if you gave me a bit of a hand…” 

Tilting your head back to blink up at him, you thought you were gonna spit him in the face for making such an accusation, till your stare acted of its own accord and fluttered down to fixate on his lips. 

It almost felt as if they were calling for you, begging you closer like a stubborn magnet. But before you could close the short distance that kept you two apart, Barton appeared in your periphery and tapped his boss on the shoulder. 

As he leaned in to whisper in his ear, you couldn’t pick up on the words over the music, though watched as Bucky’s face swiftly grew hard. 

“What’s going on?” you asked as the secretive message came to an end and the mobster’s wide hands faded from your frame. 

Ignoring your question, Bucky instead cast his glance over your head at one of the men behind you and ordered sternly, “Stark? Get her home, now.”

“What’s happening?” you tried again, though without success as Tony dragged you away and the remaining gathered to converse in hushed tones.

Perhaps it was because of the chaos of whatever was happening, perhaps just a simple mistake, but when you returned back to the manor, the shackle wasn’t reunited with your ankle. 

Not willing to let that gift slip through your fingers, you soon grasped that opportunity tight and made an attempt at your escape. 

Sneaking down the many hallways, you successfully hid from a handful of gruff-looking men before you realised you couldn’t remember the path to the garage or any other way out of the labyrinth of a building that kept you swallowed in the dark. 

However, your mission turned into a swiftly sinking ship as soon as you rounded the wrong corner and crossed the threshold of the last room you should have entered. 

In the centre of the space stood two chairs, both with individuals strapped to them, though only one of them was still alive. Before the seated pair and with his back turned to your frozen-up form, there stood Bucky. Returned from the party and with both his jacket and tie torn off, his sleeves were rolled up though still tainted in small crimson flecks of the deed he’d just done. 

“Come on, Vladimir…” Barnes uttered as he kneeled down in front of the battered man still breathing, neither he nor the other members in the room haven noticed you in the doorway, “just give me what I want and we can wrap this up.”

Wheezing painfully through his broken nose, the man met Bucky’s steely gaze before fulfilling his request, “…I’m sorry…”

“Hm?” he leaned in pettily, “what was that?”

“I’m sorry,” the tied-up man repeated with a laboured huff.

“Okay, getting there,” he nodded, “what are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry for killing Bruce…” the name rolled off Vladimir’s tongue like a crackle to a bonfire. 

“And?” Bucky fished. 

“For hurting you…” 

“See? That wasn’t so bad now,” Barnes straightened back up, “an apology, a life for the one you took from me, and now there’s just one last thing left to do, and then we’re even,” he then took one step back and conjured his gun. Aiming it at the Russian, barely a second passed before a shot deafened everyone’s ears and a bullet blasted through the tied-up man’s arm, mirroring the injuries Bucky himself had sustained. The loud blast and the bloodcurdling scream that tore from Vladimir, however, caught you so off guard that a shriek slipped from you as you flinched, revealing your presence as everybody’s eyes suddenly shifted to train on you. Glancing over his shoulder, Bucky grunted, “what are you doing out? What is she doing out?” he shot his glare in the direction of Steve off to the side, “Rogers? Get her back into bed.”

“Yes, boss,” his right-hand man swiftly nodded before catching up to you in two long steps and seizing your arm. 

And as you were dragged back to your doom, your eyes caught the tail end as Barnes let out a sigh and turned back around to face his victim, “now, where were we? Right! I believe the other one was right around here,” another gunshot echoed in the manor as he shot Vladimir’s arm once more, “and now, we can’t forget about the ones that only skimmed me, so get up and don’t fucking flinch, it’s on you if I hit your lung.”

The chain reunited with your ankle jingled as you twisted on the bed to cast your gaze out the window. Heavy rain hammered against the tall panes as the restless city twinkled through the darkness of the night. In the corner of the room, Steve watched up like a hawk as you continuously failed to find rest. 

But then, just as you thought you felt your heartbeat return to a normal rhythm, the double doors burst open and in paced Bucky. 

“Is she awake?” he huffed, though didn’t wait for an answer before he heatedly went on, “okay, great.”

As his rushed steps halted by the foot of your bed, the look in his eye caused your body to shudder.  

“Rogers?” he kept his cold stare glued on you as he uttered, “go wait outside.”

Though you silently pleaded with your eyes for the mobster to stay, it was no use as Steve swiftly shut the doors behind him. 

As the man before you then shifted, your wide eyes finally noticed the bundle of rope in his grasp as he began to unravel it. Scrambling back, you didn’t manage to crawl far away before Bucky caught the chain and yanked it hard enough to force your frame down towards him. Though your struggling finally fizzled out when the gangster pulled out his gun, the very gun he’d just ended a life with, and aimed it at your head to get you to comply. 

“You know,” he uttered gruffly like a pent-up bull, “I’ve been nice, I’ve been real well behaved, kept my manners intact, been a goddamn gentleman,” the heavy weapon in his hand tilted slightly to emphasise his words, “but evidently, that’s not what you need to learn your fucking place,” he fumed before letting out a low exhale, “that’s alright…”

“Bucky, please,” tears blurred your vision as you held up your palms, “I-I understand, I’m sorry, you don’t have to do this.” 

“Oh, but I do…” he sighed almost softly as he then kneeled down closer and let the tip of the cool barrel stroke your cheek, “…if you don’t break a horse, then she’ll never be tamed…” his eyes trailed after the line he drew before it flickered up to find your own, “now give me your hands,” he ordered and hesitantly, you shakily obeyed. 

Since you couldn’t stay in your place, he simply had to tie you down better. 

Unfurling the rope in his grasp, the mobster then fastened the cord around not only both of your wrists, but also your free ankle. After each of the tight knots were tied off, he yanked each appendage to the nearest corner of the bedframe, spreading your limbs till you looked like a starfish on the mattress. 

Taking a step back to admire his handiwork, his fingers then dipped down into his pocket before a slight furrow found his brow as his touch didn’t locate the item he fished for. Placing the heavy gun in his palm down on the fireplace mantel, he then closed the distance towards the exit and cracked open the door just a smidge. 

“Rogers?” he extended a hand through the sliver, “give me your knife,” to which a switchblade was swiftly placed in his palm, replacing his own which was still lodged deeply inside the corpse of the Russian in the other room. 

Slamming the door behind him, he then crossed the room and silently began to cut your clothes off. The black gown you still wore came off with only a few slices, though your underwear, that he took his time with, slowly grazing the blade over your goosebump-ridden flesh before nicking the cotton clinging tightly to your frame. 

Once you were bare before him, his feet shuffled back slightly as he let his stare soak up every millimetre of you. 

A hand floated up to tug on his tie and loosen it slightly from around the collar still dappled with the blood of his enemy. Folding closed the knife with a faint flourish, he then sank down into the armchair directly behind him. The tattered panties he’d sliced from you were still clutched tightly in his hand as his eyes stayed glued upon your frame. Bringing the fabric up to his nose, his blue eyes then fluttered closed for a second as he breathed deeply, letting the scent of you flood his senses. 

But as he stuffed the cotton down into his pocket and let his palm drift to somewhere else, your eyes grew even wider as you gasped, “what are you–”

“Just shut up, please,” he groaned, sounding like he was at his very last straw as he brashly began to rub himself through his pants, “just for one fucking second, don’t be a brat.”

Your jaw couldn’t help but hit the floor as he shamelessly pulled out his cock, letting the intimidating hardness spring free of its confines before he spit in his palm and enclosed his fist around the fat girth. You wanted to look away, you truly did, but you just couldn’t, a flaw he obviously noticed. 

“You’re unbelievable…” he chuckled as his fist silkily stroked up and down his cock, the mixture of his own spit and the precum beading at the tip caused a sloppy melody to fill the room at each and every twist, “I mean, me being into you, that’s one thing, that makes sense, you’re the closest thing to magic that I’ve ever experienced, so of course that’s enough to get me going, but you… you’re the very textbook definition of a good girl and here you are pining after–, how was it again you put it? A superstitious fuck?” 

Stunned at his accusation, you tried to tear your stare away, “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“Really? Well, I didn’t take you for a fool, but hey,” he tilted his head, “some folks are just that disconnected to their own feelings.”

Blinking back at him, you scoffed faintly, “you’re crazy, I’m not–…” but you couldn’t even say it out loud as you, deep down, knew that it was a lie. 

“Oh yeah?” he cocked a brow, finding your flustered state amusing, “then why did you almost kiss me tonight?”

“I–…I was drunk.” 

Letting out a dark chuckle, “alright, sure,” he then rose from his seat and crawled up on the bed with you before he buried his face between your parted thighs, “if you despise me so much, then why are you so fucking wet?” his hot breath fanned across your core. 

“I’m not–,” you tried, though your attempt then fell short as he proved you wrong, reaching out his touch to tickle at your lightly and let the wet sounds of your arousal slosh into your soul. 

“Hm?” the broad pad of his thumb gently brushed over your glistening petals, making them part for him, “if this isn’t because deep down you want me, then why? I’d love to hear you try and explain your way out of this one…”

“I-I–…” your eyes fluttered as you tried to fight the feeling, “I don’t…” 

Laughing lightly through the scoff that then bubbled out of him, he averted his gaze and said, “okay, fine. You wanna play that game?” his eyes flickered back up to find yours, “if you need a bit of help in order to admit the truth, then that’s what you’ll get,” he uttered before suddenly stuffing two of his fingers inside of you. 

Craning his neck, he tilted down to catch a taste. You tried to hold back your moans as his digits caressed you, but the softness of his velvety tongue came as such a shock that a little squeak managed to slip out past your lips. 

“I mean, if it’s any consolation,” his stubbly chin glimmered with your essence as he retracted slightly to smirk, “I personally think it’s kinda cute that you have a crush on me like a little schoolgirl…” 

He then sent his palm down upon your pussy in a wet smack, before repeating the action a couple of times to echo the jolt it shot through your body. 

“Fuck…” he groaned in a low rumble, “you are so much more pretty awake…” he revealed casually, “sure, you make some cute noises in your sleep, but not like this,” you instinctually tried to stifle the uncontrollable whimpers that flowed from your lungs, “you should really be thanking me for all of the time and effort I’ve put into stretching this little hole of yours out,” his fingers continued to pump in and out of you, “if I hadn’t, well then you might just split in two when I finally get my cock in there.” 

And as he leaned down to lap you up once more, you curled your toes as you felt him push you closer to the edge. 

“Mr Barnes…” you attempted with an air of respect through your pants, “please don’t–…”

“Why? Because it makes you want to kiss me again?” he teasingly taunted you before continuing his persistent licks, bullying your clit into submission. 

And as he kept going, even as you gasped, “stop–, a-ah!” he still kept his lips locked around your puffy pearl long after a gush of squirt wept around his fingers, keeping his efforts up till your hips were bucking back in sensitivity. 

But when his kiss finally ceased, he let some of your juices, that had flooded into his mouth, trickle out past his lips and back down onto your pussy, “fuck…” his low groan nearly caused the whole room to rumble, “nasty little cunt…” before he slapped your throbbing core once more, watching as the last little trickle weakly leaked out and soaked the sheets below. 

Lifting himself up to hover above your constricted form, you then squirmed as you felt him nudge the bulbous tip of him against you. 

“Does the idea of liking, or even loving, someone like me scare you that much?” he uttered as he gathered up your slick and smeared it with his cock, “does it make you feel all wrong and icky inside that I of all people make you feel the way that you do?” 

All of the air in your lungs was then suddenly knocked clean out as he, with one long stroke, slipped all the way inside, before pulling right back out to tap the weight of him against your poor clit with the hold he had at his base. 

“You won’t spontaneously combust if you admit it out loud, you know…”

He repeated the motion, plugging you up completely before he denied your cunt the chance of getting used to the stretch. 

“I just wanna hear you say it…”

And on the next time he filled you up to the brim, this time his hips didn’t retract.

Reeling as you fought to comprehend the manner his girth split you open, you gasped weakly, “I can’t…”

“Hmm…” his eyes above you narrowed slightly before he pointed out, “that’s not a no,” and he began to move, “finally getting somewhere…”

The gangster was in no way gentle as he started to fuck your pussy, the selfish force of it caused your body to jostle every time his heavy balls tapped against your slick skin, thereby conducting a lewd beat each time he slammed into you. 

Lowing himself to get even closer to you, his nose ghosted against your own from the proximity. The gesture made you assume that he was about to press his lips to yours, though they never touched, even as your own instincts overwhelmed you and made you dizzily tilt up to try and close the gap, “nah-ah-ah,” he swiftly clicked his tongue and moved out of your reach, “admit the truth and then I’ll kiss you all you want.”

With his length still embedded deep within you, he sat back up. His fingers dented your hips as he grabbed onto them and then began to sink them harshly down against his own, lifting your frame entirely off of the mattress as he used you like a toy. 

“Oh god…” you whimpered as your eyes fluttered down to notice the faint bulge that appeared in your lower abdomen, the thrusting imprint of his size visibly showing just how deep he buried himself inside of you. 

Once he’d plopped your hips back down onto the bed, his hands then instead floated up to play with your tits, the rhythm he offered you causing them to jiggle in his palms. Though once he’d fiercely pinched your nipples and parted ways in a brief tap, his fingers then drifted further down south till his right hand found your puffy clit. 

Casting his glance down as he rubbed your pearl, a smirk appeared on his lip as he spotted the way your cream coated his girth. Sweeping down to smear his touch against it, what he did next caught you so off guard that you jostled wildly in your binds in an attempt to hit him for his audacity.

“Ahh!” you yelped as he stuffed two of his fingers in your pussy alongside his already overwhelming girth, “Buck, no, it’s too much!” 

But your squeak only caused him to chuckle as he stared down at the way your little hole struggled to take what he gave it, clinging around him so tightly that loud groans began to billow from him as he soon painted your insides white and pumped you full of his cum. 

With heavy breaths, he withdrew his dick, though let his digits stay inside your warmth. 

“Maybe in time you could become more than just my good luck charm…” he murmured as he flopped down to curl closer to your core, “would you like that?” he nipped at one of your thighs as his load slowly began to leak around his thick fingers, “does the idea of me falling down to my knees before you and declaring my undying love entice you, angel?” 

“You’ll just have to do better,” he continued as his digits began to twist within you, “let me mould you and make you perfect for me,” another one of his fingers was stuffed inside of you, causing your eyes to flutter, “just let go,” he breathed, “shut off your brain and let it become a leaky mess just like your pussy already is for me,” he worked another digit into your creamy cunt before grazing the last one against your stretched out opening, “you don’t need to think, you just need to do exactly as I tell you to and everything will be okay,” his tone was soft as his thumb curled close to the others and sank into your pussy with a pop, “just break for me, it’s okay,” your body was shaking beneath him as his entire fist slowly twisted within you, “you’ll be so much more perfect ruined…”

Tears were streaming down your face as you unravelled once more, trembling violently as your pussy clamped down around his wide hand so tightly that it was forced all the way out, a drizzle of your nectar once again spraying out at the intensity. 

“Alright!” you let out a sob, “alright… I–… I don’t understand it… but, I–…” you caught his eye and confessed, “ever since the moment I met you, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you… even when I fall asleep, it’s like you’re haunting me in my dreams…” a faint shake found your head as you blinked up at him through your blurry vision, “I don’t wanna feel this way. But–… I do.”

It seemed as though time stood still as Bucky stared down at you, an unreadable expression tinting his features before he finally shifted, slowly leaning down over you and inching closer before he finally pressed his lips to your own.

A faint whimper was muffled against his kiss as you felt the world crumble around you. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it now…” he breathed as he ended the soft peck, “say it again,” his hand slid over your jaw, “practice makes perfect.”

Blinking up into his eyes, you uttered from the bottom of your heart, “I am yours,” a single tear rolled down your cheek as you still trembled beneath him. 

“Damn right you are…” his lips tilted into a smile. 

Fishing out the borrowed switchblade that still rested within the gangster’s pocket, he then sliced through the ropes and constricted you. 

Tangling your arms around his neck as you sat up, you captured his lips once again and felt his touch slide down under your ass before he scooped you into his lap. Your sore pussy wept against his cock, once again throbbing and hard as a rock against your core. As your tongue danced against his own, you couldn’t help but scramble even closer, pressing your body impossibly close to his own as you grinded down against him. 

“You are mine,” he groaned as he manhandled your frame in his hold and sank you back down onto his fat dick, “you are my most prized possession,” your bodies met in sticky claps as the aftermath of the rough round moments before still oozed all over this one where passion crackled behind both of your own desperate efforts, “I will never let you go,” he blinked up into your eyes as you rode him, both of you clinging to each other as the end crept ever nearer, “always need you–,” his sentence was briefly broken up by a moan as you rolled your hips, your pussy gripping around him and squeezing him tightly, “need you by my side…” 

Once your synced-up orgasms had both shuddered your senses and you were sharing each other’s breath, your eyes remained locked as his throbbing cock stayed buried deep within you.

“So, what now?” your chest rose and fell as you whispered into the night, the pitter-patter of rain splashing against your windows once again catching your attention as it swept over and mingled with your laboured pants of breath.  

Not shifting his gaze, his eyes briefly scanned your own in search of any ounce of deception, before his fingers dipped down into his pocket and conjured a tiny key, “now,” and he stretched down to undo the chain at your ankle. The click of the lock felt like a gasp of real air was finally filling your depraved lungs, “I take you to my room,” and he manoeuvred you around to slink one arm in behind your knees while the other stayed fast at your spine. As he rose from the bed, he plucked you up with him as well, carrying you in his hold as he exited the bedroom. 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[sarahscribbles]

𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐞𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟗𝟑𝟓

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐦𝐞! 𝐇𝐢! 𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞: 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢. 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤. 𝐁𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞.

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Loki is the first person you look for when you finally step off the Quinjet. You’re aching and so exhausted that your limbs feel leaden, but both things become so utterly insignificant compared to reuniting with the love of your life. 

It doesn’t take you long to find him - leaning back against the frosted glass doors that lead to the Landing Bay, he emits an air of complete indifference to the scene around him, but, unfortunately for him, you can read him better than your favourite book. It takes less than a minute to register the tense set of his jaw and the faint dark circles marring his pale skin, along with the way his arms are wrapped protectively around his torso. 

He’s barely holding it together. 

All around you, the landing pad is a happy buzz of relieved conversation as the team reunites - something each one of you feared might never happen when the Quinjet suddenly went off the radar for four days - but it isn’t time to add your own voice to the stories. Not yet. 

Right now, all that matters is comforting the man who looks like his world has fallen apart. 

It’s a feeling you’re all too familiar with. The mission had been five long weeks deep in Malaysia - five weeks of yearning for Loki in a way you didn’t know was possible. You ached for the feel of his body wrapped around yours as you slept, ached for his soothing embrace when you came down with some strange bug on the third day, ached for his gentle kiss when the fear of failure overwhelmed you. You had counted down the days until the mission was over, craving Loki in the way a drowning man craves air. 

Then the Quinjet had gone rogue on the return to New York, and your blood had turned to ice when faced with the very real possibility that you might never see Loki again. 

Blinking back tears you toss your bag carelessly to the ground, caring little as to whether you see the contents again, and weave your way easily across the landing pad to where Loki is still standing. His eyes never leave you and he gives little away, but when you finally reach him it’s impossible to miss the slight quiver of his lower lip. 

“Hey,” you say as casually as you can. “What was it you said before I left? Something about making sure the mission wasn’t boring without you?”

It’s a weak tease, bad enough that you even cringe a little, but it’s the best your exhausted brain can come up with. After four long days of fearing the very worst, you’re barely able to comprehend that the love of your life really is standing right in front of you - it’s not the cruel taunt of a tortured mind nor a delusional hallucination. Loki is right there gazing at you like you hung the moon, like you’re the answer to every prayer his lips have ever uttered. You can feel your heart start to thunder wildly in your chest, almost as though it recognises that it’s finally being reunited with its other half, and every last inch of you aches to gather him into your arms. 

But, before you can even move, Loki is already gathering you into his. “Beloved girl,” he murmurs, burying his face into your hair while curling a large hand around the back of your head. 

The scent of him wraps around you like a blanket - amber and ginger and the clean smell of his soap - and your body sags gratefully into his familiar touch. You’re home. You’re finally home. “I’m ok. I’m ok, love,” you say, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist and running a soothing hand along the length of his back, just as eager to comfort him. 

Loki’s answer is to hold you tighter, breaking your heart as he does. He’s lost so much already, more than most people would deem fair, and for four terrible days, he thought he had lost you too. You continue to stroke his back, both a reassurance and a comfort, giving him all the time he needs. His heart beats steadily against yours, coaxing you further into his embrace, and he responds with a firm press of his lips to your hair. 

“Do you have any idea what you put me through?” His deep voice rumbles in your ear. He means it as a tease, you know that - an attempt to mask the turmoil of the past few days, but the slight tremor in his voice betrays his fear. 

You pull back just enough to see his face and those beautiful green eyes that are shining with tears. “I told Tony to take a left,” you reply, giving him a tiny smile. The quirk of his lips tells you the panic is receding, but slowly. “I’m never going to leave you, Loki, not by choice. I promise,” you assure him, taking his face in your hands. 

He leans into your touch, eyes briefly fluttering closed when you stroke his cheeks. “Darling girl,” he says quietly, pulling you back against his chest. “I swear to you now, should I ever lose you again, I will look for you until the stars fall out of the sky. There is no crevice of the universe I will leave unturned until I find you again.”

He presses his lips firmly to the crown of your head - all warm and soft and sweet - and you say a silent prayer of thanks to whatever powers brought you back. 

Back to Loki.

Back home.

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[oneofreid]

a maternal wish (18+)

summary: in which she wants to be a mother and spencer reid is willing to make that wish come true.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: (NSFW) slow burn smut i promise it’s worth it, talks about pregnancy and possible infertility, slight spanking, explicit language, unprotected (p in v) sex, oral sex (m!receiving AND f!receiving), hints of breeding kink if you squint

a/n: i didn’t realize how long i made this. atp i just let my mind do the work while i type. is this cannon? no. will i still post it? yea. masterlist

When you were younger, you always knew you wanted to be a mother. The idea of bringing another life into this world and being able to call them ‘yours’ creating a warm and familiar feeling. One that set off your own maternal instinct. Yearning to love and protect a child of your own as you watched them grow into their own individual person. Teaching them everything that you know, telling them stories of your own childhood, creating countless memories that you can look back on, celebrating their highs and comforting them during their lows. But most of all, the one you craved the most, the bond you would have with your own mini me as you saw the love and magic through their eyes.

Not to mention the many compliments you have received whenever you babysat your nieces and nephews, their mothers telling you how much of an amazing mother you would make someday.

Someday.

That word echoed in your mind as you walked past the countless of mothers in New York. A pang of sadness and jealousy always striking you as you envied them. The happiness in their faces while they walked with their child whether it was one or two maybe even three or four. An ache in your chest grew as you wondered what it would be like to nurture a child. One that you could give the life that you never got to learn.

Everybody knew how badly you wanted to be a mother. Spending countless hours beaming about babies and all things surrounding pregnancy, your teammates — and best friends, JJ, Emily, and Penelope always being the ones first hand to experience this side of you.

Constantly having to drag you away from the baby sections in stores, or listen to you gush about how cute a baby was that you passed.

‘Look how cute and chubby their tiny hands are! I would give anything to squeeze them.’

They could never get enough of your constant daydreams as you talked about motherhood. Envisioning what your life would look like taking care of a mini you. Only praying that one day that dream of yours would come true.

It was a slow day at the BAU, all of you doing your own thing as you sprawled out on the couch. Your feet laying on JJ’s lap while Penelope was on the opposite end, dully scrolling through the channels on the TV in your breakroom. All of you sat in silence until a photo of your cousin with her newborn baby girl popped up on your phone. The familiar ache in your chest appeared as you showed all three of the girls.

“Look how tiny she is,” you exclaimed. Adoring how precious the bundle of joy looked in her tiny hat and little fists balled up. All of them joining you in gushing about how adorable the petite newborn was.

“I just want one so bad,” you sighed. Shutting off your phone as you pressed your eyes shut. The weight of your longing to have a child of your own was heavy on your mind.

“You could always get a sperm donor, you know? I know you said you hated the idea and wanted the baby to grow up with both parental figures. But maybe look more into it, your baby would have an amazing group of uncles and aunts to love and protect them,” JJ assured you, giving you a knowing smile that even if you did decide to raise a baby alone. You and the baby would have plenty of support from the BAU, and the few family members who stuck around once you left your hometown & past life behind.

“Not to mention, you would make the best mommy ever to her! Or him…they would have the best mommy ever. And oh my gosh, how could I forget, pregnancy would look absolutely stunning on you. Kissed by the pregnancy Gods with that glow,” Penelope gushed. JJ and Emily agreeing with her on the fact that a growing baby bump would suit you well.

“I don’t know guys…I’m about to turn 36 years old. My time to have a baby of my own is practically gone. I should just forget it and stay being the cool, rich, secret spy aunt.” You sighed, sitting up from your position on the couch to run a stressed hand through your hair.

“That’s not actually true,” all of you turned your attention towards the tall figure who stood in the doorway, “I mean yes, the number of eggs a woman has in her ovaries does decline as she ages. However, it’s not totally impossible to have a child at your age. 20% of woman usually end up having kids after the after of 35. Erramatti Mangayamma, a woman living in India, was 73 when she gave birth to her child through IVF.”

The four of you stared at Spencer Reid, for what felt like longer than a minute before you spoke up, “I’m just tired of waiting for the right person to have a kid with. That’s what’s holding me back,” you blinked away a few tears that threatened to spill out, “I want the perfect family. Two loving parents. One solid household. Something I never got myself,” you continued.

The room grew quiet again. Nobody knowing what exactly to say as everyone gave you a sympathetic look, JJ offering you gentle squeeze on your shoulder. Spencer awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to another as he began to ponder in his mind.

He wanted a baby too. He just wasn’t sure if he was the perfect fit, your ideal father figure for yours.

Emily jumped up. Her phone going off, “Sorry to interrupt guys but we’ve got a case. Hotch wants us in the briefing room now.”

Everyone standing up to leave. Just before you could follow the others, Spencer lightly grabbed your arm. Stopping you completely in your tracks. His warm eyes already filled with some form of hesitation.

“Hey, after we’re done. Let’s meet at my apartment, our usual time. Okay?,” he whispered. Making sure no one else around you could hear. His tone slightly different and his demeanor more on edge, nervous, than before.

“Of course, is everything alright?,” you questioned.

Spencer gulped, offering you a small smile. “Yea, yea everything is perfect. I just…I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Spence,” you smiled. Leaning forward to place a quick kiss on his temple before heading towards the briefing room. Leaving him alone with his thoughts as he followed slowly behind you.

His stomach suddenly tying itself together in knots as the idea of having a kid together, with you ran through his mind.

Spencer always wanted to have a child of his own. Although life had a different plan for him, he was always still open to the idea of one day settling down and starting a family with someone. As time passed by and he got older, just like you, the dream that he once had seemed to be fading away.

That was until he began exploring his relationship. Although you two kept it strictly sexual, friends with benefits at most, the idea of you two getting married and becoming something more always lingered in the back of his mind.

Yet, for some odd reason, neither of you ever had the courage to finally make that move. Afraid that you’d ruin what you already have seeing as you two both had complicated love life’s. So you just stuck to being co-workers that happened friends who liked to fuck sometimes. Okay, more like any chance you got.

Or as it was actually called, friends with benefits.

Fumbling with the material of your shirt, you found yourself at the foot of Spencer’s door later that night. The place you always found yourself at where you indulged in cheesy rom-coms, read your weekly novels together, learned a new recipe, or talked about different wide world phenomenons and conspiracy theories. A space where you were welcomed to let your wildest sexual fantasies come true as Spencer made love to you in endless ways.

Your heart began to race as you contemplated actually knocking or turning around to leave. A feeling in the pit of your stomach telling you that tonight would be different.

Not having any time to second guess and change your mind, Spencer’s door flew open. His brown eyes staring right at you, your body already growing hot and bothered at the thoughts of the countless positions he will put you in.

“Hey,” Spencer spoke, a grin already making its way onto his face.

Your heart fluttered even though you had just seen him a few hours prior when you had landed back from yesterday’s case, “Hey.”

“Uhm. Hey, Come on in,” he moved out of the way. Leaning against his door, extending an arm out in a gesture that said ‘this way please.’

You offered him a small smile as you walked past him, admiring his apartment. Still in the same condition it was when you had left it a couple days prior. Hearing the click of the door closing itself shut when a pair of strong arms wrapped their way around your waist, turning you around.

Spencer looked down at you, the same look he had given you earlier being written all over his face again.

“What’s wrong?,” you asked. Genuinely concerned that Spencer was having second thoughts about to tonight.

“Can we sit down? Talk for a second?”

Fuck. He doesn’t want to have sex with me anymore.

Did I say something that offended him?

Is he going to tell me that he just wants to be strictly friends now?

A lump grew in your throat as your mind began to race, the many questions and doubts that flooded your mind about what possibly Spencer needed to sit down to tell you. Allowing him to guide you to the brown leather sofa that sat in his living room. Sitting down beside him as you looked everywhere besides at him.

You took a deep breathe, picking at the skin of your nails before finding the courage to speak, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes. Uhm. Everything is already. I just…what I would really like is,” Spencer paused for a moment before blurting it out, “I want to have a baby with you.”

Your eyes widened. Your heart felt like it was going to fall out of your chest. The air suddenly being knocked from your lungs while your mouth got super dry.

“Spencer…,” you began.

“I’m serious. I want a baby with you. And I know, this is out of the blue. Our situation is nowhere ideal for the typical upbringing of a children. Hell, we’re not even in an official relationship yet,” Spencer rambled.

“Where is this even coming from, Spence?,” you asked. Unsure of what prompted him to even think of having a baby with you, you, of all people.

He sighed, “Back in the breakroom before we left for the case, I heard you talking to Garcia, JJ, and Emily about how badly you wanted kids. How you wanted your own to raise and love. Anytime that a baby is around you, you are always eager to hold them and your eyes light up.”

You nodded, listening intently to what he had to say as you followed along, “It got me thinking. We’re both in our late 30s. Our relationship is progressing and heading in the right direction. We both want the same thing. To have our own kid, raise them in a stable home with two loving parents. Something we both never had.”

“But what if this, I mean us, doesn’t work. Having and raising a kid isn’t something to take lightly, Spencer.” You pointed out, not knowing if he was actually serious about having a child with you. Or if he was just jumping at the opportunity.

“It’s not something to take lightly. However, I want this and more importantly, I want you. All of it. All of you. Our future. Raising our child or if willing, children, together and growing old. Drinking our coffee, reading our books, watching those horrible reality tv shows that you weirdly seem to love. I never thought I would see myself like that with anyone…,” he grabbed your hand, his warm eyes still completely locked and focused on you, “but I want this life with you.”

Before he could get in another word in, you pulled him up from the sofa. Closing the gap between you two, you crashed your lips onto his. The kiss so rushed yet passionate on both of your ends. You began to moan, melting into him as his large hands roamed your body.

Your own hands finding their way to tug at his hair, pulling him even close to you until there was no room for air. Tugging and gripping at his brown locks while moans left his lips, still hungrily kissing yours. Guiding you towards his bed as the back of your legs hit the soft mattress, sending you both on top.

The kiss you exchanged completely heated, both of you desperate to touch each other properly. Breaking apart from the kiss, Spencer looked down at you with lust-filled eyes. A softness clouding over them as his fingers grazed the collar of your shirt. His shirt. The metallica one that he had let you borrow the one morning you left his apartment after one of your ‘sleepovers.’

“Can I?” Spencer asked, delicately tugging at the loose fabric that covered you, his eyes searched yours for any uncertainty.

Grabbing his wrist delicately, you reassured him. “Spencer, I trust you.” Putting his mind at ease. Allowing him to pull your clothes off of you before he did the same. Pealing his clothing off until the two of you were completely bare. His eyes only growing more infatuated at the sight of you naked and ready for him on the layout of his bed.

Knowing this time would be different than the others you two have had sex.

Spencer slowly took his time to kiss every inch of your body. His lips making their way from your collar bone to the inside of your thigh, sucking on the skin to leave bruises. Marking you officially as his.

“About to make you feel so good, baby,” he mumbled.

“Spencer…I-Ohhh” you moaned, his fingers dipping slightly to graze you only to attach his lips to your folds. Head nuzzled between your soft thighs as he kneeled in front of you, your core pulsing at the sight of him devouring you like you were his last meal.

Watching him suck the bundle of nerves, the arousal in your heat pooling. The sight of him flicking his tongue while he swirled that silver tongue of his on your area driving you feral. Your hands gripping his hair while you pushed his head further, feeling your stomach tighten.

His moans vibrating against your cunt, sending you even further into your climax. Still violently flicking and licking your fingers with every swish of his delicious tongue. You panted heavily, the pace of his swirling and sucking quickly increasing until you came hard.

Humming in approval, Spencer looked up at you. His eyes clouded with hunger and lust while he licked his lips. Collecting the remnants of your cum before swiping his tongue on the inside of your thighs.

“Sweet, you taste like heaven, my love,” he praised. A smirk being sent your way while you eyed him, the bulge more than evident as his cock restrained against his boxers.

“Do you trust me?” You asked, eyes looking up at his brown ones. Still needing the reassurance that he was comfortable with you pleasing him. A boundary you two have respected since the day you first hooked up with each other.

Reid’s eyes softened again, still not used to someone caring for him that much during their most intimate times. A small smile on his face, he grabbed your hand before giving it a squeeze.

“I trust you.”

His eyes softening again, still not used to someone asking for his consent. A small smile on his face, he grabbed your hand before giving it a squeeze.

Giving him a quick kiss, you tugged his boxers down. Your eyes now leveled with his hardened length as his tip glared at you red and angry. Slowly pumping his cock, you ran your hands up and down his shaft. Feeling him tense under your touch, you began to work your mouth on his tip.

Swirling your tongue around his tip, collecting a few drops of pre-cum. Loving the taste of him on your tongue. Arousal soaking your folds again while you thought about him filling you, putting a baby, his baby inside of you.

“You’re so beautiful, Spence,” you cooed. Stroking his cock in your hand, slowly rubbing your hand up and down it. His tip red and aching due to how hard he was for you.

A blush crept on his cheeks at your compliment, muttering a small ‘thank you’ and ‘you’re so pretty’ before peppering kisses down to your collar bone.

Catching Spencer completely by surprise. You grabbed his length by the shaft, forcing it down your throat. Till his tip hit the back causing you to hold back a gag as you choked due to his size. Your saliva coating his cock as you began to hollow your cheeks in and out. Creating a sucking motion as you slid his cock up and down, Reid’s moans filling your ears sending you in a spiral. His fingers knotting through your hair to shove your head further down his cock.

“J-Just like that, honey,” he moaned. The pet name he has only ever used for you falling from his swollen lips.

His moans filled the silent room, continuing to fist your hair while he face fucked you. Tears running down your cheeks with every thrust of his cock hitting the back of your throat. Grabbing the back of his muscled thighs to get a better grip for stability.

“Fuck, you feel-“

In a swift motion, Spencer flipped you on your stomach with your ass on full display for him. Hearing the rustling of his sheets behind you, he climbed on the mattress. Grabbing his still achingly hard dick before running the tip teasingly up and down your wet folds.

A moan leaving your lips while you withered beneath his touch, growing desperate to feel him inside of you again.

“Use your words, baby. What do you want me to do you?” He nipped at the skin of your ears, sucking lightly.

“I….want you,” your breathe hitched as the tip of his cock filled your entrance, shutting your eyes tightly.

“What was that, sweetheart? I need your words. Where’s my please?” He halted, stilling his movements. Your core ached, begging for more of his cock to fill its velvet walls.

Little shit. You rolled your eyes, growing impatient by the second. Debating on just taking his dick into your own hands so that he would finally fuck you. His hands grasping your arse before smacking one cheek. Hard.

“Ohh. Fuck. Spencer, I want….I need you to fuck me. Please, pretty please baby. Fill me with all of your cum until it’s dripping out of me. Till I’m pregnant with your baby. Want to make you a daddy so bad-“

A strangled moan left your lips as Spencer finally thrusted into you, hard and fast. Leaving you no room to breathe while you struggled to catch your breathe. The wind knocked out of you as he continued to thrust into you from behind.

“Yes. Spence, baby, harder. I know you can fuck me harder,” you panted. Ready for him to completely stretch you to your limit.

Feeling completely feral as the bed rocked beneath you. Spencer’s movements harsh and rough, gaining more momentum with every thrust, railing into you from behind. His hand gently wrapped around your throat while he pounded into you underneath. The tip of his cock hitting your g-spot sending moan after moan to leave your body.

His grunts and lewd moans in your ear while he held you flushed against his chest, leaning your head to fall back onto his shoulder. Sweat dripping down both of your bodies as the room grew thick with heat and arousal.

“I can’t wait to fill you with my cum….Watch it drip outside of you. Having you wish that I could fuck you this good every single night while your pregnant with our child, right baby? Isn’t that what you want,” Spencer breathed, his own pants in your ear, moaning louder than you have ever done before.

Roughly pulling out his cock before flipping you over. Your back hitting the mattress while you lifted your legs up, wrapping them around his waist. His hand grabbing to support you up. Spencer thrusting back into you like he never pulled out, both of you keeping eye contact while tears threatened to spill from your eyes.

“Need to see you…you’re so beautiful, my love. Just look at you. Might have to put a ring on your finger too,” Spencer whispered in your ear. Moaning in your ear as your pussy clenched at his promising words.

The coil growing in your stomach as you peaked in your high. Thrust after thrust, Spencer added more momentum, quickening before finding another steady rhythm. An ache growing between your legs, a definite sign that you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.

Your nails dragging along his back only to pull him in for another kiss. Not having enough to taste of him, you moaned into his mouth. His thrusts never faltering as his cock twitched inside of you. Clenching your walls around his thick shaft, pushing him to release as hot spurts of his come filled you. Your own release mixing with his while he slowly thrusted inside of you. His lips still entangled with yours, nipping at your bottom lip while your tongues swirled. Tasting every bit of each other.

Breaking away from the kiss, Spencer brushed his thumb under your eye. A few tears had fallen from the intensity and roughness of his handling. Both of you silently knowing that you could handle it and that you trusted each other.

He slowly pulled out of you, massaging the inside of your thighs before placing a delicate kiss on them. Leaving to get a wet towel as he gently cleaned your folds. A hiss leaving at your soreness and the harsh sensitivity of your nerves.

“Sorry, angel, I know you hate this part,” Spencer apologized.

You always loved how attentive and loving he was after sex. He always took care of you even if you wanted to rush out, he still made sure that you were okay after being so vulnerable.

“You don’t have to apologize, Spence, I appreciate you taking care of me after this” You smiled, still feeling on cloud nine from the work of his cock and tongue on you.

“I’ll be taking care of you nonstop for nine months then a little mini version of us for a lifetime,” he joked.

Your heart fluttered, still in awe of the fact that someone would want to have a child with you. Let alone someone like Spencer Reid.

“Do you think I’ll make a great…dad?” Spencer stammered. The word, and his soon-to-be new name, still so foreign to him.

His hand nervously playing with yours while he let it silently dawn upon him that he was actually to be one.

“The best. Spence….you are not like your father, you will never be like him. You will make an amazing dad, a caring one who will give his child the best upbringing and life possible that is full of nothing but love.”

Spencers eyes welled up with tears. getting choked up by your words. Knowing that you truly mean them. Already picturing your bump, all the milestones you’d celebrate together, and the life you would soon bring into this world.

He always dreamt of being a father. And now, that dream was become true all because of you.

[amberlynnmurdock]

The First Time

Pairing: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x Reader

Genre: FLUFF, angst, SMUTTTT 18+!!!!

Summary: Dex and his neighbor become good friends, so much so she only trusts him to take her virginity.

Based off this anon message

Note: I'M SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT BUT HERE IT IS I HOPE YOU GUYS LOVE IT

She’s the purest thing he’s ever known, and she lives right down the hall from him. Dex liked to keep his space neat and tidy; it was never dirty or out of order. He never allowed anyone into his space. Dex valued his privacy and, even more so, his alone time, despite feeling the lows of such often. Everything was a routine he had to strictly follow: wake up, shower, get ready for work, work, come home, be alone.

She ended up fitting into his routine, somehow. Only someone as pure and kind as she could find her way into Dex’s space--and so easily, too. She had recently graduated from New York University with a degree in forensic science and was living alone for the first time. 

He’ll never forget when she started talking to him in the elevator, one rainy evening.  

“What floor?” He asked her.

“6,” she replied. It was the same as his. Dex clicked the elevator button. 

“You work for the FBI?” She couldn’t help but notice the large letters on the sleeve of his navy blue jacket. Dex typically took it off before going out in public, but that day’s mission had exhausted him so much, he forgot to. 

“Yes,” Dex answered and shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t used to friendly conversation with strangers. It was natural for him to have his guard up. 

“That’s cool,” she sighed. “I just graduated from NYU last year. I got a job at the 15th Precinct in their forensics department, but working for the FBI is a dream of mine. Do you like it?”

“It’s tough,” Dex said. “It pays the bills.”

The elevator dinged. If he weren’t on the same floor as her, he’d be happy. He let her exit the elevator first and trailed slowly behind her. She waited for him so they could walk in tandem. He sighed, realizing he had no escape. 

“Do you mind if I come by sometime and ask you questions about your job? I’m new to the area—new to living here, and I’d like to know that I have a personal FBI agent to call a neighbor and—friend,” she smiled at him. Dex squinted his eyes slightly, amused by her outgoing personality and interest in his job. He wasn’t particularly a fan of being put on the spot like this, but seeing the way she looked so hopeful at him—who was he to say no? 

“Sure.”

And that’s how she ended up sitting across from him at his kitchen table, notebook on her right side, a cup of decaf coffee on her left. It had been like this for a year now—like clockwork, she was at his door at 11 PM, sometimes even later (depending on when he came home from work) to talk about his day and ask questions about anything related to his job. Dex grew to look forward to these late-night conversations with her—it was oddly reminiscent of his meetings with Dr. Mercer. 

Now, he knew these weren’t therapy sessions, and if anything, he was the one giving her advice and information, but it was comforting to talk to her about his day. He found comfort in explaining his job duties and answering any curiosities she had. She was kind, probably the kindest thing in his life right now, and he needed that. He found it harder to sleep if she didn’t come by and spend an hour with him talking about his job.

“Wow,” she breathed. “So when you guys detain whoever you need to, how soon does forensics show up to the scene?”

“They’re already on their way before we even lock the handcuffs,” Dex said. He watched as she scribbled something in her notebook. He only recently noticed how attracted he was to her—he only ever saw her at night, and she was always, more often than not, in her pajamas. He started to take notice of her rotation. Last week, she had light pink polka dot ones on. Tonight, she’s in a plain light blue set. Next was probably her black silk ones. It was always in her natural state that he saw her. No makeup, disheveled hair. Friendly smile. Curious and his favorite part, attentive, eyes. 

He rarely ever saw her during the day. He was up at the crack of dawn going to the headquarters, and she was always in three hours later. She always came home before him, and when she’d hear Dex’s familiar knock on her door, she knew he was ready for their nightly catch-up. 

Neighbors catching up…friends, like she said one time. That’s what they were, Dex supposed. 

He didn’t think of this as an almost every night thing. After the first few nights, he let her into his apartment, Dex thought it was a done deal. On the fifth night, just as he was about to get in bed, he heard a knock at his door. 

“I brought ice cream,” she was holding two tubs of Ben and Jerry’s in her hands, and squeezing her notebook under her arm. “Mint chocolate cookie or strawberry cheesecake.” 

Dex grabbed the mint chocolate cookie from her grasp and let her inside with a tired smile. 

He had also grown a bit protective over her as her neighbor. 

He remembered one time he got home from work at 10:30 PM—earlier than usual. He knocked on her door three times—it was his signal that he was ready and home—but there was no answer on the other side of the door. Dex pressed his ear against it and listened for any movement or sound. Nothing. He checked his watch and saw it was nearly 11:00 PM. It wasn’t like her to not be home already.

He pulled out his phone and called her. It immediately went to voicemail. 

Dex clicked his phone off and rested it on his lips. The increasing heaviness in his chest was something he only felt when he was on missions—he was anxious. Is she okay? 

Something inside of him locked, or maybe, unlocked at the thought of her never coming home. The thought of her never sitting across from him at his kitchen table ever again. It unlocked a feeling he kept hidden away as best as he could, despite it being the most constant thing in his life. Feeling abandoned—left behind. Alone. 

For the first time in his life, Dex didn’t want to be alone.  

Dex was too numb to go back into his apartment. He pressed his back against the wall of the hallway and slid down to sit on the floor. He decided he would wait there until she came home. 

After an hour of staring into nothing, but mentally replaying all the times he’s had someone leave him, the elevator doors dinged. Dex was too tired to look at who it was, too afraid of disappointment if it wasn’t her. He kept his eyes forward. 

“Dex?” She started walking faster towards him. “Are you okay?” Dex whipped his head up and immediately stood up on his feet. 

“Yeah,” Dex nodded, his voice feeling thick and dry. “I was—worried. About you. Your phone…”

“It died,” she explained. “And I forgot my charger. I ended up staying late to finish up some work. You waited for me here?” She asked with a hint of a smile on her face.

“Yeah,” Dex nodded, meeting her eyes finally. She still looked as wide awake as ever, full of energy and positivity he wished he could emulate. Something compelled him to wrap his arms around her and bring her close in an embrace—so he did. He sighed in relief. “Don’t forget your charger again,” he said in her hair. 

“I won’t,” she pulled back, suddenly catching on to the seriousness of his tone. “Rough day? Is it too late to talk in your apartment?”

“Not if it’s too late for you.”

It was strange, the effect she had on him. It only grew more intense after each night together. Dex watched her carefully now, across from his table. He couldn’t remember the lat time he let someone get close to him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had allowed himself to connect with someone since Dr. Mercer passed away. It was the first time he possibly found a new North Star. He hoped this one wouldn’t go out. 

She brought a warmth to his apartment that it was lacking before. He never spent time at the kitchen table unless it was the morning and he was having his coffee before work. He never thought he’d spend most of his nights here, with her, talking about his day and duties as an FBI agent. She was part of his routine now. And if there’s anything about Dex, it’s that he doesn’t like when his routine is disrupted. 

“Can I ask you something we haven’t talked about before?” She looked up from her notebook and placed her pen down on the table. Dex shrugged his shoulders. There wasn’t much he wouldn’ttell her at this point.

“Anything,” he said.

“Have you ever had to kill someone?” 

It took a lot to catch Dex off guard. But this was a question he wasn’t expecting to be asked so blatantly. 

“In the line of duty, obviously,” she followed up quickly, responding to his reaction. 

Dex held her gaze—he didn’t want his answer to drive her away. In case it did, he wanted to memorize the way she was looking at him right now. The hopeful curiosity. The kindness without judgement in her eyes. He broke eye contact and sighed. 

“Yes,” Dex said, rearranging the napkin holder in front of him. 

“Because you had no choice?”

“Yes,” he lied. 

She shook her head. Not in disapproval, but in disbelief. “I can’t imagine that. Do you—do you remember the first time you had to?”

Dex does remember his first time killing someone. But it wasn’t in the line of duty as an FBI agent. It wasn’t even when he served time in the army. 

It was when he was a child and had dreams of becoming a baseball star. The memory flashed in Dex’s mind as quickly as the baseball ricocheted off the fence and hit Coach NAME in the head. 

“I do,” Dex said. “It was a cartel member. We had the group where we wanted them, but one guy wouldn’t give up the fight. He grabbed for a weapon to shoot at my partner—Nadeem—but I got to him before he could do anything more.”

“And by got to him, you mean…”

“Mmhm,” Dex hummed. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I know it’s not easy work. I know these things have to happen. But I wonder, are you okay? Knowing that that happened? And what you had to do?”

“I’m okay,” Dex said, and he wasn’t sure if it was a lie or not. “It was either him or Nadeem. They train you to think fast in those situations. You can’t waste time.”

“I’m really glad I chose the science side of it all.” She leaned back in his chair, and he liked how she made it look so casual. He wanted to mirror her but didn’t. “I don’t know if I could handle it like you do.”

“We make the mess,” Dex said, leaning forward. “Your side cleans it up.”

“That’s an interesting way to put it,” she replied. “Accurate.”

Dex sipped his coffee. “Anything else you’d like to know, Ms. Forensics?”

She smiled at the nickname. “I guess… out of personal curiosity… what did it feel like? Taking a life like that? Even if the guy was bad.”

Dex twisted the mug in his hands. Truthfully, it made no difference to him. But what would she want to hear?

“It’s hard,” Dex said. “Really hard. But these situations aren’t black and white. We have a job to do. We have to protect people. Protect our own. That’s what matters at the end of the day.”

“I see,” she said, nodding her head. “Do you have counselors at work you can talk to?”

“We have to undergo a psych-eval every once in a while.”

“That’s good,” she pressed her lips together. “Well, if the counselors aren’t always there for you, just know that I am, Dex.”

And there it was—that sweetness he had become so accustomed to. He couldn’t imagine his nights without it now. Dex smiled a little and focused his gaze on the table. 

“It’s late,” she said after a few moments of silence. “I think I’ve run you dry for tonight. Got any plans this weekend?” She asked him this all the time, and Dex always had the same answer for her.

“No,” he said. “Catching up on sleep, maybe.”

“Me too,” she began to close her notebook and collect her pens, to Dex’s disappointment. 

“You can come by tomorrow night,” Dex said with hope in his voice. “If you’re not busy and you feel like talking.”

She smiled a little and nodded her head. “I’d like that. Maybe instead of me asking about work, we can just hang?”

Dex took her empty coffee mug and wiped a coffee stain with the pad of his thumb. Her question echoed in his head. 

“I’d like that,” he answered, meeting her tired eyes. “Maybe I can ask about your life and work for once.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t be getting much,” she laughed, and Dex hoped she was kidding. “But I’ll do my best to highlight the interesting parts.” She began her walk to his door, notebook in her hand. Dex unlocked it from behind her, gently brushing his arm against hers by mistake. He took a step back to give her space.

“Good night, Dex,” she whispered. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

“Good night,” he softly said back. He watched her as she walked halfway down the hall to her apartment. He always waited until she was inside and locked the door before going back and retreating to his bedroom. When she was, he closed his door and locked it. He was alone again. 

◎◎◎

Dex wasn’t worried about having her over until the reality finally settled in and he realized that she would be coming over in a different context than usual. He couldn’t remember the last time he hosted something for someone and had food ready—this was possibly his first time ever. When he came home, early for a Friday night, he checked his fridge to see if he had any snacks and felt silly for it—of course, he had nothing, except a carton of milk and some eggs. 

He went back out to the corner store and paused in the middle of the aisle. What did she like to eat? He only remembered the time she brought ice cream to his place. He went to the freezer and grabbed the same flavors of Ben and Jerry’s she had once brought: mint chocolate cookie and strawberry cheesecake. Dex balanced the two cartons in his hands and went through the chips aisle. He wasn’t sure what to get, and the options were overwhelming. He settled on a jar of salsa, French onion and guacamole—that way, she’d have more than one option. He also grabbed two kinds of chips: salted and hint of lime. He also threw in a container of chocolate chip cookies. 

After leaving the store, he realized that she may be interested in drinking something. He wasn’t a drinker at all—alcohol didn’t mix well with his medication—so he didn’t have a clue of what she may like. Wine? Beer? He found himself inside the liquor store, even more overwhelmed by the options. When was the last time he was in a place like this?

He grabbed one bottle of red wine (Pinot Noir), one bottle of white wine (Sauvignon Blanc), and one bottle of rose for good measure. At the counter, he saw a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels and grabbed it. 

Dex had his hands full on his way back to his apartment. He’d never had this much food in his house—the bags practically filled his counter. He laid every snack out but paused midway—they wouldn’t be sitting at his kitchen table. Maybe on the couch? Dex began to move all the snacks to the coffee table. He placed each dip in a bowl and had two more bowls filled with each type of chip he bought. He left the ice cream in the freezer. He put the chocolate-covered pretzels in a smaller bowl. 

Then, he put each bottle of wine on the counter so that when she first walked in, she could choose. Dex finally sat down on his couch and checked the time. It was almost 10 PM. She should be home soon.

◎◎◎

His apartment felt cold and dark until she finally graced it with her presence. She was in her black silk pajamas, as Dex correctly predicted was next in her rotation. When she first walked inside Dex’s apartment and saw the line up of wine and snacks, she couldn’t help but smile at how endearing it all was, especially the hopeful look on Dex’s face as he watched her take it all in. 

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” Dex said, scratching his neck. “So I got a bit of everything.”

“It’s okay,” she looked at him, this well-trained and tough FBI agent who looked like he spent the last hour stressing over salted or hint of lime chips and ended up getting both. “It’s perfect. It’s exactly what I wanted.”

Dex sighed in relief. “I also got different wines you can choose from.”

She looked at each bottle. She was naturally inclined to reach for the red. But she wanted to make sure Dex had a say in the matter, too. “Which do you prefer?” She asked him.

He shook his head. “Oh, I don’t drink. I got that for you. All of it’s for you.”

“Well, if you’re not drinking, then I’m not either,” she said smiling. “I do want to dig into those chocolate-covered pretzels, though.”

“They’re for you,” Dex said.

She walked over to his couch, but Dex stayed standing by his kitchen table. He didn’t take a moment before to take in how different his apartment looked whenever she was in it. Before, everything looked as tidy as it needed to be: empty coffee table, couch lacking warmth, unused empty bowls. But she graced his apartment with her presence by making it feel comfortable. A couch is meant to be sat on, a coffee table meant to have snacks, and bowls meant to have food—just for her. He’s never seen his place so lively and it’s all because of her. 

It was like watching a science experiment in real time. The cause and effect. The hypothesis and results. Except, he felt in the thick of the experiment and the results could be a wild card. He was just happy to witness it happening. How she was so good at making it all feel so comfortable. He liked having her around. Dex wanted her to stay a while. 

“Well don’t be shy, Dex,” she patted the seat next to her on his couch. “Come stay a while.”

Dex laughed and made his way to his couch. He felt like a stranger in his own house. How should he delicately handle this new context of hanging out? He was used to her having a notebook and her doing the talking. He felt the pressure and was afraid he wouldn’t live up to expectations. 

He sat down next to her—not too close. A comfortable distance. He reached for a salted chip and dipped in the guacamole first. During training, they taught agents to start conversations with witnesses or suspects casually. He felt he could apply those tactics here, with her. 

“So,” Dex began, chewing his chip of guacamole, “first thing’s first. How was your day at work?”

Dex didn't know he had it in him, to curate and carry a conversation as long as he did with her. He asked her things about her life he didn’t know before—how she got into forensic science, where she’s from, who she used to be. She’s only 22—she’s got her whole life ahead of her, and she’s only getting started. 

When she revealed her age, Dex was slightly taken aback. The thought never crossed his mind but now that he knew she was a bit younger than him, he felt that sense of protection he had over her grow in size. All those times she had come home late, he never knew she was vulnerable like that. Maybe it was wrong to think that way… she’s independent and lives on her own. She can take care of herself. But it doesn’t have to be that way. 

Still, he had to know something. 

“My age… you’re not uncomfortable?” Dex asked in a small voice, avoiding eye contact. 

“No,” she shook her head. “Not unless you are.”

“I’m not,” Dex answered quickly. “It never crossed my mind to ask how old you were. I didn’t think there was that much of a difference.”

“Seven years is nothing,” she shrugged. Most of my coworkers are that or even more.” 

“I just want you to be comfortable,” Dex admitted. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to be here.”

“I want to be here,” she said. “I like talking to you. You’ve told me a lot about the FBI. That’s not the only reason I like talking to you, though.”

“Why’s that?” Dex couldn’t help but ask. 

“You’re nice to me,” she simply stated. “I got lucky that you’re my neighbor. I feel safe.”

“Even though you know my line of work isn’t always sunshine and daises—even though you know what I’ve done,” Dex said in a low voice, “You still feel safe?”

“You’ve given me no reason to think otherwise,” she said softly. “You’ve shown me one side of you. I’m shocked you haven’t figured out I’m trying to get to know all of you, Dex.” 

Dex held her gaze and felt something blooming slowly in his chest. “What else do you want to know?”

“We can save it for another time. You asked me here tonight because you wanted to get to know me,” she nudged his shoulder with hers, the first physical touch they’d shared all evening. 

“That’s right,” Dex said with a small nod. 

“Your turn,” She said with a welcoming smile. Dex took a deep breath. Truthfully, he felt the basic questions had run dry. He knew all there was to know about her on the surface: how she got into forensic science, where she studied, where she’s from, where she works. When he was serving time in the army, the comrades he was with often sat in circles in their tents and started playing games like Never Have I Ever or Would You Rather? He didn’t want to play those games with her now, but he wanted to get to know her on a deeper level. Those games typically made people reveal things about themselves. If she felt so safe around him, Dex didn’t see any harm in asking more personal questions. 

“Do you remember what your prom was like?” Dex asked with a sideways smile. 

“My prom?” Her eyes lit up at the question to Dex’s relief. He nodded. “Oh my, gosh, well, yes. It was such a weird time for me. I actually didn’t have a date my junior year, but senior year I did. I was the worst prom date.”

Dex smiled, trying to live vicariously through her experiences. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“It’s true. I had a crush on someone else so by the end, I ditched my prom date and went to a different party. But I had so much fun with my friends. I miss the freedom of being that young,” she smiled. “Good music, free food. Sneaking alcohol at the after party. What about you?”

Dex looked away from her and shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t go to prom. I didn’t technically have a prom.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. The institution Dex grew up in threw a makeshift prom for the seniors, but it didn’t have good music. It had free food that came from the cafeteria they ate at every day already. And absolutely no alcohol by any means. And Dex didn’t have a date. “I remember sneaking out to leave early and head back to my room.” 

“Room?” She questioned.

“I grew up in a Boys’ Home,” Dex lied again. “They invited other homes for orphans but it was awkward. No one really knew anyone. I swore off events like that after that.”

“When’s the last time you went to an event?”

“Probably then.”

“Dex,” she said his name, “we’ll have to find an event for us to go to and change that.” Dex smiled. He’d only consider it for her.

“What color was your dress?” He asked her. 

“White,” she said. “With a bunch of sparkles. My friends gave me shit about it, saying white was for weddings, but I didn’t care. I loved my dress. It was an off-shoulder dress. I felt like a princess.”

Dex tried to imagine it in his mind. White—fitting for her. 

“I’m sure you looked like one, too,” Dex said quietly. “Have you ever traveled outside the city?”

“Of course,” she smiled again. “I’ve been for Orlando, Boston… the entire east coast, pretty much. Outside, I’ve been to London.”

“London,” Dex said impressed. “Did you like it?”

“I did but, it’s got nothing on New York. Where have you traveled?”

“I’ve only ever traveled for the army,” Dex answered. “Nowhere exciting. And definitely not for vacation.”

“We’ll use up your PTO days soon,” she nudged his knee with hers. Dex liked the hopefulness in her tone—the idea of what she was saying coming to fruition one day. And he liked that she said we. 

“Do you remember your first heartbreak?” Dex asked her. 

“Oh, Dex,” she sighed. “Who doesn’t? It happened recently in college. About around the time I was a freshman. Of course, I fell for a guy who was older than me. He had me in the palm of his hand for an entire year… until he graduated and dumped me like that. I was so head over heels for him, but it taught me a great lesson. Never put your life on hold for someone else.”

“That’s true,” Dex said. “I’m sorry he did that to you. That must’ve been hard.”

“It’s okay,” she shrugged. “I hardly think about it now, unless someone asks me. Do you remember yours?”

“Yeah,” Dex replied. “Like you said, who doesn’t?” 

“What was it?”

“It’s not a typical heartbreak.”

“It’s all the same feeling.”

“I guess it would be when my parents died,” Dex said, meeting her eyes. “And then I was put in that home when I was a kid.”

“Dex, I’m sorry,” she whispered, scooting closer to Dex on the couch. His right leg was now resting against her left leg. She put her arm around his back and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Dex whispered back. “It was a long time ago. It made me capable of being on my own at an early age.”

“Do you have other family?” She asked, pulling back to look at him. 

“No,” he shook his head. “It’s just me.”

“Well,” she said instantly, “now you’ve got me.” 

Dex wanted to tell her that she couldn’t say things like that to him unless she really meant it. But he didn’t want to get serious about it all—didn’t want to ruin the moment. 

“Do you remember your first kiss?” She asked him in a lighter voice. Dex laughed. 

“Yes,” he nodded. “I had no idea what I was doing. It was awkward. And wet. You?”

She laughed against him. “I had a similar experience. It was so strange at first. I honestly hated it. I felt too young to kiss like that.”

“Yeah,” Dex nodded, trailing off, thinking of another question to ask her. He opened his mouth to say something, wondering if it may be too far, or treading a thin line of what boundaries they already had. Her leg was still pressed against his, but her hands were to herself now. “Do you remember… your first time?” He asked her.

Silence at first. So much silence that Dex had to look at her to make sure she was okay. Her eyes were focused in front of her, avoiding his. He’s never seen her like this—quiet, unsure. Dex wanted to rescind the question immediately and apologize for overstepping a boundary. But then, she gave him a small, ironic smile. 

“No,” she answered, shaking her head. Dex thought of every possibility in his head that could make her not remember something like that—having sex for the first time—and each possibility raised concern in him until she finished her answer. “I haven’t had my first time yet.”

It was Dex’s turn to go silent. He looked at her expression—she was trying her hardest to keep an indifferent look, but Dex sensed a tinge of embarrassment from her, and even sadness. He wasn’t sure what surprised him more: that she was a virgin or that she was capable of emitting an emotion he knew all too well. He wanted to kick himself for triggering that emotion out of her. 

“I’m sorry,” Dex squinted his eyes, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “You’re not judging me, are you?”

Dex looked at her in disbelief. How could he judge a girl like her? Dex has killed people before—not in the line of duty. He’s used lethal force; he’s been abandoned. And she thinks that he would judge her over not having ever had sex? Dex felt hollow in his heart for a moment—that she thought for even a second he would ever judge her for something like that. She, who is so kind and sweet—pure—someone Dex is positive he isn’t worthy of having so close to him. She scares him in a lot of ways because of that. But somehow he’s earned her trust. No, there’s no world where Benjamin Poindexter judges her. 

“Never,” he breathed out, moving so he was facing her. “I could never judge you for something like that. There’s no shame in it.”

“Sometimes I feel that way, that I haven’t experienced something so intimate before,” she said behind a sad smile. In a lot of ways, Dex hasn’t experienced something so intimate before either. Yes, he’s had sex—but the sex he’s had with partners never felt intimate. It just felt like sex. Soulless, empty, physical. He always felt emptier inside after. 

“It’s okay,” Dex comforted her. “It’s not always intimate.”

“It’s not?” She asked him, furrowing her brows. “I don’t know. It seems intimate to me.”

“It is,” Dex nodded, “it can be. But it has to be with the right person. Otherwise, it’s just an act.”

“I don’t want it to be that way,” she admitted, breaking eye contact. “Just an act. I can’t—I’m too sensitive to just do it. It has to mean something. I think that’s why I’ve waited so long. Not because of religious reasons. I’m not waiting for marriage. I just want my first time to be intimate. I want my first time to mean something. I want it to be real. I’ve heard so many stories from my friends saying guys just leave them after they get what they want. I’m not strong enough for that.” 

“I understand,” Dex said softly. “I get it. But please know I could never judge you for that. If you don’t judge me for not being pure.”

“Pure,” she laughed, “is that what you think I am now that you know that?”

“No,” Dex shook his head. “I knew you were pure from the moment I met you. I didn’t need to know anything else about you to know that.”

“Why do you say that?” She asked.

“Because,” Dex struggled to find the words. He looked at his hands, her knees, her curious expression. “You talked to me so easily that first night in the elevator. So open. I’m not—I’m not used to that. You were kind. I could tell you were a good person. I—I need that in my life, __,” he said, almost pleading like she was halfway out the door when she was still sitting on the couch next to him. 

“I didn’t know you felt that way about me,” she whispered. 

“I let you come over every night to talk about my job because you wanted to,” Dex began to say, “but I also let it keep happening because it has kept me sane. Talking to you. Being with you…” he broke eye contact again. “You tell me I make you feel safe,” Dex spoke again. “You make me feel that way, too.” But when Dex says that she makes him feel safe, he doesn’t mean safe from the other people in the building or even New York City. She makes him feel safe from himself. 

“I’d never want to do something to make you go away,” Dex continued. “I want you around,” he whispered. “I want you to stay.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she shook her head. She placed her hand on Dex’s knee. Dex slowly brought his hand to cover hers. This was the first direct contact they’d ever had—holding hands. Dex looked at the image—studied how his hand fit perfectly on top of hers. He twisted his fingers so they intertwined. Without thinking, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. She let him. He kissed her knuckles again, then the back of her and, then her wrist, and soon Dex was peppering kisses all the way up the length of her arm, pushing her sleeve up. 

“Dex…”

He rolled her sleeve down and held her hand again, waiting for her directive. When she gave no protest, Dex moved her hair behind her and kissed her neck. She gently pushed his chest away from her, but only to look at him. His eyes were dark, full of intensity. She leaned in and closed the space between them, kissing Dex and Dex kissing her back. The moment their lips touched, they both knew it was long overdue. Dex placed his hands on her waist while she held him on his shoulders. His tongue made his way into her mouth and she welcomed it gladly. Dex squeezed her gently and pulled back, resting his forehead on hers, out of breath.

“When’s the last time you’ve had a kiss like that?” She asked. Both of them had soft laughs escape their lips.

“I think that was my first time,” Dex admitted against her lips, “my first time wanting to kiss someone like that.”

“I guess there’s a first time for everything,” she smiled. 

Dex kissed her again, gently pressing her to lay down on his couch. She did so she was laying on her back, with Dex leaning over her. She pushed his chest away again, indicating she wanted to speak.

“Dex, I want you to be my first time,” she said.

“What?”

“I want you to take my virginity,” she told him. Dex pulled back completely now. He had to sit with what she was asking him. She leaned up again in concern. “I want it to be with you.”

“__,” he said her name, rubbing his eyes closed. As much as he wanted that, Dex wasn’t sure he was worthy. He wasn’t worthy to be in your presence alone—but to take that from you, the very thing that could change everything—he wasn’t sure he was worthy of that either. You were so good and so pure—to give him that responsibility is to give him the power to potentially ruin that. He couldn’t stand the thought of ruining something else that was so good in his life. 

But if it wasn’t going to be him, it was going to be someone else. And the thought of someone else doing this to her—ruining her purity—cut him to the bone. As quickly as his attachment grew in his chest, jealousy did too, at the thought of someone else doing it to her. 

Selfishly, he wants to be the one to taint her. Unselfishly, he doesn’t want to ruin what she is. 

“You don’t want me,” she shook her head and bit her lip, avoiding eye contact.

“That’s not true,” Dex said. “I do want you.”

“Then why aren’t you saying yes? Why aren't you taking me right now?” 

“Because like you said before,” Dex whispered, taking her hands again. “You want it to be special. You want it to mean something. Rushing into it on a spur of the moment thing won’t make it what it should be.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and Dex had never seen her so emotional. It made his heart hammer in his chest. He shifted so he sat closer to her. He kissed her forehead. 

“I want you,” he reassured her. “But not right now. You should sleep on it. Really think if you want it to be me. I’d hate to ruin a perfect night by us jumping into it right away.”

She avoided looking at him, but deep down, she knew he was right. 

“Okay,” she whispered. “I will.” 

He kept looking at her until the look of worry faded from her face. All that was left was exhaustion in the form of half-closed eyes and soft breathing. Dex nudged her with his knee. 

“What do you say we call it for tonight?” Dex asked. “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, “I should go.” 

Dex walked her to her door. As she unlocked it, she turned around to say goodnight again, and as if on cue, Dex twisted her into his arms and gently pushed her against the wall of the hallway, kissing her deeply. He locked her there, between his arms, a leg separating hers. She placed her hands on his chest to steady herself. When he pulled back, he looked away, as if the mere sight of her would make him come completely undone. 

Silence followed her into her apartment. Dex retreated back to his, and while she was no longer gracing it with her presence—he felt her everywhere. 

◎◎◎

Dex sat at his kitchen counter. His mind was too clouded by his thoughts to focus on anything—his thoughts that were consumed by her. He didn’t realize that by giving her a choice in thinking about what they talked about, he was at the mercy of that decision. 

If she ended up not wanting it to be with him, how would that change their relationship? Would she stop coming over? Worse—would she never speak to him again? Dex could’ve easily given her what she wanted in that moment, but at the same time, he didn’t want to ruin what they already had. What had easily landed in his lap without him having to do anything. 

On the other hand, if she did still want it to be with him… well, where do they go from there? Not to mention that he would be the one to take that purity away from her—and not in the sense of virginity. But in the sense that someone like him, someone who has killed and is capable of doing much worse, gets to be inside her for the first time. He didn’t feel worthy to be in her presence like that, to be the one to alter her experience with intimacy forever. If she still wanted it to be with him, he would make sure it was special and intimate like she wanted it to be. 

But he’s afraid that if this happens, he’ll never be able to let her go. It sounds wrong, but he would feel a sort of possession over her. He was protective over her already; after this, he would be downright territorial. His past lovers have all been with people before him…she would be the first he’d ever be with who hadn’t been touched before.

Touched. Dex felt a cramp in his hands thinking about touching her for the first time. He’d want to map her entire body out; take in how beautiful she looks completely naked. He’d be the first to see her like that. He hoped he’d be the last. 

There was a knock at his door.

Dex paused before getting up. It could all change in this next moment. He wasn’t sure which he was hoping more for. He took a deep breath and walked to the door. 

There she was in all her glory—her hair had brushed out, messy curls and was pushed to one side, like she had just nervously fixed her hair. She was in a new set of pajamas—pearlescent silk white. She met his eyes for a fleeting moment before looking down—Dex could still she still felt embarrassed, or ashamed. For whatever reason. It should be him who felt like that.

“It’s okay," Dex spoke first. “Whatever your decision is."

“I want it with you, Dex,” she looked up at him with worried eyes. “But if you don’t want it with me, then—“

“Come in,” Dex opened the door for her to step inside. She immediately stood in the middle of his living room as Dex shut and locked his door.

She was holding herself—arms around her stomach, avoiding eye contact. Dex wasn’t used to seeing her so unsure of herself; he was used to seeing her positive, confident, smiling. Looking at him with hopeful eyes. What did he have to do to calm her nerves?

“I want this with you,” Dex said softly, approaching her slowly. “I just want to make sure you truly want this with me.”

“I do,” she affirmed. “More than anything.”

Dex placed his hand on her cheek, studying her features before everything changes. She was right about something—sex is an intimate act. Sex changes things. He knows how it has changed things for him, but he’s not sure how it will change things for her. He wanted to remember what she looked like before the act—before he changed everything. He caressed her cheek with his thumb. He didn’t want her to feel worried. It was written all over her face.

“What are you scared of?” He asked her.

“It hurting,” she said meeting his eyes. 

“I’m not going to lie to you,” Dex began, “it’ll hurt at first. But then it won’t. What else are you scared of?”

“Making a mess,” she broke eye contact again. “I may bleed.”

“Don’t worry,” Dex shook his head, whispering. “It’s not a mess you’ll have to clean up. Anything else?”

She bit her lip and met his eyes again. “I don’t want you to stop talking to me after it’s done. I don’t want us to do it, and then that being all that you wanted, and then you stop seeing me or hanging out with me.”

Dex furrowed his brows in disbelief. Here he was, afraid of the same thing, unknowing that she too shared the same fears. Dex would never stop talking to her after it’s done. She knows she’ll be attached to him after—little did she know that Dex would be infinitely more attached to her, for separate reasons. He may be taking her purity, but she’s giving him something worse: hopes that he may find newfound purity in himself. 

“___,” he said her name, meeting her eyes. He caressed her cheek some more. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. Once this happens—it won’t be possible for me to let you go.” 

She took a long shaky breath. “Okay, Dex. I trust you. I—I think I’m ready.” 

Dex continued to caress her cheek as he held her gaze, witnessing her eyes soften in comfort—safety. Trust. “Okay,” he said. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

She blushed in the most adorable way. Avoided eye contact, bit her lip. She nodded. Dex placed two fingers under her chin to lift her to look at him. Dex slowly leaned down to meet her lips with his. And when they finally touched, she fell right into him. 

Dex cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand, holding her steady in place as he kissed her. He teased her lips with her tongue, and she opened her mouth to let him in. He started off slowly…sweetly. When she took his hands and moved them to hold her waist, he took it as a sign to deepen the kiss. His tongue danced against hers as he practically inhaled her with kisses. His strong hands rested at either side of her waist. 

They both pulled back out of breath. Dex leaned his forehead against hers, eyes closed. 

“Let me lay you down,” Dex said in a low voice. She nodded against him and let him lead the way to his bedroom. 

She sat at the foot of the bed in the center. She started to shake uncontrollably—from nerves, the AC in his room and from the reality of what was about to happen.

Dex knelt between her knees in front of her. He took her hand and held it in his. He kissed her knuckles and felt her shaking. He looked up at her. 

“This is for you,” Dex reminded her. “It’s okay.” 

“I’m just nervous,” she said. “I’ve never been completely naked in front of anyone.”

“I’ll ask you if I can do anything before I do it,” Dex said. “Is that okay?”

“Yes,” she nodded. She was taking deep breaths to calm her anxiety. Dex kissed her knuckles again. He placed both her hands on her legs. 

“Can I touch your shoulders?” He asked. 

She looked confused at first, but nodded anyway. Dex placed his hands on both her shoulders, softly caressing her with his thumbs. He moved his hands down both her arms slowly, feeling the softness of her silk pajamas. When he reached her hands, he held them both. 

“Can I unbutton your shirt?”

“Yes,” she breathed softly. 

Dex nodded and slowly started to unbutton her shirt one by one. He kept his focus on the buttons—nothing else—definitely not the goosebumps rising on her skin and definitely not at her hard nipples through the shirt. When he was done, only the center of her torso was exposed. She leaned back on her elbows and Dex leaned forward more between her legs, which were now spread a bit more. 

Dex could see her heart pounding in her chest. He took right hand and kissed her knuckles. He met her eyes.

“Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” Dex reassured her. She shook her head. 

“I don’t want you to stop.”

Dex kissed her hand again. “Can I touch you?”

“Anywhere,” she said in a small voice. 

Dex slowly began to trail his hand up the length of her torso, from her stomach to her collarbone. He slipped a few fingers under neath her shirt, dangerously close to her left breast. Dex looked at her once more for permission. All he needed was a small nod to let him know it was okay—and she did. Dex slowly traced his fingers over her breast, feeling her soft supple skin react to his touch—goosebumps, her nipple hard in the palm of his hand. Dex took a deep breath to control his own feelings of arousal—feeling her breast in his hand, realizing he was the first person to ever touch her like this. Dex squeezed her breast lightly and traced his pointer finger underneath her breast, feeling the curve of her soft skin. He pushed the shirt away, exposing her completely. He did the same thing on her other side with his other hand. He slid her shirt completely off and she closed her eyes, leaning fully back. 

“You’re beautiful,” Dex whispered. “You’re soft and perfect.” 

She opened her eyes. “Touch me more.”

Dex scooped her in his arms and lifted her further up his bed. He knelt between her on the bed and traced his hand on her stomach again. An intrusive thought crossed his mind—would she let him come inside her? Would she want to feel his seed that deeply inside her, knowing the risk? Dex felt his cock harden at the thought of coming inside her for her first time. 

He took a deep breath and crossed the thought away. He placed both his hands on her breasts and gently squeezed them again. He leaned down and kissed the skin between her breasts. She closed her eyes in pleasure. Dex kept his hands on her waist and slowly kissed his way to her right breast, kissing it before taking her nipple in his mouth. He licked and sucked her hard nipple, gently wrapping his lips around it and starting a motion of licking and sucking. He swirled his tongue around her nipple and kissed her breast. He did the same thing on the other side.

  “How did that feel?” He asked her. 

“Good,” she answered in a breathy voice. “Really good.” She was still shaking. Dex was starting to love the idea of him making her shake like that. 

“Good,” he said. Dex began to pepper kisses down the length of her torso, holding his hands on either side of her waist. She breathed deeply and pressed her head into his pillow, bracing herself for whatever was next. He played with the hem of her pajama pants and looked up at her with a slight sense of urgency. 

“Can I take these off?” Dex asked. 

“Yes,” she breathed, closing her eyes. 

In one single slip, Dex took her pajama pants and underwear off, completely exposing her to him. Dex gazed at her sex which was slightly glistening from how wet she was, and then he noticed her slightly shaking again. He placed his hands on her thighs and kissed her on either side, trying to hold her steady. 

“It’s okay,” Dex whispered. “Just tell me if you want to stop.”

“I don’t,” she said. “I’ll stop shaking soon.”

Dex secretly hoped she wouldn’t. He slowly slid his right hand over to her inner thigh and began to draw small circles. He slowly inched his way over to touch her pussy. He ever so gently placed the pad of his thumb on her clit, mimicking the small circles he just drew on her thigh before. She shivered at his touch and Dex watched her carefully. He mindlessly kept rubbing her clit as he watched her expression change from tense to relaxed. 

“That feels really good,” she whispered. 

“Let me know how this feels,” Dex said in a low voice. He slowly knelt between her legs, pushing them farther apart. He placed his entire mouth on her pussy and began to lap slowly at her slick folds. He started from the bottom and licked slowly up to her clit. 

“Oh,” she moaned in a slightly pitched voice. Her legs shifted against Dex’s head, which was welcomed. Dex continued to lap at her wetness, completely putting his entire mouth on her sex. He pulled back momentarily to insert one finger in her tight pussy. She gasped at the tension, grabbing onto the fitted sheets. Dex reached his other hand up and took her hand, indicating that she could hold onto him. He pulled his finger and met his lips to her pussy again, this time moving his tongue around faster than before. His lips were locked on her wetness, and he began to feel himself get lost in the way she felt against his mouth, like this was his last meal on earth. She squirmed against his face, breathing deeply. She reached to pull on his hair to channel how he was making her feel. His hand gripped her thigh while the other held onto her ankle. 

Dex focused his sucking on her clit and he paid mind to how she was breathing—he didn’t want her to come yet. Her eyes were closed, mouth half open, brows furrowed together. With his lips still on her pussy, Dex looked up at her and locked eyes for a moment with her before she closed them again and sighed into his pillow. He took one last lap at her wetness before pulling back and kissing both of her inner thighs. 

“Dex…”

“You okay?” He licked his lips. 

She only nodded, slightly disappointed by how cold she felt now that he wasn’t touching her. Dex could sense she wanted more. He could sense she was ready. He took off his shirt and pants, exposing himself to her. He couldn’t remember the last time he was bare in front of someone, but he didn’t care—all those times before didn’t matter. Only now did. 

His cock was hard, pre-cum leaking at the tip. Dex was slightly surprised that she reached down to touch him, gently running her thumb over his tip. He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. He placed his hands under the small of her back and lifted her up his bed, so she lay perfectly in the middle. He was hovering over her now—his cock dangerously close to her wetness, but not touching. They looked at each other for a moment, Dex looking deeply into her eyes—he couldn’t tell what she felt. Fear, anticipation, aroused? A mix of all three, he supposed. Because it’s exactly how he felt, too. Knowing that after this, their entire dynamic would change. For better or worse. 

She spread her legs wider and placed her hands on his face. Dex leaned down and kissed her gently. 

“You still want this?” He asked her.

“Yes.” She swallowed hard. “Please be gentle.”

“I will,” Dex nodded, his hot breath hitting her skin. He pushed a strand of hair away from her flushed face. He kissed her between her eyebrows. 

Dex slowly lined up his cock at her entrance and rubbed his tip against her folds, getting himself wet with her pussy. He took a deep breath and clenched his jaw. Her eyes were closed, but he watched her as he ever so slowly tried to push himself inside her. He was too big for her to enter easily, and she was too tight for him to go any harder. She said gentle, and that’s exactly what he did. She took a sharp intake of breath and her heart was beating hard against her chest. Dex could sense her anxiety and kissed her forehead again as he tried to push himself inside her more. Slowly, inch by inch, he pushed himself inside her tight pussy, and in one quick thrust, Dex was completely inside her. They both reacted in their own way—Dex letting out the deepest sigh he’s ever taken, and her gasping for air from the pain.

“Dex, Dex,” she whispered in a slight panic.

“Shh,” Dex was trying to keep himself focused but it was hard to while he felt her tight pussy completely encase him while at the same time soften her worries. “It’ll get better. I’m going to go back and forth.”

She nodded and kept her eyes shut, a pained expression on her face. Dex felt incredible inside her, but this wasn’t about him. It was all for her. 

He slowly pulled out, and she could feel the difference immediately. He felt so big inside her that when he almost pulled out, she felt so empty—she needed to feel him like that all the time. Close, inside, tangled up with her softness. 

When he pushed back in, he couldn’t help the moan that slipped out of his lips. She was shaking, and her shaking at his cock inside her, ignited something primal in him. He was the first person to ever feel her like this and make her feel this way, and that thought alone spurred Dex on to keep thrusting inside her. She was completely soaking and he could feel her start to mold to his cock.

“Dex,” she whispered his name, “it’s starting to feel different.”

“How?” He uttered out while he still slowly went back and forth inside her. 

“Good,” she opened her eyes finally and met his dark ones. “Really good. I—“

“You want more?” Dex asked, and it was his turn to close his eyes.

“I want more,” she nodded. 

Dex wasted no time in speeding up his thrusts inside her. He went even deeper, feeling the tip of his cock touch the back of her cervix. He was imprinting his size on her. She knew she would feel him for days after. She felt so velvety, soft, wet and tight around his cock, Dex’s mouth was half open and his eyes were closed as he continued to thrust inside her.

“More, Dex,” she sighed.

His arms were under her, and hers were around his shoulders. Dex kept one arm under her and held onto his bed frame to get a better angle at fucking her, because now that’s what they were doing. Dex pounded inside her tight pussy, wetness and possibly blood coating both of them and his sheets. He watched her as she closed her eyes, mouth half open, as he continued to fuck her into being all his. He didn’t know what he liked more—being inside her or watching how much she enjoyed him being inside her. She fluttered her eyes open for a moment, meeting his, and Dex instantly closed his eyes. He retreated his arm back from the bed frame and scooped her in his arms, pressing his forehead against hers. 

She closed her eyes again and had an expression of arousal, her eyebrows knitted together and her mouth slightly open. She opened her eyes and suddenly felt very aware of what was happening between their two sexes—it was a mix of wetness from her and something else more runny—blood. Her cheeks flushed red in embarrassment, Dex could tell, and she tried to look between them as he kept thrusting his cock inside her, unsure if she should allow herself to feel good or worry about the mess she’s making. 

Dex followed her line of view and blocked it with his dark eyes. 

“Look at me,” he whispered. “Look at me. How do you feel?”

She met his eyes and sighed heavily, “But Dex—“

“Don’t,” he pressed his forehead firmly against hers, continuing to pound into her, feeling the tip of his cock touch the back of her cervix. “Focus on me.”

Focus on him she did—the way he was hitting her g-spot repetitively made her spread her legs wider and push him in even more. He filled her up so completely, so well, she was sure to feel him for days. 

“Oh, God, Dex,” she moaned, louder than before, “something’s happening—“

“Let it,” Dex whispered against her lips, closing his eyes and focusing on hitting her sweet spot. “Come for me, __. Come for me…come for me…”

“Dex!” Her pussy convulsed around his cock as she finally reached climax for the first time. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly against her, holding on like she was holding on for life. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest and she lost her breath and regained it as she held onto his warm body. He was still inside her, thrusting more gently now. He kissed her neck, kissed the skin behind her ear, kissed her forehead and kissed her lip as he continued to move inside and out of her.

“Oh,” Dex whispered against her lips. “I’m right behind you—“

“Inside me,” she said in a whisper, “please.”

Dex closed his eyes as he felt himself release his seed inside her tight pussy, feeling it coat all over her inside, he was shaking against her. It was her turn to kiss him, to bring him back down from his own high. 

He laid his entire body weight on her, which was welcomed. His cock was still inside her, resting, until he slowly pulled out of her. She held him tighter. He breathed her in deeply, kissing her shoulder. She ran her fingers through his dirty blonde hair. 

He pulled back, gazed in her eyes for a moment. 

“Let me get a towel,” Dex said softly. 

He pulled the sheets over her and when he came back, he cleaned between her legs as best as he could while she fell asleep. Dex threw the towel in the hamper, a clean, perfect throw, and crawled back under the sheets with her. He pulled her in tightly, and she molded against him like she was meant to be there. It may have been her first time, but he was certain this was his first time feeling the attachment in the aftermath. He hoped this wouldn’t be their last.  

[luckykiwiii101]

ENTER THE GOD STATE

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

ィ⠀Anything they can do, you can do better⠀࿐

p.s. if “God” makes you uncomfortable you can just switch that out with “creator” instead! long post ahead!!!

NOTE: God self/real you/true self/Inner self/I AM are ALL the same thing so don’t get confused.

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

ィ⠀TABLE OF CONTENTS⠀࿐

WHAT IS THE GOD STATE (AKA, I AM STATE)?

RID THE IDEA OF THE 3D & TIME

DETACHING FROM YOUR 3D “SELF” & CONCEPT OF TIME

HOW TO ENTER THE GOD STATE

Hey Upper East Siders. Gossip girl here. And before you start talking, I know what you’re thinking.

“The God State???” sounds intimidating…to everyone but God. And with humans comes along failure, emotions and frustration. Now i’m not saying that you aren’t human. Yes, you are physically human (only if you want to be), but you are so much more than that.

Luckily for you, I exist, and i’ll show you how to identify with your god self in a New York minute!

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

ィ⠀WHAT IS THE GOD/I AM STATE?⠀࿐

But first of all, what is the “god state”? Ask yourself, “who am I?” A lazy bum who doesn’t want to give themselves their dream lives? Surprisingly incorrect. Now who are you really? Who is the one aware of that blank space when you’re “sleeping”? Who is the one desiring? And who is the one giving?

I want you to close your eyes. Focus on the darkness behind your eyes. In your mind, repeat the phrase “I am”. Don’t condition anything to it. Simply just, “I am”. Focus on just being aware. Focus on just being. Just being. Being. You are simply just aware. And that is the I am. Before you are anything, you are “I am”. e.g. I AM beautiful. I AM intelligent. I am comes before everything. That is who you truly are. And you choose what to condition it to. Instead of choosing “I am ugly.” You can choose “I am beautiful.” And this “I am” is what we call the inner self. It is not a new concept to learn. You are familiar with it. It is simply just the you who has it all. I AM is the only power that exists, which is you. You cannot separate yourself from I AM. I AM = aware of being. And all you are, is aware. Pure consciousness. That’s all you are. And when you condition something unwanted to I am, you give that unwanted thing power.

In short, the best way to describe the “I am” state is the void state. The I am state and the void state are the exact same thing! That omnipotence “in” the void state is YOU! YOU are the one giving! When you affirm or whatever for your desires in the void state, it’s not the void state that holds the power, it is YOU who holds the power. YOU are the void state. Faceless and formless. Devoid of the concept of 3D and time. And that’s why you can be anything you want to be. That is the real you. Not this 3D you. That’s why when you’re “in” the void state, whatever you decide you have materialises instantly, because in that state, you are no longer bound by human limitations. You are just purely you.

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

ィ⠀GET RID OF THE IDEA OF THE 3D & TIME⠀࿐

The key to entering the God state is to get rid of the idea of the 3D and time. By this I mean, to stop expecting something to happen, and to stop counting the days since you’ve started persisting, and feeling discouraged when it’s been a week and the 3D shows you nothing. You need to realise that time is simply just a concept made by humans. It doesn’t exist. At all. You can have anything you want right NOW. And you do.

I know that eventually you want to experience having your desires in the 3D. But first, you experience having them in the 4D. But the whole point is that you ALREADY have it. Now. Not later. And too many of you hold the idea of getting it later in the 3D, without even realising. You should be able to go back to imagination and feel fulfilled no matter what.

In the God state, all that exists to you is being omnipotent (all powerful) and having everything you want NOW in imagination. There is no concept of the 3D & time in the God state. And that is what makes it so powerful. You know that that God self is the real you. The inner self. And that is who you fully identify with. Not time. Not the 3D.

When you get rid of this silly idea of time and the 3D, you realise your power and the true meaning of having it now, and not waiting for anything. You become indifferent to the 3D. You don’t have what you want in the 3D? Didn’t even notice because that’s not the reality that I identify myself with. That doesn’t matter because it has nothing to do with you, because you don’t identify with it, because you know better than to identify with something that isn’t you. You are not waiting for anything because you are God, and you already have everything you could desire.

This point keeps FLYING over your heads because if you TRULY understand how powerful you are and the FACT that you already have it, you simply wouldn’t be procrastinating and doubting yourself. Because there is NOTHING to do and there is NOTHING to doubt. All of that nonsense comes from your human self (outer self) and you keep accepting it as final! If you have the urge to check the 3D for results, you do not understand. If you’ve been asking where your manifestation is, you do not understand. If you give yourself time crunches, you do not understand. If you are asking bloggers for help, you do not understand. If you expect something to happen, you do not understand. If you are waiting for something, you do not understand. If manifesting requires effort, you do not understand. If manifesting is mentally draining, you do not understand. If you’re feeling impatient, you do not understand. If you’re feeling discouraged, you do not understand. If you forgot to persist for a day and then spiral, you do not understand. If you get worried when you “fall out” of the state, you do not understand. If you think its possible to fall out of the state, you also do not understand. If you view manifesting as a process, you do not understand. If you think that manifestation is not instant, you do not understand.

You will never stop being God. You cannot fall out of your desired state when you acknowledge that you are God. That’s like saying you’ve lost your own consciousness. You are consciousness itself. You cannot lose it. You can’t fall out of it. You will always have it. You are it. Your consciousness is EVERYTHING. That means that you ARE your desires. There is absolutely NOTHING outside of you. Every little thing that you dare to put on a pedestal other than yourself (the audacity!) is WITHIN YOU! That huge mansion the size of Monaco? It’s within you. That celebrity s/o? Within you. Desired appearance? Within you. Fairy wings? Within you. Teleporting to planet mars? Within you. Waking up with a completely new life? Within you. Everything and anything you could possibly imagine? Within you. Oh don’t tell me that wasn’t obvious! So you may ask yourself…“why does it feel so far away?”

The two biggest human limitations are the 3D & time, and you are not going to break free from those limitations until you realise that the I AM does NOT experience the 3D & time. In the void state, you do not experience the 3D or time. At all. In that moment you are in your PUREST form. You are faceless and formless. Conditioned to absolutely nothing, just being aware of existing. So where am I going with this? Let me dumb it down for you. The I AM does NOT experience the 3D & Time. REAL YOU = I AM. Therefore, the REAL YOU does NOT experience the 3D or TIME. Got it? Ok now let’s bring manifestation into this. Here’s how the equation SHOULD BE:

1. REAL YOU/I AM: “Hm, I want to manifest xyz. I now decide that I have xyz. Therefore I have xyz.”

2. REAL YOU/I AM: Good thing that I do not experience the 3D or time at all, so I have no limitations and don’t have to look at the 3D for proof or track time. I understand that I only have what I desire in imagination because that is my real reality since I AM the creator of everything. I truly understand that I have my desire right now because I AM. -> (This part MAJORLY corresponds with THIS POST! Read it if you haven’t or chances are that you will not understand the concept of having it NOW).

3. REAL YOU/I AM: *Experiences having xyz instantly because limitations do not exist in the I AM, and there is no 3D & time to tell me otherwise because it doesn’t exist in the I AM *

4. REAL YOU/I AM: *3D conforms after persisting in desired assumption(s)* Cool…wasn’t expecting or waiting for anything. I really am limitless. It didn’t even bother me that I didn’t see movement in the 3D or time, I just knew I had my desire(s) right now because I AM and that’s all that matters.

And here’s how your outer self treats manifestation:

1. OUTER YOU: “Hm, I want to manifest xyz. I now decide that I have xyz. Therefore I have xyz.”

2. OUTER YOU: *2 days pass* The 3D still hasn’t conformed. It’s okay! It will conform soon. *2 more days pass* I still don’t have my manifestation. Where is it??? It’s already been four days!!!

3. OUTER YOU: *spirals because the 3D didn’t conform, and the magical 3 days have already passed* *fails to understand that the 3D is only a reflection of the 4D* *views manifestation from the outer self and acts surprised when they are blinded by limitations*

4. OUTER YOU: What am I doing wrong? Let me read more posts and ask bloggers for help.

See how that doesn’t make sense..? When you are manifesting, and you view it from your outer self, consider yourself an idiot. As Edward Art said before, “the outer man sees nothing but limitations.” And when you view manifestation from that outer self, you are surrounded by nothing but those limitations (3D & Time). But when you view manifestation FROM your INNER (God) Self, you don’t experience any limitations at all.

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

ィ DETACHING FROM UR 3D SELF & CONCEPT OF TIME⠀࿐

I’m not talking about derealisation or anything like that. I am talking about tapping into your true self. It’s not some sort of magical “click” that you’ll feel. Or maybe for some of you it might. But that doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you KNOW who you actually are. Beyond this physical vessel (body).

I hope you realise that the only reason i’m telling you to unidentify with these things is because they genuinely have nothing to do with you. They aren’t you. And it’s hard watching you imbeciles sabotage yourselves over something that has nothing to do with you. I’m not trying to get you to convince yourselves that you have your desires. I’m getting you to understand that you already do! It’s the most important understand of all. I’ve seen blogs saying “be delusional”…how about you start being the opposite and believing in what’s actually real. The only time you’re being delusional is when you’re taking the 3D for an answer. And as you know by now, the 3D doesn’t exist to a purely conscious being, in other words, you.

“The 3D doesn’t exist to a purely conscious being, in other words, you.” This may be the second most important understanding of all, after creation is finished. Because the whole point of the law of assumption is that your 3D self is NOT the one experiencing your desires, it is the INNER SELF who has it! The INNER self does NOT experience the 3D AT ALL!!! So WHY on GOD’S GREEN EARTH would YOU (GOD) fool yourself by the delusions of the 3D when you KNOW that it isn’t you. You are NOT supposed to be experiencing your desires in the 3D, and you HAVE to come to terms with that. All of your desperation to have your desires in the 3D comes from the OUTER SELF who DESIRES to experience it in the 3D!! All of your FULFILLMENT of already having your desires in the 4D comes from THE INNER SELF (REAL/GOD SELF) who ALREADY POSSESSES IT, BECAUSE YOU ARE IT!! YOU ARE YOUR DESIRES BECAUSE THERE IS SIMPLY NOTHING OUTSIDE OF YOU!!! Therefore nothing is out of reach (don’t you find comfort in the fact that all your desires come from within you, and you are the only one who can grant yourself with them?), and there is no waiting for anything, because there is NO concept of time in the I AM except NOW! Therefore you can only have your desires NOW. Hence, the fact that “waiting” simply doesn’t exist. To wait, is to be illogical, and a fucking dumbarse too.

You realise the 3D is YOUR creation right?! Like, YOURS. Your actual CREATION. The world is LITERALLY your oyster, whether you like it or not. The 3D has been bending over backwards for you ever since you were born. Listening to you. Reflecting you. Reflecting what you condition to your I am-ness. You are supposed to be viewing manifestation as your REAL self. That is why it is so easy. You WILL struggle if you view manifestation from your OUTER self, who is ruthlessly surrounded by limitations and “contradictions”. It would be heartless to ask you to just ignore that, and blame you cause you can’t. Since the 3D & time do not exist to the REAL you (pure consciousness/I AM), there is nothing to contradict your new story. Unless you let your outer self take the wheel, and drive right off a cliff. Read that again, there is nothing to contradict your new story. There is nothing to contradict your new story. There is nothing to contradict your new story. Why? Because the real you is devoid of the concept of the 3D & time. It doesn’t exist to you. Yes, it exists to the 3D you (your physical body), but you don’t identify with that anymore. (It would be pretty pathetic to view yourself as nothing but your body wouldn’t it…) Therefore, the 3D & time do not exist to you, there is only now. You can only have your desires now. Right now. Not later. Now. In imagination. Now. When you are manifesting, you are not supposed to be viewing it from your 3D self because that is not the one who has it.

Do you FINALLY understand what you’re doing “wrong”? You can do no “wrong” in the god state. Whichever way you want to manifest is the correct way AS LONG AS you feel that you have it. You may not feel too great about it at first but I promise you’ll get there. You just accept these limitations and roll with it. I’m not telling you to IGNORE. I’m telling you to unidentify. And if you’ve read my previous golden posts, you’d understand that those are two very different things. If you apply this post that you’re reading right now, to my full guide post on manifestation, you will truly realise your God self. And you will truly understand how painfully easy manifestation is and you’ll have a good laugh at your old self for thinking it was difficult or required effort. God doesn’t need effort. Some may tell you that “you’re the only one stopping yourself” but they’re wrong. It’s everything that isn’t you that’s really “stopping” you, the only part you play in that, is by letting them and choosing to identify with it. All the real you is doing, is rooting for you.

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

ィ⠀HOW TO ENTER THE GOD STATE⠀࿐

Now for the big question. How exactly do you enter the god state? Surprise surprise, but it’s actually not something to “enter”. It is something to realise. And after this post, you should be able to pinpoint exactly who you truly are. SO that you can finally start viewing manifestation FROM your real self, instead of your human body surrounded by limitations. Remember, “The outer man sees nothing but limitations.” Now i’m going to carry you through realising your god (true) self. All you have to do is sit back and listen.

STEP 1: UNDERSTANDING

First and foremost, there is NOTHING more important than understanding who you truly are. But i’m sure we’ve clearly established that in this post. So for once, can we move on from this victim mindset? The outer you sees nothing but limitations, but God holds nothing but power. So I ask very nicely, before you proceed with any further steps, make sure you fully understand everything I have told you in this post (You are God/Creator, You already have your desires, your desires are within you, and that the 3D does not exist to a purely conscious being, only to the outer you (physical body). With these understandings, also comes with the understanding that there is nothing to get or wait for, so when you scrap the idea of the 3D and time, you won’t have a desire for confirmation and conforming of the 3D. This is what happens when the point actually doesn’t fly right over your head. Isn’t that refreshing?

STEP 2: REALISATION/REMEMBRANCE

Realisation? Don’t be fooled or intimidated. This part is extremely simple. All of them are. All you have to do is remember who you truly are. Now that you know what the I AM is from the first part of this post, I want you to feel it. All you have to do is close your eyes. All you have to focus on, is just being aware.

Quote from the first section of this post: “I want you to close your eyes. Focus on the darkness behind your eyes. In your mind, repeat the phrase “I am”. Don’t condition anything to it. Simply just, “I am”. Focus on just being aware. Focus on just being. Just being. Being. You are simply just aware. And that is the I AM.”

Focus on that feeling of just purely existing. Just being purely aware. You are NOT your physical body. When I say “you”, you should know that I mean the I AM. I AM is ALWAYS aware. Tie that feeling of awareness to the feeling of being God. Feel yourself to be all powerful. You will naturally feel inclined to feeling powerful in that state because you are finally acknowledging your real self who is all powerful. To sum up this step, and for further understanding (not optional!! i see you), read my YOU ARE VOID post. I don’t care if you’ve read it before. Read it again. Now that you FEEL yourself to be I AM, let’s move onto the next part.

STEP 3: APPLICATION

Now, for the final part. The part all of you seem to hate most. But the most important part of all. Application. And what does that mean exactly? Putting all the information that you know to good use. The best part is, you don’t even have to lift a finger. The worst part is, you still somehow find a way to procrastinate. But that ends now.

So here’s what’s going to happen. Randomly throughout your day, you will remind yourself of who you truly are, which is I AM. You will do the short “exercise” above, in the second step to remind yourself of who you actually are, beyond this physical body. All you are doing is reminding yourself.

You are not “manifesting” becoming God, you are coming to terms with the fact that you already are. And all you are doing is feeling it. Before you ask, no, you are not “feeling it real” when doing this. You are literally just feeling yourself to be pure awareness which is a fact. The sole purpose of this step is to REMIND yourself that you are God, so that you can stop being blinded by human limitations.

The purpose of this? As you are reminding yourself that you are god, you will actually start to “realise” it. Even though after reading this post, you know that you are god, I could understand why some may not yet feel themselves to be god. Our whole lives we’ve been blinded by human limitations left right and centre, especially when in terms of manifestation. You will genuinely laugh in the face of the 3D & time, without a care for it because you know that it is irrelevant to you, because you are so much bigger than it. You are God, and all this is, is your simple creation. You are finally viewing manifestation for what it truly is, from the viewpoint of your TRUE self. Your God self is the one who has the desires, not the outer self. And now you’re finally going to view manifestation from your true self, the one who truly has the desire(s), and the only one who can truly experience having. Also, being in the god state helps you get rid of the idea of having to do methods, put in effort and there even being a “right way” to manifest. All you have to do is know that you are the creator and that you have all your desires. In the god state, everything is effortless.

And as for dealing with the 3D? As long as you stay loyal to knowing who you truly are, everything will be more than okay.

MOST IMPORTANT UNDERSTANDINGS:

If you have magically failed to understand that:

1. CREATION IS FINISHED.

2. THE 3D DOES NOT EXIST TO A PURELY CONSCIOUS BEING, IN OTHER WORDS, YOU.

3. THE ONLY CONCEPT OF TIME IN THE I AM IS NOW, THEREFORE, WAITING DOES NOT EXIST.

4. YOU ARE NOT “THINKING AS IF”, YOU ARE THINKING “AS IT ALREADY IS.” (you literally have it. like genuinely actually have it. it’s literally here in imagination which is your true reality…there is nothing to pretend or desire to have).

5. THERE IS NO “RIGHT WAY” TO MANIFEST. GOD DOES WHATEVER GOD WANTS. DO WHATEVER REMINDS YOU THAT YOU ARE GOD AND THAT YOU HAVE YOUR DESIRES. DO IT YOUR WAY.

6. LASTLY, IN THE GOD STATE, NOTHING FEELS IMPOSSIBLE OR DIFFICULT. IN THE GOD STATE, YOU KNOW WITHOUT A DOUBT.

You may struggle without these understandings. And they are very, very easy to understand. There is no failure to understand, there is only failure to listen & apply.

IF I COULD SUMMARISE THIS POST INTO 11 QUOTES:

✩ “god state = I AM (real you)”

✩ “the 3D doesn’t exist to a purely conscious being, in other words, you.” (There is no concept of the 3D & time in the god state).

✩ “YOU are the void state. Faceless & formless.”

✩ “The two biggest human limitations are the 3D & time, and you are not going to break free from those limitations until you realise that the I AM does NOT experience the 3D & time.”

✩ “The I AM does NOT experience the 3D & Time. REAL YOU = I AM. Therefore, the REAL YOU does NOT experience the 3D or TIME.” (In other words, the real you experiences no limitations).

✩ “when you view manifestation FROM your INNER (God) Self, you don’t experience any limitations at all.”

✩ “I’m not trying to get you to convince yourselves that you have your desires. I’m getting you to understand that you already do!”

✩ “There is absolutely NOTHING outside of you. Every little thing that you dare to put on a pedestal other than yourself is WITHIN YOU!”

✩ “Because the whole point of the law of assumption is that your 3D self is NOT the one experiencing your desires, it is the INNER SELF who has it! The INNER self does NOT experience the 3D AT ALL!!! So WHY would YOU (GOD) fool yourself by the delusions of the 3D when you KNOW that it isn’t you.”

✩ “Tie that feeling of awareness to the feeling of being God. Feel yourself to be all powerful.” (Now you feel yourself to be I AM).

✩ “in the god state, nothing feels impossible or difficult.” (my personal favourite).

SUMMARY: The 3D & time are the two biggest (only) human limitations when it comes to manifestation. Once you get rid of those two concepts, you unlock your God (real) self and realise that you truly and whole heartedly have it now in imagination because it is the only reality. You are I AM. You are the void state. You are nothing but pure consciousness. You are all powerful. You are God/Creator. Drill this post into your brain, read it over and over again until you FULLY understand.

P.S. I AM is the only power that exists, which is you. XOXO

- gossip girl

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

[accioharrington9]

we can't be friends (but i'd like to just pretend)

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

prompt: four times you spent a holiday with your best friend Steve Harrington and one time you didn't and missed him.

word count: 10.2k

warnings: friends-to-lovers, everyone can see it (including steve and reader but they're both kind of in denial), mutual pining, characters in their mid-twenties, fluff and (some) emotional angst, steve uses a cheesy nickname for reader, mentions of partying and alcohol consumption, some swearing, no use of y/n

notes: hi all, this is the first reader fic that i publish here, so bear with me, i tried my best <3 in light of the year-end celebrations, this fun little idea of a fic came to me and i decided to give it a shot, so i hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

🥂🥂🥂

“What are your resolutions for the new year?”

You looked up from your glass of champagne when Steve asked you that question out of the blue. You were both leaning against the kitchen island at Nancy and Jonathan’s apartment, distractedly observing your friends playing a drinking game you had both stepped out of.  You were glad to allow your friends their fun, but mostly, to have a reason to get some alone time, just the two of you. A silent agreement, as always.

“You know I don’t believe in resolutions,” you answered before bringing a flute smudged by your red lipstick to your lips.

“Oh, come on, kitten, humor me for a second.”

You raised an eyebrow at him while he waited for your response with a cheeky smile. You heard Robin burst into laughter from the living room, but you were too focused on Steve’s loose strand of hair and the woody scent of his new cologne to acknowledge it.

“Fine,” you obliged him. “Well, I resolve to quit drinking coffee, exercise more, and buy a new and well-functioning car.”

“You’re full of shit,” Steve laughed. “Like you’re ever going to get rid of Gina.”

“Of course I’m not getting rid of Gina, she’s my ride-or-die,” you said, referring to your personified old car.

“Yeah, emphasis on ‘die’ – you're missing a rearview mirror in there.”

You nudged him playfully, briefly losing your balance but Steve helped steady you immediately, putting a hand on your hips that hovered there longer than necessary. You chuckled for good measure but couldn’t help the heat that rushed to your face.

Everyone knew you and Steve had a thing for each other. It had been that way since high school – lingering looks in the hallway between classes, overly tactile during a mundane conversation, pretending to forget something at the other’s house to have a reason to go there again… Everyone knew it, was used to it, and never mentioned anything about it – you and Steve included.

Nothing had ever happened because the timing was always off. If it wasn’t Steve who was dating someone, you were; then you moved away to go to college, and when you came back to Hawkins after graduating, Steve had just left for an internship in New York. Eventually, you grew tired of the never-ending “what-ifs” and made your peace knowing that Steve Harrington would always be more than just a friend but less than a lover. A fine line you both tiptoed in and out of too much over the past eight years.

“What about you?” you eventually asked Steve. “You’re corny as shit, you must have a lot of them resolutions in mind.”

“I only thought of a couple, and they’re not that corny.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

Steve laughed again, running a hand through his hair as he reflected on what he’d say. You admired him while he did so. It was frustrating, still having that teenage crush on your longtime friend, not being able to let it go, not entirely at least. You sometimes wished you could be his friend the way Robin was to him, or Eddie was to you. It would make it all so much easier, so much less painful than this in two minds you were both stuck in, this blatant desire for more, this fear that it could all be ruined in seconds, poor decisions fragmenting the illusion of a blissful friendship.

“I thought about learning how to play the guitar.”

“Cliché,” you teased. “What else?”

You could see the turn the conversation had taken when Steve hesitated before talking – looked nervous, even.

“Moving out. Getting my own place.”

You stared at Steve, quiet. You couldn’t say you were surprised – he’d been roommates with Eddie since they both enrolled in community college a few years ago. Even after graduating and getting a job, they stayed that way, because it was simple; splitting the bills, having someone to talk to after a lonely day. But it could only work for so long. It was only a matter of time until one or the other got bored and needed a change of scenery. To you, it was no surprise Steve had that revelation first.

“You sound serious,” was the only comment you could express.

“Because I am,” Steve said. “I started looking at one-bedroom apartments to rent in the neighborhood.”

“Does Eddie know?” you asked.

Steve pursed his lips as he shook his head from left to right. You hummed and couldn’t help but look at the young man in question, with his curly hair tied back in a bun and his poor imitation of some football player his team had to guess the name of. You loved this friend group – you loved the dynamic, the hijinks, and the stability. You loved hanging out with Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan at Eddie and Steve's apartment. You loved everything about it and the thought of losing your bearings, of disrupting your habits, made you too sad for the 31st of December, five minutes away from another midnight of confetti, embraces, and promises.

“You’re the first person I told,” Steve eventually said, breaking the silence that had settled between you two. “I thought you could share some of that wisdom you have to advise me.”

You snorted, lazily knocking your shoulder against his arm. “You buttering up to me, Harrington?”

“Only if it’s working.”

You got lost in his beautiful brown eyes, aware of the subtlest things, like his pinky finger brushing your hand timidly, the mint toothpaste on his breath, or how perfectly he wore the sweater you gifted him. It felt so right, standing close to him and toying with the possibility of the unknown. It always did with Steve.

“Okay guys, it’s officially one minute away from midnight, gather ‘round!!” Nancy exclaimed, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention.

Reluctantly, you left the little bubble of peace and happiness you had created in the kitchen, Steve following closely behind. As you started counting down from ten, surrounded by all your closest and dearest friends, you only had eyes for Steve.

It had become a habit since you first celebrated New Year’s Eve with him years ago – you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d kiss you at midnight. It was a fantasy you’d entertained ever since you were eighteen, the final and first thought of each year that passed without ever becoming real. Each year, naively, you thought it’d be different. But each year, it was the same old song all over again.

As the clock struck midnight and cheers erupted among the friend group, you hugged everyone. You saved the best ‘til last, heart beating frantically as Steve wrapped his arms around you. You buried your face in his neck, getting drunk on his cologne – pathetic, disillusioned.

“Happy New Year, kitten,” Steve whispered in your ear before kissing your cheek – soft, tender, and terribly platonic, as usual.

“Happy New Year, Harrington,” you kissed his cheek in return, the trace of your lipstick leaving a mark on his skin like a temporary tattoo.

And you were too busy thinking about the undone to notice that this year, Steve held you in his arms a little longer than usual.

🌹🌹🌹

“Bro-lentine’s Day?”

“Is that one of those boys band they keep talking about on the radio?"

You held back a laugh at Steve’s question and Eddie’s comment regarding the odd suggestion Robin had just made. The four of you were waiting in line at a Wendy's drive-thru in Steve’s car, the crescent moon shining its feeble light in the night sky above.

“Why would you even think about spending Valentine’s Day with your loser single friends when you have a beautiful girlfriend you could shower with gifts?” Eddie asked, to which Steve, behind the wheel, concurred immediately.

“I mean, I obviously love you guys, but I mostly suggest that because Vickie’s working a night shift on the 14th and I figured it’d be nice to hang out together, the four of us, instead of just… I don’t know, being alone?” Robin admitted.

“Oh, so we’re your stand-ins?” Eddie exclaimed, feigning offense under your amused attention. “Classy, Buckley.”

“That sounds a hell of a lot like a pity party, Rob,” Steve pointed out.

You laughed along as Robin kept putting her foot in her mouth. It was often like that – Robin and Eddie gently bickering in the back seats while you exchanged knowing looks with Steve, in your designated seat at the front of the car.

The only difference was this time, when Steve searched for your eyes to have a silent laugh with you, you avoided his gaze, pretending to look in the distance, thinking about something you needed to say to him but couldn’t find the courage to.

“Okay, fine,” Eddie eventually yielded. “Let’s do this thing. But I have one condition – we go to Steve’s new apartment.”

“Excellent idea!” Robin exclaimed, enthusiastic.

“I told you guys, I’m not done unboxing my stuff, the place is a mess,” Steve argued as he started the ignition to move forward.

Robin rolled her eyes. “You say that like you have a thousand boxes.”

“It's his plethora of hair products - they take up a lot of room,” Eddie teased, which made Robin snort.

“You’re both hilarious, seriously, I can’t stop laughing,” Steve said with a straight face.

“So, it’s a deal,” Eddie said. “Bro-lentine’s Day at Steve’s new place – no, I’m sorry Rob, you’ll have to find another name, I hate how it sounds when it comes out of my mouth.”

“What do you think, babes?”

You only focused back on the conversation when Robin called your name, looking away from the constellations in the sky.

“Hmm? Oh, I’m sorry babes but count me out of this one,” you said with a sorry smile.

Robin laughed, thinking you were probably messing with her. Steve was driving slowly now that the line ahead finally seemed to clear.

“Right, because you have something better to do on Valentine’s Day, of course,” Robin joked while Eddie chuckled.

You tried not to take offense because you knew it was some innocent banter, but it didn’t stop you from frowning.

“Actually, yes, I do,” you contradicted. “I have a date that day.”

The car braked abruptly, causing a blast of horns from the vehicle behind and surprised yelps from the back seats.

“What the fuck, Harrington??” Eddie ranted. “That’s why I keep telling you you’re a shit driver, seriously, how did you manage to get your license, man?"

“Sorry, I got… distracted for a sec’,” Steve apologized.

You couldn’t bear to look Steve in the eye, so you toyed with the bracelets around your wrists and stared at your shoes, waiting for your friends’ reaction to the news.

“Is it someone we know?” Robin asked bluntly. “It’s the cute guy from the music shop at the mall, isn’t it? I knew he had a crush on you, you’re the only one who got Like a Prayer for half price.”

“It was… actually a twenty-percent discount,” you corrected, even though none of your friends cared about that information.

“Who even asks someone out on Valentine’s Day?” Eddie asked himself out loud. “We have three hundred and sixty-five days a year, why choose this nightmare of a commercialized day deliberately?”

“I think it’s cute,” Robin shrugged.

You attempted a smile, but it was nowhere near convincing. Robin and Eddie weren’t even paying attention to you anymore, discussing with each other the pros and cons of a first date on the 14th of February. You gathered the courage to look at Steve, decipher his expression. He might’ve been trying to get your attention a moment ago, but now, he was just staring in front of him, both hands firmly holding the lower part of the wheel.

“So, you’re really going to abandon me with these two idiots, huh?”

Your laugh at Steve’s rhetorical question was a mix of amusement and relief. If there was one thing that meant more than anything to you, it was the harmony between you two. You knew that as soon as you or Steve dated someone, that harmony was threatened. It had happened before. It was a fatality.

“You’ll be just fine,” you assured softly. “It’s just one night.”

Steve chuckled, finally making it to the pickup window. “Yeah, you’re right. Just one night. Easy-peasy.”

At that moment, you couldn’t have imagined that on the 14th of February, you’d find yourself knocking on Steve’s door at ten in the evening, makeup ruined by your disappointed tears, holding tight to your coat and shame in the cold evening air.

When Steve opened the door and saw you standing before him, he blinked at the unexpected sight of you sniffing and shivering.

“What are you doing here, kitten? Is everything okay?”

As soon as you heard Steve’s voice and the concern he displayed, it was out of your control – another tear rolled down your cheek.

“Oh no. Come here.”

You didn’t need to be asked twice- when Steve opened his arms at you, you dived in, letting him hug you tight, accepting his warmth and empathy.

“Dude stood you up?” Steve asked, voice muffled as his face was buried in your hair.

“Worse,” you said. “He was there.”

Steve huffed, because it could’ve been a funny anecdote if not for the dried mascara that ran under your eyes.

“So, we’re not going to the music shop again, huh?”

“I never said it was the guy from the music shop,” you pointed out.

“You never denied it either.”

You snorted and you felt Steve smile against your head. He was the first to part from your embrace, but you were under the impression he could’ve stayed like that much longer.

“What’s taking so long, dingus?” Robin shouted from the living room. “You need help with the pizzas?”

“It’s not the pizzas,” Steve retorted as you stepped inside the apartment.

Both Robin and Eddie turned around on the couch and looked equally surprised to see you there.

“Is it okay if I crash Bro-lentine’s Day?” you asked sheepishly.

“We’re not calling it that!” Eddie said in a singsong.

“You’re more than welcome to crash Bro-lentine’s Day, babes,” Robin told you while wrapping her arm around your shoulders as you sat next to her.

“I give up,” Eddie sighed before heading for the kitchen.

“What did the loser do to get you like that?” Robin inquired, touching your face where the tears had dried.

“Honestly, he wasn’t even that bad,” you explained. “He just… wasn’t what I expected. I guess I’m tired of getting my hopes up and ending up disappointed every time.” You paused, reflecting on that state of mind. “It’s stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid,” Robin contradicted with a sympathetic smile. “It’s Valentine’s Day, anyone would’ve expected a perfect date.”

“Hence why you don’t date on that doomed day.”

“Can’t you just let it go already, Eddie??”

You smiled softly at your friends’ innocent quarrel, and you realized in the end, there were no other people you’d rather spend the day of love and romance with.

So, you settled comfortably on the couch in Steve’s new apartment, surrounded by dozens of wrapped boxes and your closest friends with a glass of wine and a cheesy movie to watch, sharing the details of your date with them.

“Well, his loss, darling, not yours,” Eddie said in conclusion to your story.

“Definitely,” Robin nodded.

You smiled lightly and you thought maybe, just maybe, they were right.

“Why are you smiling like that, Harrington?” Eddie then asked.

“Hmm? Oh, no reason,” Steve answered casually before finding a tiny spot between you and Robin on the couch.

🎉🎉🎉

There was nothing more frustrating than being late to meet your friends and having your car’s engine make that hideous sputtering sound as you kept putting the key in the ignition without it ever starting.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” you echoed in sync with the car’s noises.

“I see Gina’s being cranky today.”

You glared at Steve, sitting in the passenger seat and enjoying himself a little too much.

“It’s too hot outside, she doesn’t like it when it’s too hot,” you explained to yourself more than Steve.

“It’s the 4th of July, kitten. It’s always hot on the 4th of July.”

“Thank you so much for this enlightening forecast, Harrington, have you ever considered a career in meteorology?”

You bit your lip when you realized how harsh your comeback had sounded. You slowly turned your head to lay regretful eyes on your friend.

“Sorry,” you winced.

“You’re good. I think I know why Gina’s cranky today – she takes from her owner.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother denying it.

The sun was starting to set in a sky adorned with pink and orange hues only summer could take credit for. The air was hot, crickets chirping and bees buzzing while the whole town was already busying itself in preparation for the incoming festivities.

For the past six years, on Independence Day, you’ve met all your friends by the lake on the outskirts of Hawkins to have a barbecue with beers and watch the fireworks. It was a tradition you all honored religiously each Fourth of July.

Except this year, Robin was celebrating with Vickie’s family, Eddie was working at the music camp, which meant you were spending the evening with Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve, a group hangout that looked an awful lot like a double date, and it worked yourself up into quite a state.

“Did you get the Buds?” you asked Steve as the ignition still wouldn’t start.

“Packs in the trunk,” Steve answered straight off.

“And the blankets?”

“In the backseat.”

“The radio for the music?”

“Nance’s taking care of it.”

You fell back in your seat after failing one too many times to start the car and just closed your eyes, sighing heavily. You wiped your hands on your shorts, the summer heat getting the best of you, chest heaving and patience hanging by a thread.

“We can take my car tonight, maybe Gina needs the rest,” Steve suggested. It irritated you even more.

“We always take your car, tonight’s the one night a year we take mine,” you argued, putting the keys in the ignition again.

“We’ll take yours another time, then, it’s no big deal.”

“No,” you just said.

Without a heads-up, you got out of the vehicle. Steve followed you as you opened the hood to check the engine. You were rough in your endeavor, hair falling out on your face and hands quickly stained with oil.

“Why are you being so stubborn today?” Steve asked you, tone cutting sharp like a knife.

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are! You can tell as much as I can your car’s not going anywhere tonight, mine’s parked right behind and ready to go, so why are we losing time for nothing?”

“She’s just being picky right now but I’m getting there. She needs a little boost and she’s good to go,” you insisted, wiping the back of your hand on your forehead before realizing it’d smudge the oil.

“Yeah, sure, at this rate, she’ll be good to go for Thanksgiving,” Steve said ironically.

You shut the hood close abruptly, shooting daggers at Steve as he stood in front of you with his arms crossed. He looked just as irritated as you did.

“You’re being an asshole,” you stated matter-of-factly.

Steve snickered, eyebrows raising like he couldn’t believe what he just heard.

“Oh, I’m the asshole in this situation? You’re a fine one to talk!”

“Are you seriously turning the tables on me right now?!”

“I’m not, you’re clearly in a mood today and you’re taking it out on me! Last I heard, I’m not a punching bag!”

Your face twisted into a scowl because Steve annoyed you a great deal, but mostly because he was right. You were far from being good company today, and today was meant to be fun, chill, eventful. You could blame it all on Gina, but you knew that was just the tip of the iceberg.

“I’m just saying I’m going to get the car started just fine, all I need is a few minutes to figure it out. And we’re already late anyway, they won’t hate us for the extra ten minutes,” you said as you opened the hood again.

“This is not about the car and we both know it,” Steve stated, sure of himself. Of course, he was – he knew you like the back of his hand.

You closed the hood as soon as you opened it, walking closer to Steve to face him properly.

“Maybe you should take it easy if you want her to work, you know,” Steve remarked.

“Why don’t you just say what’s on my mind, Steve? Since you apparently know it better than I do,” you hit him with your words.

“But that’s just the thing! I don’t!” Steve exclaimed, his voice raising an octave. “I don’t know what’s going on with you right now and you won’t tell me a goddamn thing!”

“You already know what’s going on with me, I made it perfectly clear – I want my fucking car to start so we can go and meet our friends, as we do every year!”

“And I made it perfectly clear that we can take my car, so why are we still arguing about this??”

“Because it’s the way things are supposed to be!!”

The silence that followed that revelation felt intrusive. You couldn’t wait for Steve to tell you off, to argue with you some more, but instead, he didn’t say another word and just stared at you, dumbfounded. It allowed you to reflect on your behavior of the past ten minutes and you immediately dropped your eyes to look at your shoes, ashamed.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked you then, voice softer.

You sighed and looked in the distance, avoiding his gaze.

“It’s the tradition. On the 4th of July, you come to my place to help me pack everything, we take my car to pick up Eddie and Robin on the way to the lake, we meet Nance and Jonathan there, then, you and Eddie set the barbecue while Jonathan and I take care of the music, and Nance and Robin lay the blankets to make us cozy. And we eat and drink until they shoot the fireworks from downtown – it’s how the day is supposed to go.”

“Right, and it’s how it’s going to go today,” Steve assured, confused.

“No, it’s not. Rob and Eddie are not there this year, and because of Gina, we’re late and missing out on the sunset.” You paused, taking a breath. “It’s what I look forward to the most. Watching the sunset on the lake with you guys. All of you.”

Steve relaxed his shoulders and breathed out like he finally made sense of the underlying problem. He stepped closer to you and his hand cupped your face, willing you to look him in the eyes.

“Okay, I’m going to take a wild guess and assume it has something to do with Nancy and Jonathan talking about moving to Chicago next year for Nancy’s job,” Steve said. “Am I boiling or getting colder?”

The rhetorical question elicited a weak smile on your lips.

“I know Chicago’s not that far from Hawkins, but… I like the way things are right now, you know?” you explained while Steve listened, nodding. “I like that we can hang out whenever we want to, show up unannounced at each other’s place, and whatnot.”

“You can still do that if they move to Chicago. It’ll just take you more than three hours to get there,” he teased you.

Steve did it – he made you laugh. “I’m not so sure Gina would survive the trip.”

“I’ll let you borrow my car, then,” Steve whispered, and even though you were bantering, it sounded like a promise.

You chuckled, the knot in your stomach coming undone as Steve put his thumb to your forehead, stroking where you had wiped the oil stain earlier.

“You look like shit,” he told you unceremoniously.

“And you’re a shitty friend,” you bit back, making you both smile.

Friend. The denomination never felt strong enough to define what you and Steve meant to one another. Yet, it was the only one you used, the only one that brought you comfort, especially in those blurry moments that kept you wondering why that boy had always been so sweet and kind to you, even when you felt undeserving.

You jumped at the sound of a car honking from the street, bringing you back to reality as you and Steve turned your heads to see what happened. You felt amused, and somehow relieved when you saw Nancy popping her head out the passenger window of Jonathan’s car like a beautifully staged interruption.

“Oh my God, you guys are late too?” Nancy shouted at them. “I told Jonathan to go over the speed limit, and as you can imagine, he was not happy about it.”

Steve laughed, and you followed suit because it was almost ridiculous, how perfect the situation had turned out. Sure, things felt different this year, with winds of change impending, and the future of your friend group unclear. But at least, you were all on the same page.

“While we’re here, get in the car with us!” Nancy offered, gesturing for you to come closer. “Maybe we can still catch the sunset.”

You exchanged an amused look with Steve, silently agreeing that your uncooperative car and your latest conversation would remain a secret you’d share only between you. Your friends didn’t need to know the reason why you were late.

So, you and Steve hurried to put everything in Jonathan’s car, climbed in the backseat, and made it to the lake just in time to admire the remnant of sunset and put everything into place to wait for the fireworks.

And as you put a blanket over your and Nancy’s shoulders, the fire crackling in the quiet of the evening around you, you couldn’t help but search for Steve’s eyes. He was already looking at you, sitting across the fire next to Jonathan. You smiled when you realized, and he winked at you, playful, secretive.

Maybe you were lying to yourself, in the end. Maybe you didn’t mean it when you said you liked things the way they were. Maybe there was one thing you wouldn’t mind changing, you thought as you looked away from Steve to look up at the fireworks now erupting in the sky above.

🎃🎃🎃

“I’m not sure I get it, Robin – who are you dressed as?”

“Are you seriously asking me that question, Nance? Marty McFly? Don’t tell me you still haven’t watched Back to the Future!”

“I didn’t have time.”

“In five years, you didn’t have time to watch a two-hour movie?”

“I work a lot, okay?!”

You were only half-listening to Robin and Nancy’s bickering as you finished getting ready for the Halloween party that your high school classmate Tina and her best friend Vicki Carmichael threw every year.

Usually, on the 31st of October, you would just crash at Steve and Eddie’s former apartment with the group, stuffing your face with popcorn and watching horror movies. But this year, the boys didn’t live at that apartment anymore and it was the last Halloween you’d all spend together in Hawkins before Jonathan and Nancy moved to Chicago next January. You all agreed it called for a memorable celebration, hence why you were now getting ready with the girls at your place.

“So, you mean to tell me you haven’t had time to watch Back to the Future, but you had it to watch all three Star Wars movies, judging on your costume?” Robin asked while Nancy grunted in frustration.

“I told you last week, me and Jonathan are wearing couple’s costumes – he’s Han Solo and I’m Princess Leia, obviously,” she explained while pointing at her long white dress and peculiar hairstyle.

“Couple’s costumes,” Robin repeated. “Kids these days, they’re just talking nonsense.”

“It’s romantic and fun, you’re just jealous you didn’t think about it for you and Vickie,” Nancy retorted as you were starting to think you were in the middle of playground taunts.

“Oh yeah, I should’ve asked Vickie to dress as Doc, it would’ve been crazy romantic,” Robin sassed.

Once the heels were at your feet, you turned around on your chair to stare at your friends.

“You two realize how stupid your fight is, right?” you chipped in.

“We’re not fighting,” Robin and Nancy said in unison.

You rolled your eyes and turned back around to face your vanity and finish your makeup, but it was too late – you had involuntarily drawn the attention to you.

“And who are you dressing as, hot stuff?” Nancy cooed while smirking at your reflection in the mirror.

You hummed the Dirty Dancing theme song to answer her question, and she nodded approvingly, taking in your pink dress and silver heels.

“I love it,” Nancy smiled.

“Thanks,” you said as you stood up. “And you two look equally great, so stop biting each other’s heads off.”

“So, if you’re Jennifer Grey, does it mean Steve’s dressing as Patrick Swayze? I could see him pulling that off.”

Robin’s question took you aback for it came out of nowhere. You gaped at her, face warm and thoughts racing.

“Hmm, no, he’s not. That’d… be a great couple’s costume, for sure. But we’re not a couple, so…” you stammered, awfully self-conscious.

“Well, yeah, but you might as well be.”

“Robin,” Nancy reprimanded her with warning eyes.

“What??” Robin exclaimed while you watched, confused. “It’s not like she doesn’t know what I mean, it’s been going on for years, this… whatever this is. And honestly, we’re all tired of pretending like we can’t see it.”

Nancy blushed, embarrassment written all over her face as she rubbed a hand over it.

“I don’t… understand,” you admitted, tugging at the hems of your dress to anchor yourself in the moment.

“There’s nothing to understand, babes,” Nancy said softly. “Robin was just joking. Right, Rob?”

Nancy was now glaring at Robin, who had no option but to concur. It felt like you were missing something there, and you didn’t like it. Were your friends talking behind your back? Were they annoyed at your relationship with Steve? Annoyed at the ambiguity, the unsaid, the attraction? Was it all that obvious as of late?

“I’m sorry, guys,” Robin said with a sigh. “I had a fight with Vickie earlier today and it messed me up a little bit.”

“Oh, babes,” Nancy softened, hugging Robin from the side.

“I know that’s no excuse for being a jerk,” Robin winced in your direction.

“You’re all right,” you said with a sympathetic smile, and both Robin and Nancy seemed relieved.

The three of you talked Robin through her problem until it was time to meet the guys outside. Nancy was the first to exit the apartment, but Robin lingered by the front door, hand hovering hesitantly above the handle. Eventually, she made up her mind and turned over to face you.

“I just want you to know that I’m really sorry for earlier,” Robin told you.

“It’s okay, Rob, I get it. You were upset about your fight with Vickie and said stuff you didn’t mean. It’s fine, it happens to all of us,” you said, wondering why Robin had felt the need to bounce back on that.

“No, but see, that’s the thing – I did mean it,” she contradicted. “I just didn’t say it like I should’ve.”

“And how should you say it?” you asked with a frown.

Robin looked uncertain now, fidgeting where she stood. You imagined that if Nancy were still in the room with you two, she’d probably give Robin an earful.

“When I said that we’re all tired of pretending like we can’t see what there is between you and Steve, I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” she elaborated under your undivided attention. “It’s just… We’re your friends, and you know, as friends, we want what’s best for each other, I’m sure you feel that way about us too –“

“Robin, cut to the chase, please,” you interjected before she could lose herself in her explanation.

“We just think if you two admitted what you’re both obviously feeling for each other… You could be very happy together. And the rest of us would be too because damn, we’ve watched it happen since high school and it’s about time one of you does something about it, babes.”

You stared at the door behind Robin, wishing to run away from this conversation that was too much for you to handle. It was the first time one of your friends confronted you on the matter, upfront, and you had no idea how to react.

“I’m not expecting you to say anything, don’t worry,” Robin added. “I just wanted you to know what everyone else is thinking. Do what you want with that information.”

You opened your mouth to respond but you heard the distinctive sound of Eddie’s van parking on the street, your sign that it was time to go and end this conversation for good. You rushed to the door, opening it before Robin could and hurtling down the stairs to some extent on your heels. Once you were outside, you breathed in slowly, calming down and processing what one of your best friends had just confided to you.

You and Robin met Nancy on the curb as Eddie slid the van’s side door open to let you in the backseats.

“Evening, ladies,” Eddie greeted.

“Wow, you’re Elton!” Nancy exclaimed after studying Eddie’s costume, a white ensemble with feathers and glitter that was the singer’s signature.

“You could get that but not mine?!” Robin exclaimed, almost offended.

“Move on, Rob, and let’s have fun tonight,” Nancy teased her while sitting near Jonathan, dressed in the easily identifiable Han Solo outfit.

Robin took the passenger seat next to Eddie, leaving you with no choice but to sit next to Steve at the back of the van. Of course. Almost like it had been on purpose, you thought to yourself.

You settled next to him and you were almost insecure, something you’d never felt around him. You resented Robin for not knowing best, and not keeping her mouth shut.

“Hey, kitten,” Steve welcomed you as you smoothed the edges of your dress.

“Hey, Harrington,” you said in return, attempting to smile at him.

You studied his costume as he studied yours. Aviator sunglasses on his head, green jumpsuit, sleeves rolled back under his elbows – Maverick from Top Gun. You'd gushed over the character when the movie came out, and you wondered if it happened to be a funny coincidence or if Steve had picked that costume on purpose.

“Baby,” Steve suddenly said.

“What?” you choked out with widened eyes.

Steve frowned. “Your costume,” he clarified. “Baby from Dirty Dancing, right?”

You processed the information and chuckled awkwardly, feeling stupid. You let Robin get in your head and you hated it.

“Right,” you breathed out as Eddie drove away.

Something passed in Steve’s eyes, and you were not sure what it was. Hesitation, desire, resignation… You watched and waited, fingers laced on your lap, heartbeat echoing in your ears.

“You look… very nice,” Steve told you in a hushed voice.

You knew neither Nancy nor Jonathan could’ve heard it – they were engaged in a vivid conversation with Robin and Eddie in the front of the car. It was an intimate declaration, meant for you and you only.

Your lips parted subtly, but Steve’s eyes caught it regardless. It did not soothe the rate of your beating heart.

“Thanks,” you croaked it, throat tight. “You’re not too bad yourself."

Steve smiled briefly, then did the strangest thing. He leaned in, his face awfully close to yours, and you thought; this was it. He was going to kiss you. Right then, right there, in the back of Eddie’s van dressed as the guy from Top Gun on the way to a Halloween party.

And as much as you wanted him to kiss you, it wasn’t how you wanted him to do it. Not the place, not the time. Maybe Steve realized it too because he moved away as quickly as he had gotten closer to you, clearing his throat and watching out the window like nothing happened.

The party at Tina’s villa was loud, messy, and packed with former classmates – some you were glad to run into, others you made a strong case of avoiding. You had a nice chat with your high school sweetheart, even though you could feel Steve’s eyes on you the whole time. When you couldn’t bear the weight of his yearning gaze, you took a sip of that rum punch Vicki Carmichael had made – a few times.

You fled to the bathroom around eleven to freshen up and have some alone time. You were reasonably drunk, but still conscious enough to notice someone was already in the room when you barged into it.

“Oh, so sorry, I didn’t know someone was in there –”

You cut the apology short when you recognized the person’s reflection staring at you in the mirror.

“Becky, hi,” you said, surprised.

The girl greeted you back, the sound of your name imperceptible amid the party people shouting in the hallway. Now, you were reasonably drunk and very uncomfortable.

Becky was the last girl Steve had dated. They had been together for two years and seemed happy until Becky broke up with Steve overnight. Everyone assumed she’d probably met someone else, but you always felt like that was too simple and there was another more plausible explanation.

“You okay?” Becky asked you.

“Y – yeah, I just needed to cool off,” you mumbled.

You assumed Becky would urge you to clear off and leave her be, but instead, she stepped aside to give you some space in front of the sink.

You closed the door behind you and stood in front of the mirror, silently watching Becky perfect the mascara on her lashes. You quickly gathered she was dressed as Madonna in the Material Girl music video.

“It’s… been a while,” you said to break that awful silence. “What are you up to these days?”

“Small talk, huh? I thought we were way past that.”

You chuckled, ill at ease and too drunk to have a proper conversation. Out of all the girls Steve had dated, Becky was the one who unsettled you the most. You never knew what to expect of her.

“How’s Stevie?” Becky then asked before reapplying some lipstick.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was Becky's inquiry, but something turned your stomach. You always hated it when she called Steve that name. It reminded you of a jealous version of yourself you’d rather leave in the past.

“He’s good,” you said casually, no matter your inner turmoil. “You know. Same old, same old.”

Becky’s lips turned into the semblance of a smile.

“I take it you two still aren’t together.”

You felt your heart drop at that comment. What did she mean, “still”? And what was up with everyone and their insights regarding your relationship with Steve?

“It sounded a lot less petty in my head, I promise,” Becky said when you stayed silent.

“It’s not that,” you replied. “I’m just… surprised you would say that.”

Becky sighed and turned around to face you. It looked like she was about to get a lot of things off her chest, and you were not sober enough for that.

“You know why I broke up with Steve?” Becky asked you, and she obviously wasn’t waiting for an answer. “Why all the girls he dates eventually break things off with him?”

You blinked. You didn’t want Steve’s ex-girlfriend to share that information with you. You had absolutely no desire to detain such knowledge. Yet, you shook your head, permitting Becky to say what she really thought, too curious to pretend you didn’t care.

“Because it’s painfully obvious he’s in love with you and we’re just here passing time until he finally has the balls to tell you.”

In love. You had thought about it all with Steve – he thinks I’m pretty; he’s attracted to me; he likes me more than a friend. But never in your wildest dreams had you dared fantasize about these powerful little words.

He’s in love with you, Becky’s voice repeated like a broken record on a loop in your mind. Taunting, hopeful, too good to be true.

You found yourself sitting on the bathtub’s edge, both arms at your side, speechless. Becky leaned against the wall across from you and chuckled like she'd just shared the funniest story.

“Don’t tell me this is shocking news.”

“I…” you started without finishing your thought. You were at a loss for words and your head started spinning, the fateful sentence seeping into your mind faster than the liquor in your system.

“Look, obviously, it wasn’t my place to tell, but you know, despite everything, I always liked you,” Becky confessed. “You were always nice to me, even though I could tell it was not easy for you.”

You lowered your eyes, apologetic. It was true – you had always been nice to Becky. After all, it wasn’t the girl’s fault if you had feelings you’d never dare confess to your best friend.

“That’s why I’m telling you,” Becky resumed. “I’m trying to help you two out. This whole faint-hearted act was probably cute when you were sixteen, but you’re adults now. Are you waiting for him to get married and start a family with someone else to tell him how you feel?”

The mere thought made your heart ache. You didn’t want to picture Steve married to someone else. It made you nauseous.

“Sorry, that was harsh,” Becky apologized.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked her in a whisper, feeling like your head was about to explode. “Why are you telling this to me and not him?”

Becky stared at you like you’d just said the most nonsensical thing.

“Because he’s an idiot and a coward. If you’re waiting for him to make a move, you’ll wait a long time, honey.”

You spaced out for a moment, and when you returned to your senses, Becky was gone, leaving you alone with your spiraling thoughts in that bathroom.

Becky was right. Steve was an idiot and a coward. The inebriation clouded all your good judgments, so you got to your feet and walked out of the bathroom to look for Steve. After everything that happened tonight, you were confused, upset, and even angry.

You found him outside by the pool, joking around with some guys from his old swim team in high school. You marched to him, bold and determined, and he didn’t notice you right away, so you hooked your fingers to the fabric around his arm and dragged him behind you. You ignored the guys whistling at you both or Steve protesting and asking what had gotten into you until you walked into an empty room on the side of the villa and closed the patio door behind you.

“Okay, what the hell was that about??” Steve exclaimed, his voice loud in the quiet of the room, away from the party noises and the music. “Have you lost your shit??”

“You’re an idiot,” you told him in an accusing tone.

“Tell me about it,” Steve sassed you.

“And a coward!”

“Oh, so you have a whole list, huh?”

“That’s what Becky said.”

Steve looked at you in silence, processing what you just said.

“Of course, you talked to Becky….” he sighed. “Let me guess – she said I stole her INXS tape? She needs to let it go, she clearly lost it, she can’t keep blaming me for –“

“I don’t want you to get married, Steve,” you interrupted him, blurting out what you had been obsessing about for the last ten minutes.

Steve froze and looked at you like you were insane. And you might just be, you realized. You took a step back, dizzy and embarrassed.

“I… was not planning on getting married any time soon. Where is that coming from?” Steve asked you, stepping toward you.

You bit your tongue, holding from saying another stupidity you’d immediately regret. Suddenly, your choice to confront Steve and isolate yourselves in a bedroom didn’t look like the brilliant plan it seemed to be five minutes ago.

“Forget it, I’m drunk, and I don’t know what I’m saying,” you stammered, head low as you walked toward the door.

“Hey,” Steve brought you short by taking your hand before you had the chance to leave. His touch was tender, your hand fit perfectly in his, and you understood what Becky meant when she said "still not together".

“Talk to me,” Steve urged, lacing his fingers with yours. It was unbearable, how natural it felt. “You used to tell me everything, and now, I have no idea what’s up with you anymore.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, wishing you could go back in time and stop yourself from putting the two of you in this awful situation.

“Come on, kitten, we’re friends, you can tell me anything.”

Friends. You loathed the word that normally comforted you. You couldn’t stand to hear it.

He’s in love with you. How could he say you were friends when he was the one you called first when your car broke down, when he’d snuck out of college to comfort you after you got dumped by your ex-boyfriend, when he drove you across the country to see your sick grandfather for the last time? How did he have the audacity to minimize what you meant to each other after taking such a significant place in your heart for years and years?

“We’re not friends,” you mumbled.

You looked at him and thought you could see heartbreak in his eyes. You’d hurt him. You’d hurt him badly.

“We’re not?” he asked, his voice breaking in the inflection.

You held your breath as Steve questioned you with glistening eyes. He didn’t understand what you were trying to tell him, and it was killing you.

“You know what I mean,” you breathed out, unable to say the actual words.

He’s in love with you. It was so simple. Why couldn’t he just admit it?

You’re in love with him too, why can’t you say it?  you admitted to yourself.

Because no, it wasn’t that simple. Steve wasn’t the only coward in this situation. After all these years, it was so scary to admit, even more to say out loud. How could you expect him to say it when you were terrified of doing it yourself?

Eventually, Steve let go of your hand, an almost insignificant gesture that shattered your heart into a million pieces.

“Actually… No. I don’t know what you mean,” he said, defeated, before leaving the room.

You did it. You ruined everything, you thought as you sat on the floor and cried your heartbreak away.

🎁🎁🎁

It was supposed to be the merriest day of the year, with children's laughter filling the air and countless presents to unwrap. Yet, your heart was not in it, and you had to hold back tears during dinner that night at your parents’ house.

You hadn’t talked to or heard from Steve in almost two months, and it was officially the longest you’d spent without seeing each other. The thought was excruciating. He was your best friend in the entire world, you were head over heels in love with him, and the absence of him was like gasping for air on the verge of drowning.

But today was a merry day. Today was all about spending time together, eating a nice homemade meal, and reuniting. So, you played the part – you ate dinner, played board games with your cousins, and chatted with your uncles and aunts. You did what you were expected to do, and nothing more.

When you returned to your place, to your sad and lonely apartment, you sat down on the floor, still in your red party dress, back to your couch with a glass of wine, and flipped through a photo album Nancy and Jonathan had given you for your twenty-fifth birthday.

It was a recollection of happy times Jonathan had captured with his camera throughout the years – from graduating high school to renting your first crappy apartment, taking your first trip to New York with the group, and celebrating various occasions with them.

You took the last photo from the album, holding it between your fingers to get a closer look. It was a picture of you and Steve on New Year’s Eve the year before. You were posing for the camera, smiling from ear to ear. You were looking at the lens, but Steve only had eyes for you, holding you in his arms with rosy cheeks. When you looked at it like that, in retrospect and from another’s perspective, it seemed so evident that the guy in the picture loved the girl posing next to him.

You were fully crying now, blurry eyes and stuffy nose in contradiction with the holiday spirit. You were about to put the picture away in the album when something in the back of it caught your eye.

There was a note in the handwriting you would recognize anywhere at any given time – Steve’s. Your heart skipped a beat. It had gone unnoticed the first time you’d looked through the album at your birthday party and none of your friends had mentioned a thing about it. You started to look at a handful of pictures to see if others had something hidden on the other side, but they were all blank. All except for one.

You took a deep breath, pondering. Maybe Nancy and Jonathan were unaware of it, but Steve not saying anything didn’t make sense. This note had been there, forgotten in an album gathering dust in your bookcase, for months, and it could’ve gone on for years had you not felt nostalgic on that specific day.

You wondered if you should read it or pretend you’d never seen it. It was only a few words; they were probably some meaningless inside jokes or more personal birthday wishes. But they could also be something more, much more.

You knew you couldn’t live with the uncertainty, so you gathered your courage and read.

Happy birthday, kitten! Don’t know if you’ll ever see this, but I want you to know you’re my favorite person in the entire world, and I love you. Yours always, Steve PS: stop being a sourpuss just ‘cause you turned 25

It had been there. Right there, under your nose, all along. Yours always.

Before you could think it through, your coat was around your shoulders and you were behind the wheel, ready to drive to Steve’s place and tell him how you felt. Screw the stability and the uncertainty – you loved the boy too and you needed to tell him tonight.

It was past midnight, the air was cold and the streetlights reflected in the puddles on the pavement as you drove a little too fast toward Steve’s building. Your heart was racing in your chest, anticipation mingling with excitement while you rehearsed what you’d say in your head.

You were going to confess your true feelings to Steve. Nothing could scare you anymore.

Except, perhaps, the ominous sputtering sound your car made when you tried to restart at a traffic light.

“No, no, no, no, no, come on, not now!!” you begged desperately.

The ignition wouldn’t turn over, and you could’ve screamed at the sky. Was it some sort of cosmic sign preventing you from making the biggest mistake of your life?

You got out of the car to check the engine under the hood. When you opened it, it did something it’d never done before – it gave off fumes.

You coughed violently as you stepped away from the car, looking all around you and realizing you were alone on the street in the middle of the night with a kaput car and wasted opportunities.

“This is a nightmare,” you told yourself out loud. “This can’t be happening to me.”

Your eyes burned as you were about to cry again, disheartened and pathetic. Then, some headlights on the other side of the road caught your attention.

A maroon car stopped next to you and turned the ignition off. You held your breath, recognizing the vehicle instantly and wondering if the universe wouldn’t happen to be messing with you.

The driver exited the car and eyed yours up and down before chuckling.

“I had a feeling Gina wouldn’t make it through the year,” he said.

You laughed, the sound choked up in your throat at the improbability of the situation. You couldn’t believe Steve was there, rescuing you even without meaning to, always being there when you needed him to, the constant one in your life. As luck would have it, you thought.

“What are you doing here this late at night?” you asked him.

“Could ask you the same thing,” he remarked with a smile.

You returned his smile, nervously fixing your hair. The wind was rising, and the air was filled with change and expectations.

“I was… on my way to your place, actually,” you explained, somehow shyly. “I wanted to talk to you.”

A few seconds passed until Steve spoke again like he was processing the information. “That’s funny, I was on my way to your place too.”

You swallowed, unable to stop hoping. “You were?”

“Yeah… Of course, I was,” Steve shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep, and I realized I never got a chance to give you your present because we weren't speaking to each other, so… Anyways, I can just give it to you now.”

“We’re literally in the middle of the road, Steve.”

He looked around at the empty and silent street for good measure. “Yeah, and it’s not like it’s rush hour right now, I think we’re good.”

You opened your mouth to retort but opted against saying anything else. It was your first interaction with him in weeks, it was out of the question to ruin it just to have the last word.

The young man got something from the backseat of his car and immediately handed it to you. You took it carefully, turning it over in your hand to try and figure out what was beneath the wrapping paper.

“I… don’t have your gift,” you admitted, crestfallen. “I mean, I did get you something, but I didn’t think to give it to you tonight.”

“It’s okay, kitten. Just open it.”

You complied, slowly unwrapping the paper with trembling fingers and shortness of breath as Steve observed quietly.

You were now looking at a book’s front cover, and it might’ve seemed unremarkable at first glance, but it was not some common paperback.

“First limited edition,” Steve explained, even though you already knew. “You talked about it at Eddie’s place a couple of months ago, that it was almost impossible to find today, and you’d love to have it. So, I went to every bookstore in town to ask if they knew where to get it, and one of them gave me their counterpart's number from England, they had to send it all the way here but… Yeah,” Steve concluded, face red and hands in his pocket. “I found it.”

You looked up from the book to lock eyes with Steve. He seemed expectant and abashed, almost anxious of your reaction.

“You went to all this trouble for me?” you asked in disbelief.

He pursed his lips and nodded as if it was that obvious.

“You’re well worth the trouble.”

All this time, you had expected blatant signs, big gestures, and declarations, when Steve had been telling you how he felt in his own way for years. It had always been there – in fleeting touches, longing stares, and understated actions.

“I read it,” you eventually confessed.

"The book?" Steve asked, puzzled.

“No," you laughed. "The note you wrote in my photo album. I read it tonight.”

You noticed the way Steve held his breath at that revelation. Suddenly, you no longer cared that you were standing in the middle of the road with your dead car by your side. Suddenly, all that mattered was the pretty boy standing before you and what you felt for him.

“It was corny, right?” Steve said with a nervous laugh. “I know you don’t like it when it’s corny but –“

“Can’t you just be serious for one minute, Harrington?” you cut him short with an amused eye roll. “I’m trying to tell you how I feel here.”

“I know,” Steve breathed out. “I’ve been trying to tell you how I feel for months now, but I never find the right words.”

In the elation of the moment, your words got a mind of their own, and you heard yourself saying: “Show me, then.”

Friends. A designation you held onto for the past eight years, a status that put things into perspective whenever Steve introduced a new girlfriend to the group, a word that freed you of your guilt when getting into relationships yourself, a term that helped you when you would yearn for something more, something you thought to be unrealistic and unreachable.

That word no longer held any power over you now that you were in Steve Harrington’s arms and he leaned in to seal his lips with yours into a long-awaited and overdue kiss, the promise of a cherished and beautiful future.

You'd envisioned the scene time and time again in your mind, but none of the imaginary scenarios your fantasies created could measure up to that kiss. It was sweet, yet demanding, like you were the air he needed to breathe. He kissed you like he loved - sincerely, tenderly, and intensely. You smiled against his mouth, and your heart melted when he did it too.

When you parted from him, lips swollen and eyelashes fluttering, you felt like everything was finally right and mourned the time you wasted being scared of changes.

“So… What now?” you whispered, getting a strand of hair out of Steve’s face to look at him better.

The boy held your gaze, enamored and enraptured like you’d never seen him before. You enjoyed it while it lasted because it was a momentary bliss until reality caught up.

“Well, first, we’re going to call a tow truck," Steve said as he entwined his fingers with yours. "And then, you’ll bid farewell to Gina,” he nodded toward the car.

Your heart tightened in your chest. You’d almost forgotten about your car. It was truly ironic, how you needed to say goodbye to your oldest partner while embracing a new beginning with your best friend.

“Can it wait until tomorrow?” you asked while batting your lashes at him.

“Hey, just because we’re going to make out a lot from now on doesn’t mean you get to do that,” Steve jokingly scolded you while gesturing at your face.

“Do what?” you asked, coy and amused.

Steve laughed and put his arm around your shoulders. “Come on, kitten, I’m taking you home.”

At first, it didn’t feel like much had changed between you and Steve. You were still teasing each other, spending time with the group before Nancy and Jonathan’s departure, and arguing about what car you should buy now that Gina was in a junkyard.

But things had changed for the better, and you realized it on New Year’s Eve when Steve kissed you at midnight, as he would for many new years to come.

❤️❤️❤️

[starrbishops]

⟡Filthy Mouth⟡

(Bob Reynolds x Reader)

Summary: Bob finally lets you give him a blowjob. - prequel to Sidelines based on a request from @princess312

Word Count: 1.4k

Notes: Oral sex, blowjob, established relationship, Post-Thunderbolts*, porn without plot, so much swearing, Bob Reynolds curses like a sailor,

a/n: Uhhhh yeah this is just pornography. Straight up written word porn. With some Bob character study mixed in on his background and behaviors in a relationship. But mostly porn. Enjoy!

Bob wasn’t used to being powerful.

It was strange, having his new abilities. He felt stronger, healthier, but he still felt like himself. Robert Reynolds, the vagrant drug addict dropout. He did his best to keep his powers at the forefront of his mind after remembering what he’d done to New York. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, especially not his new friends. And especially not you.

Bob tried to take things slow with you, always leaving you chances to back out. He knew he wasn’t an easy person to be with, and he honestly didn’t fully understand what you saw in him. But you stayed everytime. No matter how much he pointed out his faults, his flaws, you’d just smile and tell him you liked him anyways, as is.

It’s part of why he likes you so much. More than anyone he’s ever known.

Still, he tries to not come on too strong. He always makes sure to put you first. All the bare minimum boyfriend tasks; walk closer to the street, hold doors open for you, remind you everyday how incredible you are. In bed, it translates to making sure you cum at least once, preferably twice or more, before he does. Which is why it takes so long for him to let you blow him.

When it comes to sex, Bob is first and foremost concerned with not hurting you. He still gets nightmares of when you beat up you and the rest of the team as Sentry. You all laugh it off as a funny memory, tell him you forgive him, but it nags at him. He could hurt you so easily, and he would sooner die than do that on purpose. Anyways, he much prefers the way you look when he eats you out, eyes rolling back in your head, hands gripping his hair while he raves at you. He prioritizes your pleasure over anything else. The fact that you even let him have sex with you is the win from his perspective. Apparently, you don’t see it that way.

You’re seated in his lap, the two of you making out in his bedroom while the rest of the team is away on a mission. You palm at the grown bulge in his pants, breaking the kiss. “Can I please blow you?” you ask, with just a hint of a pout on your face. “I’m good at it, so I’ve been told.”

Bob is about to reply before you cut him off. “And if you say you just want me to have a good time, I will have a good time. I like taking care of you Bob. I just want you to let me.” 

He shuts his mouth, looking up at you. It feels like a fever dream, a beautiful girl in his lap who desperately wants to suck his dick. It’s not like he hasn’t imagined it before. There’ve been plenty of long missions where he’s had to deal with his erections himself, and thought of you while doing so. Imagine it was your hand rather than his, how it would feel to have your lips wrap around his length, taking all of him into your mouth and down your throat. Just thinking about it now makes it even harder.

So instead of his usual deflection, he nods. “You sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

You just grin, already tugging at his waistband. “Bob, we’ve had sex before. I know your dick is big. Congratulations, I will survive.”

He chuckles as he assists you in removing his pants, lifting his hips so you can pull them off along with his boxers before tossing them across the room. You settle yourself between his legs, licking your lips as you take in the image before you. 

Bob’s cock stands at attention, red and desperate for touch, precum leaking from the tip. You glance up, waiting for consent before you make a move. Bob nods, awkwardly settling his hands by his sides, not wanting to touch you too intensely at first.

Bob Reynolds is no blushing virgin. He’s had sex, and had blowjobs before. He’s trying not to be too loud. He really, really does. Still, the moment your tongue swipes over his tip, he’s already groaning. “Fuck, baby.” he gasps, one hand flying to your head while the other grips the sheets beneath him in an attempt to ground himself. “So good, fuck.”

You take the base of his cock in our hand, getting a firm hold before you lick up the underside of him, taking your time to coat him with your spit. He does his best not to hold too tightly onto your hair for fear of pulling too hard. He keeps his eyes on you, memorizing the sight of your tongue sliding along his length, the feeling of you against his most sensitive parts.

“Tell me how it feels, baby.” you mutter, looking up at him with lust darkened eyes. “Don’t hold it in.”

Bob’s always been the talkative type. Before you, he tried to tone it down, considering most of his sexual experience was just flings. When you said you liked when he made noise, he took it to heart, letting his inner monologue escape his lips as you ravished him. 

He nods, another moan escaping him as you take him in your mouth, at the heavenly feeling of your lips around his cock. 

Try as you might, you can’t take his whole length in your mouth. You compensate with your hand on what you can’t fit, stroking him as you begin to bob your head on him, Bob groaning at the sensation.

“Holy shit, babe, oh my god.” he rambles as you take him in and out of your mouth, his knuckles beginning to turn white with how hard he grips the sheets. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful like this, mouth full of cock. Should’ve let you do this sooner, fuck-”

He interrupts himself with another moan as you manage to take him ever deeper into your throat, his tip just touching the back of your throat. You continue at your pace, laser focused on his every move and sound, noting what gets the most reaction. You do it again, take him just that much deeper, and Bob almost cums on the spot.

“Oh my god, you’re so good. Holy fuck, you’re perfect, your mouth is fucking incredible.” He can feel your own moan vibrate around him, and he groans at the feeling in turn. He’s becoming convinced you’re trying to suck his soul out through his cock. He’d let you, if it feels this good. He’d let you do anything you want to him.

He’s still talking aloud, he realizes as you make a sound that at first verges on a laugh, shifting quickly to a moan as he accidentally jerks his hips up just a bit. “Shit, I’m sorry, a-are you good? Okay?”

You nod, wiping your mouth quickly and smiling innocently as you lower your mouth back onto him, one hand moving to cup his balls beneath his cock. Yet another string of curses escapes him at the feeling, the combined sensation of your mouth and hands becoming all too much. He can feel himself hurtling off the edge, towards absolute ecstasy.

“Oh, god, baby I’m gonna cum, where should I- can I cum in your mouth? Please? Wanna fill you, let you taste me.”

You moan around him, and Bob takes that as the affirmative. You continue, eyes closed as you concentrate on maximizing his pleasure.

“Fuck, baby, ‘m gonna cum, fuck, fuck!” he practically yells out your name as he finally cums, you taking as much of him as possible as he does, hot spurts of cum sliding down your throat. You take it like a champ, holding your position, still stroking the base of him and massaging his balls beneath that.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Bob groans as he tries to collect himself, eyes coming back into focus to see you sit up, swallowing before licking what’s left of his cum off the tip of his softened dick. “You’re amazing.”

“You have a filthy mouth.” you chuckle, crawling up his body. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse that much.”

“The things you do to me.” he smiles, leaning in to kiss you. He can taste the salty flavor of himself on your lips. “We should do that again sometime.”

You brush some fallen hair out of his face, grinning with satisfaction. “Told you I was good.”

“I never doubted you.” he assures you, pulling you into his arms as he flips you onto your back. “But now it’s my turn.”

a/n: i'm gonna be fr blowjobs are not my specialty but i did my bset here and honestly it was good practice. Insane thing to say about writing about blowjobs but damn here we are. uhhhh bob fans enjoy!

[lupinqs]

MIGRAINE ━━ paige bueckers x teammate!reader

☆ ━ summary: on big east media day, you’re unfortunate enough to get a migraine

☆ ━ word count: 2.9K

☆ ━ warnings: descriptions of migraines, throwing up

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, based off of this req

☆ ━ author’s note: two fics in one night omg WHO AM I??? also i promise this is not rlly dramatized y’all this is quite literally how my migraines are …….… wish i had a paige during them 😞

BIG EAST media day—it’s today. Usually, you don’t mind media days at all. Actually, you tend to enjoy them. But, clearly, today you’re not meant to.

As soon as the sun broke through the windows of the New York hotel, Paige had woken to the sight of your scrunched-up face, a hand pressed to your temple. You both knew what it meant: you had a migraine, and today of all days, it had to hit with full force.

Paige had immediately rolled out of bed, grabbing your migraine medication from your bag that you’d luckily remembered to bring in a “just in case” situation. However, you’d been resistant to at first, knowing full well that the medicine would upset your stomach like it always does, but Paige had insisted, forcing you to take it. “You know we can’t skip today. Just take it, baby. It’ll help with the pain.” Reluctantly, you’d taken the pills, and with an an hour, just as you were sitting in hair and makeup, the side effects hit. You’d bolted from your chair, leaving the startled makeup artist behind as you rushed to the bathroom to puke your guts up.

Paige had followed immediately, kneeling beside you in the small, cramped bathroom stall, rubbing your back as you heaved into the toilet. The nausea subsided eventually, but Paige was worried you’d thrown up all the medicine in the process. You hadn’t had time to find out, though—there were interviews to do, and you, always the professional, was stubborn enough to push through.

Now, you and Paige sit side by side, a row of reporters in front of you, microphones held up like weapons ready to attack. The lights in the gym are blinding, and the low hum of chatter, camera clicks, and reporters scribbling notes fill the space. It’s the last place you want to be.

Paige, sensing your discomfort, takes the lead in most of the interviews. She fields question after question, her voice steady and charming as she answers everything from season goals to the team’s camaraderie. Next to her, you sit rigidly in your chair, staring at the ground, fingers pressing hard into your palms as if trying to will the pain away.

Every so often, a reporter directs a question at you, and Paige watches closely, knowing that forming coherent, professional sentences is probably the last thing you want to do. Still, you force a tight smile and give a short, clipped response, voice strained but composed. The pain etched across your face is subtle, but it’s there—just enough for Paige to notice, though you try your best to keep your expression neutral.

It’s damn near agonizing for Paige to watch you like this, especially when she knows how badly you’re hurting. She can tell that the migraine’s wrecking you, she’s been there for so many at this point that she knows all the little signs like the back of her hand. She wishes she could turn the lights down, quiet the reporters, and just take you somewhere dark and silent to rest. But there’s nothing she can do—you just have to endure it.

As the interview drags on, one reporter, a man who looks younger and more inexperienced than the others and who’s clearly growing impatient with your curt answers, rudely points at you, addressing you by name before saying, “You really don’t look like you want to be here today. I mean, is something wrong with you?”

The words come out sharp and are strictly unprofessional. Your eyes flicker toward the reporter, though you can’t see half of him due to the darkness shadowing parts of your vision. You open your mouth, then close it, unsure of what to say. Your brain is hardly functioning, the throbbing in your skull is unbearable, and you can’t even muster the strength to care about his tone. All you want is for this to be over.

But Paige cares.

Her gaze snaps to the reporter, her eyes narrowing dangerously. Her posture shifts, body leaning slightly forward, protective instincts kicking in immediately. Usually, she’d stay more poised, composed, let her media training do the work for her. But she isn’t about to let anyone talk to you like that, especially not today.

“Excuse me?” Paige’s voice is sharp, cutting through the room. She’s sure that there’s a camera recording this right now but she quite literally could not care less. “What did you just say?”

The reporter, startled by Paige’s reaction, fumbles for a moment before stammering, “Um, I just mean that she looks… unwell. She’s not really answering the questions.”

Paige’s jaw tightens. “Maybe you should think before you speak next time. She’s here, answering your questions to the best of her ability despite not feeling great, and you should respect that instead of makin’ snide comments.”

The side of the gym they’re on grows even quieter, the weight of Paige’s words settling in the air. You, who’s still staring at the floor, blinks, heart swelling with gratitude. You don’t really have the energy to defend yourself, let alone sit up with your eyes open against the bright lights, but knowing Paige has your back—it’s everything.

The reporter, realizing he’s on thin ice, mutters an apology, his face turning red under the harsh lights. Paige doesn’t bother to acknowledge it, her focus shifting back to you, her hand subtly reaching out to squeeze your knee under the table.

The rest of the interview continues, but Paige’s attention is divided now. She keeps on eye on the reporters, answering questions with ease, but her other eye is always on you, watching closely. Your face has gone even paler, and every few minutes, your eyes flutter shut as if you don’t even have the strength to keep them open against the blinding pain.

Finally, the session begins to wind down, and as soon as the last question is answered, Paige is out of her chair, gently taking your arm and leading you away from the microphones and cameras. The two of you step into a hallway, away from the noise and lights, and as soon as you’re alone, you lean heavily against the wall, closing your eyes with a shaky breath.

“Jesus,” you mutter, rubbing your temples. “Feel like my head’s about to explode.”

Paige wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “I know, baby. You did so good, though. We’re almost done, okay? Just a little longer, and then I’m taking you back to the hotel. Dark room, no noise, just you and me.”

You nod, though even that small motion seems to cause you pain. And you pray that she does good on that promise, especially as the two of you go back into the gym. You end up sitting on a bench next to Azzi waiting, resting your head on her shoulder, eyes squeezed shut in a desperate attempt to block out the harsh gym lights and constant noise. Your head throbs with a relentless pulse, nausea rolling in waves, and your entire body feels like it’s on the verge of collapse. Azzi’s softly rubbing your arm in a comforting rhythm, whispering little encouragements.

But when Geno and CD approach, apologetically telling Paige that she and you have one more interview to do, Paige immediately starts protesting.

“No. No way. I can do it by myself,” she says firmly, already standing in front of the two coaches, shielding you from them like a protective wall. “She’s not in the right state for this. Just look at her.”

Geno and CD turn their heads to look over at you. You’re still slumped against Azzi, face pale and drawn. Your lips are pressed into a tight line, and your eyes are glossed over, clearly fighting back tears of pain. It’s not a pretty sight.

“I know, Paige,” CD says, eyes soft with sympathy. “We hate this as much as you do. But this interview is important. She’s got to do it, too.”

Paige’s jaw clenches, eyes flashing. “CD, come on,” she says in what can only be called a plea. “Please—she’s hurting. She’s in pain. You’re tellin’ me we can’t work somethin’ out?”

Geno sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I wish we could, kid,” he tells her. “But this is the last one, I promise. After this, you can take her back.”

Paige mutters a curse under her breath, her frustration boiling beneath the surface. She glances back at you, who’s face is so pale and worn-out that it makes Paige’s stomach twist.

“Fine,” she says finally, voice tight with defeat. “But this is the last time I’m putting her through this.”

Geno and CD both give a nods of understanding, and Paige turns, making her way back over to you. Kneeling in front of you, she places a gentle hand on your knee. “Hey,” she whispers, her voice soft with regret. “I’m so sorry, baby, but we gotta do one more interview. Just one more, and then you’re done, yeah?”

You open your eyes, and the utter pain in your expression makes Paige’s heart ache. You look like you’re damn near about to cry, eyes brimming with unshed tears, but you nod weakly anyways, ready to do what you need to even though you’ve clearly hit your limit.

Paige sighs, hating this situation more than anything. She leans in, pressing a light kiss to your forehead, hoping in vain that it might ease some of the pain within your cerebrum. “I promise, after this, I’m taking you away, okay? I ain’t letting anyone stop us.”

You nod again, swallowing hard as you fight to keep yourself in check. Paige stands, gently helping you to your feet, and together, the two of you make your way toward the interviewers, you subtly leaning on Paige as much as you can, because if you’re honest, you can’t see most of your surroundings.

The interview itself is a nightmare. The questions seem never-ending, and although Paige answers most of them, there’s still some directed only at you that you’re responsible for. Each time, you know you sound stupid, voice hoarse and response almost incoherent. The lights are too bright, the noise too overwhelming, and by the end of it, you visibly look like you’d rather die than be here.

As soon as the interview is done, you don’t even wait for Paige. You rush out of the gym, once again heading straight for a hallway where it’s at least a little bit darker. Paige hurries after you, catching up just as you half-collapse against the wall, fighting tears.

“It hurts so bad, P,” you cry raggedly. You clutch at your head, hands trembling as you press them to your temples before moving them over to your eyes, squeezing them shut and pressing your palms against them hard. “I—fuck—I can’t—”

Paige’s stomach constricts. She wraps her arms around you, pulling you close, pressing your face into her neck to shield your eyes from any and all light. “Shh, I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” Paige whispers, making sure to be as quiet as possible, voice filled with soothing warmth. She gently rubs your back, rocking you slightly as you’re near-sobbing against her.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Paige murmurs thickly. “I shoulda fought harder to get you outta that. But I’mma take you back to the hotel now, okay? I don’t care what the fuck else we’re supposed to do today.”

You don’t respond with words, just nod weakly against Paige’s neck, fingers clutching tightly at the blonde’s shirt as if trying to ground yourself.

Paige carefully guides you to sit on a bench in the hallway, leaning you back against the cool wall. “Wait here for just a sec, okay? I’mma be right back, just gotta tell Coach and CD we’re leaving.”

You nod again, your eyes fluttering closed as you rest your head against the wall. Paige brushes her thumb over your cheek, her heart splinting all over again at the sight of you in so much fucking pain. Then, with determination in her step, Paige turns and goes in search of Geno and CD.

When she finds them, they’re in the middle of talking to a few other staff members, but Paige doesn’t care. She marches up to them, her expression set in stone.

“I’m taking her back right now,” Paige says firmly, unwavering. “I’m sorry, but I don’t care what else we’re supposed to do here. She’s in too much pain, and I’m not putting her through any more of this. And I’m definitely not sending her back by herself.”

CD looks like she wants to argue, but one look at Paige’s determined face, and Paige can tell the older woman knows it’s pointless. Geno sighs, his shoulders sagging.

“Go,” he says quietly. “Take her. We’ll handle the rest.” He gestures to himself and CD, then over to where Azzi, Ash, and Sarah stand.

Paige nods once, her gratitude unspoken but clear. She doesn’t waste another second, turning on her heel and heading straight back to you. Once she gets to you, she helps you up, wrapping a firm arm around your waist. The two of you head toward the doors and then are out into the cool air of the New York streets. The noise of the city hits you like a wall—cars honking, sirens wailing faintly in the distance, the chatter of pedestrians—but Paige moves quickly, guiding you down the sidewalk.

The hotel is technically within walking distance, but Paige refuses to put you through that. Instead, she stops at the curb, pulls out her phone, and hails an Uber.

“It’s okay,” she whispers as you press yourself against her side, hiding your face in her shoulder as the nausea rolls through you again. “‘M not making you walk, don’t worry.”

The car pulls up almost immediately. Paige helps you inside first, sliding in next to you and carefully pulling you into her side again, buckling your seatbelt for you. It’s probably the shortest car ride of either of your lives, and you don’t say a word for any of it, just continuing to rest your head on her shoulder, eyes squeezed shut. Paige presses a soft kiss to your temple, reassuring you you’re almost there.

When the car pulls up to the hotel, Paige thanks the driver quickly, helping you out of the car with her hands steady on your hips. You cling to her without hesitation, your legs barely cooperating as, by this point, the majority of your body has gone numb. She doesn’t mind, though, guiding you through the lobby and toward the elevator. The ding of the doors makes you wince and Paige notices immediately. “I know, baby,” she murmurs softly, guiding you inside and pressing the button for your floor.

The ride up is quiet except for your unsteady breathing, and Paige’s grip never loosens. As soon as the doors open, she’s leading you to the room, swiping the keycard and pushing the door open in one smooth motion.

“Here we go,” Paige says gently, helping you inside. She lets you stumble toward the bed, watching closely as you basically collapse onto it with a shaky breath. Paige then moves to the windows, yanking the curtains shut until the room is bathed in near-total darkness. The relief is instant—you let out a soft sigh, your body relaxing just slightly as the pressure in your head dulls a little without the presence of light.

Paige isn’t done. She rummages through your bag until she finds your medication again, grabbing a bottle of water from the mini fridge before kneeling next to the bed. “Hey,” she says softly, brushing your hair back from your damp forehead. “You gotta take this, yeah? It’ll help.”

You groan faintly in protest, turning your face into the pillow, but Paige doesn’t back down. “Ma, c’mon,” she coaxes, voice firm but still tender. “I know it sucks, but you gotta take it. Just one more thing, and then you can rest.”

Reluctantly, you crack your eyes open, barely able to see her face in the dark, but you feel the pill pressed gently to your lips. You take it without complaint this time, swallowing it down with a sip of water Paige helps you hold.

“Good job, baby,” she praises, pressing another kiss to your forehead. She sets the bottle on the nightstand before kicking off her shoes and climbing into bed with you, immediately wrapping her arms around you. She pulls you close, her chest flush against your back, one arm sliding under your head to cushion it while the other wraps proactively around your waist.

“I’ve got you,” she whispers softly into your ear, her breath warm against your skin. “It’s okay, baby. Just breathe. ‘M right here.”

You whimper faintly in response, you body still shaking, but you relax the tiniest bit in her hold. Paige’s touch is gentle, her thumb tracing slow, soothing circles over your stomach as she tries to calm you down. She presses a soft kiss to the back of your head, murmuring sweet nothings that you can barely process through the pain.

A small sob escapes you as a particularly harsh stab to your skull hits. Paige only pulls you closer, holding you like she can absorb all of your pain into herself. “I know it hurts. I know,” she says softly, her voice cracking slightly as she wishes, more than anything, that she could take it all away for you. “But I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’m here. Always.”

And she means it—Paige Bueckers would hold you through every second of the pain if it meant you didn’t have to face it alone.

[bitters-n-sweets]

take a break pt. 2 — michael "robby" robinavitch x fem!reader Months after Bali, you're finally back in the US, staying with your sister in Pittsburgh. You just have no idea who lives there, too. take a break pt. 1

warnings: cursing, inaccuracies of how the ER works, angst, misunderstanding trope, reader has a sister named Jenna—who gets mildly hurt, not proofread, mentions of miscarriage (not the reader), minors go away, 5.2K words masterlist I am overwhelmed with joy at how the first part of this got so much love, thank you all, I'm so glad you liked it ❤️

"You’re telling me," your sister says, blinking like she’s trying to process it while trying not to get angry, "you spent an entire week with a complete stranger??"

You sigh. Of course she’s going to lose her mind.

"Jenna—"

"What were you thinking???" She’s pacing now.

You roll your eyes. "Look, I know how it sounds, okay? But it wasn’t like that."

She stops, arms crossed, and gives you a pointed look.

"I’m serious. What happened in Bali… it was different. I’ve never met anyone like him."

Jenna takes a deep breath a few times and sits beside you. The sharp voice softens. "I just don’t want you to get hurt again."

"Too late," you murmur with a bitter smile.

She sighs and pulls you into a hug. "Of course it is."

For a moment, neither of you say anything. Your phone sits on the table, still open from showing her a photo of you and Robby, sun-kissed and smiling. Jenna squints at it.

"Well," she says, "he is stupid handsome. Those sad-boy eyes? Come on."

You let out a laugh, some of the tension slipping from your shoulders.

"And he’s a doctor?" she adds, scoffing. "Girl."

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. She’s trying.

After months of traveling, your lease ended, so you're staying at her place in Pittsburgh for now, just until you find a new apartment. Your sister's been your rock since you were kids. If anyone bullied you, or if you needed any help with friends, math, you name it, and she'll be there for you. She's the most reliable big sister you could ever have, so you don't blame her for trying to protect you.

She's also trying to balance being the protective sister, and the fun one. It doesn't always work.

"So what’s stopping you from looking him up?" Jenna asks suddenly.

You hesitate.

"He’s one Google search away," she nudges. "Don’t even lie."

You suck in a breath. "I know. I just… what if I find out he’s moved on? What if it really was just a vacation fling for him? And what if he lives in New York or something? I mean, we didn't reveal our hometowns for a reason. We could've easily shared our phone numbers, but we didn't."

Jenna frowns. "Okay, first of all? If everything you told me is true—and judging by those photos and the way you talk about him—it wasn’t just a fling. And second, so what if he’s in New York? That’s like a 90-minute flight. You work remotely. Things could actually work out."

You don’t say anything right away. You just look down at your hands and bite your cheek, the way you do when you’re unsure. Jenna bumps your shoulder gently.

She adds, "Look, I’m not saying go camp outside his hospital with huge cards, Love Actually style. But you should at least give yourself the chance to find out. What if he’s been thinking the same thing all this time?"

You barely say anything before Jenna snatches your phone off the coffee table.

"Wait—Jenna, no!"

She's already typing.

"Just a little digging," she says, her fingers working fast on your phone.

You lunge for the phone, but she twists away, standing up. "Give it back!"

"Nope, you had your chance and you blew it. Plus, you know you won't actually do this. I'm doing you a favor."

"Jenna, I’m serious—"

"Aha!" She exclaims, stopping in her tracks. "Michael Robinavitch, MD. Trauma Attending at—"

Your eyes are wide as you stare at Jenna. Her face shifts. Something unreadable—then disbelief. She scoffs and meets your eyes. "You're not gonna believe me."

Robby sighs as he slides through the ER doors once again. Like yesterday, like the day before, like how it will be for the rest of his life, probably. Dana's already at the nurse's station, looking at the board, phone in hand.

"You know, every day you walk in here, and you look even more like shit." Dana frowns. "I thought you just had a vacation, you’re supposed to look refreshed, not like you got dumped in the ocean and left for dead."

Robby huffs. "Well, good morning to you, too, Dana."

And then something in Dana clicks. "Oh my God. You got dumped in Bali."

He lets out a dry laugh. "I didn't get dumped in Bali. I just…"

"Wait, did you dump someone in Bali?"

"Can we not do this here?"

"I mean… I just expected you to come back tanned and smug, not pining like some sad indie drama lead." Dana lets out a little laugh at her own joke.

Robby exhales slowly, a tight smile on his lips. "It was a vacation. Nothing more."

Oh but it was so so much more. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you. Let’s just get that out of the way. Your laugh, your perfume, the way you fell asleep on his chest like you were meant to be there. He swears he still smells you sometimes, and it’s driving him insane. He’s off his game at work, can’t sleep at home, can’t eat without thinking of the dinners you shared by candlelight and crashing waves. So yeah—he looks like shit. Forgive the middle-aged man for wearing his heartbreak on his face.

"What's her full name?"

Robby pauses. "What?"

Jack shrugs like it’s the most casual thing in the world. "I know you keep checking the board for any new incoming traumas to see if it could be her." Jack continues, "You feel guilty for it, but you're still doing it. So tell me her name—I’ll keep an eye out on nights."

Jack knows it's a way to ease Robby, even just for a little bit.

Robby presses his palms to his eyes, just for a second. Long enough to see your face behind his lids, then mutters your name. He doesn’t want to see you on a stretcher. God, no. He doesn’t want to see you bleeding, unconscious, coding. He hopes you never have a reason to come through those ER injured, ever.

But the truth is, the ER is where estranged people meet. And though he hates himself for it, a small part of him still hopes one day you’ll walk through that door again—alive, healthy, maybe even smiling.

"Okay." Jack nods, then smirks. "How about a picture?"

"Jack." Robby warns.

"Backing down, backing down," Jack raises his hands in surrender, "Just testing the waters."

"She must've been something, huh?" He adds, "You haven't stopped thinking about her, and it's been months. You might be really screwed, brother."

Robby doesn't say anything. He knows.

[flashback]

You're both soaked.

It started with a walk along the beach. Then a splash. Then a challenge. Now you're standing in the shallows, dripping wet, and Robby is grinning like an idiot because he 'won'.

"You cheated! You said you wouldn’t grab me!"

He shrugs. "I said I wouldn’t splash you. Technically, dragging you into the water doesn’t count."

"You’re impossible."

"You're slow."

You gasp and lunge toward him, but he takes off running down the beach like a damn teenager. You chase after him, heart pounding, laughing so hard it burns. Eventually, he slows just enough for you to catch him, and you both tumble into the sand.

"I should’ve let the jellyfish have you," You pant.

"I think you'd miss me too much."

You roll your eyes. "You’re so full of yourself."

His voice drops just enough to make your pulse skip. "Am I wrong?"

Then he leans in and kisses you, slow and smiling, like he knows he’s already won. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his.

"You're the worst."

"Then you've got terrible taste."

[present day]

You linger outside the sliding glass doors for longer than you’d like to admit.

You'd gotten the same rosé you both shared in Bali, with a nice bow wrapped around the neck, and a letter you'd hand-written. It's very cliché, but it felt necessary. And now you feel stupid.

Fuck it.

Part of you is excited to see him, see his reaction, would he run to you? Hold you in his arms? Kiss you right there in front of everyone?

You're smiling nervously now as you walk past the doors. The emergency room at PTMC is busier than you expected, the front desk doesn’t pay you much attention, which is good, they're probably thinking you're visiting with what you have in hand. You’re not sure what you would’ve said anyway.

You ask quietly where to find him. They point you toward the consult rooms, and you murmur a quick thank-you, the gift bag tucked at your side.

You spot him almost immediately through the narrow strip of glass in the door to Consult Room A.

Your heart stops.

Robby is inside. He’s really here. Still tall, still impossibly handsome, and especially in his scrubs, exhaustion clinging to the curve of his shoulders. You almost burst through the door—when you realize he's not alone.

Another doctor is sitting on the exam bed, bent slightly forward, elbows on her knees, one hand cradling her stomach. Her eyes are red. Robby kneels beside her, not quite touching her at first—then gently, cautiously, he places his hand on her knee. She covers it with her own.

He says something you can’t hear. She nods. And then, quietly, she leans forward and presses her forehead to his, smiling, tears in her eyes.

You freeze.

All the warmth in your limbs rushes away. You feel like someone's just completely taken your lungs away and you can't breathe.

You recognize her—Dr. Collins. You’ve seen her on the PTMC staff page, probably one of the first names you found when you searched for Robby.

You take a step back, slowly, like you might disturb the moment if you're not careful. Then another.

It seems like Robby has moved on.

You're not sure what to do. You feel fucking stupid. Of course, he has moved on. It was just a fling, nothing more. Tears blur your vision as you take short breaths, the rosé now clutched tightly to your chest, and you hurrily walk back down the hall. You don't want him to see you. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Collins exhales shakily, then squeezes his hand one last time before standing.

"I'll be fine." she says, voice hoarse but steady.

"You sure?"

She gives him a small smile. "Yeah. Go save someone who’s actually dying."

He watches her walk out, her back straight even though her world just cracked in half. They’ve been through a lot, he and Collins. It was never romantic—not really—but there were late nights and shared griefs. A handful of near-misses. People who endure together sometimes blur lines. But whatever they were, that part’s long behind them.

A nurse knocks gently on the doorframe. "Dr. Robby?"

"Yeah?"

"There was someone here asking for you," she says, "I told her you'd be out in a minute but I think she left. She didn't leave a name, she had a gift bag with her though."

Robby blinks. "Okay, thanks."

People drop off things sometimes. A patient’s family, a resident trying to get on his good side, a pharmaceutical rep hoping to buy his time. He doesn’t think too hard about it. He heads back out into the chaos of the ER, unaware of the gift that nearly reached him—or the woman who had.

[flashback]

"So what happens after you leave?"

Robby doesn't answer right away. He drags a finger through the sand. "Get on a plane, go home, back to work."

"You know that's not what I mean."

He sighs. "I know."

You wait and Robby finally meets your eyes. "I don't want to ruin this."

"This." You repeat. "This… fantasy? Or us?"

His jaw shifts slightly, he’s trying to choose his words carefully. "I mean the part where I don’t have to think about how complicated this would get if we tried to keep it going."

You nod, lips tight. "Right." Complicated.

"I'm not saying I don't want this. Us." He says quickly, "I just... I don’t know how."

You know he's right. It just hurts to hear it. "Yeah… me neither."

You glance up, and there’s a long, quiet look between you. "So, let’s not make promises we can’t keep?"

Robby nods, but his hand finds yours in the sand. And he doesn't let go.

[present day]

You've been sitting in your parked car for ten minutes after leaving the entrance.

Your hands still tremble a little.

You’d come here with hope burning in your chest, you ignored all of the doubts because you wanted to believe what you had with Robby was real. Because maybe despite not sharing phone numbers, there was something there. You hoped he also regretted not continuing what you had. But seeing Robby with her, the way he touched her, the softness in his expression… it had knocked the wind out of you.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to throw the gift away—or bring it home. Or the letter. So you decide to rewrite the letter. As a goodbye. You slip it inside the gift bag and get out of the car.

This time, you don’t go to the front entrance. You spot a woman smoking near the ambulance bay, leaning against the wall like she’s on break.

You approach her quietly.

"Hi. Sorry to bother you—do you work in the ER?"

She squints through the smoke, "Yeah, why?"

"I, uh, could you give this to Dr. Robby? I…have an errand to run, so, I can't give it to him myself." You offer her the gift bag.

She eyes the gift bag warily. "You trying to sell him something?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I just want to thank him. For everything he's done for me." You hesitate. "You can tell him it's from Ove."

She hesitates, then shrugs, taking the gift bag. "Yeah, sure."

You just offer a small, grateful smile. "Thanks."

Robby's sitting on his desk, busy charting, when Dana drops a gift bag in front of him.

"And this is…?"

"Rosé delivery, apparently." Dana chuckles. "Someone wanted to thank you, so she told me to give you this. Said it's from 'Ove'."

His heart stops. He snatches the bag like it might vanish, scanning the pink-gold bottle, the smooth ribbon, the familiar handwriting he could recognize anywhere.

You were here.

He bolts.

"Wait—" Dana calls behind him, "There's—!"

But Robby’s already sprinting down the hallway, dodging a gurney, ignoring the startled nurse who calls his name.

He jogs a little down the street, scanning every face. A couple arguing near the bus stop. A woman in scrubs checking her phone. But not you. His breath fogs in the cold air, and something in his chest twists painfully.

He missed you.

"Fuck." He keeps repeating, "FUCK!"

"Robby!"

He turns at Dana’s voice.

She’s outside now, waving something in her hand. "She left a letter."

Hi Robby, I'm sorry I didn't give you this letter and gift myself. I know it probably seems cowardly to leave a letter like this instead of talking to you face to face, but honestly… I don’t think I could’ve done that without crying. Or jumping into your arms. Or kissing you… Or all of it. There’s so much I wanted to say, but maybe this will have to be enough. I’m happy you’ve found someone who makes you happy. I really am. I hope she’s good to you. I hope she sees what I see in you—your terrible jokes, your gentleness, the way you care too much and try to hide it. I hope she knows how lucky she is. Take care of yourself, doc. And thank you for all the memories. You deserve someone who makes coming home feel like peace. – Ove

Robby reads the letter once. Then again.

He’s standing in the hallway outside the break room, half-shielded by the open door, fingers curling around the page like it might explain itself differently on the third read.

You were here. At the hospital. He missed you.

His eyes skim the line again—the one about how you couldn’t face him without crying, or kissing him. Jumping into his arms. His heart clenches. It’s so you. Honest. Brave and terrified at once.

Then he hits the sentence that makes him stop cold.

I’m happy that you’ve found someone who can make you happy.

His brow furrows. Found someone?

He glances up like the hallway might have an answer. What are you talking about? There’s no one. There hasn’t been anyone. Not really. Just that moment with Collins—but even that... that wasn’t what you think.

His chest tightens. You thought he was with someone. That he moved on.

You thought he was happy.

He leans back against the wall, one hand dragging down his face. A deep exhale pushes from his lungs, but it doesn’t take the ache with it.

"Ove," he says aloud, the name barely a breath.

He lets out a quiet laugh, one that almost breaks halfway through. Of course you'd sign it like that.

Now you're leaving him rosé and a goodbye that read like a love letter sealed in regret.

His chest tightens. There's a stinging behind his eyes he doesn't want to name.

Dana watches him from the nurses’ station, saying nothing. She doesn’t need to. Robby just shakes his head, pressing his lips together.

"She was here," he says again, like he still doesn’t believe it.

"Yeah," Dana replies softly, looking at him sympathetically. "She was."

The letter is still in his hand. He folds it carefully, like it's something sacred. Then he tucks it into his jacket pocket and takes a breath.

He should have been faster.

He should have found you.

But now… now all he can do is stand here, holding the words you couldn't say out loud.

A few days after that, you're back to apartment hunting. Somewhere outside of Pittsburgh. You haven't told your sister, but you have a feeling she knows. She's been quiet in that careful way, watching you drift through nights of old movies and whiskey. Not rosé—never rosé. That would taste too much like him.

You're on the couch, laptop warming your thighs, when you suddenly hear a scream from the kitchen.

"Jenna!" You scramble.

Jenna had bought one of those aesthetic looking pots made of glass, and of course it shattered. Another sound—glass crunching, followed by a strangled yelp. You race in to find her on the floor, clutching her arm, shards of her new glass pot glittering across the tile. She must’ve slipped. Her forearm is red, swelling fast.

"I'm okay—" She groans and winces, "Okay, OW OW OW—No, I'm not okay."

You turn off the stove, moving quickly to help her up, careful not to step on the glass. "Let's get you to the hospital. I'll get a cab."

She’s quiet in the ride over, cradling her arm, the towel now damp from melted ice.

"I'm so stupid." She hisses. "It's not even that bad, it just hurts."

"You're not stupid," You say, "But it looks pretty bad. The glass shattered everywhere. You're lucky it didn't cut you anywhere else."

She lets out a breath that sounds more like a groan, then presses her head back against the seat.

"Are you sure you want to come?" She asks after a beat, always worrying about you first. "We're going to that ER. After everything that happened…"

You glance out the window, swallowing down the familiar ache that tightens in your chest at just the mention of it.

"Jenna." You cut her off gently. "None of that matters right now. You’re hurt. We’re going."

She bites her cheek, clearly reading more in your silence than you want her to. But she just nods. "Okay."

It's not that late yet, and the ER is still as busy as ever. Due to the level of Jenna's injury, you get in fast. You push through the double doors with Jenna leaning on your side, her towel-wrapped arm clutched to her chest. You follow the nurse down the familiar hall, heart tightening with every step, and help Jenna settle into a curtained bay. She gives you a strained smile, trying to act tough, but she looks worried.

"I'll go get a doctor for you, it'll be quick." the nurse says.

You sit on the edge of the plastic chair, elbows on your knees, trying not to breathe too deep.

Then the curtain rustles. "Okay, let's see who we have here."

You look up and freeze—just for a second—until you realize it’s not Robby. You exhale quietly, chest unclenching. "You're Jenna?" the doctor asks, flipping through the chart.

Your sister nods.

The doctor nods back, "I'm Dr. Abbot, and this is…" He motions to you.

"My sister," Jenna says, giving your name. 

That’s when you see it—Dr. Abbot's face changes. He repeats your full name under his breath, eyes narrowing like he’s connecting dots in real time.

Something clicks in his head. Then, without another word, he steps back. "I'll be right back." He’s gone before either of you can ask anything.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Robby!"

Jack whisper-screams down the hall, catching Robby just as he’s about to exit through the staff doors. Robby slows, eyebrows raised in surprise as Jack jogs up to him.

"Jack, I really just—"

"She's here."

Robby stops mid-step.

"She was," he corrects slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "a few days ago. I couldn't catch her—"

"No, Robby." Jack cuts in, breathless. "She's here now. With her sister. Bay 5."

Robby's eyes go wide. "…A-are you sure? Wait, is she okay??"

"Well I mean you wouldn't show me a picture of her so—"

"Jack—"

"Right." Jack says, "She’s fine, she’s accompanying her sister. Just stay in the consult room. I'll bring her over, tell her she can wait there."

Robby feels like his world is spinning again. He doesn't want to get his hopes up. He still has your letter tucked in his jacket pocket.

He nods nervously. "Okay."

You’re still staring at the curtain, blinking like maybe it’ll open again and explain whatever just happened. But it stays closed. Jenna glances at you, then at her arm, and mutters, "Well, that was weird."

"Yeah." You frown.

You’re still thinking about the way the doctor said your name like he recognized it—like it meant something. Before you can say anything else, the curtain swishes again. Dr. Abbot reappears, breathless, like he’s jogged half the ER to get back. "Um, do you mind waiting in the consult room? There's… not a lot of space here, so…"

It's an odd request, but Jenna says she's okay, so you reluctantly go with the nurse who'll show you where the consult room is.

As soon as you’re gone, Jenna raises an eyebrow at Dr. Abbot. He’s still standing there, watching the curtain fall closed behind you like it just told him a secret.

"…Do you know something?" She asks. Vague, suggesting.

Dr. Abbot turns slowly and squints at her. "I don't know. Do you know something?"

Jenna tilts her head. "I might."

He tilts his head back at her. "Then I might too."

The nurse doesn’t say much. Just a polite smile and a gentle hand on your back as she guides you down the hallway.

You pass a few curtain bays, a trauma room, and then she stops at a door with Consult Room B printed in small white letters.

"Just wait in here," she says gently.

"Wait for—"

"—OK." But the door closes before you can finish the question. You blink. Turn. And that’s when you see him.

Robby.

He’s standing at the far end of the room, one hand braced on the counter like he might be holding himself up. He's still in his scrubs, navy jacket with his sleeves rolled up, and he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

You freeze. He sees you.

For a second, neither of you speak. Neither of you even breathe.

Robby braves himself to step closer to you.

"Robby," you finally say, voice barely more than a whisper. You swallow, shifting your weight, arms folded like a shield. "I didn't know—the nurse just told me to—"

You break eye contact and step back as he steps closer. You can't look in his eyes, because you know you'll break. You're already fighting the tears that are about to fall.

He watches you for a moment, trying to find his voice. "You okay?"

You nod. "Jenna—my sister—she burned her arm. Slipped on glass. I just… went into autopilot."

He steps closer again, slower this time. "Is she alright?"

"Yeah. She’ll be fine." You bite your lip, still not looking at him.

"You left me a bottle of rosé," he says, gently, still stepping closer. "And a name."

You try to smile. "I thought you’d figure it out."

"I did," he says, now only inches away from you, "and then I read the letter."

Your breath hitches, just slightly. There’s a pause as you nod, your hands tighten over your elbows, fingers pressing into your sleeves. "Right."

"Are you ever going to look at me?"

You try to hide the sob escaping you and back away a little, but Robby reaches out, placing both hands gently to cup your face, brushing away your tears. You finally meet his eyes, and the sight wrecks you.

Why is he crying?

He steps closer, trapping you within his frame, and leans in. His lips press gently to yours, careful—as if asking permission, checking if you still want this, if you still want him. Your hands clutch his scrubs, holding on like a lifeline.

You pull away first. "This is wrong." You whisper.

Robby’s brows knit together in confusion until he sees the guilt in your eyes. You think he's with Collins.

"You…" You sniff, "You're happy, Robby. You—You can't ruin it."

"Look at me," His voice is firm, "Do I look happy to you?"

"I—"

"I'm not with Collins."

You look at him. "What?"

"The woman you saw with me a few days go," Robby says carefully, "she had a miscarriage. I was just… trying to be there for her."

You stare at him, breath caught. Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Then, quietly, "Oh."

You look down, heart thudding, face hot with shame. You want to disappear into the floor, you feel even more stupid now.

He asks, a little broken. "You really thought I'd move on that fast?"

You shake your head, blinking fast. "I didn't know what to think. I thought maybe it wasn’t as real for you as it was for me."

"And what? Were you just going to leave?" He frowns. "You weren't even gonna let me say goodbye. Not even one last look at you."

You shake your head, eyes glossy. "I thought it would be easier on you," you whisper. "Like Bali."

Robby's expression shatters. "That was not easy on me."

"You left before I woke up."

"I thought you wanted me to." His voice catches. "You were quiet that whole last day. I figured you didn’t want me to make it harder."

"Because I didn't want to say goodbye!" You cry out, "I didn't want it to end. But I got scared, because what if you don't like the version of me outside of Bali? Because Bali was good, so good, and back here—" you sob, "—back here I'm not as confident. I'm nobody. I'm a mess."

Robby's heart breaks a little. He sees you, truly sees you, and realizes the irony: that’s exactly how he feels.

"You think I don’t get that? You think Bali wasn’t the first time in years I felt like myself again?" He swallows hard. "I was afraid, too. Afraid I’d already messed it up. Afraid if I said goodbye, it would feel real. Final."

You close your eyes, a tear slipping down your cheek.

"You’re not nobody," he says, softer now. "You're the person who saw me when I was at my lowest. Who laughed so hard on that motorbike I thought I'd crash us into a rice field. Who made me believe I could want more than just work and sleep and going through the motions. Whose letter I still keep in my pocket. You're the person who lent me your book."

You chuckle at that, still sniffing.

He cups your cheek again, thumb brushing away the tears you’ve stopped trying to hide.

"And you don’t have to be confident all the time," he murmurs. "You don’t have to be the Bali version of you. I want you. All versions of you."

You try not to cry again, nodding your head. "…I want you, too."

He exhales—like he’s been holding his breath for days—and his forehead presses to yours, gentle and grounding. "I'm no picnic, either. I overthink everything. I push people away when I should let them in. I’ve spent most of my life trying to act like nothing gets to me."

"But you do." His thumb brushes under your eye. "You got to me."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"The worst." He smiles a little.

"Then you've got horrible taste."

He chuckles. "I believe what I said was 'terrible' not 'horrible'."

You share a laugh and there's a long, quiet pause. You’re both holding your breath, holding each other like the other person could disappear, like this might be a dream.

"Robby…" you murmur.

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to make promises this time?" You ask, hopeful once again. "Ones we'll try our best to keep?"

He smiles. "Yeah. I do."

He leans in again, brushing his lips over yours. Your fingers tangle in the navy fabric of his hoodie, like you're scared he’ll vanish. But he doesn’t. He just holds you tighter, steadier. And it’s everything you’ve been aching for. No longer a memory of Bali. No longer a what-if. Just you and him.

You take Robby’s hand gently and guide him towards where Jenna is to introduce them. You thought she'd be asleep, but you hear chatter from behind the curtain. When you swing it open—you see her and Jack, gossiping like two teenagers, her wounds wrapped up long ago.

"Oh hey~ We were just talking about you two," Jenna smirks, "So, Dr. Abbot, how long did you say Dr. Robby here has been broody?"

"Well, I think since birth, really, but he became worse after leaving Bali."

You roll your eyes and glance at Robby, who's blushing like a tomato now. You try to soothe him, while Jack and Jenna share a subtle fist bump, quietly whispering to each other.

"We did that."

"Hell yeah we did."

--

hope you guys like it! side note, lowkey loving Jack and Jenna's interaction and thank you to all of you in the taglist for being so excited for this 🥰 ily, and im so sorry if i missed anyone, it is really not on purpose. I hope you enjoyed!

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